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[apexart-journal]

Hanna Saarikoski in New York, #Day 17,18&19

It's late Saturday night and I got last week's program in the afternoon. Then I really realized how fast the time passes, somehow the activities of the past days started to interact more in my mind. I was at Gantry Plaza Park, listening to Sounds of Cyprus and watching people of all ages dancing. 

The music was lively, melancholic and soft like the evening air on the East River. Something similar was also in the music they played at the Sabbath service I attended last night.  And yesterday morning I was trying to find the right way to the Million Oyster Project on Governors Island, and I walked with a woman who was going to volunteer at the bee farm, and she told me, even though she's working in a completely different field, how important art is to her, how she recognizes emotions in it, like sadness, and it helps her channel her own emotions in a good way.

Today we met with Nia at the 9/11 Memorial Plaza and we talked about how different generations remember and understand tragedies and extraordinary moments in their lives, as individuals and as a group.

I shared a quote with her from Ross Perlin's book, from the chapter Survivors City, p.65 “Compared to the pressing concerns of daily life, survival is an undercurrent, a common strand at an almost subliminal level, an infrastructure of feeling. “You can hear it in people’s voices, in the accent, in their body language and their facial expressions, and in the kindness and blunt bursts of warmth you’ll suddenly get from where you least expected it. “ writes a contemporary New Yorker, whose family spoke the Greek dialect of southern Albania’s Dropoli Valley, of the sorrow of exile” behind the city’s capacity for tolerance, and more concretely its long unshakable pro-immigrant politics: He may not known a word of whatever it was his great-grandparents spoke or seen even a picture of the land they came from, but every New Yorker carries a bit of that sense of loss in him and an innate knowledge of what drove him and his away and brought them here: the destitution of Ireland, the grinding poverty of Sicily, the fear of just being Jewish in Russia the terror of being Black in Georgia, the violence of Colombia.” 

When I read that on the subway, on my way to Harlem, I thought, well, maybe that explains something I see here, something more than just superficial politeness to a lost stranger.

It's been very warm here, but back home in Finland it's getting colder, I heard the cranes are leaving. At Hamilton Grange they limited the length of the tour because of the heat. For me the most interesting things were outside: flowers growing in the garden, zinnias, much bigger but the same color as at home, marigolds and roses. I studied the details of the architecture, the weathering, the peeling paint here and there, wondering if it was real oil paint or some new mixture. I tried to imagine what it was like when the house was built, in 1802, when the area was more or less rural. 

Yesterday I also did a little fishing, didn't catch anything, which was a relief - I used to fish as a kid in Finland and sometimes later, but then the catch was cooked or given to the cats. It would feel bad to hurt fish just for the sake of sport. On Thursday I had two sports, a cardio class in Brooklyn in the morning, which was intense and fun, and a boxing glass with Maryam in Bryant Park in the evening. After both sports I had to walk and cool down for quite a while before getting on public transportation. 

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[ptsalon]

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[ptsalon-blog]

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[succubustears]

My nightmare started at the hospital. My friend K and I were at a hospital... I don't really remember why. We were rushed out with a group of people. We left my aunt K there. Everyone was looking for their cars in this giant parking lot. My friend thought my car was in the opposite direction of where it was. I guided him the right way and using my cars horn we found it. It was in the biggest parking lot I have ever seen. Surrounded by dumped rusty metal storage containers and other things. It was like a giant open warehouse or dump site.

When we got into the car my two aunts C and S were there. S was driving for some reason so I was in the back with K. We drove through the area and S made a huge turn and scraped the back of my car on a container. I felt scared and timidly asked if she would help repair it.

We were on the road this time and surrounded by the usual PNW trees. She made another huge turn but the car left the road. We plummeted backwards into the foliage for so long, finally hitting a tree dead on with the back of the car flinging us down into a valley. We were already far off from any town. My aunts were fine but K and I were really rattled. I got out and found my bearings. K was getting ill by the car. C and S kept acting like we were being dramatic.

I looked around. There were a few older looking buildings, but no roads. Two young boys peeked out and we're walking over. I looked at my phone and had a bit of service. I called the emergency number and a man answered and cut me off every time I tried to speak. He said he would get us but I never said where i was. It made me nervous.

The boys arrived and I asked if they had any adults with them. They timidly looked at each other and said the adults wouldn't help us but they would do their best to help. They looked scared so I hugged each and had them go back home. I couldn't find K. Eventually S and C were gone too. They had left without me purposefully. The objects I took from the car were left but the car was gone too, only leaving the damage it caused in the dirt and trees. Night was arriving.

Time passed. I was there a while, along with another version of me. A version who couldn't talk. A version I protected like a sister. We lived in the place the car crashed. I took care of her and when the boys didn't return from the houses I decided to investigate them myself. My phone was gone and I couldn't find it. I wanted to contact someone.

I met one of the boys and asked if I could use their restroom. He agreed and let me in. I locked myself in and sat on the closed toilet, crying softly to myself a while. I was still cut and bruised from the crash tired and in pain. I calmed myself down and looked at myself in the mirror. I had dried blood on my face, my hair was tangled, my face was swollen and I noticed my front teeth had chipped. A vain part of me was devestated. They hurt but it wasn't so bad so I rinsed my face and began drinking the water desperately. I noticed it was a coppery brown color but I didn't care.

I left to thank the boy but he was gone. The more I looked around the house it didn't look lived in. I made my way to a bedroom that gave me a sinister feeling. There were two closets. One had some cloth hanging out of it, like it was closed in a rush and someone was hiding on the other side. I could hear voices from behind it. I walked slowly to it and the voices got louder. I had my hand on the handle but everything in my body told me not to open it. I was terrified.

I snapped out of it and left that room quickly. I looked around the house and remembered the boy telling me that I could take anything I wanted. I found my backpack there but I didn't bring it. I thought it was in the car when it was removed. I was happy because it had my study materials and other things I like to keep with me. It was mood lifter to say the least. Something told me to stay out of that house. I took a rolled up carpet, blankets, and things I could use to fortify our camp outside.

I returned to the other me. She was terrified and clung to me, so I hugged her. I guess I was gone a while. I gave her a book I found and she stayed in the camp reading it. She just read whatever I handed to her. I spent the time studying my Japanese and being frustrated with my inability to write Kanji properly. Time passed.

So much time had passed. The houses looked overgrown. I hadn't seen the boys in a long time. I had stacked stones into a bit of a wall. It was flat enough to doodle on and carve out. Made me feel safe. The moss and the comfort of the trees weren't so bad. The sun peeked through the trees and it wasn't so bad. I still wanted to leave.

I went to look for more things for my other me to read, and things to fortify our camp with. I looked through a window and saw animals scamper into another room. I opened the window and let myself in. It was a different house than the other. I hadn't been in this one yet. It didn't look lived in but it didn't look complete abandoned either. It gave me a pit in my stomach. I could tell I wasn't alone. I walked through the living area and into a hall that led to the rooms. I heard an old man scream from behind me and began to chase me. I shoved into a bedroom and ran into a closet, trying to pull the door closed.

But... Clothing was peeking out of it causing me to be unable to close the door. My eyes were wide and terrified, realizing I had seen this before, but from the other side. It was too late. The man was already in the room and knew where I was due to my mistake. I tried to keep the door closed with my strength but it wasn't a match. He was stronger than me. Almost feral. Spit was foaming and dripping from his thin lips onto his unkempt facial hair. He looked like he lived here alone forever. He slammed the door open and reached for me like a zombie. I screamed.

I woke up in a panic back at my camp. It was that morning before I went into the house. I looked at my shaking hands. There were red marks from me trying to keep the door closed and protect myself. It was almost like I had died and respawned. I gulped and calmed myselfm understanding my mistakes and I attempted to do it again, for some reason. If I could just not get caught...

I followed the same path as before. He screamed and I ran. I tried to grab the clothing hung on the door to make sure I could close it in time but it got caught anyway. My eyes widened in fear. I knew... But it happened anyway. I felt betrayed by my ego. I was so scared I fainted. I felt my consciousness leave my hands first, my knees buckled, my eyes closed and all I could hear was the feral footsteps of the man pursuing me.

My eyes fluttered open. It was dark but I could tell I was at the bottom of the closet. My back ached from laying on boxes and shoes. I pulled myself up and listened. It was quiet. I peeked out the door and there was no one there. My guard up, I left the closet and tiptoed out to peek out to the living room. I could tell I was alone in the house I relaxed a tiny bit with a small breath out.

The living room had changed. In front of the dingy blue couch there was now a bed shoved in the little space that was between the couch and the font window. It looked like the bed had been used recently. Something was placed on the unkempt covers. To my delight it was my phone. I checked it and it had a bit of charge and a bit of signal.

I ran back to my camp and called my father, who answered the phone casually asking how I had been. I didn't know how much time had passed but I knew it was a long time. I was shaking and trying to be polite. I know my father and if I speak to him wrong he would just hang up but I knew I couldn't call he emergency line again.

I was holding back tears. He was the first tangible thing I was able to contact. I told him what happens. The car accident, I couldn't find K, C and S left without me. I'm alone and I want to go home. I'm scared.

He sounded a bit annoyed. "C and S got back fine. Why can't you? Where's your car?" He said.

I explained that the car left when C and S left. I was desperate. They must have taken it! I gasped. I was holding on to my phone with both hands.

He sounded a bit less annoyed. "Ah. What a pain."

Tears were bubbling out of my eyes. I kept my voice calm knowing he would hang up on me if he heard me crying. "Please... I'd like to go home. I'll do anything to pay you back so please help me just this once. Just get me home.

My dad was quiet a moment. His voice was so calm and so cold. "It would be easier and cheaper for me if you just stayed there. It's going to cost money to find you. It's just going to be a burden on me. I'm happy. Why can't you just stay."

My heart skipped a beat. It felt like I was stabbed in the chest. My knees were weak. I was in so much pain. I was suffering. My teeth were broken. I was being hunted. I was so scared. My knees buckled and I begged.

He sighed on the other end and asked where I was. I scrambled to pull open my phone out to open my gps and I was immediately confused. I wasn't in Washington anymore. I was in Indonesia... But it wasn't Indonesia. It was called Indonesia but due to dream logic it looked more like Madagascar on the map and had the look of rural Washington...

He said he would try and make something work and my phone died. I held the phone to my chest. At least I could have the hope that I may be getting help.

Some more time passed and a man younger than me came, I recognized him as one of the boys from before. He said he was back for the summer but his brother wouldn't be joining him. He stayed a bit with me and helped me with things I couldn't physically do. He was secretive but I knew he was familiar. I was there for so long it almost seemed like home. He had gotten me more paper and pens and I was so happy.

All I can remember is that at night there was always a shadow to be afraid of. Similar to the old man I always ran from. My tired body always ached and my teeth hurt. The other me wasn't there anymore. It was just me. Lonely and tired on the verge of giving up.

My dad came and while I was scared I still was polite and appreciatative. He made comments about my cleanliness and teeth but I could hardly pay attention. I cried saying goodbye to the boy and asked him to not forget me. I felt so sad. I was so easily forgotten by everyone. Even my own family. I begged him not to and he promised he wouldnt. I knew he would forget me but it made me feel better to hear it. I remember limply sitting in the passengers side of my fathers truck as we drove away. I fell asleep.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness. I felt the fear like I was back in the closet. I was in the closet. It was closed this time fully so I couldn't see a thing. It was hot and suffocating. I was sweating and my heart was pounding. My knees ached and my jaw ached. Someone was on the otherside of the closet.

-

I gasped in fear and was finally actually awake. I was rocketed awake by my work alarm. My mouth was dry and my body was sweaty, aching, and so heavy. I felt like I was awoken from the deepest sleep. I wanted to just fall back asleep but I slept so deep I missed my 9am alarm and it was my 10am alarm which meant I had to clock into work as soon as possible.

It took every ounce of strength and willpower to myself out of bed. My knees buckled since they've been swollen lately from the new medication I'm taking. I couldn't see straight and I clocked into work, plopping into my chair. I took my Adderall to counteract this fatigue as soon as possible. I fed the cats and made it back to my chair. I went to bed on time. I slept about 7-8 hours, I can only assume. I didn't do anything different last night. I ate well, took my medication on time, didn't eat sweets or forget to exercise.

I don't know why I dreamt all that. It took me 3 hours to write this all down. I dont know why I needed to do that. I just needed to. It's 1pm now and I'm still exhausted. My teeth look fine though. There's no reason to be afraid.

I wonder what it meant. If anything at all.

[for-the-dales]

Chapter 2: Josephine

Chapter 1 (Leliana):  https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

           Josephine didn’t cry until she saw the burst of magic miles away fling itself up into the monstrous green vortex in the sky. She saw it calm, but remain stubbornly where it was.

        Then Josephine wept.  

        The weeks before the conclave had been a flurry of activity. Making sure that two sides of a continent wide war didn’t kill each other before the peace talks even begin was a difficult task. Josephine had reveled in it.  She did not believe in false modesty, and so she had no problem admitting that she was one of the best at what she did. It was, after all, why Leliana had brought her on. And yet, looking up at the Breach in the sky, Josephine felt useless. Leliana was out there fighting while Josephine was here, standing around and picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She pulled a little too hard and a perfectly placed ruffle fell flat.

           No. Josephine would not depreciate herself. She looked around the courtyard and forced her to witness what was happening around her. Soldiers lay on pallets in neat rows where they were being treated by the surviving Chantry Sisters. No Revered Mothers. They had all been at the temple. There was not a single Sister present that looked older than Josephine. Some of them had put on a determined face and gritted their teeth. Most looked as terrified as the soldiers they were treating. Many of the soldiers were screaming, some were praying, too many had fallen ominously silent. The silent ones looked more like monsters from the Breach than men, their skin blackened from burns, and Josephine doubted their mothers would be able to recognize them. This would make the funerals that much more difficult.

           Suddenly Josephine had an idea, a way to be useful. She scanned the people running around her until she found a woman who looked like an officer and wasn’t bleeding out.  Josephine rushed over.

           “Madam, may I bother you for a moment?”

           The woman attempted to stand at attention but almost doubled over. Josephine quickly took hold of the woman’s arm and helped her sit back down. The woman nodded at her gratefully and asked, “What can I help you with ambassador Montilyet?”

           “Do you know if there are lists of soldiers who were serving at the conclave?”

           The woman thought for a moment and replied, “I believe Commander Cullen had a list. It may still be in his quarters. May I ask why you need it Ambassador? Can I be of any assistance?”

           “Do not concern yourself. You have already served bravely. Rest now. Thank you so much.”

           “Of course my Lady.”

           The officer placed her fist over her heart in salute and Josephine strode down the steps towards where Cullen had pitched his tent. The man had refused to sleep in the chantry while his soldiers had to sleep outside.

          No one paid much attention to Josephine on her way. Too consumed with their own panic and grief. Josephine slipped into the commander’s tent and immediately walked over to the small desk.

          A shiver ran down Josephine’s spine as she realized she may well be poking through a dead friends desk. No one had heard from the commander as of yet, he had led a charge towards the Breach.

          She riffled through the papers on his desk only scanning the documents for what she needed. Finally she found a bound stack of papers in a drawer that had names on it as well as ages and where the soldiers came from. She took the papers and quickly returned to the main triage area in front of the chantry. There she began walking around to the conscious soldiers that had already been treated and began asking for names and checking them off. Some of the soldiers knew who was dead and Josephine place a small “x” next to those names. Too many were not yet twenty years of age.

           Suddenly there was a commotion outside the gates. Soldiers burst into the area, screaming for bystanders to make room. Josephine’s heart seized in her chest. With strength born of desperation and fear she pushed her way through the crowd of soldiers until she saw who she was looking for. Leliana strode calm and imposing, ordering people around her to make ready for more injured. Josephine couldn’t truly hear what she was saying over the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears. Leliana was alright. Josephine took a single selfish moment to revel in the fact that her dearest friend had survived the horror. She could see the little tells on Leliana’s face that she was drained, but she was still walking and breathing and in control. She was okay. Josephine almost cried on the spot, but then she saw Cassandra marching in behind Leliana, carrying the prisoner. The woman’s dark skin was ashen now, and were it not for the terrifyingly slight movement in her chest, Josephine would have thought her dead. Much of her dark curly hair had come loose from its intricate braid. Purple bruises were already beginning to show on her face; particularly around her left eye that Josephine could now see was swollen shut. The elven apostate that had arrived earlier was walking close to the Seeker with his lightly glowing hands hovering over the prisoner’s head.

           Leliana’s calm voice broke through the panic, “Josie. Is there a private area we can place her?”

           Everything rushed back into focus as Josephine turned to face Leliana, “Yes, follow me.” Josephine led the group to a small hut that had an empty bed in it. Cassandra laid the prisoner in the bed and the apostate’s hands never wavered from their position above the woman. Leliana walked through the door with a box laden with medical supplies. She set it down and turned to Josephine, “Please go get Adan.”

           Josephine turned on the spot and rushed out the door back into the chaos outside. She stepped onto a box and scanned the hectic crowd. Whatever happened at the temple had caused many of the soldiers left in the valley to return to Haven. The population had more than doubled. Josephine finally spied the apothecary tending to a badly injured boy. Josephine felt her stomach twist, but she forced it down and rushed towards the man.

           “Master Adan. You’re services are desperately needed to tend to the prisoner.”

           The man looked up from the boy and regarded Josephine with disdain, “All due respect Ambassador, but my services are more needed here. If this boy doesn’t get surgery he could very well die.”

           Josephine looked down at the young boy. Andraste’s mercy he couldn’t be more than 15. He wore the flimsiest of armor and his shoes were worn and a little too big for him. He had likely lied about his age to join the Divine’s army. Josephine forced herself to imagine the faces of his mother and father, of his possible siblings, all waiting for him to come home. Josephine also remembered the urgency and slight fear on Leliana’s face when she told her to get Adan. She thought of the way Cassandra’s eyes flitted around when she first returned to haven with the limp prisoner. The creased brow and a slight frown on the apostates face while his hands tried to mend the prisoner, he had been sweating from effort. Then she swallowed the bile in her throat, turned to the apothecary and said with a tight voice, “Master Adan, your services are more needed with the prisoner.”

           The man stared at her for a moment, the anger evident on his face.

           “He is a child.”

           “Your services,” Josephine’s voice cracked slightly, “are more needed with the prisoner.”

           The man glared at her but stood, “Fine.”

           He looked around until he spotted a sister walking by with a basin of dirty water. He shouted, “You there! See to this boy! A claw nicked an artery. He is losing blood quickly and the wound is most certainly infected.”

           The sister looked a little panicked but rushed over. Adan turned back to Josephine and said, “Take me to her.”

           Josephine turned on her heel and didn’t look back to see if Adan was following. If she did she would also see the boy she had almost certainly just condemned. She held back tears. That would have to wait until later. She had to be strong right now, like Leliana. When they reached the hut Adan brushed past her and into the building without a word. Josephine didn’t follow. Leliana emerged a few moments later. Leliana took one look at Josephine and grabbed her hand, leading her to a secluded nook before hugging her tightly.

           “It’s okay, there’s nothing more we can do right now.”

          Josephine began to cry again. She wept and wept and wept into her friend's shoulder. She clutched her like if she let go she would fall apart.

           “He was treating a little boy,” Josephine hiccupped, “He’s going to die now, if he’s not already dead.”

           “That isn’t your fault Josie.”

           “But I told Adan to come treat the prisoner-“

           “After I told you to. If a sin has been committed here it has been committed by me. Not you.”

           “But-”

           “Her name is Ellana Lavellan. She didn’t cause the explosion, but she did almost die trying to close the breach. She was not forced to do so. She volunteered. She is kind and brave. She stopped on the way to the temple so she could save some scouts. She chose that path instead of a charge, which would have been safer for her, because she couldn’t abandon those soldiers to die. Adan is saving a good person. It is unfortunate that we only have one of him, so he can only save so many good people, and not all of them. Do you hear me Josie?

           Josephine sniffed and nodded.

           “I would like to write to the boys family.”

           “We will write to all the families.”

           Josephine nodded again and leaned back into the hug. She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the arms of her closest friend. Finally she pulled away and wiped her eyes. She smoothed the fabric of her blouse, straightened her posture, and tried to regain her composure.

           “The woman, Ellana, I saw she had facial tattoos. Is she Dalish?”

           Leliana nodded, “Yes, and a mage. She’s young, so likely she is the First of her Clan.”

           “First to do what?”

           Leliana chuckled, “No, she is the First. It’s what the Dalish call the chief apprentice to their keeper. The mage who leads a clan. Also the tattoos are called vallaslin, it means blood writing. It’s religious in nature and denotes which of their gods they dedicated themselves to upon reaching maturity.”

           With something else to think about now, Josephine began to calm, “Ah, it seems I have some studying to do then before she wakes up. I do not wish to offend her.”

           “I suspect she won’t wake today. I’ll tell you what I know after supper. I also have a book by Brother Genitivi that may be useful. Pretty much anything else you would read is hateful propaganda.”

           “Thank you. She will be staying then?”

           “We believe she is likely the only one who can seal rifts, and this is far from over, so yes.”

           “I see.” Josephine thought for a moment before realizing, “Oh, I should also try to contact her Clan, let them know she’s alright. If she occupies an important position they must be worried.”

           “They would be worried regardless, the Dalish are small in number so every member of a Clan is important. Contacting them may be difficult however, if her Clan doesn’t wish to be found they won’t be.”

           Josephine deflated, “Oh. I really do need your lessons it seems.”

           Leliana placed a hand on Josephine’s shoulder and gave her a crooked smile, “Don’t worry, I’ll have you speaking elvish by the time she wakes up.”

           Josephine chuckled and allowed Leliana to lead her back into the fray. That would be tonight. Now there was work to do.

Chapter 3:https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/186595614949/chapter-3-cullen

[iamedspa]

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[douchebagbrainwaves]

FREAKS WERE ON THE SAME VC GRAVY TRAIN THEY WERE

I considered myself lucky if I got to hack a quarter of the time ranged from tedious to terrifying. Bill Bradley had 70; he could see the average town was like a roach motel for startup ambitions: smart, ambitious people went in, but no one person would have a complete copy of it. If you have any kind of data, however preliminary, tell the audience. Empirically that doesn't seem to work in fields with corrupt tests. What people seem to think it's good for smart kids to be as bad for startups as too much time, so we hope these will be useful to a wider audience. It starts to be important to get the chain reaction would be self-sustaining chain reaction, or not. And yet this startup is obviously going to succeed: their traffic and revenue graphs look like a magazine.

In the middle are medicine, law, and finance, where it led to the phenomenon of yuppies. Dressing down loses appeal as men suit up at the university in the district of a powerful politician, instead of patiently writing out a complete program and assuring myself it was correct, I tended to just spew out code that was hopelessly broken, and gradually beat it into shape. It is neither. Tv are a good example. But often this mismatch causes problems. Don't get too deeply into business models. Don't worry if something you want to encourage startups: read the stories of existing startups we've funded.

But it is a byword for bogusness like Milli Vanilli or Battlefield Earth. Popularity in high school. Our startup spent its entire marketing budget on PR: at a time. Their previous business experience consisted of making blue boxes to hack into the phone system, a business with the rare distinction of being both illegal and unprofitable. Once you know how to see it. And yet this startup is obviously going to succeed as a startup investor. Is it higher in some areas than others? So they don't have to persecute nerds, the very best VCs don't have to pay employees market price for the ability to ignore false trails.

Obviously they have the right people: you can tell that by the number of people who will sell to you are companies that specialize in selling to you. After all, you only get one life. Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, Eric Raymond, and Jackie Weicker for reading drafts of this. And I have no idea if these guys are great hackers. They may have to use Java and Windows at work, but at any given time, there are all those people the eminent have working for them; they have to deliver every time. Now you could make any mark in any medium; in practice the medium steers you. Most of the best young researchers, you could offer it to them as a web service. If you really want to be popular, certainly, but they want even more to be smart. In other words, he's now rich enough not to have to deal with internationalization from the beginning. I don't like it. And so most schools do such a bad job of teaching that the kids don't really take it seriously—not just at what they try to get market price for their investment; they limit their holdings to leave the founders enough stock to feel the company is still theirs.

Civil War, so that's what it would do to the relationship between the founders has to be making money the way it ultimately will. With hackers, at least, the reason the nerds don't fit in really is that everyone else is crazy. How do you do that? They can usually only summon up the activation energy for new ideas. As this new kind of writing draws readers away from traditional media, I can't imagine they'll work any less hard to feed stories to bloggers, if they wanted me to introduce them to more investors. Actors and directors are fired at the end. Some of the founders mentioned a rule actors use: if you write about a topic in some fairly durable and public form, you'll find that each painting builds on things that have been moved or facial features that have been readjusted. Hacking seems to be such a test. The professors will get whoever they admit as their own grad students, so they leave them to create whatever social organization they want. Barring some cataclysm, it will stay.

I don't know. This is a different form of profitability than startups have traditionally aimed for. If you can just hack together a movie, for example, be both writer and editor, or both design buildings and construct them. A market takes every organization and keeps just the good ones. The forum troll I have by now internalized doesn't even know where to begin in raising objections to this project. It's the same all over Silicon Valley. Before Durer tried making engravings, no one thought these paintings were as important as we do for the generations that lived before anaesthesia and antibiotics.

Thanks to Abby Kirigin, Bob Frankston, Peter Eng, Paul Buchheit, Alex Lewin, Robert Morris, Bob van der Zwaan essay, Trevor Blackwell, and Jessica Livingston for reading a previous draft.

[mysydneymemories-blog]

From the Archives: LA under siege after Rodney King verdict

A state of emergency was declared in Los Angeles last night. Two thousand reservists from the National Guard were standing by in barracks after they were mobilised by California's Governor, Mr Pete Wilson. Freeways were closed, planes to the international airport were diverted because of smoke and heat from the fires, and motorists have been warned to stay away. Schools will be shut today and a curfew is likely. In Washington, President Bush promised to review the possibility of legal action over the acquittals, and issued "an appeal for calm and reason in the community". "The court system has worked and what's needed now is calm and respect for the law until the appeals process takes place," he said. A national political debate must surely follow the riots, which began about 6 pm, three hours after the acquittal of the four white police officers. The officers had pleaded not guilty to beating a black motorist, Mr Rodney King, in March last year. The assault was filmed by a bystander and his 81-second video, showing 58 blows or kicks, was televised around the world. One officer may have to stand trial again on a lesser charge over which the jury could not agree. By the early hours of this morning the riots had left 11 people dead and more than 170 with injuries. It was unclear whether the disturbances would be contained without even more severe blood-shed. Early last night, drivers were dragged at random from their vehicles and beaten. Television showed a white truck driver who knelt for what seemed an eternity semi-conscious, as a bystander kicked him in the head for no apparent reason. The driver Is now in serious condition in hospital.

Central Los Angeles burns during the riots.Credit:AP Photo Early this morning, police, fire fighters and other emergency services were still trying to cope with damage and destruction as the fires raged, some for entire blocks. The LA fire chief admitted at midnight that he was actually seeing blazes on television that had not been officially reported to his department. There were widespread reports of looting, especially in the south central district, the area where LA's poor blacks and Hispanics live, many unemployed and living In substandard housing. Rioting, vandalism and arson created havoc in the blacked-out city centre. The south-western suburbs towards the beach and Santa Monica were also hit by fires. Whites and Hispanics participated in the rampage as well as blacks. Some commentators made comparisons with the 1965 Watts riots, but those lasted for five days and 35 people died. If last night's riots were not as severe, the perpetrators were much better armed. Often, firemen could not approach blazes because bystanders threw bricks, and snipers fired automatic rifles at them. One fire fighter was in hospital after being shot in the cheek. The bullet entered his neck and he was having emergency surgery. Snipers also shot at helicopters, but without hitting them. Black leaders in Los Angeles had pleaded for restraint in the event of an acquittal in the case. But a meeting soon after the verdict at a black church attended by LA's black mayor, Mr Tom Bradley, soon made it apparent that anger ran too deep. The "peace" descended into an acrimonious shouting match, with preachers' pleas for a tranquil attitude drowned out by angry shouts that turning the other cheek was futile. Mr Bradley was booed, and a middle-aged woman shouted at him: "This is a conservative, honky, mean, white town, and you've got to know that."

LA: Troops Move In - Front page of the Sunday Age on May 3, 1992.Credit:The Age Archives Unemployment among blacks has worsened in the past decade, with their jobs disappearing or moving abroad, with nothing done to help their homelessness and increasing misery. The LA police have long been regarded as a hostile army of occupation among racial minorities here. Some looters smashed shop windows with their cars, filling the boots with merchandise, and then using newspapers doused in petrol to set fire to the emptied stores. Bottle shops, electronics, clothes and furniture stores were systematically looted, many in black neighbourhoods only built up since 1965. But uncontrollable young people of all races attacked banks In the city, set fire to the town hall, overturned police cars, smashed windows at the 'Los Angeles Times' and a newsagency and be-sieged police headquarters. Among these troublemakers were activists with loud hailers directing tactics, reported to be from extreme-left parties. One gun attack was launched against the police station from which the policemen who beat Mr King came. A sniper was arrested. Some acts of arson seemed particularly inexplicable. The south central headquarters of Mark Ridley-Thomas, a recently elected leftist black city councillor, who had opened it to give a voice to his black constituents, was razed. Community leaders throughout the evening exhorted rampagers to go home and express their "righteous" anger via "the system". Unfortunately many of those who took to the streets of Los Angeles have believed for some time that the system has failed. The US Justice Department announced today that a federal investigation will be undertaken to see if anyone's civil rights have been violated. In a statement, the Assistant Attorney-General for Civil Rights, Mr John Dunne, said Justice Department officials "will now undertake a review of this incident to determine what, if any, action may be taken under federal civil rights laws". A civil rights prosecution of the officers could be brought with the approval of the attorney-general if federal authorities decide the handling of the case by local authorities did not produce a just result. Justice Department officials were frustrated by the fact that the Los Angeles prosecutor who tried the case lacked experience in cases involving police brutality, said one official, who spoke on condition of anonymity. The Verdict A Case of seeing no evil The jury that brought in the acquittal of four white Los Angeles police officers on all main charges in the Rodney King beating case decided to defend the thin blue line separating the law-abiding from criminals.

Rodney KingCredit:AP Photo This was the clear message left with them by counsel for Laurence Powell, 29, the officer who administered most of the blow, and then laughed about it afterwards. His lawyer, Michael Stone, had talked emotionally of the thin blue line in his final address, leaving the jury in no doubt that there was no middle ground in the case. The result of their verdict, one clearly based on political rather than legal considerations, was to plunge Americas second largest city into violence. Rodney King, an unemployed black labourer, was the subject of the now infamous beating that was filmed by a bystander and shown on television worldwide last year. It lasted for 81 seconds and showed Mr. King prone, receiving 58 blows from batons or boots. He suffered five facial fractures, a broken leg, and had 21 stitches. He was not charged with any offences. One sergeant and three white officers were accused of assault with a deadly weapon, using unnecessary force, and abusing their authority. The hearing took a year to mount and lasted seven weeks. The jury deliberated for seven days. In a key move, the trial took place in the north Los Angeles suburb of Simi Valley, a mainly white community and home of many LA police officers. The jury, six men and six women, contained no blacks and only a Filipino and a Hispanic to represent non-whites. However, the prosecutor, himself black, agreed to this after all the potential jurors had been closely screened. Essentially the officers pleaded the Eichmann defence (named after Adolf Eichmann, the Nazi official executed for sending thousands of Jews to their deaths). They contended that they were only carrying out orders, using the "managed force" as the Los Angeles Police Department calls its policy of permitting beatings of suspects. This was backed up by senior officers, and only one superior, Commander Michael Bostic, dis-agreed. He pointed to five occasions during the video footage when officers could have ceased the beating and handcuffed Mr King. But having given the jury the loophole of "official policy", technicalities could now take priority. One such technicality was that beating about the head was forbidden. Mr King clearly had head injuries. As no medical evidence could be pinned down unequivocally that batons caused those injuries, and through, the "blue code" in which officers never incriminate each other, It was suggested that Mr King hit his head on the ground. Elements of racism were simply ignored. Despite jokes on the police radio about the film 'Gorillas in the Mist' in relation to a black domestic dispute, despite Mr Powell's recorded laughter after the beating, despite bad jokes at Mr King's expense at the hospital, despite Mr Powell calling Mr King "an animal", despite all this, the jury chose to reject any idea that race played a part. Even as he awaited the verdict, Mr Powell, the chief protagonist in the case and the defendant with the most aggressive counsel, denied that Mr King was a victim. "He is a civil lawyer's client (a reference to his SUS58 million suit against the city) and a political puppet," he declared. Again, Rodney King's humanity was denied. Was it a mistake not to put him on the witness stand? Perhaps. The prosecutor, Mr Terry White, told the jury that as Mr King was intoxicated and severely beaten, his memory of the events was not clear. There is also the fact that Mr King was a convicted felon on parole, but Mr White did not want the jury to know that. Officers claimed they thought Mr King had been taking PCP, a drug with a mythical reputation inside the LA Police Department, with claims that it grants its users "superhuman strength", as officers testified. The prosecution presented no expert to refute this, or to deal realistically with the exaggerated and wondrous tales about the drug. But given their astonishing indifference to one of the first crimes in legal history to be filmed in progress, court testimony needed only to give the jury an excuse to acquit. They said they "did their best" and in political terms, on behalf of a society traumatised by race and near-hysteria over crime, they certainly did. Most Viewed in World Loading https://www.smh.com.au/world/north-america/from-the-archives-la-under-siege-after-rodney-king-verdict-20190429-p51i8q.html?ref=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_source=rss_feed

[dwarva]

Stardew  Valley 30 Day Challenge Day 24. A Mysterious Note

The knocking door was nothing more than a formality now since Basil barked and ran at the entry way any time he heard someone approach with his ultra-sensitive hearing. So when Rae opened the door and found no one there her first instinct was to gently scold the Labrador for his enthusiasm. But as soon as the door was open he bolted out and ran off down the porch, towards the lane leading to town. He stopped at the farm's boundary, as he always did, but Rae thought she'd seen a hint of someone moving away as she peered in the distance.  

Eventually, once she saw no one was there, Basil came bounding back with his tongue hanging out cheerily. But instead of trying to run back into the warmth of the house as he'd been doing recently he headed towards the mail box and ran round it in circles, barking enthusiastically as he did.  

Just as she was about to go back to her cup of tea and cheesy romance novel, Rae noticed the red arm of the mailbox was stuck high in the air; peculiar since it was early afternoon and she was sure the mailman had already visited that morning. Abandoning all ideas of staying in the warm farmhouse she grabbed the shawl from the back of the sofa, wrapped it around her shivering body and shooed Basil away from the mailbox, reaching down to stroke him with her free hand.  

The mailbox was open just a crack, a corner of white paper sticking out. She reached out for it and immediately recognised the owners stereotypical doctor scrawl.  

"Rae, I have a surprise for you. Meet me by the railroad tracks. Harvey."

She narrowed her eyes but smiled knowingly. What was he up to? Pulling the shawl tighter around herself she snapped her fingers for Basil to come back into the house. He obeyed readily now she'd seen the note.  

Better grab my coat, she thought to herself as she thumbed the note absently.  

---

There was virtually no snow by the railroad tracks, likely because the areas was so protected against the elements by the surrounding vast mountains. Rae hadn't been up here since she'd lugged her suitcases off the train nearly a year ago. Wow, had it really been nearly a whole year she'd been in Pelican Town? So much had changed and as she thought back to the naive city slicker who'd thought that reading a book on crowing crops would prepare her for a life as a farmer she laughed softly to herself.  

Harvey's back was to her as she stood at the other side of the tracks so she enjoyed a few moments of affectionate and silent staring. He was wearing his dark winter jacket and boots but his hair was messed as though he'd just woken up. Rae longed to run her fingers through it and considered quietly sneaking up behind him and engulfing him in a hug but decided he was probably more likely to jump out of his skin than sink into her embrace.  

"Hello Mysterious Note Writer..." he turned to look at her and his face broke into a satisfied grin. His cheeks were stung pink with the cold and he wrung his hands slightly in his dark gloves then blew into them to try and warm them up.

"There you are. Just in time." She could have sworn he winked at her uncharacteristically but she giggled anyway.  

She looked at him playfully and shrugged. "What am I just in time for?" Harvey cocked his head and purposefully separated his hands, leaving them dangling awkwardly at his sides.  

He pointed up and, as he did, Rae saw a large shadow engulf the ground. "Look, here it comes." Harvey was desperately trying to sound casual and nonchalant but Rae could hear his voice hitch up an octave at the end of every sentence.  

This was not the tone of a relaxed man.  

Rae looked upwards to see what was causing the encroaching darkness but struggled to see as the sun streamed in from behind the large structure. Holding her hand up to shield her eyes she could still only see a rough shape appearing from the sky.

Harvey grabbed her hand and pulled her backwards just as a hot air balloon dropped heavily on the ground a few feet away. The mountain was suddenly in silence as the flame disappeared and the peculiar looking man in the purple suit and top hat grinned at them manically. Although Rae did fancy she could hear the thunder of Harvey's heart beating in his nervous chest.

"Marcello's Balloon Rentals at your service!" The grey beard that covered most of his face bobbed cheerily as he stretched his arms out and practically shouted at the pair. He looked like an old snake oil peddler who's default facial position was 'ecstatic'. Rae wasn't one to back down from enthusiasm but this guy was bordering on maniacal.  

Rae's eyes drifted from the peculiar little man to his transportation. A balloon ride? Rae side-eyed Harvey with scepticism and gripped onto his hand a little tighter. She'd never been on a hot air balloon before but the prospect of seeing the entire Valley made her skin tingle with anticipation. Her face cracked into a grin as the odd man launched himself out of the basket with much more poise than Rae would have guessed he was capable of. He landed on the ground in front of them with a thud.

"It's all yours for two hours. Now I was told there was a saloon around here?" He wandered off, leaving the pair standing in front of the balloon sharing slightly bemused expressions. He seemed like the sort that might drink Gus out of house and home but Rae was sure Pam would be glad of a new drinking buddy.

The balloon was navy blue with a slightly worrying large patch hastily covering one side. Rae wondered if it was prone to punctures but decided highlighting that to Harvey might not be a wise choice. He led her towards the basket with the large M on the site and they both peered inside to see a slightly open picnic basket that seemed to hold a bottle of champagne and two flutes.  

"I saw an ad in the paper for these balloon rides and I know I had to surprise you with one." Rae thought back to a month before where she'd mentioned wanting to see the whole area as a bird did; she hadn't even thought Harvey had been paying attention but here they were, about to see the whole town from the sky. Her eyes began to sparkle with tears so she took a gulp of cold air to steel herself and chewed on her lip.

Harvey's expression and tight grip on her hand betrayed his own teetering emotional state. She stroked his fingers with hers as the wind whipped at the balloon and made it gently sway from side to side in the valley. "....but aren't you afraid of heights?" She asked, remembering Harvey's admission that it was one of the many reasons he'd never be a pilot. She looked at him sadly, a tinge of guilt that she might have hurt his feelings by voicing her concern.  

"I am....yeah." He started straight ahead at the basked and ran the fingers of his free hand over the top. She was sure he'd be wringing his hands if she hadn't been holding one. "But I'm determined not to let that stop me from doing what I want and experiencing this with you."

The tears in Rae's eyes threatened even harder and she swallowed a lump that was forming in her throat. "Courage isn't being fearless Harvey; its doing things even though you're scared."

"I'll try not to be scared." He reassured her and he lifted his leg over the side of the basket and vaulted in with one arm. Rae almost laughed at the shock of him managing it with ease and stretched her own leg over the basket and held on to one of the ropes. But she judged the swing badly and her boot caught on the side of the rope, causing her to tumble into the basket in an inelegant heap.  

She grimaced at Harvey, her cheeks dark with embarrassment. He reached down for her and pulled her up close to him where she stared into a mixture of worry and affection. "Maybe I should fall over more often if this is where it ends up." She gave him a suggestive raised eye but his nerves were clearly taking over. He looked around and up towards the balloon itself.  

"Do you know how to fly one of these?" She asked. He nodded. Perhaps she should have asked if he'd ever actually been in one before but worried it would come across as distrust. She knew he wouldn't be doing this unless he was absolutely certain and had assessed many potential outcomes. So predictable her man.

Harvey pulled the cord, the flame grew in the balloon and the basket began to lift from the ground. It shook gently and Rae watched Harvey's own shaking grow more violent. She wrapped her hand around his and offered him her most reassuring smile. It worked for about a half a second but he looked down and terror filled his face. She pulled him in closer and wrapped herself around him. "Don't worry..." she whispered into his ear as they rose higher in the pink sky and the world began to fall away beneath their feet.  

The climb was steady and, before long, they were high above the town just below the clouds. Rae looked down at the town, her hand still tight in Harvey's, but leaned over the edge for a better look. Harvey's face turned ever paler as Rae's steps tipped the basket a little and eventually he pulled her back.

"We....we're up so high." Rae could hear him gulp in his throat and leaned back to be closer to him. He snuggled into her and she felt his whole body shake with fear. "I wanted to impress you but look at me I'm a trembling coward." His breath was ragged and his chest heaved. There was nothing even hinting at enjoyment in his expression. His eyes fell and he ruffled his moustache as the balloon swept slightly to the left and rose with the irregular gusts of wind.  

"You are not a trembling coward." Rae insisted. She turned him to look at her and stared hard at him. Did he realise how important it was he'd even tried this? Even stepped into the basket in the first place?  

Enclosed spaces, thought Rae. That was what made her as afraid as Harvey was right now. She remembered the time she'd locked herself in the pen closet when she worked at Joja and how she'd been a crying, quivering mess by the time her colleagues had found her only a few minutes later. The emotions didn't leave as soon as the door was open, they'd stayed with her a long time afterwards and caused nightmare upon nightmare. Harvey was smart enough to consider this as a possibility and by doing this, despite his fear, Rae knew this was a bigger achievement than he was giving himself credit for.  

He looked at her deep breathing and echoed it. He recognised that she was trying to calm him and closed his eyes tightly to focus on his inhales and exhales. A few deep breaths later and his chest was rising and falling more regularly. "Well you've got more than enough courage to make up for me Rae. That's....that's part of why I like you."  

She wrapped a hand around his waist and pulled him into her side so he could feel her chest move with his. A tiny smile broke on his lips. "OK I'm going to open my eyes and look down....don't let go of my hand."

"Never."  

His eyes opened carefully and when he realised how close he was to the side of the basket he jumped back and began to shake again as his eyes tightened again. Rae wanted to shush him and hug him in close but knew that he wanted to face the fear instead of falling into her familiar embrace. "Breathe Harvey." She whispered into his ear, willing him to relax.  

"I think I can do it now." And he opened his eyes once more and stared at the coral coloured sky with the slowly setting sun dipping below the mountains. His bottom lip trembled still but his breathing was regulated again. They looked down and could see the waters of the lakes and ocean all interlinking and forming a beautiful blue walkway through the town. The buildings and trees looked like models from so high up and Rae bristled with happiness at the sight of everything from such a height. This was far better than she could ever have expected. Harvey looked down and, although his knuckles were probably white with fear under his gloves as they gripped onto Rae's increasingly pained hand, he was looking more and more keen to actually see the sights.  

As he took a further step forward he lunged back as a flock of white birds flew by the balloon, honking into the evening sky. He glared at them with fear but soon realised they weren't keen on coming towards the balloon. He looked at her with adoration.

"Well Harvey, what do you think?" Rae asked tentatively.  

"Hey, this is incredible." Colour started to return to his face. "I think I can see Mayor Lewis standing in the town square." Rae looked down and could see the Mayor standing outside in the snow chatting to what looked like Marnie. After a few moments she and Harvey watched as the pair suddenly seemed to merge together and seemed to be...hugging? As realisation hit about what they were doing Rae began to cackle into her scarf.  

"Oh Mayor Lewis you dog..." she laughed. Harvey smiled and shook his head gently as he pulled his glove back over his wrist.  

"Oh dear, our time's almost up." Harvey seemed genuinely disappointed as he continued to look at the town over the side of the basket. He looked at her as though he was struggling to find the courage to say something so Rae smiled at him patiently. "Um Rae, we've known each other a while now and...I....er...."  

How was he still struggling to tell her how he thought, mused Rae. He knew she liked him. She knew he liked her. She knew she loved him. It all seemed so clear to her. And as he leaned in to kiss her she tilted her head slightly as her lips nearly touched his ear and whispered.  

"I love you Harvey. You don't need to say it back but it's important to me that you know that I do." She felt his chest still as he held his breath. She didn't give him the chance to respond as she touched her lips to his, the kiss starting tentatively but progressing into a tight embrace as the pair clung to one another as it increased in heat. Rae's hand travelled further downwards as she felt the basket sway under their feet. The frigid evening air was the only thing stopping her from undressing him and taking him right there on the basket floor. As she pulled back she could see a similar desire burned in his eyes. Instead she pressed her hips into his and ravaged his mouth with her own again.

For now they'd have to settle for that, but the emerging blaze between the two confirmed what Rae had long suspected. She wanted every single part of Harvey; to be as close to him as one person could be with another. She desperately hoped he felt the same.  

[deannawads]

Meet Michael from MURDER MOST LOVELY, a book co-written by Hank Edwards & ME!

I’m so excited to officially announce that Hank Edwards and I wrote a book together!!!

It will be coming out early next year! It’s entitled:

MURDER MOST LOVELY

Lacetown Murder Mysteries: Case One

It’s weird and awesome how things turn out sometimes, and when you least expect it. I’m so happy that I’ve had the chance to go on this fabulous journey with the super talented Hank Edwards. Writing with him has been so effortless that it’s a bit surreal. Our styles mesh so well, sometimes I can’t remember which of us wrote what sentence LOL

It all started on February 3, 2018 at 9:26 PM, I sent Hank these DMs on Facebook:

“Full disclosure: I’m drinking tonight lol…..but I think we should write a book together #justsayin”

“It would be EPIC!”

Hank thought it would be epic fun too, though he’d never co-authored a book together. I have, though it still remains unpublished. I’ve long been a fan of Hank’s books and our humor is so similar, I thought it seemed like a grand idea to co-write something together.

And it wasn’t just the whisky talking LOL.

We both belong to the Michigan LGBTQ Writers—though I’m the Michigan-born Ohio-raised exception in the group, and we see each other often at local Pride events. We always have a ton of fun when we are together, so I assumed we would easily be able to write together.

But what to write?

That it would be a gay romance was a no-brainer, but the sub-genres were endless. We’ve both written YA, historical, contemporary and paranormal, so our options were broad to say the least. I suggested even writing a book based off Billy Joel’s song Uptown Girl and calling to Uptown Boy, LOL

Through a few more chats, Hank had this pearl:

“I think, just knowing our writing styles, we could write the ever-loving fuck out of a contemporary rom-com. What do you think?”

Well, I totally agreed!

So with a genre decided, we needed a game plan. Thinking we should come up with a central setting, I spewed off a laundry list of settings—gay bar, funeral parlor, casino, a sexy house cleaning service with happy endings, a real comic book super hero. Hank narrowed it down and I loved the idea!

“Hello! And I like the idea of a central setting. Would be awesome if it became a series. I like your suggestions, and I think the beauty salon idea is great since you’ve got some really good knowledge about that area. I know nothing about it, but funeral parlor really jumped out at me and made me laugh. What about a beauty salon AND a funeral home in a small Midwest town, like OH or MI? Like, would someone from the beauty shop be hired to work on the bodies at the local funeral home?”

  And so MURDER MOST LOVELY was born….

  We have had a blast writing our Lacetown Murder Mysteries that we would like to involve you in a part of our writing process. With our setting decided, we needed to create our mortician and our hairdresser. I thought it would be good if we each just created one character then we put them together and see what happens. Though my day job is a cosmetologist, Hank created our hairdresser hero and I happily made up the mortician.

It was so much fun making up a character then sending it off to Hank as I excitedly waited to see whom he had created. It was almost like I was a matchmaker for my character but I had no idea who Hank was sending on his blind date!

  Meet Michael Fleishman, age 42

  Michael is a mortician who runs the Fleishman Funeral Parlor in Lacetown, Michigan, and he has been the county coroner for 13 years. He is quiet and awkward Jewish man, and he doesn’t date a lot or have many fiends besides his gregarious grandpa who still calls him Mikey, and his fat black-and-white tabby cat Mr. Pickles Furryton the Third—the latter goes with him to the funeral parlor every day.

I envisioned Michael looking like a geeky version of Luke Wilson, but with glasses. He is fastidious in his attire, and always polite yet very reserved. He’s awkward in his own skin, but as we all know, still waters run deep. That’s why I made Michael a Virgo, the most uptight of all horoscope signs IMO, but also the biggest freak between the sheets. Which you can imagine, led to some fun options for our—at the time—unwritten MSS.

Michael is an avid mystery reader and often fantasizes about solving a mystery like his favorite fictional character Brock Hammer. Not that such a thing would ever happen in the sleepy Lake Michigan village of Lacetown. The most exciting case Michael’s ever been called on to work was when Mrs. Briarwood caught her husband in bed with Abigail Smithers from the Marathon Station, and shot him with a crossbow in the scrotum.

  Please enjoy the first half of chapter one of MURDER MOST LOVELY—Lacetown Murder Mysteries Case One. For the second half of the chapter and a chance to learn how Hank created Michael’s soon-to-be paramour visit this link: https://www.hankedwardsbooks.com/2018/10/06/murder-most-lovely/

Murder Most Lovely

Lacetown Murder Mysteries: Case One

  Chapter One

Mr. Pickles will be so excited when I get home, Michael Fleishman thought.

Well, he wasn’t really sure if the taciturn cat would care if he had ten of his Brock Hammer novels signed by the author, but Michael would be excited.

He parked his tan Camry in the last available angled parking space on Main Street, unable to believe his luck finding a place to park. He ordinarily would’ve walked, living so close, but he wouldn’t risk getting any of his paperbacks or the two hardcovers wet in the rain.

Lacetown was crowded for the Great Lakes Literary Fest. Today was the first day of the three day festival, and sadly the tail end of a late-spring storm front. The festival kicked off the busy tourist season for their lakeside village and, despite the rain, the streets were busy with fans and visitors hunched under umbrellas visiting all the authors at the afternoon signing event. The lesser-known authors were trying to stay dry under tents in the town square, but most of the big name authors had been moved indoors for their signings, the bars and restaurants serving as makeshift bookstores.

And in Michael’s mind, there weren’t many big names in fiction that he wanted to meet more than Russell Withingham.

He’d checked the festival website before leaving the house and knew Mr. Withingham would be inside Kelsey’s Bar & Grill. There was a small line forming outside already so Michael grabbed his bag of books and his umbrella, and then hurried to join them.

A woman he didn’t recognize in line in front of him smiled and he nodded politely. There were always strange faces in their little Lake Michigan lakeside town during the summer. Tourists mostly, and this weekend literary fans.

The crashing sound of waves drew Michael’s attention behind him. Main Street ended at Route 412 and on the other side a boardwalk overlooking their unswimmable portion of Lake Michigan. Large waves crested, crashing in places over the spacious boardwalk stretching the length of town. He spied a few unfortunate tourists who didn’t have the wherewithal to see the obvious safety hazard of being out there when the lake was unhappy.

Hoping no one would be hurt, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and tried to keep his umbrella from poking the lady’s in front of him. Fleishman Funeral Home only had gigantic golf umbrellas for services, and he was glad for it when the rain picked up and a gust blew mist onto his glasses. He shoved them in his front shirt pocket, knowing there would be no use keeping them clean until he was inside.

“Shit, I thought this rain was supposed to let up this afternoon,” a deep masculine voice from behind Michael said.

Michael turned and drew up short.

“Whoa there, pal, you could take an eye out with that thing.”

For a heartbeat Michael froze and just stared.

The man in line behind him had a long face and wheat colored hair swept back from a low brow and into a ponytail. Eyes the color of cognac had just enough sparkle to make Michael smile and conjure thoughts of mischief and long summer romances.

And you’re staring at him like a ninny!

Michael hastily stepped back so as to not poke the gorgeous man in the eye with his umbrella. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, watch it,” the lady in front of him snapped. “You’re soaking me!”

Michael jumped when he realized his big umbrella had slipped beneath hers and was funneling water right onto her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, stepping back the other way.

“Whoa, whoa,” ponytail guy said again, reaching up to take hold of the eye-level pin on Michael’s umbrella. “How about I just join you?” And then he stepped under the huge umbrella with Michael.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Michael managed, squirming a little. “There’s plenty of room.”

The man used both hands to brush a few wayward strands of blond hair off his face, his tanned skin glistening from the rain. He wore a ring on a long well-manicured index finger. Smiling, he held out a hand. “I’m Jazz Dilworth.”

What a strange name. Sounds like something in a mystery novel.

He quickly shook the proffered hand. “Michael Fleishman.”

Jazz flipped a thumb behind him. “I work across the street at Misty’s Makeover Palace.” He furrowed tidy brows. “Fleishman, like the funeral parlor?”

“Eew,” the lady in front of him said with a distinct Valley Girl attitude.

Michael maintained his polite mortician smile. Sadly, he was used to the reaction.

Hence his lackluster love life.

Expecting Jazz to make some equally grossed out remark and leave the safety of the umbrella, Michael looked back at him.

But Jazz was smiling, his white teeth radiant and even. “That explains the planet-sized umbrella. Only ever see those at funerals and on golf courses.”

Michael’s facial muscles softened, and the smile he gave Jazz was more genuine, relaxed. “Yeah, they come in handy.”

Jazz grinned, “I bet they do.”

This man was gorgeous. He had to be younger than Michael. But more importantly, he had the potential for being gay since he was a hairdresser. Well aware of his stereotyping, Michael was nonetheless hopeful.

Michael wasn’t the best flirt, but sharing an umbrella with an attractive man in front of a bar acting as a makeshift bookstore felt like the opening of a rom-com, so he was ready to give it the ol’ college try.

“Are you a fan of the Brock Hammer novels too?” he asked, glad his glasses were in his pocket. Jazz stood so close Michael didn’t even need them to clearly see his handsome face.

Jazz scoffed. “Used to be.”

“Oh.” Michael’s heart fell. So much for common interests. “Did you know this line is to meet him?”

“I know, all right. The fucker’s been ducking my calls for weeks.”

Michael flinched at the man’s crass remark. “You know Russell Withingham?”

“Married to him,” Jazz said. “Separated.”

So he is gay… Michael shook his head. “Wait, what?”

Those warm brown eyes met his, and Jazz smiled. “Separated,” he said again. “Permanently. He’s supposed to still be making my car payment, and I just got a call from the bank. He hasn’t made the last two payments.”

Michael didn’t know if he was more disappointed to find out his favorite author was a jerk, or excited to know the man under his umbrella was gay and single.

Well, possibly single.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael offered.

Jazz shrugged. “Nothing for you to be sorry for,” he quipped. “In fact, I should be thanking you for sharing your umbrella with me. Nothing worse than running into an ex with your hair all soaking wet, looking like a hot mess. I wanna look good when I tell him off. You know, make him regret losing me.”

Michael couldn’t help his involuntary head-to-toe sweep of Jazz’s solid body. Any man who would give up all that hunkiness had to be nuts.

Oh the things Michael would do with him if he could. I’d drip hot candle wax on each of his nipples while I rode….

Awkward, Michael cleared his throat when he realized Jazz was staring right at him. Michael’s face heated. Thankfully the guy couldn’t read his thoughts. “I’m sure he’ll regret it. You look great.”

Jazz’s grin widened and he tugged a little on the vest he wore over a white V-neck T-shirt. “Thanks.”

Still feeling warm in the face—among other places now—Michael smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

“I used to love Russell’s books. Was totally a fan girl.” Jazz leaned in and spoke softly. “The first dozen were great, now they’re crap, if you don’t mind my saying.”

While Jazz was only whispering closely so the other fans might not hear, Michael relished his nearness. “Yeah, that’s why I only brought the first ten to get signed.”

“Ten?” Jazz’s brows shot up.

He worried his upper lip. “Is that too many?”

Jazz laughed, a free, easy sound. “Oh, Russ will be thrilled. Trust me.”

Granted Russell Withingham might be a bad husband, but Michael loved his books and didn’t want to annoy the man.

Looking for something to discuss besides Jazz’s ex, Michael said, “Your boss Misty does work for me sometimes. She took care of one of my clients for her funeral yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She doesn’t like it,” Michael confessed.

“I know,” Jazz agreed. “I heard all about it.”

“You did?” He had no idea Misty disliked styling his clients so much that she might be complaining about it.

“Yeah, creeps her out,” Jazz said. “I don’t know why. You stay in this business long enough, eventually you get a call to give a client their last doo. I don’t know where they’re going in the next life, but I’ll be damned if any of my clients get to the other side with their hair a wreck.”

“You’ve cared for the deceased before?” Michael asked, pleasantly surprised. Most people were freaked out by what he did for a living. Running the largest funeral parlor in the county, and being appointed County Coroner, should have brought him prestige and respectability, and he supposed it did in some circles. But working with dead people left most folks unsettled, rather than endearing anyone to him.

“Sure,” Jazz said with a casual shrug. “I don’t see the big deal.”

Grinning wide, Michael fished in his pocket for the leather business card holder he never left the house without. He flipped it open and withdrew a card. “If you’d like some extra work, I’d love to have you.” He heard how that sounded, and quickly added, “Um, have you do some styling for me. I mean, for my clients.”

Jazz smiled as he took the card. “I know what you meant. And Misty will be thrilled.” Then he dug in his front pocket, the jeans just tight enough in all the right places, that when his hand filled the denim it accentuated his nice package. “Here’s my card. You can get my references from Misty, if you want.”

Michael was still smiling as he took the card and carefully placed it into his card holder. “I’m sure that you’re more than qualified. You said you’ve been in the business a while.”

“Knocking on thirty years.”

Michael scoffed. “Did you start in preschool?”

“Hardly,” Jazz laughed. “A good hair colorist and access to the finest beauty products all culminate for the perfect illusion.” He leaned in. “I’m forty-one.”

“Me too,” Michael said. “But you don’t look a day over thirty-one.”

Jazz put his hand on his chest. “Oh, you flatter me.”

The line inched closer to the door.

“Jazz, is that a nickname?”

“Short for Jasper. I can be a little jazzy, and I love music, so there you go. But I can’t play or read music.”

“Me neither. No artistic talent whatsoever.”

Jazz frowned. “Your work has a bit of art to it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m rubbish with the hair. That’s why I need Misty for my female clients.”

“Good thing you met me today.”

Now he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. Good thing.”

Far too soon for Michael’s liking, they reached the door and stepped inside. He had to close and shake off his umbrella, which sadly ended whatever private and possibly flirtatious moment he’d been sharing with the gorgeous Jazz.

Jazz scanned the bar, jaw set.

Helping him out, Michael pointed to the back corner, where a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, a black velour blazer, and burgundy ascot sat behind a table with mounds of books. “He’s over there.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said, his shoulders relaxing. He gestured to Michael’s umbrella. “Mind if I hold that till I get up there?”

Michael realized Jazz wanted it to hide from his ex until he got closer. And while not wanting to get involved, Michael liked the idea of having a chance to spend more time conversing.

Jazz held the umbrella over one shoulder and turned so it blocked his profile from Russell’s view. Michael stood behind Jazz and watched as drops of rain ran down the side of his neck. He longed to let his tongue follow the rain down beneath the neck of Jazz’s T-shirt. But that wasn’t something he did, and not only because he was a Lacetown business owner. He needed to work on relaxing and letting go of his inhibitions. At least that’s what all his exes had told him. One even went so far as saying Michael’s clients had more warmth than him.

Ouch.

“So you’ve lived here all your life?”

Michael blinked. “What? Oh. Here in Lacetown?”

Jazz grinned. “No, here in the bar.”

A blush heated Michael’s cheeks. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“I like that.”

“What?”

“Woolgathering. It’s not used that often anymore. I like it.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you. And, yes, I was born and raised here.” Michael cleared his throat and looked away, then back. The bag of books suddenly seemed very heavy, and he switched shoulders. Jazz held his gaze, warm brown eyes locked onto Michael’s.

“So what happened between you two?” The words were out before Michael could run them through his mental filter to see if they were appropriate.

Jazz’s forehead furrowed. “Me and Russell?”

Panic zinged through Michael. “I’m sorry. That was a very personal question, and we just met. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jazz took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Russell likes his side dishes.”

“Side dishes?” Candied yams popped into Michael’s mind.

“You know.” Jazz glanced at the woman in front of them who seemed to be leaning back and listening. He moved fast, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her forward and away from them as he said, “Careful there. Looked like you were about to tip over. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before you get to meet Russell Withingham.”

“Oh, no… I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…” The woman’s cheeks flushed and she took a step forward.

“There you go.” Jazz turned back to Michael with a grin. “Where was I?”

  READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER HERE: https://www.hankedwardsbooks.com/2018/10/06/murder-most-lovely/

Then scroll down to win two ebooks!

Make sure you enter our Raffelcopter giveaway below for a chance to win a copy of my 1Night Stand book TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE and Hank’s mobster story HIRED MUSCLE

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Chapter One

  Mr. Pickles will be so excited when I get home, Michael Fleishman thought.

Well, he wasn’t really sure if the taciturn cat would care if he had ten of his Brock Hammer novels signed by the author, but Michael would be excited.

He parked his tan Camry in the last available angled parking space on Main Street, unable to believe his luck finding a place to park. He ordinarily would’ve walked, living so close, but he wouldn’t risk getting any of his paperbacks or the two hardcovers wet in the rain.

Lacetown was crowded for the Great Lakes Literary Fest. Today was the first day of the three day festival, and sadly the tail end of a late-spring storm front. The festival kicked off the busy tourist season for their lakeside village and, despite the rain, the streets were busy with fans and visitors hunched under umbrellas visiting all the authors at the afternoon signing event. The lesser-known authors were trying to stay dry under tents in the town square, but most of the big name authors had been moved indoors for their signings, the bars and restaurants serving as makeshift bookstores.

And in Michael’s mind, there weren’t many big names in fiction that he wanted to meet more than Russell Withingham.

He’d checked the festival website before leaving the house and knew Mr. Withingham would be inside Kelsey’s Bar & Grill. There was a small line forming outside already so Michael grabbed his bag of books and his umbrella, and then hurried to join them.

A woman he didn’t recognize in line in front of him smiled and he nodded politely. There were always strange faces in their little Lake Michigan lakeside town during the summer. Tourists mostly, and this weekend literary fans.

The crashing sound of waves drew Michael’s attention behind him. Main Street ended at Route 412 and on the other side a boardwalk overlooking their unswimmable portion of Lake Michigan. Large waves crested, crashing in places over the spacious boardwalk stretching the length of town. He spied a few unfortunate tourists who didn’t have the wherewithal to see the obvious safety hazard of being out there when the lake was unhappy.

Hoping no one would be hurt, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and tried to keep his umbrella from poking the lady’s in front of him. Fleishman Funeral Home only had gigantic golf umbrellas for services, and he was glad for it when the rain picked up and a gust blew mist onto his glasses. He shoved them in his front shirt pocket, knowing there would be no use keeping them clean until he was inside.

“Shit, I thought this rain was supposed to let up this afternoon,” a deep masculine voice from behind Michael said.

Michael turned and drew up short.

“Whoa there, pal, you could take an eye out with that thing.”

For a heartbeat Michael froze and just stared.

The man in line behind him had a long face and wheat colored hair swept back from a low brow and into a ponytail. Eyes the color of cognac had just enough sparkle to make Michael smile and conjure thoughts of mischief and long summer romances.

And you’re staring at him like a ninny!

Michael hastily stepped back so as to not poke the gorgeous man in the eye with his umbrella. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, watch it,” the lady in front of him snapped. “You’re soaking me!”

Michael jumped when he realized his big umbrella had slipped beneath hers and was funneling water right onto her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, stepping back the other way.

“Whoa, whoa,” ponytail guy said again, reaching up to take hold of the eye-level pin on Michael’s umbrella. “How about I just join you?” And then he stepped under the huge umbrella with Michael.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Michael managed, squirming a little. “There’s plenty of room.”

The man used both hands to brush a few wayward strands of blond hair off his face, his tanned skin glistening from the rain. He wore a ring on a long well-manicured index finger. Smiling, he held out a hand. “I’m Jazz Dilworth.”

What a strange name. Sounds like something in a mystery novel.

He quickly shook the proffered hand. “Michael Fleishman.”

Jazz flipped a thumb behind him. “I work across the street at Misty’s Makeover Palace.” He furrowed tidy brows. “Fleishman, like the funeral parlor?”

“Eew,” the lady in front of him said with a distinct Valley Girl attitude.

Michael maintained his polite mortician smile. Sadly, he was used to the reaction.

Hence his lackluster love life.

Expecting Jazz to make some equally grossed out remark and leave the safety of the umbrella, Michael looked back at him.

But Jazz was smiling, his white teeth radiant and even. “That explains the planet-sized umbrella. Only ever see those at funerals and on golf courses.”

Michael’s facial muscles softened, and the smile he gave Jazz was more genuine, relaxed. “Yeah, they come in handy.”

Jazz grinned, “I bet they do.”

This man was gorgeous. He had to be younger than Michael. But more importantly, he had the potential for being gay since he was a hairdresser. Well aware of his stereotyping, Michael was nonetheless hopeful.

Michael wasn’t the best flirt, but sharing an umbrella with an attractive man in front of a bar acting as a makeshift bookstore felt like the opening of a rom-com, so he was ready to give it the ol’ college try.

“Are you a fan of the Brock Hammer novels too?” he asked, glad his glasses were in his pocket. Jazz stood so close Michael didn’t even need them to clearly see his handsome face.

Jazz scoffed. “Used to be.”

“Oh.” Michael’s heart fell. So much for common interests. “Did you know this line is to meet him?”

“I know, all right. The fucker’s been ducking my calls for weeks.”

Michael flinched at the man’s crass remark. “You know Russell Withingham?”

“Married to him,” Jazz said. “Separated.”

So he is gay… Michael shook his head. “Wait, what?”

Those warm brown eyes met his, and Jazz smiled. “Separated,” he said again. “Permanently. He’s supposed to still be making my car payment, and I just got a call from the bank. He hasn’t made the last two payments.”

Michael didn’t know if he was more disappointed to find out his favorite author was a jerk, or excited to know the man under his umbrella was gay and single.

Well, possibly single.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael offered.

Jazz shrugged. “Nothing for you to be sorry for,” he quipped. “In fact, I should be thanking you for sharing your umbrella with me. Nothing worse than running into an ex with your hair all soaking wet, looking like a hot mess. I wanna look good when I tell him off. You know, make him regret losing me.”

Michael couldn’t help his involuntary head-to-toe sweep of Jazz’s solid body. Any man who would give up all that hunkiness had to be nuts.

Oh the things Michael would do with him if he could. I’d drip hot candle wax on each of his nipples while I rode….

Awkward, Michael cleared his throat when he realized Jazz was staring right at him. Michael’s face heated. Thankfully the guy couldn’t read his thoughts. “I’m sure he’ll regret it. You look great.”

Jazz’s grin widened and he tugged a little on the vest he wore over a white V-neck T-shirt. “Thanks.”

Still feeling warm in the face—among other places now—Michael smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

“I used to love Russell’s books. Was totally a fan girl.” Jazz leaned in and spoke softly. “The first dozen were great, now they’re crap, if you don’t mind my saying.”

While Jazz was only whispering closely so the other fans might not hear, Michael relished his nearness. “Yeah, that’s why I only brought the first ten to get signed.”

“Ten?” Jazz’s brows shot up.

He worried his upper lip. “Is that too many?”

Jazz laughed, a free, easy sound. “Oh, Russ will be thrilled. Trust me.”

Granted Russell Withingham might be a bad husband, but Michael loved his books and didn’t want to annoy the man.

Looking for something to discuss besides Jazz’s ex, Michael said, “Your boss Misty does work for me sometimes. She took care of one of my clients for her funeral yesterday.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“She doesn’t like it,” Michael confessed.

“I know,” Jazz agreed. “I heard all about it.”

“You did?” He had no idea Misty disliked styling his clients so much that she might be complaining about it.

“Yeah, creeps her out,” Jazz said. “I don’t know why. You stay in this business long enough, eventually you get a call to give a client their last doo. I don’t know where they’re going in the next life, but I’ll be damned if any of my clients get to the other side with their hair a wreck.”

“You’ve cared for the deceased before?” Michael asked, pleasantly surprised. Most people were freaked out by what he did for a living. Running the largest funeral parlor in the county, and being appointed County Coroner, should have brought him prestige and respectability, and he supposed it did in some circles. But working with dead people left most folks unsettled, rather than endearing anyone to him.

“Sure,” Jazz said with a casual shrug. “I don’t see the big deal.”

Grinning wide, Michael fished in his pocket for the leather business card holder he never left the house without. He flipped it open and withdrew a card. “If you’d like some extra work, I’d love to have you.” He heard how that sounded, and quickly added, “Um, have you do some styling for me. I mean, for my clients.”

Jazz smiled as he took the card. “I know what you meant. And Misty will be thrilled.” Then he dug in his front pocket, the jeans just tight enough in all the right places, that when his hand filled the denim it accentuated his nice package. “Here’s my card. You can get my references from Misty, if you want.”

Michael was still smiling as he took the card and carefully placed it into his card holder. “I’m sure that you’re more than qualified. You said you’ve been in the business a while.”

“Knocking on thirty years.”

Michael scoffed. “Did you start in preschool?”

“Hardly,” Jazz laughed. “A good hair colorist and access to the finest beauty products all culminate for the perfect illusion.” He leaned in. “I’m forty-one.”

“Me too,” Michael said. “But you don’t look a day over thirty-one.”

Jazz put his hand on his chest. “Oh, you flatter me.”

The line inched closer to the door.

“Jazz, is that a nickname?”

“Short for Jasper. I can be a little jazzy, and I love music, so there you go. But I can’t play or read music.”

“Me neither. No artistic talent whatsoever.”

Jazz frowned. “Your work has a bit of art to it.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m rubbish with the hair. That’s why I need Misty for my female clients.”

“Good thing you met me today.”

Now he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. Good thing.”

Far too soon for Michael’s liking, they reached the door and stepped inside. He had to close and shake off his umbrella, which sadly ended whatever private and possibly flirtatious moment he’d been sharing with the gorgeous Jazz.

Jazz scanned the bar, jaw set.

Helping him out, Michael pointed to the back corner, where a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, a black velour blazer, and burgundy ascot sat behind a table with mounds of books. “He’s over there.”

“Thanks,” Jazz said, his shoulders relaxing. He gestured to Michael’s umbrella. “Mind if I hold that till I get up there?”

Michael realized Jazz wanted it to hide from his ex until he got closer. And while not wanting to get involved, Michael liked the idea of having a chance to spend more time conversing.

Jazz held the umbrella over one shoulder and turned so it blocked his profile from Russell’s view. Michael stood behind Jazz and watched as drops of rain ran down the side of his neck. He longed to let his tongue follow the rain down beneath the neck of Jazz’s T-shirt. But that wasn’t something he did, and not only because he was a Lacetown business owner. He needed to work on relaxing and letting go of his inhibitions. At least that’s what all his exes had told him. One even went so far as saying Michael’s clients had more warmth than him.

Ouch.

“So you’ve lived here all your life?”

Michael blinked. “What? Oh. Here in Lacetown?”

Jazz grinned. “No, here in the bar.”

A blush heated Michael’s cheeks. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“I like that.”

“What?”

“Woolgathering. It’s not used that often anymore. I like it.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you. And, yes, I was born and raised here.” Michael cleared his throat and looked away, then back. The bag of books suddenly seemed very heavy, and he switched shoulders. Jazz held his gaze, warm brown eyes locked onto Michael’s.

“So what happened between you two?” The words were out before Michael could run them through his mental filter to see if they were appropriate.

Jazz’s forehead furrowed. “Me and Russell?”

Panic zinged through Michael. “I’m sorry. That was a very personal question, and we just met. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jazz took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Russell likes his side dishes.”

“Side dishes?” Candied yams popped into Michael’s mind.

“You know.” Jazz glanced at the woman in front of them who seemed to be leaning back and listening. He moved fast, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her forward and away from them as he said, “Careful there. Looked like you were about to tip over. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before you get to meet Russell Withingham.”

“Oh, no… I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…” The woman’s cheeks flushed and she took a step forward.

“There you go.” Jazz turned back to Michael with a grin. “Where was I?”

  ****To read the rest of the chapter and learn more about Jazz, go to HankEdwardsBooks.com****

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from Meet Michael from MURDER MOST LOVELY, a book co-written by Hank Edwards & ME!

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How does one so technologically challenged manage to pull this off? Well, first off I would disagree with “technologically challenged” (come on) and second it was actually straight forward. I just had to spend a concerted amount of time learning what I needed to know about basic computer, web, and programming technology as well as modern technology trends and advanced concepts. 

This course is an accelerated path designed to get you to “I get it” and finally start communicating correctly & effectively about technology.

Full details Better understand the fundamentals of how programming works Understand the fundamentals of how computers work and how that relates to modern web technology Choose what programming language and path they want to pursue in their career Understand and apply the 8 basic concepts of programming Evaluate, install, and modify any content management system Understand world technology trends like responsive design, pair programming, PaaS systems, and the growth of APIs Make a decision about what technology and ecosystem interests you Correctly understand and apply the concept of a programming framework Call out your friends for not knowing the difference between a framework, library, and IDE (they’ll love you) Communicate with others about technology in a way that doesn’t immediately give away your inexperience Impress your friends during drinks with random factoids about Bill Gates & Steve Jobs Finally understand the reason Comcast keeps billing you $29.99

Full details Anyone interested in learning how to program that is already struggling or intimidated by the process Anyone who wants to better communicate with development teams they work with Anyone who wants to hire, vet, & manage developers more effectively Anyone who is simply interested in getting an in depth understanding of modern web & mobile technology trends

Full details

Reviews:

“So good! I’ve absolutely tried to quit programming before and quit many many times. Go through this course! Evan’s fantastic dead-pan humor and bite-sized videos are perfect for understanding coding before diving in.” (Akash Thakkar)

“It covers lots of important concept in this course! But Evan, it’s fine you try to re-use all the previous content you have made, just please organize them better and show those content you mentioned you would show in the next lecture and also make the quiz’s questions consistent with the lecture you talked in the section? Thanks.” (Steffi Li)

“I learned a little BASIC on my TRS-80 decades ago and then life got in the way of learning programming. 40+ years later, trying to learn programming again, I was totally lost, perhaps worse off than a total newbie. Evan’s course organized my thinking much like my financial planner did and now I have an idea of how to plot a path through the forest of all these different aspects of using a computer. I can now avoid totally wasting my time when I look at a catalog of courses because I now know kind of what the end game of learning development skills looks like. Just learning some of the nomenclature was extremely helpful.” (Larry Shepkowski)

  About Instructor:

Evan Kimbrell

Hi, I’m Evan Kimbrell. Thanks for checking out my course. Currently, I’m the Founder and Director of Sprintkick, a full-service, referral-based digital agency based out of San Francisco. Over the past four years I’ve overseen the development and launch of over 100 web and mobile apps. Clients range from two-man bootstrapping startups to multibillion dollar Fortune 100s like Wal-Mart, Dick’s Sporting Goods, and GNC. Prior to Sprintkick I worked as a VC for a new firm called Juvo Capital, based out of L.A. I spearheaded the firm’s expansion into Silicon Valley and into the Consumer Web tech category. In the long long ago, I was a co-founder for an educational software startup called ScholarPRO that raised a ton of money and then spectacularly blew up (in the bad way). Before it exploded like the Death Star, I went through five tech incubators (yes, five): Tech Stars, Excelerate Labs, MassChallenge, Babson Venture Program, and Sparkseed. I’m an avid Airbnb host for the Fisherman’s Wharf district of San Francisco. My space has the #1 search ranking for my area, has hosted over 200+ people, and is currently booking out 18 months in advance. I’ve helped multiple hosts get their properties listed and their prices per night maximized. Results range from an extra +50% in price for established hosts and +400% for brand new hosts. Hope you enjoy my courses!

Instructor Other Courses:

Become a Growth Marketer: Learn Growth Marketing & Get a Job Evan Kimbrell, Founder of Sprintkick | Ex-VC | Ex-startup founder (293) $10 $195 Become a Product Manager | Learn the Skills & Get the Job Intro to Entrepreneurship: Get started as an Entrepreneur …………………………………………………………… Evan Kimbrell coupons Development course coupon Udemy Development course coupon Programming Languages course coupon Udemy Programming Languages course coupon Pre-Programming: Everything you need to know before you code Pre-Programming: Everything you need to know before you code course coupon Pre-Programming: Everything you need to know before you code coupon coupons

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