Horror Story and Status Update 3-8-2014

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[caption id="attachment_2203" align="aligncenter" width="630"] Daniel Hanning of The Other Shoe[/caption]

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            Dear Family, Friends, and Followers of The Other Shoe and here on Facebook,

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                        This week I, finally, pulled the trigger on publishing a horror story. For many months now, perhaps even years, I have wanted to write and publish works of this genre. Thursday I published ‘The Horror in Smithville’, and made good on a promise I made to all My Dear Readers at The Other Shoe.

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                        Unfortunately, my health has yet to return to me. I have fevers, nightly, and my stamina is far from what it once was or should be. I used my speech to text program to write this horror story. Having worked on this piece over three days, and over three hours on Thursday, once Part One was finished I faltered. Rather than proof read this story, I rushed to publish then too to rest. Since Thursday evening, shortly after publication of this story, my body was ravaged with aches and pains, my mind clouded with fevers.

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            I apologize for the state this story was published, and released to you, My Dear Readers. You all know that I take great pride in my work and to allow this, very first, horror story to be read in the condition I now find it is… inexcusable. There are no terrible errors… honestly what I find are mostly typos and the errors one comes to expect when using any speech-to-text program. However, I am ashamed that I published this story prior to proper editing. Today I am taking the time to correct both blogs publication of this horror story.

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            Over the next three, to four, weeks I will be publishing ‘Parts’ of ‘The Horror in Smithville’ until I am finished with this work. Already, I have Part Two mostly written and the outlines, plot points, character development and nemesis nearly complete. My Dear Readers this story is not something I just pushed out and published. I am taking great care with this story. Great care and great pride. Once finished I am confident that this story will mark my entrance into a genre I hope will become a mainstay for my blog and the future of my writing career.

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            Later today I will publish ‘A Week in Review’ for this week. After that I am planning on completing my work on this week’s ‘Sunday Funnies’. Already I have the video shot, uploaded and read for production. Once published ‘Sunday Funnies’ will mark a complete week for The Other Shoe. This is a major accomplishment in that it will be the first week, since my terrible respiratory infection, that I managed to publish most of my regular articles and at least five articles during the week.

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            It is my intent to publish ‘The Mars Report’ on a regular weekly basis, soon. My Dear Readers, I long for the time when I am publishing six and seven articles each and every week. Six to seven articles that include weekly installments of; ‘The Mars Report’, ‘A Week in Review’, ‘Sunday Funnies’, and ‘The Horror in Smithville’ (or like horror story).  That is my desire and design for The Other Shoe. I have, on my personal monthly planner, schedules of publication. Each day of the week marked for the genre or regular publication. Long has it been my desire to have a publication of this type… since Middle School when (for the business class?) I published a weekly magazine/newsletter when everyone else sold baked goods or other items. In this class I was the only student that took the time and effort to write and publish a weekly magazine for sale in the class.

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            I, now, have the space (this blog) and I have the talent… the ideas… the structure… and (for the time being) I have the computer/speech-to-text software/word processing software needed to meet my goals. However, this is something more… something more that people seldom speak of… said best in an old and familiar adage “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”. Aye, there’s the rub!

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            My Dear Readers, I have everything I need to make my dream a reality. Everything I need to give you,   My Dear Readers, the content and the blog that you desire and deserve. I wish it were that simple. Between my progressive neurological disease, mounting pain and diminishing physical abilities (doubly diminished by my complete lack of a proper and adequate diet) and this new infectious disease (as diagnosed by Dr. Gorlick and the reason for his referral to an Infectious Disease Specialist… Dr. Gorlick fears an infection of either the hardware in my neck… or an infection of the bone graft material).

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            Regardless I do my level best to press forward. However, as you all could see this week… in the inexcusable state of publication of my very first horror story… all too often my body is my nemesis. I promise to do my best to (in the future) to stick to my publication schedule. To do my best to proof work prior to publication. To do my best to meet all content schedules, and to do so without complaint.

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            Thank you for your understanding and support. I just wanted to update all of you, my family, friends and followers of The Other Shoe. Now I will return to correcting this week’s edition of ‘The Horror in Smithville’, to be (hopefully) followed by the publication of ‘A Week in Review’ and ‘Sunday Funnies’.

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            In closing, I wanted to tell you all that I am quite happy to announce that my horror story has been well received. In just the first day I received about Three dozen ‘Likes’ for this story between the two blog locations. I am quite happy with this reception and it gives me the motivation to continue. “Thank you!’

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            Sincerely,

 

                        Daniel L. Hanning

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[youtube=http://youtu.be/e_oGP1B1hI4]

P.S. Over the next two weeks I have appointments with an Oncologist and an Infectious Disease physician. Once I have the status from these exams and tests... I WILL relay this information to you, My Dear Readers. Good or Bad... I will publish all that I find out about my health... and what is ahead for me. Thank you.

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An Introduction to HORROR at The Other Shoe

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[caption id="attachment_2203" align="aligncenter" width="300"] Daniel Hanning of The Other Shoe[/caption]

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              Welcome back My Dear Readers to The Other Shoe. Today is Tuesday March 4^th, 2014. As many of you are aware, two weeks ago I suffered, greatly, with high fevers, a painful and deep raspy cough, terrible aches, pains, and sleepless nights all due to a horrific upper respiratory infection. My doctor, once again proving what a great doctor and partner he is in the care of my health, prescribed a ten day course of antibiotics. I took all the medication, and at the end I honestly felt I had beat this infection.

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However, starting this past Sunday I saw the return of the fevers. On Monday the fever raised to 101.2 and the cough returned. Today, I find myself with the aches and pains, the fever, the awful raspy cough and difficulty sleeping. In spite of the, obvious, return of the dreaded infection I am working every day to keep you, My Dear Readers, informed on the terrible conflict in the Ukraine. This is an important international conflict and one that, I feel, greatly mirrors the early years of our nation.

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That is not the limit of the work I am writing, and last night… the fevers became my muse. I have still to write and tell you of the vision my fevers gave me the last time. It was on a Tuesday night that, after two years absence, Princess Nadia… visited me! I will not say much more than that, for the event is a story that I am dying to tell you, all by itself. I had a similar experience last night. Only this time… I was given a clear vision that will appear in my very first horror article here at The Other Shoe.

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As I explained, on Facebook, I have created a rotation of articles for the future of The Other Shoe. Meaning, Mondays will be reserved for The Mars Report, Tuesday will be reserved for Political articles, Wednesday ‘The Adventures of Princess Nadia’, Thursday will see the publication of Horror, Friday is an open day for what ever is in the news or strikes my fancy, Saturday will be for Science and ‘A Week in Review’ and Sunday for ‘Sunday Funnies’ and anything pertaining to Alexander R Hanning. I have implemented this routine for two reasons. First, to give my blog a direction and a regular beat for you, My Dear Readers. Second, I implement this routine to help me become a better and better writer.

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I know that I have a lot to learn about the art of writing. I feel, strongly, that I have a ‘Gift with Words’. Many people, that have cared deeply for me... loved me… have told me that in those exact words. On stage, many directors and fellow actors told me I had a way of breathing life into scripts and into words.

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That is not enough. I simply must improve my style, learn more of the tricks of the trade of writing. Most of all, I simply must mature as a writer. I cannot afford classes… in my current medical condition… I cannot attend college… unless online (!). Once I have found a way to further my education in creative writing, I have to attend seminars… and learn how to publish! How to attract publishers, how to package my work properly, how to network in my chosen field of artistic expression. I want to do this to improve my life… improve my life with Allen, and help remove the great burden he is under providing for me and helping me every day to; eat, bathe, do laundry, clean the house, walk… get dressed.

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As well, My Dear Readers, I want to do this for YOU! I want to improve my skills, refine my art so that I can give you, My Dear Readers, an improved and more refined reading experience. Yes, I want a better lifestyle… I want to make money by writing. That is not my #1 goal. Greed does not motivate my art, nor does greed poison my artistic expression. I owe it to Allen, to my family, to my friend and to you My Dear Readers.

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I am still experiencing difficulties making ends meet. I do without food… many days eating only one meal. I manage to pay my rent in full and on time. I hate to burden you, My Dear Readers. I genuinely fear that even mentioning these difficulties… taints what I do. However, in all things I must be truthful. One thing that I am not (even in spite of myself and often to my own detriment) I am NOT a liar. Either by willful act or through omission, I do not LIE!

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Well, now with all of that out of the way (and “Thank you!” for your patience) I want to share an excerpt of the very first work of horror I plan to publish here at The Other Shoe. Now, this excerpt does not contain any of the elements of horror. I am keeping my content very close to my heart. Nothing of the suspense, nothing of the horrific elements… will I share here today. However, it is my desire to, this Thursday, to publish Part One of ‘The Horror of Smithville’!

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Now, without further adieu, here is an excerpt from ‘The Horror of Smithville’

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“Timmy Marref lived on a farm outside Smithville. Smithville was a little town smack dab in the middle of America. Timmy’s father, Kenneth Marref, worked the farm as his father did before him and his grandfather did before that and his great-grandfather did before him. From what Timmy could gather the Marref’s had worked this land for more than 100 years. Timmy didn’t mind living on a farm. As a matter of fact, more times than not, Timmy just downright loved living on the farm.

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Now, to be honest Timmy didn’t know much about what you would call city life. Timmy had never lived in or near any big cities. But tenet had seen pictures of big cities, like New York City. He’d seen pictures of the tallest skyscrapers packed floor on top of floor on top of floor with more and more and more people. He had seen pictures of the streets packed elbow-to-elbow block after block after block with people lined up like sardines in a can. It made 10 a shutter to think of having to live like a sardine in a can.

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Timmy loved the fresh air of the great outdoors, the smell of a oncoming rainstorm, and the crunch of new fallen snow under the heel of his boots. Now, don’t get me wrong, Timmy knew full well that if given the chance he wouldn’t mind staying in a moderate to slightly large town like capital of the state. He had thought about that, often, because even at 12 years of age Timmy knew he really wanted to go to college. It wasn’t that Timmy was afraid of a life working hard on the farm, like his father and his father’s father and his father’s father’s father before him. Timmy wasn’t afraid of the hard work it was just that Timmy, as an adult, when it to do more for his parents and his family that he could as a farmer.

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Timmy’s father, Kenneth, didn’t pull punches when he talked at the dinner table about what it was to be a farmer in America today. The farm was not a very big farm. His father grew mostly corn, beans, pumpkins, lettuce and cabbage. Timmy’s father wasn’t much for the idea of only growing one thing. Ken use to tell Timmy “If the good Lord had meant for me to grow corn, and nothing else, he would’ve made us all so that we all   would be full just eating corn.” Their farm also had different kinds of animals.”

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That, My Dear Readers, is just the first few paragraphs of what I hope is a short story – novella here at The Other Shoe. Not since boyhood (age 8-10) have I written horror. This will be my very first venture into this genre, as an adult. I look forward to publishing Part One this Thursday. I hope that you are all here to join me in this premier.

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As always I am deeply honored that you come here and read my work.

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Thank YOU!

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A Valentine's Day Tale

A Valentine's Day Tale - A Time We Must Never Forget by Daniel Hanning

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[caption id="attachment_2203" align="aligncenter" width="630"] Daniel Hanning of The Other Shoe[/caption]

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            Welcome back My Dear Readers to The Other Shoe. Today, Friday February 14^th, 2014 is Valentine’s Day for most people here in America. However, today holds a different provenance, for yours truly.  When I was a very young boy, I would guess I was six or seven. My paternal Grandfather was visiting our home, Cecil Hanning.  

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He did not visit us, since we had moved from Foster street, closer to downtown Houston. Therefore, when he visited I was always wanting to spend the most time with him. Grandfather Hanning.. was very sad , on this Valentine’s Day. I could see it in his eyes, I felt it in him when I hugged. There was a great sadness in him, and… being the diligent young grandson… I wanted to help lift his sadness. That act, of a very young Danny would… forever change Valentine’s day… for me.

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I apologize, that if upon reading, that my retelling to this tale… might color your Valentine’s Day. For many, that grew up with me... back in Houston and later in Pearland do not know of this day. Today, you learn more about me… my family… my upbringing… my family’s past. While living on Foster street, in Houston, my Grandfather would take me into the basement of our home and tell me… of the Jewish heritage our family… mostly ignored.

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My paternal grandfather was separated from my paternal grandmother. Drink, and the making of and distribution of alcohol, was the impetuous for their separation. My grandfather still drank, but not today. Today, he took me into the backyard and we sat under a great cottonwood tree, in the corner of the backyard. I was six… it was February, so this would have been 1964. Our President Kennedy had been lost to the world, just months before.

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It was on February 14^th, 1964 that my paternal grandfather told me of another time. A time past, but one he feared might well return. That return is why at such a young age or six years old, my grandfather sat me under our cottonwood tree and explained to me… ‘The Final Solution’[1].

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  MY father was a late convert to the Jewish faith. However, do not mistake is conversion later in life for a lack of understanding of his new faith. He left his Catholic childhood, and upbringing, to join in marriage with the woman is his dreams, my paternal grandmother. She was Jewish, born and raised in an area referred to as The Black Forest in northern Germany. They met on the streets of New York City, both in their early twenties and both newly minted American Immigrants. So much, my paternal grandfather, loved his soon to be wife, he embraced her religion and converted to Judaism.

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On that Valentine’s Day I spent several hours in my backyard listening intently to my grandfather tell a tale of Nationalism and angry division. He explained how a wounded Germany sought to heal it’s wounds by engaging in a state of “Super Nationalism”. Then, how the Brown Shirts and later many elements of the Nationalized party sought to make the Jewish people a scapegoat for all their hard feelings. How this nationalist fervor was quickly transformed into angry dividing prejudge. How quickly that translated into the greatest slaughter of a people in modern times.

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Remember, the time was early 1964. America was divided, itself, on the issue of equality for African America’s right of the vote. He would sit at home, alone, and watch as these people were set upon by dogs. Had fire hoses turned upon them, and even hanged in public gatherings. He did not focus of the brutality of the great Holocaust he sought to draw lines. Lines between a national frame of mind and the corresponding, following, grave actions.

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You see, My Dear Readers, Valentine’s Day could not pass without him thinking of his “Jewish bride” (his words) without thinking of the great anger, and the dividing power of prejudice that brought his people to the very edge of extinction. He drew parallels between how America ignored Germany’s enslavement, then extinction of the Jewish people for years and years. Then he drew lines, again, between America’s intentional ignorance of wrongdoing, to that he saw… again, today. (1964)

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The shank of the day was gone, and I remember seeing an urgency in his face, and his words, towards the end. MY father would soon be home from work, and he would not be allowed to spend time alone with me, once my father arrived. I never understood why, but my father did not like me spending time alone with my paternal grandfather. On this day, I remember wishing time would slow, just for my grandfather to have time… time to tell me what was weighing on his so.

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The next thirty minutes will never leave me; they are engrained into my very soul. He warned me, with remembrances of his childhood and as a young man at the time of ‘The Final Solution’. How America stood silent, while millions of his people were firs enslaved, then marched into gas chambers. He spoke like every work mattered more than the last. He spoke with an urgency, yet reverence that I have never heard again. What did he warn me of?

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 Cecil, on that Valentine’s Day cautioned me. To watch for a nation, gripped in greed and drowning in reoccurring flows of nationalism. He did not say “it might happen again some day”. No, his words of warning were much more… precise, much more severe. On that fateful Valentine’s Day my paternal grandfather charged me with a task. A task that will follow me through out my life. The task of watching for a time when our nation is both gripped in greed and avarice. A time when, either due invasion or war, is gripped with waves of nationalism.

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Cecil, on that day, told me that it would happen again. That mankind is a creature destined to repeat his greatest sins, time and again. That I should watch for a time, when greed and avarice are seen as desirable attributes. Following, or at the same time, as a nation drowning in flows of nationalism…  A pride in our country not earned by act or inclusiveness of all citizens. No, a nationalism born out of division. That when, not if, I see these two occurrences… To guard my words.

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It was at this time that my father came into the backyard, home from work. He took me up, into his arms, and brought my grandfather and me into the house. We had dinner, later that night, and then my father drove his father home. Later, my father, he would ask me what we were talking about. I told him just stories about his time with his wife, my grandmother. I did not want to worry my father. You see, it was not his charge that was given on that fateful Valentine’s Day. The charge. Was mine.

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As always I am deeply honored that you come here and read my work.

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Thank YOU!

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[1]http://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005151

 

Missing Texas

                        Welcome back My Dear Readers to The Other Shoe. I hope that everyone enjoyed my article of earlier today, ‘My Problem With President Obama’. That article was difficult for me to bring to paper. Difficult for me to share, and difficult for me to allow my passion to show. It is not that I have difficulty pointing out the shortcomings of Democrats, be they Congressmen or Senators of even Presidents. It is difficult for me to criticize a sitting President. On more than one occasion I have chastised; friends, Facebook posters, and followers of The Other Shoe for being too openly critical of a sitting President. I, often, point out that when you openly grind on a sitting President you run the risk of openly disrespecting  the office of President of the United States.

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Little can be, genuinely, gained in so doing. As well, I feel that when people (writers, bloggers, TV personalities and radio talking heads) grind too much, and too often, on a sitting President we weaken our President in the international community. We weaken his ability to hold the leaders of other nations to task. We weaken our ability to build coalitions to fight oppressors and tyrants and weaken our hand in international trade agreements. This harms our nation, as a whole, and harms our standing in the international community.

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There, I got that off my chest. Now, on to the real reason for this late-in-the-day posting. It is 8:45PM, here in California. So, it is nearly 11PM in Texas. Therefore, most of the people that this article is meant for… will not read it until tomorrow… at the earliest. That’s fine, there really is no rush. The feeling that I will do my best to communicate, in this article, is that I miss Texas. This has been building, now, for several… months… yeah, months… I’ll stick with that… right. I may have tipped-off some of my more astute readers, earlier this week, when I wrote that I was denied attendance to my own mother’s funeral.

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I mean, I had never heard of something like that… before. An elder brother, telling his younger sibling that they were not welcome at the funeral of their mother… or father. I mean, I have read a lot in my lifetime and never before had I read of anyone being denied access to a parents funeral. If I had to come up with a Funk and Wagnall’s human definition of the word harsh? I would submit “refusing the younger brother from attending the mother (or father’s) funeral”. That, and I just have to say, IMHO that seems lot like an abusive action… by the elder brother.

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Me writing that, putting that into an article here @ The Other Shoe surely could have been a tip-off that I was missing home. Now, there are some of My Dear Readers that will giggle or laugh… at me referring to Texas as Home. I have been, here in one part of California or another, off and on for the past thirty-four years. That means that I have spent more, of my adult life, within the borders of California than I spent in Texas. All the same, I still do consider myself a Texan.

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If I ever win any kind of award, and I am at the award ceremony and give an acceptance speech I will mention “being a boy from a small town in Texas…”. If ever asked in an interview, I will always tell that I was born and raised in Southeast Texas. I am proud to be a Texan. It does not matter if Texas is, outside of Texas, popular or not at the time. I am a Texan and not a ‘fair-weather Texan’. I have been missing you guys a lot, of late. I read your words, on Facebook. See your posts and sometimes recent pictures of you. It is just not the same. I have to really strain to remember; how you speak, how you walked, how you laughed and how you felt when shaking my hand… or giving me a hug. I think, most of all, I miss that.

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Another reason, I think, that this may be coming up? Next week is my 56^th birthday. Just a stone’s throw from Sixty… and all that that entails. Yes, I am pretty sure that the upcoming 56^th birthday could have a lot to do with these feelings of… home sick. Just now, when I was running through what I was going to type next, I thought of the word home sick and (of course) the very first time I did feel home sick. It was Church camp… some place called “Peach Creek’. I think it was Peach Creek. If anyone, reading here today, went to South Park Baptist Church in Houston, and you went to Church Camp while attending SPBC? You would remember… if that was the name. If I got it wrong, don’t be shy. Either here at my blog, or on Facebook, please correct me, K? Tell me that I remembered wrong, and do me a solid and remind of the name of the Church Camp. K?

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Anyway, that was the very first time in my life that I ever felt home sick, was the first year I went away for Church Camp. So, I am pretty sure… that is what I am feeling, now. I know that it is not just the birthday. It is also the growing pain, in spite of the increased pain medications. It is the swollen lump at the base of my spine… on the left side. The increased white cell count, for the past six months. Yes, it is all of those things… combined. So, I just wanted to say… to all of you… in Pearland, and Houston.

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            “I miss you.”

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As always I am deeply honored that you come here and read my work.

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Thank you!

 

First Dictated Posting

This is my very first article written with Dragon speech software. It has taken me the better part of three hours to get this program set up, updated, registered, and trained. This has left me and a great deal of pain. However, I wanted to post this simple article to explain how things are going with me and my new program.

My Dear Readers, I want you all to know how much I truly value you as my dear readers. You might not know this, but when I was running my campaign for my power chair, and communicating with all of you on a daily basis I was my most happy. I love to write. Almost as much as I love hearing what you have to say about what I write. The exchange we had, My Dear Readers, during that campaign brought vitality back to my life. Not since the beginning of my medical problems have I felt more alive, more productive, or more loved.

This October it will been 10 years that I have suffered with the worst of my disease. The highlight of those 10 years? Give three months we talked, and shared. I do not know if you can understand the isolation I feel, people with my condition feel, but at times it is terrifying. Not just the isolation from friends and family. But isolation from day-to-day contact with people.

I am hoping that this new tool, Dragon at NaturallySpeaking, will help me to feel less isolated again. I miss you all.

Enjoy!