Something I thought about while I couldn't sleep.

(this post is fiction.I was not an army brat, and am not an army officer. it's offered as written, by me, as an emotional exercise, specifically on this day, for this day. It is told in the voice of a character of mine called Claire McClellan. She's a 27 or 28 year old graduate of the United States Military Academy, and in this context, the first ever female Green Beret officer. (the Special Forces are, as of this writing, still a boys club, although Delta allegedly as some women in it.)

     I'm an Army Brat. I grew up as a dependent of an army officer. The good part about being an Army Brat is, you get to go to so many places. The bad part is, you have to go. But today I want to talk about one part of being an Army Brat that they don't tell you about on TV or in the papers:  (click thru to read the rest )

Another story fragment.

This is a piece of fiction I started and then stopped. 

It's more or less complete unless I feel like going back and filling in all the details.

Have a read and let me know what you think in the comments -- DLC.

                 Marcie was tired. Although bruised and broken by the beating the thralls had given her, she dragged herself to her feet, nearly screaming as one broken rib jammed into a lung. She didn't care.

 The alien overlord was here, and she needed to be on her feet. For just a few minutes more. The being spoke through its favored thrall. "You are the one called Scanlon. Why do you come here to die? You cannot beat us... you cannot win" 

A story fragment

This one came to me while I was waiting in a parking lot.


I'm sorry , you shouted yourself mute. When the serum started to take effect, the excruciating pain must have been too much for you to remain silent. It's a good thing these walls are sound-proof or the others might have been disturbed. You'll be able to get up and move about soon, but I don't recommend it.
(I might come back to this later and finish it. who knows. -- DLC )

Some thoughts on A J Raffles, Bunny Manders and A.C. Doyle.

Recently, I've been reading some old Victorian books

most recently, the AJ Raffles stories by E.W. Hornung. Hornung was Sherlock Holmes creator Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's cousin, and he wrote the Raffles stories contemporary to Doyle, even dedicating his first novel The Amateur Cracksman "To ACD, A Form of Flattery."

A dream, perhaps.

I have dreams. Sometimes they're the seeds of stories, and sometimes they're just my brain going on holiday and taking me along for the ride. 

This time, it was the seed of a story, but probably not one with any publishable content. Yet still, I think there's some meaning here, so I'm going to try to write it down while I can. The setting is the well of the United States Senate. The principal character; Senator Robert Coughlin, R- AZ, a fictional Senator from my home state.

A piece of short Fiction

Some of my early work. Perhaps not so good, but what the heck. 
An attempt at writing a military techno-thriller, dealing with the possibility of a continuation of the war on the Korean Peninsula.
(technical discrepancies between this story and reality are the author's and are either honest mistakes or dramatic license. )

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