Need a little help from my friends.

Need a little help from my friends.

by Michael Young on Saturday, July 9, 2011 at 8:58pm

Looking for readers to review my books.
I have recently published three books which were released as ebooks. I am looking for people to review my books. I will post the reviews on my author’s web page and on my blog. If you are interested in doing a review on any of my novels, please email me at flyfisher1304@aol.com and I will send you a PDF version of that book.
They are available in most downloadable formats Available Ebook reading formats:

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Online Reading (HTML, good for sampling in web browser)
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Kindle (.mobi for Kindle devices and Kindle apps)
Epub (Nook, Sony Reader, Kobo, and most e-reading apps including Stanza, Aldiko, Adobe Digital Editions, others) Download
PDF (good for reading on PC, or for home printing)
RTF (readable on most word processors)
LRF (Use only for older model Sony Readers that don't support .epub)
Palm Doc (PDB) (for Palm reading devices)
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Here are short descriptions of my books:
Hardly a Hero
A young man leaving home to join the military struggles to adjust to his new life. The reader follows him as he enters the Air Force and then to his first base in Cheyenne Wyoming and then overseas to a foreign war in Vietnam. He is torn between duty and what he believes to be the right thing to do.
Showdown at Chaperito
Showdown at Chaperito is a story of greed, revenge and Murder. Alexander Spivey murders his brother and steals his bag of uncut diamonds. He flees to the west where he runs a ranch and stirs trouble with the Apache Indians. Many heroes rise up to confront Alexander and the town of Chaperito is the location where things will play out!
The Adventures of Buddy Young
Buddy and his family are forced to leave their ranch in New Mexico and move to the mile high city of Denver where Buddy’s father dies after a long illness. He is to rough for his mom to handle and runs the streets. He and his friends take part in many adventures. He and his friends join the war effort at the end of WWII. The story comes full circle as he returns to Denver as a grown man.
Having my books reviewed by readers like yourselves will help me to become a better writer and I appreciate your help.
If you are not interested in reviewing any of the books but would like to read them, please do so. They can be found on Smashwords.com, Barns and Noble. Or just Google the title and there will be sites where you can purchase the books.
Thanks again and be watching for my fourth book release this year, KOJACK.
Michael Young

A Yellow Rose for the Missing

Family members and volunteers place fresh roses Sunday at The Wall in the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington during a Father's Day ceremony to remember the fathers who were killed and still missing during the Vietnam War. The red roses signify soldiers killed in Vietnam and yellow denote soldiers still missing in action.

A Yellow Rose for the Missing

The Plane touched down and rolled to the terminal. The cabin was quiet and the passengers disembarked and headed to customs. I was sitting in my seat when the stewardess approaches.

     “Sir we need you to proceed to customs along with the rest of the passengers.” She smiles but her smile makes no difference as I am miles away, in a different world. She gently touches my shoulder and I come slowly back. “Sir, are you alright?” She asks.

     I look up and nodded then I stand up and take my small hand bag form the overhead compartment. She continues on down the aisle checking the seats and I head towards the exit. On the tarmac now and then a short walk to customs. I look at the people all around and they all seem busy with their tasks. They are smiling at me and telling it is ok to go now. I pick up my duffle bag and small hand bag and report for debriefing and processing. They all look like robots to me and they speak to me with no particular emotion, just matter of fact blankness. Proceed to this building, attend this debriefing, report back to that building, check in here, and check out there.

I spend the night in a transit building on a metal bunk. Report to Out Processing, a physical and then report to Finance for final pay and copy of discharge paperwork. Still feeling numb I proceed to the air terminal and find a payphone. Make the call and sit and wait.

What am I doing? Where am I going, and what happened to me?  

It’s July 1972, and the Air Terminal at Travis Air Force Base is busy with arriving and departing military personnel. The wait for his parents and his younger sister goes by in a flash and it’s time to snap out of it and put on my game face. I need to reach inside and gather myself and play the part. I’m numb inside and I lack the emotion to play the loving son and brother but I must …for them.

There they are walking this way. I turn on the smile and walk towards  them. I need to look happy…they look happy and I need to follow suit.

We are in the car now and heading home. The car moves down the highway and the buildings and scenery is flashing by but I am somewhere else. I see what is not there; the pictures and smells of a far away land fill my senses. I respond to news of things that are going on at home in Campbell, with an almost robotic yes, wow, I see, and on and on it goes.

Nobody asks about what it was like. They are walking on egg shells and don’t want to tip my apple cart. It’s all the better for me. I can barely keep my apples on the cart as it is. I start to feel my mood change and with it a wave of emotion builds and the tears start to well up. No, I can’t do this …not now…I must keep it back. I am lost and I don’t know who will come out if I let down. I lost myself over there and I can’t seem to get back. I’m an empty shell. They don’t know this and I can’t tell them. I need to find enough of me to make them think it is me. At least until I make it back. Will I …make it back that is? I am missing and I can’t find myself…I’m scared and the only weapon I have is the power over my emotion. I can’t cry I can’t ask for help and I can’t let them know that this is not me!

They tell me to make myself at home and I put my duffle bag in my old room. We sit down and make small talk. I do well they seem to think I am the same son and brother that left for Vietnam. Only I know he is still there and I am here in his place.

What do they want from me? Do I need to tell them war stories…do I need to stay quiet about the war? What am I supposed to do? Why couldn’t he have come back instead of me?

The beer in front of me looks good. They offer me another as I finish off the first. After a few more the mama-son puts a plate in front of me. I hear the sound of a two cycle engine and the smell of gas and oil exhaust. The rattle of gun fire and then the ringing starts and I am back at the dining table. His sister stands and walks to the phone. She answers and tells whoever is on the line that her brother is back. It’s what she wants but I can’t bring it to be. He is still far away and I don’t know how to get in touch with him!

I am doing real well and the time is going by quickly. We settle into the family room and watch television. Its good and I don’t have to talk…I don’t have to pretend that I am him. We just sit and watch the screen.

It’s late and the family is going to bed. I lay down on the bed…a real bed. The time goes by and the house is quiet. I check the windows and then get up and walk the floor, go to the front room and check the door then the others. All secure but I need to keep watch. I can’t let my guard down. A siren sounds in the distance and I look up automatically and the ceiling is now an open sky and I am looking for the trail of the rocket and anticipate the impact of the 122. The siren drifts off and there is no impact…must have been a dud. I sit at the table and wait. The light comes through the windows and it is time to rest. I go back to the bedroom and lay down. A real bed…feels so good.

The smells of frying bacon wake me and I find his mother and sister in the kitchen. His father has gone to work. They talk of a party that a friend is having and they want Mike to attend. I smile and want to decline but I need to get away for a while. I need to get my head together and a party would be just the place. I could sit in a corner and just be by myself while everyone else did their thing.

I spend part of the day walking around the neighborhood and say hello to a few people who see me and act surprised when I don’t stop to converse. I notice how clean the air is. There are no jet engines or rotor blades whipping the air over head. I sit on the curb in front of the house and just stare across the street at the curb. A memory tries to impress its self on my brain. It’s a bunch of kids running in the street, their laughing and chasing each other. They look familiar but they start to blur and then are replaced by other children. These children are crying and running down the street. Their skin is falling off and I smell the flames and hear the impact of the napalm canisters. I drop my head into my hands and try to cry…cry for the children. No! No tears. Can’t cry now…not now!  I can’t help those kids. Where are the kids who were laughing? I want them back.

I arrive at the party. Lots of people, long hair, physcodelic posters, pot, incense burning. Beer and whisky flows. Some people say hello… must be his friends. Pretty girl looking at me but, does not smile. She approaches and asks why I am at their party. She tells me that I am scum and that I fought in a criminal war and that I am responsible for murdering thousands if not millions of women and children. She tells me I disgust her. The room begins to spin and her face whirls in front of me and I hear her voice repeating over and over baby killer…baby killer! I get up and leave. I am sick and my head is spinning. I just want to get away. I run down the street and then keep on running. I get to a little park, along the side of a creek and sit on the edge of a sand pit. I pray for him to come back and take over because I can’t do this any longer. I am sick want to die.

I make it back to his parent’s house and I get a phone call from his wife. She is in Cheyenne Wyoming and wants to know why I haven’t gotten back there yet. I tell her that I will leave the next day.

The bus pulls out of San Jose and I wonder if his family knows. Will they ever see him again? What am I going to do in Cheyenne? I will just have to put my game face on and keep on playing the part until he comes back or I die. Maybe I can find him in Cheyenne.

As for now He is missing and all I can do is set out a yellow rose until he comes back.

"Alexander Hatch " a name in history

A NAME IN HISTORY

Alexander Hatch

Alexander Hatch was an Anglo settler from New York. He came from a family of strong people who have greatly changed the history of America.  A few of the Hatch family are known for their influence in the American Revolution, Gold fields of California, the development of fruit industry in Northern California.  They impacted the Indian wars in the southwest and the mercantile business that helped to feed manifest destiny.

Alexander followed the mood of the country and traveled west. He moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico in 1845 but eventually settled on land near the Gallinas River in San Miguel County. He developed a ranch where he grew corn and raised cattle.

The Land

His right to the land was challenged when another settler known as Preston Beck laid claim to land that Alexander and over a hundred other settlers squatted on. Beck claimed that the territory known as the Hacienda de San Juan Bautista del Ojito del Rio de las Gallinas, was his land. He took his claim to the courts and tried to prove he had rights to the land bordered north by the landmarks of the sito of Don Antonio Ortiz and the Mesa of the Aguage de la Yegua and on the south by the river Pecos, the eastern border being the mesa of Pajarito and bordered on the west by the point of the mesa of the Chupaines.  Becks lawyers tried to show that the land had originally been granted to Juan Estvan Pino. Becks claim declared that the governor and superior political chief of the province of New Mexico, Bartolm E. Baca had awarded the grant to Pino on December 23, 1823. His claim further stated that Pino lived on the land and made improvements but was forced off the land by Indians. Beck claimed that Pino had left the land to Pino’s two sons, Justo Pino and Manuel D. Pino. Beck’s claim to the land was that he had received the land as payment of a debt from the two sons and their wives. Preston Beck died before he could get control of the land and Alexander Hatch and his wife Lucy continued to live on the land for several years.

Was Fort Hatch Needed?

During 1856 Alexander Hatch and many other settlers in the area requested that the army make a strong presence in the area to protect against Indian raids. The area was frequented by several tribes of Indians that traveled the New Mexican territory. The several bands of Apache, Comanche, Kiowa, and Navajo were the most frequent tribes to conduct raids in the area. As the game in the area was run off by the Anglo hunters and settlers, the Indians had no choice but to raid the ranches and steal cattle, sheep for food. They also stole horses, and even human hostages.

After some negotiations, which included awarding Alexander the post sutler position, Alexander rented a portion of the land and some buildings to the army. This area was developed into a small satellite post that was call Fort Hatch, or Camp at Hatch’s Ranch.

The camp was a satellite post of Fort Union and meant to be a re-supply depot. The fort was located on the west bank of the Gallinas River about thirteen miles northeast of Anton Chico and thirty-five miles south of Las Vegas.

On November 2, 1856, Colonel Bonneville and William A. Thorton visited the post at Hatch’s Ranch to make an inspection. They started from Las Vegas early and when they were close to Hatch’s ranch the country became more open and prairie like bluffs and mountains rising like islands. Eagles Bluff was one of these landmarks. The men found a company of riflemen stationed at the post. These men were inspected by Bonneville and Thorton.  The post was inspected and Bonneville felt that the area had good water, wood and that corn could be grown adequately to support the post but that the location was not practical as it would provide little protection to Anton Chico. Bonneville had the opinion that a better location for the post would be further south where the raiding Indians could be met as they returned from Texas and not allowed to proceed further into the country.

Although the post would not be made a permanent fort, it presence affected the area as the military in the Gallinas Valley made it a safer place for settlers to live and raise crops and livestock. Soon the area was flooded with new settlers, and small towns and villages sprung up.

In the end the fort was needed in the area and served the people of the Gallinas Valley and helped settle the area. It also served as a valuable re-supply depot for the US Army.

Fort Hatch and the Civil War

Troops from Fort Hatch were instrumental in many of the Civil war battles that took place in New Mexico. One of these troopers, Anastasio Duran was a scout. He came from the small village of Chaperito, located three miles north of the fort. He was station at Fort Union until he was transferred to the post at Hatch’s Ranch. The commanders considered Duran a “Comanchero”, by trade and knew he was very familiar with the terrain. He had hunted the area extensively and was a renowned as a skillful hunter. His knowledge of the terrain help him to lead the union troops in the battle of Glorieta Pass, where they were able to attack the confederates behind their lines and turn the tide of the battle that forced the Confederacy back into Texas.

Kit Carson visits Fort Hatch

One of history’s dramatic events was the Long Walk. In this expedition Colonel Kit Carson led the Navajo Indians from Arizona to the Bosque Redondo reservation in New Mexico. The expedition passed through Forth Hatch. As the Navajo were guided through the territory towards their new reservation, many of the Indians would hide out in the many ranches and villages that they passed through. The troops would have to retrieve them from their hiding places where some of the sympathetic town’s people and settlers tried to shelter them. The poor condition of the Navajo caused many to die from illness along the route.

One story is told of a family that owned a general store in one of the small towns that Carson took the Navajo through. The story was told that while the family’s father was away the wife and two daughters watched through the windows as the hundreds of Navajo passed through the town until a couple of Navajo women entered the store and approached a clothing display. The wife and her daughters became afraid and hid. They watched from their hiding place as the Indian women removed their own intricately worked leather garments with their beautiful bead work and dropped them on the floor boards, and put on the cloths form the display and then left the store and returned to the line and their journey. The family was excited now and wanted to gather up the leather garments, but the father, who had now returned saw the items and took them to the street and burned them. The wife and daughters were upset and protested, how he could burn such beautiful and valuable Indian garments! He then told them that the garments were not valuable in the condition they were in as they were infested with lice.

Lydia Lane Visits Fort Hatch

Life at the fort was a lonely one for Lucy Hatch as there were not many women of her background there to share conversations with. Whenever there were visitors or new troopers sent to the fort, Lucy would look forward to the possibility that there could be an army wife and children accompanying the visitor or troopers. One such visitor was Lydia Lane. Lane is known for the book she wrote about her travels as a military wife.  (Lydia Lane’s book, “I Married a Soldier”, is a must read for anyone seriously interested in the way life was for a military wife in the 1800 southwest frontier.)

 Lydia Lane and her husband Lieutenant William B. Lane were stationed at Fort Hatch and shared the adobe building with Alexander and Lucy.

The adobe house was a two room building with a long low roof. The building was surrounded by a rock wall.

Lucy was doubly blessed as Lydia had a sister who was also married to an army officer. His name was Captain Elliot. The captain was in command of the troops at Fort Hatch for their stay.

The fort was in a very desolate are and there was not much to do. The women would busy themselves with the everyday chores of running a home in the frontier. The troops were gone quite often on expeditions to locate Indians that were off the reservation and posing a threat to the settlements.

The Layout of the Fort

Alexander Hatch had made a lot of money from the government by selling them beef and supplies for the troops while they were stationed at the fort. He also benefited from the protection that was given to his ranch. This protection allowed him to grow corn that he sold for top dollar to the army to feed their live stock. Some say that many ranchers attempted to get the army to create post on their land for this very reason. This led to false reports of Indian depredations and increased the bad relations between the settlers and the Indians.

What became of Alexander Hatch?

In 1864 the fort was abandoned and the troops were reassigned to forts like Union and Fort Sumner.  Indian problems and guerrillas created too many problems and Alexander left the ranch. He settled in Trinidad, Colorado where he lived out his days.

Fort Hatch Today

Today Fort Hatch still stands although the rock walls are all that is visible. The adobe buildings have melted into their surroundings and signs that the large post was ever there are barely visible. There are only the wall and the cattle pens there that are still used by the Park Spring Ranch.

The fort is one of hundreds of interesting sites throughout New Mexico that are located on private land. The land owners have become care takers of history and they protect the ruins from vandals and trophy seekers that mare and destroy our valuable heritage.

This is what the real Fort Hatch looks like today.

the Photo is courtesy of Denise Cleckler

http://nmoutdoorexposure.blogspot.com/

Carusoe: Friend or Foe?

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Caruso: Friend or Foe? By Michael Young      A cold chill permeated the air and I tucked my foot back under the covers. I pulled my arms in close to my body to feel the warmth given out from my body’s core. I started to drift back to sleep when I heard it. I was a noise coming from some distant place. What was it? My mind now engaged in this puzzle to try and identify the phantom noise. All hope of sleeping in were now evaporating as my mind sorted through a catalogue of noises and compared what I was hearing to a list of sounds turning in my head. The noise was getting louder and closer as if it were some mysterious invader on a mission to put an end to my sleep. There I had it. My mind had settled on a match. This sound was a chicken! No not a chicken but a rooster. Yes the noise is now a clearly audible crowing and it’s getting closer and louder.      All hope of sleep is gone now and I am interested in seeing this strange anomaly. The wife and I have lived here in this small community for close to 19 years now and we have never heard a rooster crowing in the early morning hours.      I slowly crawled out of our bed and felt the cold hit my body.  I sat on the edge of the bed and stretched and yawned rubbed my eyes and then slipping on my slippers and robe, I headed down stairs to turn on the heater. I could hear the crowing and it seemed to settle in our back yard now. I counted the seconds between the out bursts of poultry song. Five seconds were between each crowing. This thing was like a machine gun. With just a few seconds between blasts!      Having turned on the heater I then made my way to the back door at the perimeter of the kitchen. I opened the blinds and there was the most beautiful rooster I had ever seen. It was a Rode Island Red and he was perched on my wife’s patio swing. He puffed up his neck feathers and flapped his wings and let out another round of crowing.       The rooster looked at me and jumped down from his perch on the swing and he strolled closer to the window and eyed me with his head cocked to first one side then the other. He didn’t seem to be afraid of me and I moved slowly and opened the door.  He was now standing under a bird feeder that we had put out for the local birds. It hung from the patio roof and swung back and forth in the light breeze. The rooster eyeballed the feeder. Did he know what the feeder was? Could he smell the seed that filled the feeder? No how could he smell the seed? I couldn’t smell the seed. Did he have some super nostrils that only roosters had that could pick up the scent of bird seed? Is that how he found his way to my back yard…by following the scent of bird seed on the wind?      I went to the feeder and took it down from the patio and spilled some of the seed on the ground.  The rooster didn’t rush in to get the seed but waited for me to back away. He slowly moved in and started to peck at the seed. I sat down on a black rod iron patio chair and watched as the bird was feeding. He seemed to like the lighter colored seeds and ate them first. He was highly proficient with his beak and didn’t miss a seed. I wondered how he kept from hurting himself by banging his beak on the hard concrete patio surface. But it didn’t seem to bother him and he continued until all the lighter colored seeds were eaten. He then turned and looked at me again. He let out a loud crow as if to say, hey buddy what happened to all the lighter colored seed? I thought just what we need around here a demanding rooster. I didn’t move from my chair and he jumped up on a redwood bench and then to the table where he watched me for a while. He again cocked his head from side to side. I guess he realized that I was not going to add to the pile of seed. He jumped down and went after the darker seeds this time.  This was a new experience for me and I soon forgot how he had just woken me and kept me from returning to my sleep. I was soon trying to come up with a name for the rooster and settled on Cogburn. Rooster Cogburn.      The rooster hung around the yard most of the day and the wife and I enjoyed watching his antics as he scratched the ground looking for bugs to eat. I even started to think that it wouldn’t be too bad to have him around. Yeah, he could eat insect pests in the yard. Clark, who needs you when we have Rooster Cogburn!      The day went on and Rooster Cogburn disappeared. I suspected he had returned to what chicken coop he came from. That night just before bed I heard a tapping at the back door. I went down to the kitchen and turned on the patio light and there he was perched on the rail of our gazebo. He looked to be roosting there for the night. I bid him a good night and went to bed.       The next day I was awaken from a sound sleep to the realization that Cogburn was tapping at the back door and crowing to beat the band. I looked at the clock and couldn’t believe my eyes. It was five in the morning! What on earth was this rooster singing about so early? I lay there and tried to ignore the crowing but it seemed he sang all the louder. The wife was stirring and then was awake.      “Is that rooster here again?” She asked sleepily.      “Yeah, He spent the night.” I answered.     “Can you please go tell him to be quiet? I want to try and go back to sleep.” She rolled over and covered her head with the pillow.      I got up from bed and put on my slippers and robe and made the trip to the kitchen door. I was thinking to myself that all I needed was a crazy rooster who thought he was Caruso singing in my back yard at such an early hour. I turned on the light and there he was standing under the bird feeder. He looked at me and seemed to be demanding that I feed him again. This time there was no shyness in his manner but a bit of a demanding unwanted guest type attitude. I gave in thinking that if I feed him maybe he would stop singing his feed me ballad. This worked and all was quiet and he took his prejudicial approach to eating all the white seeds first. Then came the obvious demand for more white seed and finally the return to the darker seed. Soon the wife was down stairs and we were both holding our cups of coffee and rubbing our sleepy eyes.      “What is that bird’s problem and why is he picking on us?” She asked between sips of her coffee.      “I don’t know, maybe he was a cat in his first life and came back because I fed him. You know they say don’t feed stray cats because they will always come back. Well maybe that applies to roosters too.” After I said it I thought of how ridiculous it sounded, but it was too early for me to make much sense of anything.      That day Caruso (the new name I took to calling him) hung around most of the day. He would tap at the door and seemed to want our companionship as well as our bird seed. At one point it became very quiet outside and I opened the door to peak outside and looked around. I could not see Caruso anywhere. I stepped further outside and peaked around a corner and he was standing there right at the edge of the corner peaking around at me. His little head was cocked to one side and he was looking up at me with the eye on his left side of his beak. I walked back to the patio and sat on the chair. A quick look around and I could see that there was cleaning up to do. Caruso had been leaving evidence of his visit everywhere! He trotted up to me and with a little jump he flew up and landed on the bench across from me. There he sat staring at me then at the bird feeder then back at me.      “You are too much Caruso! You wanted me to come out here to check to see if you were around and all the time you were just baiting me to come out so you could catch me and get me to give you more bird feed! You were just hiding around the corner all the time. Why don’t you do some good around here and get to eating bugs!” I was starting to get a little upset thinking that I was being hoodwinked by a dang Rooster.      This day went by and our unwanted guest had settled in for the night again perched above my wife patio swing which now had become a patio rooster toilet.     This continued on for several days and my wife and I were not getting any sleep past 5am. I had tried the Humane Society but they never responded. Apparently they wanted nothing to do with roosters either.      On the sixth day I took a walk around the neighborhood hoping to see someone who was looking for their lost rooster. I spied each pole each light pole for a poster. You know the signs (Have you seen my dog or cat? There is always a funky picture of the dog or cat drawn by the child that put the poster up).      I had to return home as I couldn’t find anyone missing a rooster. I did get some mean looks from the angry neighbors who obviously thought the rooster was mine. They too were getting woken up by Caruso. I walked into the house and told my wife that the rooster might be a good way to get back at the neighbor behind us who had a dog that barked all day. Yeah now he knew what it was like! I felt like running over there and shouting, “My rooster can lick your dog!” Then the reality sunk in and I understood that not only did I have to listen to a barking dog but had to listen to a demanding rooster too. I was the looser all around!      Oh we tried everything for the next few days. I put him out of the yard but he would fly right back in. Who said roosters couldn’t fly? More calls to the humane society were made which were just as promptly ignored as the first. I’ve asked for recipes for fried rooster on the Facebook web site. I didn’t get any responses. The only result was that my cousin from Colorado who was a member of every humane group from save the whales to save the tree frogs started a save the rooster club. Boy was I pissed when I found out my wife joined. The recipe was a bad idea anyway and   I don’t think I could bring myself to kill Caruso. Now my wife handled things differently. She called people to tell them about the rooster in her back yard. She would take the phone to the door and say “Oh listen to him crow!” and of course Caruso would pick that time to be shy. I told her he was just like a little kid. They never do anything when you want them to at the right time!     I don’t know what we will do to get rid of our unwanted guest. I only know he has worn out his welcome. You give a rooster an inch and they want to take a mile.      I think about the first day and how I thought he was so beautiful and now all I can say is it will be a beautiful day when he flies this coop!      Take my word for it, don’t ever feed a stray rooster!

American media blows it again!

TweetI give thanks that our war on terrorism has had such a grand victory. It is nice to see the people rally under the flag and show their patriotism. The media on the other hand has done their best to ruin a good thing as usual. They are parading photos of him constantly 24 / 7. And it is disgusting! They can report the news without providing the shrine like atmosphere to our mortal enemy by pushing his face at us every minute. There is probably close to no Americans that do not know what he looks like yet the media drags his image in front of us continually. Enough already!!! Yes report about the mission and tell of the brave deeds our men and woman have done to rid us of him, but stop showing his image like he is some type of hero! All that does is hype up the enemy and recruit more jerks to carry out his agenda.

The American Media gets a big fat F for their coverage of this event!

Losing a Father . How did you survive it?

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In my novel The Adventures of Buddy Young, I write about a young man who is growing up during the turbulent times of the Great Depression and World War Two.  Buddy is the characters name and I have used incidents from my own father’s life to create the story line.  Buddy as did my father loses his father at a very young age and is forced to move from his beloved ranch community in New Mexico to the strange setting of the mile high city of Denver Colorado.

While writing this story I became acquainted with the feelings that a boy would work threw after losing his father. This was new to me as I was very lucky to have my father with me during my youth and still now he is there when I need advice or a bit of comfort. The emotions that Buddy felt were tremendous and overwhelming at times for him. He always had the thoughts of his father in the back of his mind and when alone would talk to him and share his feelings in prayer and meditation.

I found it sad to think of what it was like for Buddy to see other boys interacting with their fathers, when he could not. Every time he saw a father root for his son in a baseball  park or walk down the alley carrying fishing poles together, or just driving down the street in a car together. It must have torn at Buddy’s heart strings ’.

The novel The Adventures of Buddy Young describe how Buddy worked through the younger years of his life and how he dealt with losing his father. It is a must read for anyone who would question what it would be like. The sadness of the situation mixed with the antics of Buddy and his friends make this novel well worth the read.

I would like to hear back from men and boys alike who have lost their fathers. And to hear their stories of how they dealt with the loss. 

The Adventure of Buddy Young can be downloaded at Smashwords.com

Michaels Novels my

https://sites.google.com/site/michaelsnovels/

My new site is just getting off the ground. Take a look and give me some feed back.