poetry – Page 2 – Writing by Randall

There’s been more squirrels visiting than we’ve seen for some time. Same with the birds, deer, and turkeys. I suppose it’s due to the colder temperatures. The kittens we adopted certainly are enjoying the visitors as they spend time on our enclosed deck checking them out. One squirrel even ventured onto the deck railing and one of the kittens ran to the screen to investigate. The squirrel seemed to sense the kitten couldn’t get any closer and it continued to eat the bird seed we left for our visitors.

The Detroit Lions defeated the Dallas Cowboys on Thursday evening, roaring past them 44-30. Their record improved to 8-5, and are still in the hunt for a NFC wildcard playoff spot. Of course, they probably need to win their remaining games to do this as NFL.com only gives them a 54 percent chance of making it.

The Detroit Pistons played four games in the past week, winning three and losing one. They still have the best record in the Eastern Conference, with a 19-5 record and are in first place in the Central Division, 5.5 games ahead of second place Cleveland.

The third-ranked Michigan Wolverines extended their winning record to 8-0 with a convincing win over Rutgers, 101-60. This is the third consecutive game in which Michigan scored 100 or more points. Meanwhile, the seventh ranked Michigan State Spartans suffered a defeat at home to Duke, 66-60, taking their record to 8-1.

“Genius gives birth, talent delivers. What Rembrandt or Van Gogh saw in the night can never be seen again. Born writers of the future are amazed already at what they’re seeing now, what we’ll all see in time for the first time, and then see imitated many times by made writers.”
– Jack Kerouac, Writers Digest. 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 December 7th, the forty-ninth Sunday of 2025 and the first one in December. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Abū-Sa’īd Abul-Khayr, Persian mystic and poet; Allan Cunningham, Scottish poet and author; Johann Nestroy, Austrian actor, singer and playwright (Judith und Holofernes); Otto Ammon, German anthropologist and sociologist (schedelmetingen); Paul Adam, French writer (La Bataille d’Uhde); Svetolik Ranković, Serbian writer (Forest King); Johan Huizinga, Dutch culture historian (Homo Ludens); Willa Cather, American Pulitzer-Prize winning author (One of Ours; My Ántonia); Akiko Yosano, Japanese poet (Tangled Hair); Heywood Broun, American journalist (1st President of American Newspaper Guild); Joyce Cary, Anglo-Irish writer (House of Children); Jacques Gans, Dutch author and journalist; Leigh Brackett, American sci-fi author (Ginger Star); Tatamkhulu Afrika, South African poet and writer; Noam Chomsky, American linguist (founded transformational grammar), philosopher and political activist; Kumar Shahani, Indian writer and director (Kasbam Tarang, Maya Darpan); James Tate, American poet (Pulitzer Prize 1992); Nikola Wapzarow, Bulgarian poet and writer; and Mohamed Diab, Egyptian screenwriter and director (Cairo 678, Marvel’s Moon Knight).

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

The second edit pass on the manuscript for Harding’s Challenge: The Great Rebellion is now underway. Edits are based on reader feedback and make adjustments based on what I think works best. There were another three new chapter reviews, bringing the total to 344. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Izabella flinched as she peered around the ballroom. Where on earth was Annabelle? Being a hostess and having to chase down her daughter and Annabelle was the most nightmarish debacle that Izabella ever found herself in the middle of. Both girls were thorns in her side.

She pondered whether anyone would recognize her family dynamics were unlike anything they allowed the public to perceive. In truth, Izabella felt a bit sorry for her niece from time to time, but it was much better to remain silent.

The repercussions of telling anyone what happened to her sister were terrifying. Still, Izabella didn’t regret the favor she received by showing loyalty and respect to the man she called her husband. He possessed a degree of handsomeness, even as callous as he was. The luxury in which Izabella found herself living was nothing to dismiss either. She could, on a technicality, be a slave.

The only real drawback to her agreeable life was living as Evangeline’s mother. The one reprieve from restless nights, caring for the wailing infant Evie, was in having her handmaiden. Izabella was not an evil woman, and she would never allow anyone to imply it. Still, the welling of guilt gnawing at the back of her mind left a shadow that crept up, attempting to stifle her words. While it terrorized her, it also taught Izabella the value of silence.

How easy was it to remain unassuming if one merely slipped into the shadows and minded their manners? If she didn’t choose to do so on her own, her husband would have made sure by other means that she was silenced.

Peculiar was the most fitting word for her daughter; but as she considered it, what else could she have expected? A smile plastered across her face, and the beauty of her visage was the only thing Izabella ever needed. As she saw it, her sister’s belligerence and stupidity were her problems and no one else’s.

If she possessed any sense at all, she would have long ago learned to use the beauty she was blessed with to beguile gentlemen.

Izabella and Vivien were fools to think their beauty, paired with a sharp tongue, would be sufficient to stay safe. And most assuredly in Tankard Town, in the heart of the Confederacy, no less. Though, as Izabella moved through the parlor, she could not help but wonder how differently things may have gone if Abraham Lincoln hadn’t been exiled. If only the North had prevailed.

But they hadn’t, and Izabella’s wits were the thing that kept not only her but her niece safe. Who was anyone to judge her for doing the best with what she was given? Still, the way Annabelle regarded her was like a nagging itch in the back of her mind. Izabella wrung her hands. Somehow, in some way, the girls put two and two together.

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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Randall’s Ramblings, November 30, 2025

November 30, 2025 Randall Krzak

I didn’t have a chance to complete last Sunday’s post as we were dealing with the second loss of a pet this month. Hope, our fifteen-year-old who we adopted back in 2014, had a gastro-intestinal carcinoma and was euthanized. She joined Alfie, who lost his fight with a heart condition on November 3rd.

We’ve given a home to two feral kittens who were born on August 22nd. They’re live wires, until they tucker themselves out. We’ve named the boy, Leo, and the girl is Lucy. So far, Tommy our feral from Michigan who has been with us since 2017, doesn’t seem to impressed with the newcomers, but he should settle down eventually.

There’s been plenty of wildlife visitors this week: deer, wild turkeys, squirrels, and birds. The kittens are enjoying watching them on the deck!

The Detroit Lions lost to the Green Bay Packers on Thanksgiving Day, dropping their record to 7-5. They’re still in the hunt for a post-season playoff position, but need to win the rest of their games and hope for some help from other teams.

The Detroit Pistons saw their thirteen-game winning streak snapped as they lost two games. They won last night and are still in first place in the Eastern Conference’s Central Division, with a 16-4 record.

The Michigan Wolverines lost to the Ohio State Buckeyes 27-9, dropping their record to 9-3, while Ohio State remains undefeated. The Wolverines are out of the college playoff picture, but will still be invited to a bowl game.

Meanwhile, the Michigan State Spartans upped their record to 4-8 with a 38-28 win over Maryland. Unfortunately, the Spartans are not bowl-eligible this year as a minimum of six wins are needed.

Each writer is born with a repertory company in his head. Shakespeare has perhaps 20 players .… I have 10 or so, and that’s a lot. As you get older, you become more skillful at casting them.” —Gore Vidal. 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 November 30th, the forty-eigth Sunday of 2025 and the fifth and final one in November. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Veronica Gambara, Italian poet; Philip Sidney, English Elizabethan era poet (Arcadia) and soldier; Louis-Sébastien Le Nain de Tillemont, French ecclesiastical historian; Johnathan Swift, Irish author and satirist (Gulliver’s Travels, A Modest Proposal); John Toland, Irish rationalist philosopher; Hermann Kurz, German poet and novelist (Schillers Heimatjahre); Louise-Victorine Ackermann, French poet (works characterized by a deep sense of pessimism); Theodor Mommsen, German historian and scholar (A History of Rome) who won the 1902 Nobel Prize in Literature; Henri Ernest Baillon, French botanist (History of Plants); Mark Twain, American author (Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer); József Kiss, Hungarian literary (Zsido Dalok); John McCrae, Canadian physician, soldier and poet (In Flanders Fields); Lucy Maud Montgomery,Canadian author (Anne of Green Gables), Winston Churchill, British Prime Minister (Conservative: 1940-45, 1951-55) during World War II, and writer (Nobel Prize in Literature, 1953); John Tasker Howard, American composer and music historian; Corneel Goossens, Flemish literary figure and art historian; Jacques Barzun, French author (The House of Intellect); Robert Lax, American poet (The Circus of the Sun; The Peacemaker’s Handbook); Anne Wadman, Dutch writer who wrote in Frisian (Fioele & faem, Smearlappen); Robert Evett, American composer, writer, editor, and music critic; oan Ganz Cooney, American educational television writer and producer (co-founder of the Children’s Television Workshop; Sesame Street); Adeline Yen Mah, Chinese-American writer (Falling Leaves) and physician; David Mamet, American playwright (Speed the Plow, House of Games); Sergio Badilla Castillo, Chilean poet; Keith Giffen, American comic book writer and artist (Legion of Super-Heroes, Justice League); Joël Champetier, French Canadian science fiction author (La Taupe et le Dragon; Survie sur Mars); Daniel Keys Moran, American sci-fi writer (The Great Wheel of Existence); David Nicholls, English novelist and screenwriter (One Day); Chris Weitz, American screenwriter and director (About a Boy, The Golden Compass); and David Auburn, American screenwriter, theatre director and playwright (Proof; Summer, 1976).

Any names familiar to you? There were three for me this week: Johnathan Swift, Mark Twain, and Winston Churchill. 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

Since my last post I’ve completed the first edit pass on the manuscript for Harding’s Challenge: The Great Rebellion based on reader feedback and make adjustments based on what I think works best. I should finish the first of six/seven edit passes over the next week. There were another eight new chapter reviews, bringing the total to 341. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

“I am making an assembly in the ballroom. I would like for you to join us there.” Izabella stared her down, lifting her chin a bit too high.

“But of course, mistress. I will be there momentarily.” Anna replied with a curtness that came out rather abrupt. At least, far more than she anticipated.

“What was that, Annabelle?” Izabella’s mouth twisted as her hard eyes narrowed. The woman looked slightly miffed as her finely contoured brow instantly perked above her right eye.

Anna bowed, avoiding Izabella’s challenging stare, lowered her head and curtsied. “I will be there in haste, Madam Latimer. Most certainly,” Anna murmured.

“Humph. See that you do, or else I might have to see to your disciplining.” Izabella scoffed as she glanced down at her. Her fairer skin seemed to tinge as her cheeks flushed.

Anna knew better than to lift her chin, or else the tines of Izabella’s beautifully cut Marquis Diamond might meet her cheek and leave a nasty cut. Worse, she would be made to clean the mess and suffer the ridiculing of someone who would be in her same position if it weren’t for the governor.

Anna wanted more than anything to spit out her thoughts but knew better than to do anything of the sort. Risking Evie would be selfish, and it was something she couldn’t bring herself to do. No matter how angry Izabella might have made her, betrayal was beneath her, and Anna waited patiently as the woman shuffled her petticoats.

Something large and black suddenly darted across the floor, just adjacent to the door, and Izabella immediately froze in place.

“Ah! Good God!” Izabella’s hand flew up to her chest as her jaw dropped. “What on earth is that?”

Anna glanced where Izabella pointed, her lips curving into a slight grin upon realizing what it was.

“It would appear your daughter has been building automatons again, Madam Latimer,” Anna remarked.

“But what is it?” she hissed. “Oh, my heavens!” She stepped back with a frown. “Is that a mouse?” She groaned as she pointed at the creature again. “Hurry, remove it! Ugh, what did that refinery teach her? This is not ladylike!” But, Izabella knew full well, it was the tutoring of her husband that gave rise to Evie’s menagerie of automaton animals.

Each statement found Anna hiding the smile that twitched at the edges of her lips. She bit back a chuckle. Izabella’s fear of a mouse, even a mechanical one, was just enough to soothe the pain of Anna’s position—at least for the time being.

Following her mistress’s request, Anna scooped up the mechanical creature and looked it over.

“Indeed, mistress. It is a mouse. Or maybe a rat?” Her eyes widened.

“Oh! No, please! Stomp it! Get rid of it!” Izabella turned and laid a hand on her forehead, groaning in disgust. “Whatever you do, I never wish to see the creature again.”

“I will get rid of it hastily, madam.” Anna headed toward the door.

Izabella exhaled with a sigh so loud she might have heard it from the servants’ quarters.

“Oh, I swear this house will be the death of me. God, deliver me from this world of calamity!”

Once the door closed, Anna rolled her eyes, thinking the woman knew nothing of calamity, but still smiled at Evangeline’s newest creature. Its arrival was perfect timing, and Anna wondered if there was any way Evie could have operated it from a distance. Could Evangeline be that innovative? That intelligent?

Anna took the mouse and placed it into her apron pocket, determining that she would hold onto it. How could she destroy something that brought her both a smile and peace at a moment she so sorely needed it?

How could she destroy something that was made by the hands of her sister?

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, November 16, 2025

November 16, 2025 Randall Krzak

A few deer are continuing to make an appearance, usually before seven a.m. One day this week, there were also fourteen wild turkeys. It’s always great to see the wildlife!

The Detroit Lions beat the Washington Commanders 44-22 to raise their record to 6-3. They play the Philadelphia Eagles tonight. Fingers crossed, Detroit will continue to win.

The Michigan Wolverines kept their playoff hopes alive when they kicked a field goal with time expiring to squeak past the Northwestern Wildcats24-22. The Wolverines are currently 18th in the NCAA rankings, with a 8-2 record. Their next opponent is the Maryland Terrapins.

In a battled between two teams who haven’t won a Big Ten Conference game this year, the Michigan State Spartans lost to the Penn State Nittany Lions 28-10, dropping their record to 3-7, with all seven losses against Big Ten opponents.

In a surprise start to the NBA season, the Detroit Pistons are currently in first place in the Central Division of the Eastern Conference with a 11-2 record. Will this be the year they return to the form of old?

“Cheat your landlord if you can and must, but do not try to shortchange the Muse. It cannot be done. You can’t fake quality any more than you can fake a good meal.” — William S. Burroughs. 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 November 16th, the forty-sixth Sunday of 2025 and the third one in November. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Joost van den Vondel, Dutch poet and dramatist (Jephtha), often regarded as the greatest writer in Dutch; Abraham Alewijn, Dutch poet and playwright (Puiterveense Helleveeg); Jean-Baptites Le Rond d’Alembert, French enlightenment philosopher and mathematician (Encyclopédie); Peter Andreas Heiberg, Danish author and philologist; Petronella Moens, Frisian author and feminist; Étienne Pivert de Senancour, French author (Obermann); Louis-Honoré Fréchette, Canadian poet; Henri Bosco, French author and poet (Gogol); George S. Kaufman, American playwright (This is Show Business); George Seldes, American investigative journalist; Guo Moruo, Chinese scholar and writer; Eduard Bagritsky, Russian-Soviet poet and journalist (South-West); Michael Arlen [Dikran Kouyoumdjian], British author and scriptwriter (An American Verdict); Joan Lindsay, Australian author (Picnic at Hanging Rock); Warren Sturgis McCulloch, American neurophysiologist and psychiatrist (“A Logical Calculus of the Ideas Immanent in Nervous Activity” with Walter Pitts); Anton [Tom] Koolhaas, Dutch author (Gekke Witte); ohn Whiting, British actor, dramatist and critic (PT Raiders, The Devils, The Good Companions); Betty Hicks, American golfer, author (US Open runner-up 1948, 54); Jose Saramago, Portuguese writer, novelist (Blindness, The Gospel According to Jesus Christ) and Nobel laureate; Renate Rubinstein, German-Dutch author and columnist (Tamar); Chinua Achebe, Nigerian poet and novelist (Things Fall Apart, Christmas in Biafra); Robert Nozick, American philosopher (Anarchy, State, and Utopia); Jane Lazarre, American novelist and essayist (The Mother Knot, Beyond the Whiteness of Whiteness); Hugo Dittberner, German writer; Ebby Thust, German boxing promoter and writer; Bonnie Greer, American-British playwright and critic; John Swartzwelder, American television writer (The Simpsons); Paula Vogel, American playwright (How I Learned to Drive, Mother Play); Piero Falchetta, Italian archivist (Biblioteca Marciana; Robin McKinley, American writer (The Hero and the Crown); Andrea Barrett, American novelist (Servants of the Map); Tahir Shah, British travel writer and explorer; Craig Arnold, American poet (Made Flesh); and Danny Wallace, British author.

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

Work slowly continued on 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. I should finish the first of six/seven edit passes over the next week. Since my last post, there were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 335. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Anna gathered the items needed for Evie’s tea, unsure of why she wanted a meeting with her, especially out of the house, but it intrigued her nonetheless. She never knew much of family, yet Evie was as close as it came to being a sister. Anna truly appreciated how Evie was attempting to make her father pay for his transgressions.

Having Evie take care of Master Latimer was inspiring, to say the least, especially since he was the one who killed her parents. Anna wasn’t any older than two and a half, so the memory was colored by stories she heard. While she knew of the man’s horrid sins, what she didn’t know was why. But then again, no one knew why Latimer did anything. He was a driven man, and money, power, and evil was at the root of it all.

Once in the gardens, Anna organized the table with great detail. One of her many talents was making things look flawless, even though she never learned proper etiquette. She had, however, seen Evie’s style and grace for long enough that some of it had rubbed off on her. With Evie and even Missus Latimer, mostly, there were few repercussions should something go wrong. With the master, that was not the case. He expected perfection and perfection alone. If not, there was hell to pay.

Both Anna and Evie knew what her father would do to either of them should they not follow his orders. Evie would be beaten and locked in her room. Even worse, Anna could die at his hands.

Anna checked her reflection in the back of a spun silver spoon and smiled before laying one in its place. She was a beautiful young woman, only nineteen. Her chocolate skin glowed, and her raven black hair was beautifully pulled into a bun. On the nights she let it down, it flowed around her face like a frame. Her eyes were the oddest mix of blue and hazel. She squinted, struggling to remember her mother’s eyes, but failed. She’d been told, though, that her mother’s were the same. Anna sighed. She hoped she got something from her mother.

When she was old enough, she asked the others about her parents. She clung to every answer, holding each detail dear to her heart, including the fact that she had her mother’s eyes. While no one knew why they were killed, they were happy to pass on the good things her parents did and the kind of family they were, despite living in slavery.

Coming back to the task at hand, Anna placed various scones, black cherry jelly, and tea on the table. They were all the things Evie would like; most of them were her favorites since she was a child.

“Anna.”

She heard a voice behind her and spun to find Evie. “How nice to see you.”

When Evie leaned in to hug her, Anna allowed it but wasn’t quite sure if she should return the affection. Evie hugged her before, but it was a habit, as decorum was at the forefront of everything in society. Hugs were usually reserved for deaths, sad times, and times of critical news, like when Evie alerted Anna that Mama Patti was sold.

“What is this about, miss?” Anna wondered if something was wrong. Besides, there was no need for niceties, as time was of the essence for the risk of being discovered.

Evie sat in one of the chairs. “I need to speak to you about something, but I need to make sure that we don’t have any listening ears at all. Only you and me. Understood?”

“I can assure you of that. Your mother be talkin’ with the staff, and your father be on the other side of the fields tending to one of the men over there, likely.” Anna’s voice dropped, not wanting to overstep.

“Likely beating him to a pulp,” Evie finished the thought as Anna’s eyes filled with sadness.

“Yes, that.” Her mouth flattened.

“So, will you sit with me, please?” Evie waved to the free chair. “I don’t know how long we have to talk, so I want to get to this said quickly.”

“I understand,” Anna said. “Would you like to eat?”

“Yes, please. I am famished after a series of horrid dreams last night.”

“Dreams, miss?”

“They were more like memories that came while I was asleep, and there was no other choice but to live through them all over again.”

“I’m so sorry, miss. I hate that so much for you, but I likely have some of those same thoughts and memories, just seeing them from the other side. What would you like to eat?”

“I can serve myself today,” Evie said. “And you can eat as well. Today you are my guest. What I have to say may or may not come as a shock. But if it doesn’t, I will be surprised.” Evie topped a nearby scone with jam, took a bite, and moaned in delight.

“All right,” Anna whispered.

“I was given some documents yesterday from a trusted source. Some of them are originals, and some are only copies, but I think he did the best he could with was available.”

“Alberto?” Anna wrinkled her brow.

“You know?” Evie’s lips parted in awe.

“I know Alberto has been snooping around and collecting things he intended on giving you, but I don’t know what they are or what they say.” Anna moaned as she took a bite of buttered toast. The house butter tasted so much better than what she was ever allowed. She took a moment to inhale the smell before tasting its goodness. To make the butter by hand was one thing but getting to try it on hot toast was another.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Evie smiled.

“It is,” Anna admitted. “I have never tasted it before.” She looked down in shame before changing the subject. “Now, tell me. What is it that you have found out?”

Evie glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. “The best I can do is give you a math problem to see if it makes sense to you. Then I can show you the documents I have hidden.”

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, November 9, 2025

November 9, 2025 Randall Krzak

After a long and valiant fight against asthma and a heart condition, Alfie was euthanized last Sunday at the University of Georgia. The plan was to give him a pacemaker this past Monday, but, with the greatest of regret, we had to let him go. Farewell, my gentle boy!

The Detroit Lions lost last weekend, dropping their record to 5-3. They’re still in second place in the NFC North Division. Today, they play the Washington Commanders. I hope they can bounce back!

The 7-2 Michigan Wolverines and the 3-6 Michigan State Spartans both had byes this week. Let’s see if they can keep things going next week!

“Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.” — Enid Bagnold. 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 November 9th, the forty-fifth Sunday of 2025 and the second on in November. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Paul Aler, French jesuit and poet (Gradus ad Parnassum); Mark Akenside, English poet and physician; Julie de Lespinasse, French aristocrat, hostess and writer; Elijah Parish Lovejoy, American newspaper publisher and abolitionist; Ivan Turgenev, Russian novelist, poet and playwright (Fathers & Sons); Matthias de Vries, Dutch linguist (spelling); Émile Gaboriau, French writer (father of the French detective novels); Emmanuel de Bom, Flemish author (Wrakken); Bohdan Lepky, Ukrainian writer and poet; Allama Iqbal, Indian philosopher and poet; Velimir Khlebnikov, Russian poet and playwright; Erika Mann, German-American author (Other Germany); (Hendrik) “Henk” van Randwijk, Dutch poet, WWII resistance fighter, journalist, and newsweekly editor-in-chief (Vrij Nederland, 1941-50); Tabish Dehlvi, Pakistani poet; Sir Alistair Horne, British historian and journalist (A Savage War of Peace: Algeria 1954–1962); Anne Sexton (née Harvey), American Pulitzer Prize-winning poet (Live or Die; The Awful Rowing Toward God); Imre Kertesz, Hungarian writer (Nobel Laureate 2002); Marian Christy, American author (Invasions of Privacy); American scientist, astronomer and author (Broca’s Brain, Cosmos, Contact) known for his research on extraterrestrial life; Ronald Harwood, South African playwright and screenwriter (The Dresser); Donald Trelford, English journalist and editor (Observer Newspaper 1975-93); Roger McCough, British poet (The Mersey Sound); Ti-Grace Atkinson, American feminist author; and Bill Mantlo, American comic book writer (Micronauts).

Any names familiar to you? There was one for me this week: Carl Sagan. 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

Work slowly continued on 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. Since my last post, there were another eight new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 331. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

A knock sounded at the door of Latimer Manor.

Felipe Vanderbilt was escorted inside the study, where Latimer sat in an oversized, red velvet chair. “Good evening, Governor Latimer.

“Indeed, it is.” Latimer’s bright green eyes flicked to the man.

“I’ve news to share with you, sir.” Felipe lowered his gaze.

“What of it?” Latimer snorted slightly as his eyes weighed on Felipe, waiting for him to make eye contact again.

“There was an issue with the autostoker on Pawnee Street this evening.” Felipe swallowed, waiting.

“Was there?”

Felipe nodded.

“Well, handle it, then. I know you can do so without my direct intervention.” Latimer raised a brow and adjusted his cufflinks. He narrowed his beady eyes and fluffed the side of his straw-like hair, which seemed to be a bit yellower than usual.

Felipe knew better than to comment upon such matters. Everyone knew not to say anything of the like to the governor. Men that said less vanished without a trace or were beaten to an unrecognizable pulp.

“I don’t think you understand, Governor Latimer.” The man winced. No matter how he tried to speak to Latimer without betraying his fear, he failed miserably.

“What do you mean?” Latimer lifted his eyes, narrowing them even more upon Felipe.

“Your daughter was the catalyst for the incident, sir,” Felipe responded.

“Evangeline?” He snorted louder than he intended. “Are you quite sure of it?”

“One of your automatons spotted her yesterday in town around about the autostoker in question. It was the morning after she stayed with her friend, Rebecca Telford, and attended her coming-out party.”

“What did she supposedly do to the stoker?”

“The report says she pulled a pin on the running mechanism that stopped it in its tracks,” Felipe said. “Sir.” He swallowed, pausing for effect.

“Yes…” Latimer drew out his word.

“She was with a man, sir.” Felipe shrunk, wondering if he was going to get a lashed back.

“And do we know this…” Latimer hissed like a snake as he stood to his feet. “Man?”

“No, sir,” Felipe said.

“Is… she… home?” Latimer snarled.

“I believe so, sir. Last report was that she was in the gardens with that servant girl of hers.”

“Stay here, Felipe.” He took to the door, rounding the house to the backside gardens. “Evangeline Elizabeth Latimer, front and center now,” he screamed. “You are dismissed,” he added with clenched teeth when he got close enough to Anna that she jumped.

Giving his daughter a terrified look, the slave scurried away, leaving Latimer alone with Evie.

“What is this about, Father?” Evie’s lips curved as she batted her eyes, dropping her gaze.

“Don’t father me, Evangeline. Where were you yesterday morning?”

“I-I w-was in t-town, sir.”

“And what did you do to one of my autostokers?” Latimer waited to see if she would tell him the truth.

“I took a pin from it, Father.” Evie stared at him with a look of innocence.

All it did was make him even hotter under the collar. He didn’t expect her to be honest, and now that she was, his face flushed. He was never known as the most genteel man, yet he curled his fists so hard his palms bled as he stood. He was the ruler of these parts and deserved respect.

“And your reasoning behind it?” He shot her a stoic look.

“I was angry at you, Father. It was so foolish of me to do such a thing,” she admitted.

For half a second, his heart fluttered. “And why were you angry at me?”

“You sold my favorite horse, Father.”

Latimer stared at her, unable to determine if it were a lie or the truth. “Thomasina?”

“One and the same.” Evie crossed her arms.

“I don’t remember you ever giving two cares about that glue bag.” He scowled. “Why the disdain?”

“It wasn’t the horse at all, Father.”

When she stepped closer, he could read a small amount of anger in her eyes.

“There was one of my inventions in its saddlebag.”

“I didn’t get rid of her saddlebag, Evie!”.

“Oh, Daddy!” Evie turned, heading towards the stables, presumably to find whatever was in that bag.

“Evangeline!” He shouted again, causing her to jump and face him. “Where is the pin to my autostoker?”

“Here.” She pouted as she pulled the pin from her hair and handed it to him. “Will that be all?”

“No. There is something else.”

“What’s that?”

“Who was the man that you were with yesterday?”

She blushed. “I was going to keep him to myself for a while.”

“Give your father a clue, then. A name at least, or where you met him.”

“I met him at the coming-out.” Evie sighed. “His name is Jefferies, Thomas Jefferies.”

“Hmm.” He tried to recall anyone with that name but drew a blank. “This name does not strike a chord.”

“It wouldn’t,” she said. “He is visiting from up north. You would like him, Daddy. He’s White Utopian Supremacy.”

“Very nice.” He was unsure if his one and only daughter was telling the truth.

“May I go now, Daddy?” She batted her eyelashes.

“Yes, dear.” Latimer closed the gap between them and kissed her cheek, holding out his hand.

She placed the pin on his palm.

He nodded for her to leave and watched as she walked towards the stables, the anger still bubbling under the surface of his relaxed facade before turning for the house. He didn’t think she was telling the whole truth.

He entered his study. “”Felipe, here is the pin. Can you have it replaced?”

“Y-Yes, s-sir. R-Right away.” Felipe got to his feet and headed towards the door.

“One more thing, Felipe.” Latimer walked towards his friend. “Keep an eye on my daughter. If she so much as moves out of line, let me know. And find out what you can on a Thomas Jefferies. He would have been at that coming-out party two nights back.”

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, October 26, 2025

October 26, 2025 Randall Krzak

At last! We’ve seen three deer a couple of times this week. I think most days, they’re comig either before the sun comes up or after it goes down. The leaves are also starting to turn. There’s one tree that is now a blaze of gold–not sure what type of tree it is and we only have one, but it’s spectacular-looking!

Alfie, our long-haired cat from Scotland, has been in intensive care all week. He came home yesterday with a big bag of meds–nine to be precise. I think I can take him off the appetite stimulate as he’s eating at home just fine and starting to groom himself. He’s still not out of the woods with his heart problem, but the vet said he could come home as he’s now breathing on his own. Fingers crossed that he continues to improve.

The Detroit Lions Detroit beat Tampa Bay on Monday night, 24-7, raising their record to 5-2. They’re currently in second place in the NFC North Division and have a bye this week.

The Michigan Wolverines and the Michigan State Spartans played each other last time. The Wolverines came out on top, 31-20, and raised their record to 6-2. Meanwhile, The Spartans dropped to 3-5. Hopefully, the Wolverines will move up the rankings from 25th.

My Published Work

I found out this week that Mission: Yemen, Xavier Sear Thrill Book 2 is now on the 2025 Chanticleer International Book Awards short list for Global Thrillers. Needless to say, I’m thrilled.

Of course, there is plenty of competition to see who makes it onto the semi-finalists list. Not sure when that will be announced, but will let everyone know when it is.

“I’m out there to clean the plate. Once they’ve read what I’ve written on a subject, I want them to think, ‘That’s it!’ I think the highest aspiration people in our trade can have is that once they’ve written a story, nobody will ever try it again.” — Richard Ben Cramer. 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 October 26th, the forty-third Sunday of 2025 and the fourth and final one in October. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Ahmad Baba, Islamic jurist and writer (biographical dictionary of the Mālikī); Dimitrie Cantemir, Romanian historian and Monarch of Moldova (1710-11); Karl Leonhard Reinhold, Austrian philosopher (elementary philosophy); Charles Sprague, American banker and poet (Curiosity); Karl Weinhold, German sociologist (founder of Journal of the Association of Folklore); Napoleon Hill, American writer and philosopher (Think and Grow Rich); Mark Aldanov, Russian-French writer and critic (Novy Zhurnal); Runar Schildt, Finnish writer (Segrande Eros); Miloš Crnjanski, Serbian poet (Seobe); John S Knight, American journalist and publisher (Knight Newspapers); Karin Boye, Swedish writer (Kallocain); Sorley MacLean, Scottish poet (Poems to Eimhir and Other Poems); Stuart J. Byrne, American sci-fi author (Star Man, God Man); an Wolkers, Dutch sculptor and novelist (Turks fruit (Turkish Delight); Kort Amerikaans (Crew Cut)); John Arden, English novelist and playwright (Left Handed Liberty); Ulrich Plenzdorf, German writer (Die neuen Leiden des jungen W.); Demetris Th. Gotsis, Greek poet and author; Trevor Joyce, Irish poet (The Poems of Sweeny Peregrine); Andrew Motion, English poet (British Poet Laureate 1999-2009); and Jennifer Roberson, American sci-fi author (Shapechangers, Sword-Maker).

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

Work slowly continued on 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. Since my last post, there were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 323. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Evie retrieved the things she left in the woods, made her way back home, and headed to her room via the service door, which was not uncommon. It’s how she often visited her favorite people in the manor.

After she got to her room, Evie looked for the items she took to the Telford’s the night before. She found a few things hidden under her bed and sighed. As instructed, they were delivered, and Anna stored them out of sight.

With the thought of Anna, she wondered how she could have the discussion she needed with her newly discovered sister. She wanted to right away, but doing so in the house could be dangerous. At the very least, they needed to be outside.

Anna appeared in her doorway. “Do you need anything, miss?”

“Could you set up tea in the garden tomorrow for two?”

“Yes, Miss.” Anna started to leave.

“Anna, you will be my second.” Evie waited for her to face her. “I have a few things I would like to discuss with you, if that is alright?”

“Yessum, miss. That sounds right nice.” Anna smiled as she left.

Evie grinned at seeing her sister so happy. She supposed that deep down, there was something more there all along. Now that she knew the truth, it only strengthened the bond.

She headed towards her bed to lie down for a bit, but before she could, she set Prissy on the table and picked up the mantis. She placed the critter on her bed and let it work its magic. The mantis was nearly six inches long and much heavier than Prissy. The clockwork creature moved side to side across the bed, turning down the covers.

For something so small, the mantis posed amazing strength and could do miraculous things. It was one of Evie’s favorite creations. Sure, she could have pulled her covers back herself, but she enjoyed giving the automaton creations a chance to shine. After the mantis finished, she plucked him up and set him back where he belonged.

Evie laid down on her bed and smiled. This luxury was her favorite, and the only good part about being Barnabas Latimer’s daughter. She clapped her hands together, and mechanical creatures of varying kinds and uses crawled out of nowhere. Most were small, like the kitten that picked up her shoes or the dog that licked the carpets clean. But then there were the bigger ones: the tigress that walked back and forth by her doorway to guard her. There was even a massive chimp that swung around, closing the curtains.

They all played to her comfort level. In the middle of all this wonder, Evie was at home. It wouldn’t matter where she was. As long as they were with her, she was happy. They were her friends. Each had a name, and while her mother suggested they were senseless creations, they all had a purpose. It was those times she wondered if her mother new of her father’s armory of creatures meant of evil.

Within seconds, a drug-like lull of sleep blanketed over Evie. The sensation was warm and cozy, and while she liked the moments just before slumber, the dreams were soon to follow.

A little girl sat on a grand staircase. Her friend, Anna, was screaming in the distance. That was the first time Anna received a beating that she knew of. Evie was only four, barely old enough to understand what was happening.

Why was there so much blood and screaming?

A couple, two slaves, from what she could tell, were murdered. But by whom? Was it her father? Why did he kill them just right then and there? She was crying. Oh my. Was she the reason why? Did her daddy think Mr. and Mrs. Wingland were hurting her?

Father said it was all in the name of war, but the little girl didn’t know what war was, to begin with.

The image went away and drifted into something else.

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, October 19, 2025

October 19, 2025 Randall Krzak

For the past couple of weeks, we haven’t seen any deer or wild turkeys during daylight hours. However, the corn we put out for them is still being eaten, albeit at a slower pace. Even the number of squirrels and birds have dwindled, although we do see them. I can’t remember if this happened last year or not. We certainly do enough the wildlife!

The Detroit Lions suffered their second defeat of the year last Sunday, losing to the Kansas City Chiefs, 30-17. Hopefully, they’ll be able to resume their winning ways when they face the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

The Michigan Wolverines picked up another win on Saturday, beating the Washington Huskies, 24-7. Michigan is now 5-2, (3-1 in Big Ten play). Meanwhile, Michigan State sank to 3-4 (0-4 in the Big Ten) after losing to Indiana 38-13.

“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading, in order to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.” —Samuel Johnson. 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 October 19th, the forty-second Sunday of 2025 and the third one in October. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Thomas Browne, English philosopher and writer (Garden of Cyrus); Leigh Hunt, English poet, critic and journalist (Romantic Movement, “Jenny Kissed Me”; Walter Bradford Cannon, American physiologist (Wisdom of the Body, coined term “fight or flight response”); Hermann Claudius, German folk poet (Meister Bertram); Vincas Krevė-Mickevičius, Lithuanian poet, philologist and playwright (founder of the Lithuanian Academy of Sciences); Miguel Angel Asturias, Guatemalan novelist (Hombres de Maiz, Nobel 67), journalist and poet; Hilde Spiel, Austrian writer; Vasco Pratolini, Italian writer (Le Ragazze di San Frediano); Vinicius de Moraes, Brazilian poet and lyricist; Louis Althusser, French Marxist philosopher (“For Marx”; “Reading Capital”); Jack Anderson, American journalist (Washington Post); Victor Zorza, Polish journalist and specialist on the Soviet Union; John le Carré [pen name for David Cornwell], English novelist (The Spy Who Came in from the Cold); Sylvia Browne, American author and self-proclaimed medium dubbed “America’s most controversial psychic”; Nicholas Palmer, English TV writer and producer; Andrew Vachss, American crime author and child protection attorney; John Lithgow, 1945 American Tony and Emmy Award-winning stage and screen actor (3rd Rock From The Sun – “Dick”; Harry & Hendersons; The World According to Garp; Shrek), recording artist, poet, and children’s book author; Keith Reid, British poet and lyricist (Procol Harum – “A Whiter Shade of Pale”); Philip Pullman, English writer known for the trilogy “His Dark Materials”; Deborah Blum, American scientific journalist known for “The Poisoner’s Handbook”; Doug Kirby, American travel guide writer (Roadside America); and Tracy Chevalier, American-British author known for “Girl with a Pearl Earring”.

Any names familiar to you? There were four for me this week: Jack Anderson, John le Carré, Sylvia Browne, and John Lithgow. 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

Work slowly continued on 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. Since my last post, there were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 319. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Evie danced back and forth as she joined Rebecca in her room for the night. She didn’t expect Finn to charm her the way he did, but he was a man after her own heart.

She didn’t want to get serious, though. If things went wrong with the plan of getting rid of her father, it could end poorly.

Evie slinked out of her gown, her servant. Chastity. helping her along the way.

Chastity, too, once belonged to Evie’s parents. She glanced at the sweet girl, thinking Chastity would be just as eager for Latimer to be gone as anyone else.

“So, how was it?” Rebecca asked `

“He is coming to call on me in the morning.” Evie had a far-off look as she stepped out of her gown.

“Really? That’s wonderful. He is handsome.”

“I didn’t notice,” Evie lied. “Say, do you have that lizard that I was working on last week?”

“I do.” Becca gathered the parts of the mechanical automaton lizard that Evie started.

After getting dressed for bed, Evie worked on the little critter she planned to name Scout once she finished.

Becca wished she knew more about Evie’s life, but she’d taken to not speaking as freely with her as she once did. As one of the most influential daughters in those parts, one would think Evie would love the riches of the world; but she was just happy to be with those she loved, and tinkering with her little mechanical creations.

Evie found a family in Becca, Mama Patti, Chastity, Anna, and the others. When her father mistreated or even killed the slaves that were her friends-turned-family, it only deepened the anger that she held within. The only thing keeping Evie from going crazy was her automatons.

Learning to build and understand the workings of these mechanical creatures was the only thing she could recall her father did with her. He seemed to take pride in her understanding of the intricate details of automated creatures. Sadly, that was several years ago. Without warning or reason he cut her off. She was no longer welcome in his workshop, and was left to further her education on her own. It was something she had to be grateful for. Sadly, Latimer’s cruelty and abuse far out shadowed the bond they once shared.

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, October 12, 2025

October 12, 2025 Randall Krzak

The Detroit Tigers 2025 campaign came to a close this week. They lost game five of the ALDS to the Seatle Mariners. It was a great game, but Seatle scored in the bottom of the 15^th inning to break a 2-2 tie and move into the ALCS against Toronto. Detroit will have to wait for next year to see if they can recover.

The Detroit Lions are now 4-1 after winning last weekend. Hopefully, they can continue their winning ways today when they play the 2-3 Kansas City Chiefs.

After winning last weekend and moving up to 15^th in the NCAA rankings, the Michigan Wolverines lost to the USC Trojans yesterday. It wasn’t even a close game, as the Trojans came out on top, 31-13. Likewise, the Michigan State Spartans didn’t fare any better as they lost to the UCLA Bruns 38-13.

Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. … It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.” — Enid Bagnold. 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 October 12th, the forty-first Sunday of 2025 and the second one in October. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

William Chillingworth, English scholar, theologian (The Religion of Protestants), and poet; Walter T Watts-Dunton, English lawyer, poet and writer (Aylwin); George W. Cable, American writer (Northampton Years); Amintore Galli, Italian composer, artistic director, musical journalist, and music publisher; August Sauer, Austrian literature historian (Euphorion); Louis Hémon, French novelist (Maria Chapdelaine); Paula von Preradović, Croatian-Austrian poet and writer; Eugenio Montale, Italian poet and translator (Xenia-Nobel 1975); Dick Binnendijk, Dutch poet and literary critic (Authoritarian Regimes in Transition); Ding Ling, Chinese writer (The Sun Shines over the Sanggan River); Lester Dent, American writer (Doc Savage); Ann Lane Petry, American journalist and author (Street); Paul Engle, American poet and writer (Worm Earth, American Song); Robert Fitzgerald, American poet and translator; Alice Childress, American playwright, actress and writer; Thomas Burnett Swann, American sci-fi author (Day of Minotaur); Jack Gottlieb, American composer, writer and editor; William Raspberry, American columnist (Pulitzer 1994); Gawn Grainger, British theatre actor and playwright (Four to One); Geoff Murphy, New Zealand screenwriter and director (Utu, Goodbye Pork Pie); Gerd Stern, American poet of the Beat era, multi-media artist (USCO), and cheese monger; and Brian Kennedy, Northern Irish musician, songwriter, and author.

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

Work slowly continued on 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. Since my last post, there were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 315. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

In less than an hour, Evie’s alter ego strolled through the middle of Tankard Town. Priscilla rested atop her shoulder as Evie made her way toward a place to park. She was fascinated with the town. She’d been there for a social occasion with her parents once, but she wasn’t allowed to appreciate it like this. Walking through the area on her own was something special.

At that moment, she noticed a small, mechanical creature patrolling the town and ducked her head as it came near, immediately recognizing her father’s handiwork. The whole of Canebreak, including all of Tankard Town, was monitored by automatons, meaning not many folks got in or out without her father knowing.

But why all the security precautions? She wondered how advanced her father and his scientific mechanics had become with his creations.

Evie made sure to blend in as best she could. She’d carefully studied the men at the manor so that she could be discreet in how she walked and talked, although Evie might have preferred her voice was a scant deeper.

Evie smiled slightly as she hid the papers Alberto gave her deep inside her coat. Living two lives was dangerous but challenging. Nevertheless, Evie was thrilled by it. Not a soul would question a man for having a micro spider, a cocked hat, or for wandering the streets. If Evie was caught, people might call her some horrible version of a lady of the night or ask if she was lost or a simple-minded child, which she was certainly not. Her worries were unfounded, because by and large she was ignored.

As her watch chimed four in the afternoon, she made her way toward Club Marclay. She eyed the path and rushed toward the area, wondering about the club’s name. Marclay was a numerological word that meant ‘what the soul wants if it be good, the soul shall receive.’ She didn’t know why someone would name it after that. Assuming the club was underground, it could have something to do with the pages that Alberto gave her.

Now that she knew Alberto supported her secret errands and messages, she was thankful her alter ego allowed her passage to move about more freely. Alberto’s messages led her, in many directions, helping her father’s many crimes, and why he should be indicted and punished for his dirty deeds.

It took no time to find the club entrance and even less to decipher the preposterous password. Evie laughed. The scratchings above her were a dead giveaway. Club Marclay was full of people Alberto said, that hated Barnabas Latimer as much as she did.

Evie strode over to a table and sat alone. She extended her arm as Prissy crawled onto the table where she scattered the pages.

“What can I get for you?” the barkeep, a man of color, asked.

“I will take a rum with a twist of lime and,” Evie spoke in her deepest voice, “got any cane sugar, sir?”

“Yessum, we do, sir.” The man nodded.

“Name’s Albert. No ‘sir’ about it.” Evie nodded and, extended her gloved hand.

“Tom.” The barkeep offered a proper manly handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

Moments later, Evie was sipping a drink and sifting through the pages Alberto gave her. As she scanned the pages her eyes grew wide. The papers were actual documents and contracts, some signed in blood. The name Annabelle caught her eye, and Evie sucked in a breath. She always thought there were odd similarities between Anna and herself. Besides the color of their skin, they were similar in features and mannerisms, and Anna was only slightly older than Evie.

The documents revealed Barnabas Latimer killed Anna’s father for defiling his a mulatto slave. Within the papers, she discovered photos of a dead body made the Manor’s trusted photographer authenticated with a note saying he’d taken, processed, and developed the pictures onsite using the daguerreotype process. Surely this man must oppose Latimer, having to take photographs like that. Wouldn’t he?

Evie closed her eyes as her head began to swim. She took a breath and opened her eyes, scanning the room, when she noticed a newcomer sitting at a nearby table. As the stranger eyed Prissy, Evie chewed the inside of her lip with a frown.

Evie returned to the documents to discover something that blurred her vision. In a clear hand, the document stated that Vivien a mulatto slave was the half-sister of Evie’s mother Izabella. According to the paper before her, Barnabas Latimer killed Vivien to keep her relationship to her mother a secret. Evie stared up at the whirling ceiling fan, blinking, gritting her teeth and, trying not to tear up.

“Of course, I look like Anna,” Evie whispered. That would make Anna my cousin. Vivien would have been my aunt. Evie sighed at the thought but quickly retracted the notion when she noticed the next page.

And thusly signed in blood by no other than the one and only Dr. Browning, delivering doctor to the slave known as Vivien of her baby girl Evangeline Latimer, and sworn to utmost secrecy the child was born of a slave, and father, Barnabas Latimer. From this moment and henceforward, the child Evangeline will be documented as being the child of Izabella and Barnabas Latimer, pending the disposal of the slave known as Vivien and her husband.

Vivien’s younger child Annabelle will be spared and reared as Evangeline’s handmade, to serve her unknown sister for the rest of her days, or to the day that she should be rendered useless.

Signed: Barnabas Latimer, Doctor Oscar Browning.

Dated: February 22nd, 1853.

Browning’s signature was signed in blood.

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, September 28, 2025

September 28, 2025 Randall Krzak

The temperature was all over the place this week, ranging from a high of 92 degrees to a low of 78. There were also a couple of brief thunderstorms. After today, the forecast is for temperatures in the 70s. Meanwhile, the deer and wild turkeys continue to visit, although their appearance aren’t as frequent, at least during daylight hours.

We had a pleasant surprise this week when T-Mobile showed up to install two-gig fiber internet on our estate. Needless to say, we signed up and it was installed on Thursday. Since we were used to fiber in Scotland, it was a disappointment when we moved and had to rely on broadband service that was intermittent, requiring us to also purchase a hot spot to ensure connectivity. Now we’ve cancelled the broadband and hotspot, which was twice what we’re paying for the fiber.

After a fantastic start to the season and for most of the year, The Detroit Tigers were on a roll, with at least a ten-game lead over whoever was in second place in the American League Central Division. The regular ends today and Detroit is tried with Cleveland for top of the division. Both teams will be in the playoffs, but the final season games will determine who they play.

The Detroit Lions played the Baltimore Ravens on Monday night and came away with a 38-30 victory. Detroit plays Cleveland today. Go Lions!

The Michigan Wolverines and the Michigan State Spartans both had a bye this week, so I’ll wait to wait for next weekend to watch them play.

“The writing of a novel is taking life as it already exists, not to report it but to make an object, toward the end that the finished work might contain this life inside it and offer it to the reader. The essence will not be, of course, the same thing as the raw material; it is not even of the same family of things. The novel is something that never was before and will not be again.” — Eudora Welty, WD. 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 September 28th, the thirty-ninth Sunday of 2025 and the fourth and final one in September. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Agnolo Firenzuola, Italian poet and litterateur; Alessandro Tassoni, Italian political writer (La secchia rapita – The Kidnapped Bucket); David Walker, African-American abolitionist (Appeal to Colored Citizens); Prosper Mérimée, French author (Carmen); Francis Turner Palgrave, English poet (Golden Treasury); Rudolf Baumbach, German writer of student drinking songs; Henry Arthur Jones, English playwright (Judah); Thomas Frederick Tout, British historian (Manchester school of historiography); Kate Douglas Wiggin, American author (Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm); Barry Pain, English writer (Punch); Wacław Rawicz [Berent], Polish biologist and writer; Stanner E.V. Taylor, American director and screenwriter (Lucky Jim, Ramona); Eugenio d’Ors, Spanish Catalan essayist and philosopher; Herman [H. C.] McNeile [pen name Sapper), English soldier and writer (Bulldog Drummond); Elmer RIce, American playwright (Pulitzer-Street Scene) and novelist; Charles Petrie, British historian known for his study of royalism and Jacobitism (If: A Jacobite Fantasy); Muchtar Auezov, Kazakh writer; Ed Sullivan, American newspaper columnist, and television host (The Ed Sullivan Show); Stephen Spender, English poet (Oxford Poets); Edith Pargeter, English author (wrote as Ellis Peters); Antonio Jacinto, Angolan poet; Edgar Feuchtwanger, German-British historian and author (Hitler, My Neighbour); “Tuli” Naphtali Kupferberg, American poet and singer (Fugs); Thomas J.J. Altizer, US Radical theologian (God is Dead); Michael G. Coney, English-Canadian sci-fi author (Cat Karina); Nabil Maleh, Syrian film director and writer; Gillian Rose, English philosopher and writer; Brian Keenan, Irish author (An Evil Cradling); and Ben Greenman, American author and editor (The New Yorker).

Any names familiar to you? There was one for me this week: Ed Sullivan. 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

Work slowly continued on 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. Since my last post, there were another four new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 307. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Evangeline owned many pets. They weren’t real in the sense of breathing and with a heartbeat, but they were her pets. Nor were they make-believe. They were as real to her as the breathing type, but she’d fashioned these from her imagination. Her automaton creations were that better than your usual, run-of-the-mill breathing creatures.

She loved the sense of the cool metal beneath her fingers, the smell of hot oil that the things emitted. She cared most that she could give each tiny beast a purpose, a service of sorts. There were some that could fetch things for you, act as eyes and ears, or do repetitious tasks that made life easier. But for her, it was far more than that. They gave her the sense she wasn’t alone anymore.

Continual solitude, paired with an abusive father—not just to her, but to everyone around her—was just about more than the young woman could bear.

The one thing that upset her most as a child was her father never allowed her to have a live pet. Not a single one.

However, her father held vast resources, which meant what she couldn’t create herself, she could dream up and he would find someone smart enough to bring her designs to life. It came with a cost, though; she learned later that often the designs of her creations were weaponized and used for evil.

Through time, her requests for specific types of creatures became very intricate and refined in nature. The one her mother insisted was the least ladylike creature she ever could have asked for was an arachnid.

“Spiders are not for playing with, Evangeline,” her mother would say. “You are a lady of refinement and are to act as such.”

Evangeline, who also went by Evie, was never too concerned with her mother’s criticisms; those often came filtered down from her deranged father.

Evie paced in her room, reviewing the events of the day and their implication as the automaton crawled up her arm. The spider her mother so desperately wanted her to discard quickly become her best friend and one of her favorite creations.

The spider’s clockwork gears moved its eight legs toward her.

“My dearest Prissy,” Evie murmured.

Smiling, Evie adored Prissy despite what her parents thought of it. Both Barnabas and Izabella Latimer insisted their daughter be nothing but the picturesque, prim and proper, young lady society would expect.

She was a natural beauty, after all; that part was easy. It was her willing participation in the events and discussions of the hateful beliefs of her father and his friends that were problematic.

Her striking, deep blue eyes complemented her pale white skin, but the raven color of her hair was one thing her father always detested when it came to what he wished to hide most from the world. Indeed, Evangeline Elizabeth Latimer was the picture of beauty and propriety; and her mother worked hard to ensure that her unfortunate mistruth should never come to light.

On the other hand, while her father was deceitful and secretive, his daughter’s hair was a quick reminder of the shrouded truth their family held, hoping she would stay in the dark about her history.

Deep within the core of Evie’s soul, she knew something was amiss with her parents. The stern way her father regarded her mother always showed an iciness bordering on disdain. Evangeline held theories as to why, but her delicate education and time at The Three Graces Finishing School for Southern Young Ladies prevented her from verbalizing them. Evie frowned, loathing that place with every fiber of her soul. Despite her aversion, she learned to be a lady.

More next time.

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Randall’s Ramblings, September 21, 2025

September 21, 2025 Randall Krzak

Tomorrow’s the first day of Autumn 2025. It’s hard to believe, given the daytime temperatures between 85-89, except for one day, when it dropped to 72. Nighttime temperatures have ranged between 55-60, which has been a welcome relief to the heat.

Multiple does and fawns continue to visit throughout the day and into the early evening. Of course, once darkness falls we can’t see them, but the corn we put out is almost always gone by the next day.

The Detroit Tigers are struggling to hold onto first place in the American League Central Division. Over the past week, they’ve lost five consecutive games, while second-place Cleveland has won ten. Detroit’s lead has dropped to one game, with seven games remaining in the regular season. Hang on, Tigers!

The Detroit Lions roared back last Sunday, beating the Chicago Bears 52-21. Let’s hope they continue their winning ways today when they play the Baltimore Ravens.

The Michigan Wolverines moved up to 21st in the NCAA rankings last week. On Saturday, they hung on to beat Nebraska Cornhuskers 30-27. Meanwhile, the Michigan State Spartans suffered their first loss of the season, falling to USC 45-31.

“Each writer is born with a repertory company in his head. Shakespeare has perhaps 20 players. … I have 10 or so, and that’s a lot. As you get older, you become more skillful at casting them.” — Gore Vidal. 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 September 21st, the thirty-eigth Sunday of 2025 and the third one in September. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Francis Hopkinson, American judge, signer of the Declaration of Independence, author, flag designer (first American flag), and composer (The Battle of the Kegs); Ivan Dmitriev, Russian statesman (Minister of Justice, 1810-14), and poet (“Liberation of Moscow”); Sophia Hawthorne, American writer, painter and illustrator; Edmund Gosse, English poet, author (Father & Son) and critic; Cyriel Buysse, Flemish baron and writer (Sursum Corda, Ace Knave); H. G. Wells, English sci-fi author (War of the Worlds, Kipps); Sergei Yesenin, Russian poet; ushar Kanti Ghosh, Indian journalist, world’s oldest and longest serving newspaper editor (Amrita Bazar Patrika); Helen Foster Snow, American journalist (reported from China in the 1930s); Leonard Cohen, Canadian writer and singer-songwriter (“Hallelujah”; “Death of Ladies Man”; “Suzanne”); Trevor James Hold, British composer, writer, and musicologist (John Clare Songbook); Stephen King, American sci-fi and horror author (Carrie; The Shining; Kujo; Misery); Jim Keith, American conspiracy theorist and author (Black Helicopters Over America, Mass Control); Suman Pokhrel, Nepali poet, playwright, and translator; Samantha Power, Irish American author and diplomat (US Ambassador to the UN); Vanessa Grigoriadis, American journalist and author, known for “Blurred Lines”; and Nicole Richie, American socialite, author and TV personality (The Simple Life).

Any names familiar to you? There were two for me this week: H.G. Wells and Stephen King. 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

Work slowly 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, but plan to be back at it this week. Since my last post, there were another six new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 303. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

Finn walked the streets before finally deciding it was time to head to the club. He wasn’t a fan of crowded places—particularly in Canebreak, New Mercia Territory—but there wasn’t much he could do if he needed to discover what Hawthorn wanted.

He gave the card one last scan to make sure it didn’t mention something about a password. Most of these types of places required one to enter. Finn didn’t think he’d be getting in on his looks alone. There was nothing on the card besides the address and a few other words, so he hoped he was wrong.

When he neared the location, he rounded the building to find a set of steps leading toward the basement as instructed on the card. The only other thing on it was the physical address. Apart from that, Finn was on his own.

He glanced around to see if perhaps Mars was waiting outside, but he didn’t see him. It was getting dark, which wasn’t good in this part of town. Finn studied the area before giving the door a once over to see what he could learn before entering.

Someone had scratched odd markings over the doorframe, ones that the average man wouldn’t know. They were more or less a secret code for black folks and the like–words Finn happened to know. He made sure to learn them at the start of the war. Finn fought for the North and held a deep regard for the freedom of all people, regardless of color.

Finn rapped on the door a few times before a man with a bushy beard slid open a panel.

“Who goes there?” the man bellowed from the other side.

“Fi-,” he began but thought better than to give his full or real name. “Finn Gideon.”

“What are the words to enter?”

Finn closed his eyes. Surely, he was in trouble. He paused and thought, once again smelling that odd odor in the air. He looked around the corridor that he was moving down for any clue. His eyes landed on the markings again.

“Any time.” The man scowled.

“Don’t let the sun set on Barnabas Latimer’s life.” Finn’s smile broadened when he heard the mechanical locks clicking open one at a time.

“Either you’re very smart, know someone who knows something, or you’re the luckiest man alive.” The doorman stepped aside, allowing Finn to enter.

“Maybe all three.” Finn nodded as he spotted Hawthorn at a table across the room.

“Sir.” Mars raised to shake Finn’s hand. “The name’s Marcus May.” He covered his lie with a slight wink, obviously looking for Finn to tell him his alias as well.

“You can call me Gideon, Finn Gideon.” He took a seat.

Finn scanned the room full of men and stopped when one caught his eye who stood out from the others.

On top of the man’s table was a small automaton creature that looked like a spider.

Finn cocked his head. Once his meeting with Mars concluded, maybe he could make his way over there to pick his brain about small mechanics.

“I almost didn’t make it this evening, what with specific words and all,” Finn added.

“You mean the password?” Mars laughed. “You see, I knew you would figure it out. I hoped, at least. I knew if you didn’t, then you weren’t the right man for the job.”

“How’s that?”

“You have to be wondering why I called you here,” Marston said. “This is perhaps the safest place for us to talk freely on one particular topic.”

“Let me guess.” Finn smiled. “Barnabas Latimer?”

“How did you ever guess?” Hawthorn smirked. “You see, this here is the I hate Barnabas Club, and you just joined it.”

“Now, Mar..cus.” Finn paused. “You and I have been acquaintances for a while now, but I wouldn’t say we have ever been close enough for you to know my distaste for Latimer or the reasons behind it.”

“I’m a tad poked up.” Mars folded his hands on the table. “You may only remember us being acquaintances, but I recollect more. Remember that night about six months back? At the end of the war? Lincoln lost, and the South won. You know, the night the mobs were gathering in the streets? And you were down in the mouth?”

“I wasn’t down due to the war being over, you know. I mean, I was, but I didn’t have any hope after that,” Finn admitted. “It was just the injustice and those mobs were getting rowdy, and burning any symbol of the Union in the street. They all felt the opposite of the way I did and look where they are today.”

“This is the reason you’re here. You told me that night that if you could get your hands on Latimer, or anyone like him, you’d put a stop to his beating of those black folks and find a way to get them into Old Canada or Mexico. Right?”

“Agreed.” Finn scratched the back of his head.

More next time.

Uncategorized

September 14, 2025 Randall Krzak

I didn’t have an opportunity last Sunday to post my weekly blog. Sylvia and I, along with our three cats, made a trip to Maryland and Washington, D.C. for a much needed vacation and to spend time with our son. We’re back home now, which the cats greatly appreciate as they missed being on our deck where they spend a lot of time.

The Detroit Tigers are clinging onto first place in the American League Central Division, although they only have a 6.5 game lead over second place Cleveland. The Tigers are currently nineteen games above 500, with a 84-65 record, with about thirteen games left in the regular season. Go Tigers!

The Detroit Lions lost their first game of the 2025 NFL season, falling to the Green Bay Packers 27-13. Hopefully, the Lions can bounce back today against the Chicago Bears.

The Michigan Wolverines began the 2025 NCAA football season ranked 14th. After losing last week to Oklahoma, they plummeted to 23rd. Hopefully, after yesterday’s resounding win against Central Michigan University 63-3, they’ll climb back up the rankings.

The Michigan State Spartans aren’t ranked yet this year, but currently have a 3-0 record, beating Youngstown State University yesterday 41-24. Hopefully, they’ll make it into the rankings soon.

“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 September 14th, the thirty-seventh Sunday of 2025 and the second one in September. (Compliments of https://www.onthisday.com/birthdays/).

Francisco Gómez de Quevedo, Spanish poet and writer; Gisbert Cuper, Dutch classicist and historian; Alexander von Humboldt, German naturalist and explorer (Kosmos); Theodor Storm, German judge and author (Immensee, Der Schimmelreiter); Hamlin Garland, American writer (Middle Border); Paul Fechter, German writer (Der Zauberer Gottes); Martin Dibelius, German theologist (Die Lade Jahwes); Anton Zischka, Austrian writer (Lebendiges Europa); Yi Sang, Korean author and poet (Dying Words, Wings, Child’s Bone); Pietro Germi, Italian actor, writer and director (Divorce Italian Style, The Facts of Murder); Robert McCloskey, American children’s book writer and illustrator (Make Way For Ducklings); Eric Bentley, British-American critic and writer (In Search of Theater); Mario Benedetti, Uruguayan journalist, novelist and poet; Davidson Nicol, Sierra Leonean diplomat and author; Michel Butor, French novelist and essayist; Martin Caidin, American aviation writer; Larry Collins, American writer; Allan Bloom, American philosopher and author (Closing of the American Mind); Hans Faverey, Dutch poet; Kate Millett, American feminist and author (Sexual Politics); Leo Ferrier, Surinamese writer (Atman); Bernard MacLaverty, Northern Irish writer (Grace Notes); Michael Lydon, American music journalist and a founding editor of Rolling Stone; Christian Petzold, German screenwriter and director (Afire, Transit); and Robert Ben Garant, American screenwriter and actor (Reno 991!).

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 found out last week that Mission: Yemen, Xavier Sear Thriller Book 2 is now on the long list for the 2025 Chanticleer International Book Awards in the Global Thrillers category. There’s plenty of competition to see who moves onto the short list. Stay tuned for an update when the short list is revealed.

My Work In Progress

I didn’t have a chance to continue 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, but plan to be back at it this week. Since my last post, there were another nine new chapter reviews this week, bringing the total to 297. As always, plenty of feedback to improve the story.

Here’s another snippet:

The cold metallic clang of Finley Harding’s boot hinges hitting the cobblestone echoed down the vacant street. He adjusted his thoracic harness and stepped away from the carriage with a look of concern. A smooth and well-crafted sign moved ever so slightly in the wind over the street. Tankard Town. Finn shook his head. What a silly name for a part of the city that boasted more machinist shops than saloons.

It was ridiculous, but it made Finn smile, not that anyone could see since the street was nearly vacant.

The autostoker extended its change plate, waiting for a fare.

Finn dropped three coins into it as the engine’s hiss sent a warm fog into the cold, damp night and a chill down his spine.

He watched the intricacy of the mechanism as the extended arm retracted into the stoker’s side. The gears engaged and the carriage began to rumble down the street. No driver, no passenger it rolled away as if magically transported. It was indeed a wonder.

Finn patted his pocket and felt the letter that led him here. His friend, Marston Hayward, requested a meeting but was nowhere to be seen. What little patience Finn possessed, particularly in this situation, began to fray with his friend’s absence. After all, it was well past eleven. Finn frowned, his annoyance growing by the second.

This was nothing unusual. Finn closed his eyes to get a hold of his emotions, pushing his annoyance down deep. He hated that part of him, but it was there, nonetheless.

The distant sound of hobnails on cobblestones redirected Finn’s attention to a small alley ahead on the right. A glint of shimmering metal hit him directly between the eyes, descending from the darkness so quickly it nearly blinded him.

Finn tilted his head, shielding his face, and sniffed the air, wondering if some newly engineered automaton was now patrolling the streets.

There was no reek of oil that Finn associated with machines, not even the light hint fumes that evaporated off the creations and filled the air. There was a slight essence, though, almost like ladies’ perfume. It wasn’t easy to place, and there certainly were no ladies in sight.

Lurching slightly, Finn peered down the alley. “Hello? May I be of assistance?”

The light that stunned his vision vanished down the dimly lit alley. He disliked unexpected circumstances that distracted him from his purpose. They frustrated him when a mystery presented itself and he couldn’t give it all his attention. His bottom lip twitched. I’m curious about this meeting. What agenda would it present?

He knew there were several reasons why Marston might have wanted to see him. It was months since the two had communicated. They parted ways when the war ended. Now, here he was with a handwritten missive and a few odd occurrences that made him wonder.

Finn knew the area enough to feel somewhat safe, but he didn’t want to stand and wait for Marston long. Instead, he hurried toward a bench made of cogs and parts of old machines and clocks. He ran a hand over it and smiled. It was a statement piece.

Once he sat, he reached into his long, brown duster. It wasn’t fancy in the least, but it was the best-looking coat he owned. He felt one of the many watch pieces that lined his pocket, and tinkered with an automaton, trying his hand at something micro, but he failed every time. When he felt the small notepad at the bottom of his pocket, he pulled it out, along with a pen.

He jotted notes on many occasions to help with his meetings and various reports. These were his observations and passions. Tonight, he pondered the true reason he was there. He read these notes one after another, recalling his horror and disgust.

May 18^th, 1870

Thomas Ross, slave to Barnabas Latimer, was killed during a culling party where they lynched black men for doing little to nothing.

May 20^th, 1870

Betsy Laurent, black woman, mother of three, was sold to a brothel owned by none other than Felipe Vanderbilt, Latimer’s best friend.

May 25^th, 1870

A black man known only by the name of Cain disappeared three days ago. No one saw him leave or be taken. Possible runaway or potential lashing gone wrong. Also owned by Latimer.

Good for him. Finn hoped the man escaped.

After the war was won by the South, many men, women, and children of color or mixed race went missing, were sold, or were killed every day. It was a nightmare.

Yes, I’m sure that’s what the meeting was bout. If I was discovered taking notes, I’d be punished, but I will find a way to take down Governor Latimer—one way of another.

More next time.

Tag: poetry

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