After seeing loads of wildlife over the past few weeks, it’s been fairly quiet this week. There have been a few turkeys, but the number of deer has dwindled to just a handful. Of course, they could be coming at times other than when we happening to be looking. The number of crows, however, have increased. Not sure why.
The weather has stabilized and were not getting the heat we were having on a regular basis. In fact, right now it’s only 65 degrees! It’s strange to see some of the trees already shedding leaves as it’s still August. Not sure if that means there’ll be more cooler weather on the way.
As we head towards the end of August, the Detroit Tigers are picking up steam. Over the past week, they played six games, winning five and losing one. Their record is now 78-53 and they’ve increased their lead in the American League’s Central Division by three games to 11.5. Meanwhile, Cleveland dropped to third place, giving Kansas City the opportunity to be in second place.
We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” — Ernest Hemingway. Compliments of https://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/72-of-the-best-quotes-about-writing.
So who was born on this date in history? Let’s find out who in the writing world was born on August 24th, the thirty-fourth Sunday of 2025 and the fourth one in August. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).
John Taylor, English poet (An Arrant Thief); Robert Herrick, English poet (‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may’); Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy, Russian novelist, poet and playwright (Prince Serebrenni); Max Beerbohm, English caricaturist, writer and parodist (Saturday Review); Jean Rhys [Ella Gwendolyn Rees Williams], British writer (Voyage in the Dark); Malcolm Cowley, American author (Flowering of New England); Johan Fabricius, Dutch novelist (Island of Demons) and adventurer; Jorge Luis Borges, Argentine short-story writer of fiction (Ficciones, El Aleph, The Book of Sand), essayist and poet; Ruth Schaumann, German painter, writer and sculptor (Rose, Black King); Fernand Braudel, French historian (Civilization & Capitalism); Michel Pablo [Michalis N. Raptis], Chilean-Greek writer and Trotskyist revolutionary (Fourth International); ames Tiptree Jr. [Alice Sheldon], American sci-fi author (Byte Beautiful); Howard Zinn, American historian and activist (A People’s History of the United States); Paul Blackburn, American poet, and editor (Black Mountain Review); David Ireland, Australian author (The Unknown Industrial Prisoner); William V. Shannon, American journalist and ambassador to Ireland (1977-81); A. S. Byatt [Antonia Susan Byatt], English novelist (Possession); Howard Jacobson, British novelist (The Finkler Question) and newspaper columnist; Paulo Coelho, Brazilian author (The Alchemist); Orson Scott Card, American sci-fi author (Hugo; Nebula; Ender’s War); Oscar Hijuelos, American novelist (The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love); Chris Offutt, American writer (The Good Brother); Dana Gould, American comedian, actor, and writer (The Simpsons, 2001-07); and John Green, American author (The Fault in Our Stars) and vlogger.
Any names familiar to you? There weren’t any for me this week. Whether you recognize anyone on the list or not, if today’s your special day I hope you have a great one!
My Work In Progress
I’ve continued my first edit pass of the manuscript for Harding’s Challenge: The Great Rebellion based on reader feedback and make adjustments based on what I think works best. There were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 284. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.
Here’s another snippet:
Latimer rode his chestnut stallion through the bustling streets of Richmond toward the Southern White House. He turned in his saddle to see how Felipe was doing. I know he prefers the Nissen wagon, but we’re getting lots of supplies, so the Conestoga was the better choice.
Felipe followed Latimer, bouncing on the hard bench seat of the Conestoga.
Latimer turned back and continued along the street, stopping near the official residence of President Davis. The two-story building was white, with six colonnades holding up the massive roof at the front of the building.
Several slaves, dressed in matching gray shirts and trousers, manhandled sections of wrought iron fencing into place, which would create a barrier around the facility when completed.
Armed guards kept close watch on the slaves, while four others blocked the entrance to the property.
Latimer stopped in front of them and tipped his hat. “Good day, gentlemen. I am Barnabas Latimer, and I come at the request of President Davis. He’s expecting me.”
One of the guards gestured along the street. “Ya’ll can’t bring your horse. There’s a stable down yonder, not far from the St. Charles Hotel.”
“Much obliged.” Latimer tipped his hat again before guiding his horse to the back of the wagon, where Felipe had stopped. Latimer slid from the saddle and tied his reins to a metal ring. He walked to the front of the wagon.
“I heard, boss. I’ll take your horse to the stable before I head to the general store to load our supplies.” Felipe gestured toward the White House. “Enjoy yourself, but don’t come back too uppity.”
Latimer laughed. “You sure do know how to keep me in my place, Felipe. I’ll join you later at the hotel.”
“Yes, suh.” Felipe shook the reins and headed past the armed guards.
Latimer stepped forward, pulling a folded piece of paper from an envelope. He offered it to one of the guards. “This is my invitation from President Latimer.”
The guard studied the paper. “I can’t read.” He turned to the others. “Can you read this paper?”
They shook their heads.
“Just trust me.” Latimer smiled. “Who in their right mind would try to break into the White House?”
The first guard shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s alright. Someone at the entrance will want to see your invite before they let you enter.”
Latimer smiled as he walked past the guards. Climbing several steps, he walked between two of the colonnades. He identified himself to two giant guards.
One of them spoke in a voice that seemed to originate in his shoes. “What is your purpose here?”
Latimer pulled out the invitation again and offered it to the guard. “I was invited to meet with President Davis. This is from the president.”
The guard glanced at the paper before gesturing toward the main door. “Go right in. The president will be in the library, I suspect. Go along the hallway to the far end and enter the library on the right. The president is expecting you.”
“Much obliged.” Latimer stored the invitation in his pocket and entered the building. As he strode along the corridor, a short, stout, bald, black man appeared.
Dressed in the black livery of an English butler, he approached Latimer. “I am the Southern White House usher, George Slade. My father was William Slade, the usher to President Lincoln. Follow me, please.” Slade turned and continued along the corridor, stopping at a closed door on the right.
He knocked once and opened the door. “Mister President, your guest, Barnabas Latimer, has arrived.” George’s voice boomed as he spoke.
Davis rose from a sofa. “Thank you, George. That is all for now.” Davis strode toward Latimer, hand outstretched. “Barnabas, it’s good to see you again.”
The men shook hands.
Davis gestured toward a sofa on the opposite side of a small table. After they sat, Davis reached for a cutglass decanter filled with whisky and two matching glasses. He poured a splash in each glass and offered one to Latimer. “‘May the citizens of our united country cherish the rights for which they fought, bled, and conquered.’”
Latimer repeated the toast and sipped on his whisky. “Mister President, thank you—”
“Please call me Jefferson when we’re alone, Barnabas. No need for formality.”
“Thank you, Mister.” Latimer smiled. “Jefferson. Thank you for the invitation. Work keeps me so busy, it’s been some time since I’ve been in Richmond.”
“I figured as much. I believe it’s been almost three years since you were here. During that time, I added George and his wife to the staff. She does some of the cooking and oversees the kitchen staff.”
“How did this come about?”
“After I exiled Lincoln, Mary asked if George’s father, William, who was a free man, could go with them to Paris. I concurred and understand he remained with them until his death two years ago.”
Latimer nodded. “Very kind of you.”
Davis waved a hand. “Better to have someone you know close to you. So, how are things in the New Mercia Territory?”
“Thank you for giving me this part of the Kentucky area.”
Davis nodded. “Since it was once part of Virginia, it was mine to give to the man who did so much to help the Confederacy. Of course, I had to convince the current governor to agree, which he did, once I dangled a cabinet position in front of him.”
Latimer smiled. “The territory is expanding at a rapid pace, with new arrivals every week. I named the capital Canebreak for plantation owners who broke many a cane on the backs of slaves. It’s prosperous and provides me with a suitable income, as anyone living in Canebreak must pay an annual fee for the privilege.” Latimer took another sip of his drink.
“Of course, they’re getting something in return. My automatons are making life a bit easier. For example, for the mere cost of two pennies per person, people can be transported from one end of Canebreak to the other via one of my autostokers.”
Davis drained his glass. He poured more whisky into both glasses. “What’s an autostoker?”
More next time.
This brings us to an end for another week. I hope you found something of interest. If you have any suggestions for a topic you’d like to read about, please let me know. Until the next time, thank you for reading and hope you drop in again.
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