Alright dear reader…if you are a crime fiction aficionado, today is your kind of day.  Today we tip our fedoras to one of the truly coolest American writers, Elmore Leonard.  Born on October 11, 1925, Leonard wasn’t just any writer – he was the godfather of gritty crime novels, a master of dialogue, and a storyteller who knew exactly how to keep his readers on the edge of their seats.

I’ve always been a big fan of “Get Shorty” (both the book and the movie).  It’s follow-up, “Be Cool” was also well done.  “Rum Punch” was turned into “Jackie Brown” by Quentin Tarantino (also of which I am a big fan).  Leonard gave us so many really iconic stories: “Mr. Majestyk,” “3:10 to Yuma.”  His novella “Fire in the Hole,” was turned into FX’s “Justified.”  Apparently the success of that, along with encouragement from actor Timothy Olyphant, Elmore wrote his 45th novel, Raylan.

Leonard had an amazing knack for crafting truly authentic-sounding dialogue which shows the various flaws and charms of his characters.  He writes about rogues and anti-heroes, which tends to be right up my strasse. 

So happy birthday and cheers to Elmore Leonard!

N.P.: “Can’t Play Dead” – The Heavy

Happy Badass Birthday to one of my favorite authors, the indomitable James Clavell.  Born on October 10, 1924, Clavell, an Aussie-born Brit, wasn’t just another writer; he was the architect of some of the most epic sagas of the 20th century.  The legendary stories he crafted were of dramatic worlds filled with intrigue and cultural clashes.  His books actually made me take a more active approach to my history classes in high school.

When we were assigned “Shōgun” at the beginning of sophomore year, I confess I was a bit daunted…it was, at the time, a very thick book.  But I quickly got lost (in the best of ways) in those endless pages.  I actually considered changing my career aspirations to include “samurai.”  The following semester, we were assigned “Tai-Pan” were we learned about the art trading like a genius, armed with nothing but a sharp wit and charisma.  That year, “bad joss” became part of our regular vocabulary.

The plots he was able to come up with were tight, dear reader…tighter than any fictive thing I’ve ever been able to do.  His characters had surprising, compelling depth, and his eye for detail often made his historical fiction feel like documentary.

I of course recommend his “Asian Saga.”  If you caught this summer’s release of Shogun on Hulu, you have James Clavell to thank.

So today we pour some out for James, then drink the rest: cheers!

N.P.: “Sacrilegious” – Marilyn Manson

Hats off to the IDF, IAF, and Benjamin Netanyahu for an absolute masterclass on how to wage war and defeat one’s opponents.  In what has widely been praised as the most ingenious and successful series of highly targeted strikes against a terrorist organization in the history of modern warfare, Benjamin Netanyahu, the Mossad, the IAF, and IDF have completely defanged and dismantled Hezbollah and brutally humiliated its state sponsor Iran.  First, a quick run-through of the 14 Days of Israeli Military Mastery.

Sept 17 – On the morning of September 17, Israel announces a new focus of their war: having essentially dismantled Hamas in Gaza, it is now time to return tens of thousands of Israeli citizens who have been displaced by a constant barrage of rocket and missile fire from Hezbollah in Lebanon into northern Israel since Oct 8 of last year.  In what has been subsequently dubbed “Operation Grim Beeper,” Israel causes thousands of pagers that had been issued directly by Hezbollah leadership to the groups lower level members to explode across Lebanon and Syria, killing at least 13 terrorists and critically injuring (blowing the balls off of) roughly 4000 Hezbollah operatives.  There is abundant cc footage of these explosions happening, and honestly, they get funnier with every viewing.

Sept 18 – Hezbollah leadership bans the use of their pagers (which pagers they adopted when they figured out Israel had access to all of their cellular communications), and instructs its members to now use only walkie-talkies.  A couple of hours after that instruction is given, Israel blows up the walkie-talkies, killing another 14 terrorist shitbags and severely wounding about 400.  Footage of these explosions is not as abundant, but still just as funny.

Sept 19 – Israel strikes hundreds of rocket launchers in southern Lebanon that were poised to be launched into northern Israel, knocking out a significant amount of Hezbollah once-formidable firepower.  Iran, Syria, and Lebanon all ban beepers, walkie-talkies, and other communications devices on airplanes.  Communications between Hezbollah’s senior leadership and its soldiers as well as with each other has been completely destroyed.  Senior leadership decides that in-person meetings are the only “safe” way to communicate.

Sept 20 – The first such meeting of Hezbollah takes place commanders takes place.  Following long-standing human-shield policy, Hezbollah intentionally hold their meeting in a residential building in a highly populated suburb of Beirut at the height of rush hour, knowing that the West no longer has any stomach for winning an actual war, and as long as Biden holds Israel’s leash, they won’t strike in an area where there are likely to be civilian casualties.  But Netanyahu, having grown exhausted with Biden’s egregious incompetence combined with his senility and Harris’s egregious incompetence combined with her antisemitism, has stopped asking for permission.  In fact, he’s stopped even notifying Biden/Harris, the U.S. State Department, or anyone else in American government what Israel’s plans are.  So Israel blows the hell out of the apartment building killing 37 people.  Israel announces that they had killed Ibrahim Akil, Hezbollah’s military commander.  Later, Hezbollah confirmed Akil’s death along with 15 other senior Hezbollah commanders.  This particular shitbag had been wanted by the U.S. for the 1983 U.S. Embassy bombing in Beirut.  According to the Israeli military, Akil had been planning an October 7 attack in Northern Israel, designed to mirror the October 7th attack by Hamas the previous year.

Sept 21 – The IAF simply Puts It To Hezbollah, hitting some 400 Hezbollah targets in Lebanon, including more rocket launchers and “military infrastructure.”  Ayatollah Khameini goes into hiding somewhere in Iran.  Mossad likely knows exactly where.

Sept 22 – Heavy fire is exchanged between Hezbollah and Israel overnight and into the morning.  Witnesses report “huge explosions that lit up the night sky.”  Israel hits 290 targets, including still more rocket launchers, while Hezbollah managed to lob some rockets deeper into Israel than in previous days.  This just pisses Israel off.

Sept 23 – Israel courtesy calls the entire population of southern Lebanon telling them quite clearly to GTFO most ricky-tick just hours before bombing the piss out of the entire area with over 1300 airstrikes, killing 558 people, and injuring more than 1800.  Hezbollah fires more than 200 rockets into northern Israel, the vast majority of which are intercepted by Iron Dome and David’s Sling.  Hezbollah fires rockets into Haifa for the first time in the war.

Sept 24 – Fire between Hezbollah and Israel continues through the night.  Israel again courtesy calls the fools who didn’t heed yesterday’s warning and managed to survive, to, again, GTFO tout de suite, and again, hours later, proceeds to bomb the shit out of the place, killing dozens more.  Among these are Ibrahim Kobeissi, the head of Hezbollah’s missile division.

Sept 25 – Hezbollah launches a long-range missile at Tel Aviv, the first time the shitbags have targeted Central Israel.  The missile is shot down by Israeli forces.  Israel continues airstrikes across southern Lebanon, killing another 72 people and injuring 400.  Israel calls up two additional brigades of reserves for a ground invasion of Lebanon.

Sept 26 – The vaginal United Nations General Assembly proposes an absurd 21-day ceasefire agreement.  Which is pretty rich considering Hezbollah has been rocketing Israel daily for damn near a year and nobody said shit.  Israel tells the U.N. to go screw.  Hezbollah fires dozens of rockets into Israel, most of which are batted down easily.  Israel responds with 200 airstrikes, none of which were intercepted, and 92 people die and 150 are wounded.  One of those killed is Mohammed Hussein Sarour, the commander of Hezbollah’s air force.

Sept 27 – Surprisingly, in the middle of a rapidly escalating seven-front war, Bibi Netanyahu flies to New York to address the aforementioned vaginal United Nations General Assembly.  It’s widely speculated that he’s going to show up hat-in-hand and propose some middle ground or “limited military response” in response to the idiotic ceasefire agreement proposed the day before, in the hopes of appeasing the Biden administration enough to get restart delivery of 2000lbs bombs.

Nope.

With timing and panache lifted directly from “The Godfather,” Netanyahu strides up to the podium and proceeds to absolutely blast the whole wretched United Nations, calling it a “swamp of antisemitic bile.” [Fact Check: True] Rather than mincing around and asking for help, Bibi delivers a fiery speech telling these cowards that Israel is “winning” on all seven fronts and would continue to attack Iran and its proxies anywhere in the Middle East.  He delivers these lines knowing that 10 minutes before the speech, he gave a significant order to the IAF.  Just as he concludes his U.N. speech, southern Beirut is absolutely rocked by a series of airstrikes which demolish several residential buildings, which blasts can be felt throughout the city.  Israel immediately announces they have targeted Hezbollah Headquarters.

Sept 28 – A few hours later, Israel announces that the blast has killed Hassan Nasrallah, the leader of Hezbollah, a fact confirmed by Hezbollah hours later.  This strike totally reshapes the calculous of the Middle East.

Sept 29 – Israel targets the Houthis (another Iranian proxy group) in Yemen, who had targeted Tel Aviv with a missile strike the day before, sending the IAF to blow the hell out of the Yemeni city of Huydaydah, destroying multiple power plants and the city’s large seaport, which was “used by the Houthis to transfer Iranian weapons to the region.”

Oct 1 – Israel begins ground invasion of southern Lebanon.  The IDF carried out “limited” raids in villages hear the border while the IDF continued to pummel the rest of Lebanon.  Iran, having been completely humiliated daily on the world stage for two weeks, launches the largest ballistic missile attack in history on Israel, firing over 200 missiles in two waves of attacks.  All of these missiles are intercepted, shot down, and thwarted.  There is some property damage, but the only reported death is that of a Palestinian from Gaza who had snuck into southern Israel.  Israel vows “significant retaliation,” within days.

Oct 7 – The anniversary of the vile, subhuman Hamas attack on Israel.  The world awaits Israel’s response to Iran.  Popular speculation includes 1) Israel destroying Iran’s oil production facilities, which would permanently devastate the Iranian economy, 2) wiping out Iran’s air defense systems and nuclear facilities, and 3) targeted strikes/assassinations, forcing regime change in Iran once the Islamic Republic government is dissolved and the Mullahs and Ayatollahs have been torn apart by the Persian masses.  I strongly advocate for taking all three actions.  Additionally, as sort of punctuation for emphasis, I would sink their navy.  Just to really drive the point home.  What is certain is this: in the last year, Israel has taken both of Iran’s knights off the table, and Iran has been exposed as an embarrassing paper tiger.

The two knights are, of course, Hamas and Hezbollah.  At the start of this war, Hamas had somewhere between 5000 to 20,000 medium and long-range rockets, and around 30,000 fighters.  Hezbollah was estimated to have 150,000 more advanced rockets and missiles, as well as sophisticated Shahed 136 suicide drones and anti-ship weapons.  Two weeks ago, they boasted well over 100,000 fighters.  Perhaps the reader will notice an egregious discrepancy in these two terrorist forces.  And perhaps this will inspire the reader to wonder how it is that it has taken Israel a year now to eradicate Hamas, with questions remaining as to the fate of the hostages and Hamas’ leader, Yahya Sinwar, yet it took Israel a mere 14 days to completely dismantle and defang the many-times-larger-and-better-funded Hezbollah, with minimal “civilian” casualties and certainty that it’s all of its leadership, including their General Secretary, are dead.
Ponder this, dear reader, and we shall continue our discussion soon.

N.P.: “Black River – Jeff Martin Rock Mix” – The Tea Party

In the shadowy twilight of literary history, October 1849 in particular is etched with intrigue and mystery, marking the final days of Edgar Allan Poe, the enigmatic Master of the Macabre™.  Found in a state that could best be described as disheveled desperation, Poe was discovered in October 4 outside Ryan’s Tavern in Baltimore, an unexpected stopover on his journey from Richmond to Philadelphia.  His attire, a jarring mismatch of ill-fitting garments, added to the aura of mystery, as Poe was known for his meticulous sartorial choices.
The circumstances of his discovery quickly spiraled into a whirlpool of speculation.  The propinquity of a tavern led many to wag their fingers at that devil alcohol, a specter that had haunted Poe since he was a student at UV.  Notorious for being heavily affected by even modest amounts of alcohol (a “lightweight” in modern literary parlance), Poe’s battles with the bottle were as tumultuous as the tales he penned.  But, while an easy scapegoat, it didn’t explain the full scope of the mystery.
Enter the sinister theory of “cooping,” a practice as convoluted as any of Poe’s plots.  This political trickery involved abducting unsuspecting souls, drugging them, and coercing them to vote multiple times under different disguises.  Given that Ryan’s Tavern doubled as a polling place, and Poe’s bedraggled appearance was uncharacteristic, this explanation gained traction.
But, skeptics argue that Poe’s fame in Baltimore would render him immune to so much manipulation, as he was too recognizable to slip through unnoticed.
More recent conjectures suggest an unexpected culprit: rabies.   Some doctors have suggested that Poe’s erratic behavior in his final days aligns with the symptoms of the virus: confusion, aggression, and hydrophobia – the latter evidenced by Poe’s refusal of water.  Without the definitive clarity an autopsy could provide, this remains an intriguing hypothesis in the enigma of Poe’s death.

N.P.: “Kushcloud” – Kidneythieves

A very happy birthday to F. Scott Fitzgerald, the roaring writer who partied like Gatsby.  Scott was one of my favorite literary hellraisers whose life pretty well mirrored the decadence and drama of his novels.  Born on this day in 1896, Fitz didn’t just write about the Jazz Age; he almost embodied it with reckless abandon.

First off, he had one of the more chaotic romances in literary history (which is not exactly known for its stable romances…a lot of them seem to end in gunfire) with Zelda Sayre.  Their relationship was the stuff of literary legend, filled with passion, drama, and enough public fights to fuel to make most current tabloid headline stars look like amateurs.  Zelda was Scott’s muse, partner-in-crime, and co-star in his escapades.  Together, they were the original celebrity couple, turning heads and bring The Ruckus wherever they went.  Zelda once interrupted a ballet performance, demanding to dance onstage.  Yeah, she was that kinda chick.

Fitzgerald didn’t just write about the high life; he lived it with a passion that rivaled his characters.  He was known for his extravagant parties, where the only rule was that there were no rules.  Like an early (and far more tame) version of Diddy’s White Parties.  The couple would crash pool parties, dancing till dawn, and driving through the streets of Paris like they were in the 1920’s version of The Fast and the Furious.  Fitzgerald once jumped into the fountain at New York’s Plaza Hotel.  Because that’s what writers do, goddamnit.

Of course, as is usually the case, underneath the hard-partying persona was a writer of extraordinary depth and talent.  The Great Gatsby wasn’t just a novel…it was a mirror reflecting the rise and fall of the American Dream.  It wasn’t as well-received as it should have been when it was first published, it has since become a timeless classic exploring things like longing, wealth, and the pursuit of something more in a particularly American way.

For all his success, Fitz’s life had plenty of struggle.  He was an alcoholic, which alcoholism often fueled his reckless behavior, and despite his fame, he seemed to be broke a lot of time.  He spent his final years in Hollywood, trying to break into the film industry.  But, as I have pointed out before, the artist thrives in conditions of adversity, and so even in adversity, Fitz penned some of his most poignant work.  Again, because that’s what writers do, goddammit.

Cheers, dear reader.

N.P.: “Move” – Prototyper

It is time for us to do what we have been doing and that time is every day.  ~ Kamala Harris

Hot damn, dear reader…today is the first day of Fall.  This fills my heart with joy.  If the seasons were a weekend, Fall would be my Friday: once you get through the first half, you can use the second half to go raise hell.  And once it ends, you’ve still got Saturday (Winter) and Sunday (Spring) yet to come.  It’s a great time of year on the Gallaway calendar.

I’m also glad to see the arrival of Fall because this entire summer, I’ve been in a bit of a funk.

It was already pissing me off in May, and it’s only seemed to alleviate in the last week or so.  I think I’ve pinned down the cause(s), but that’s pretty irrelevant: the last few months have been a frustrating pain in the hole.

It’s put the writing a bit behind schedule, but if I keep having weeks like last week, I’ll be caught up in no time.  At our recent planning meeting, we got the everything scheduled for the next two years.  It is a rather audacious plan, admittedly, but if I can implement it effectively…it will be glorious, dear reader.  The next six weeks will be telling.  My plan is to just keep my head down and grind.

Things you should know about September 22: on this day in 1791, British physicist, chemist, and all-around badass Michael Faraday was born.  The first issue of National Geographic was published in 1888 (see Gen Zers, there used to be these things called magazines….).  September 22 was also the end of the Salem Witch Trials in 1692, with the last executions taking place on this day.

N.P.: “Heavy Boots” – Dalbello

We are the United States because we are united.”  ~ Kamala Harris

Today is, at long last, the final day of summer.  Good riddance!  Enough of this ridiculous heat!  To be honest, dear reader, the summers are getting less impactful and torturous, and this year was decidedly so, despite actual temperatures were higher than previous summers.  This has nothing to do with any acclimation on my part, nor does it have anything to do with any climate change nonsense, but can be directly attributed to the grotesque perception of the speeding up of the passage of time in my wine-dark psyche.  The summers here used to be so completely wretched simply because they used to last an eternity.  Now that weeks are passing as days used to, months are passing as weeks once did.  So three-month summers that used to last an eternity now pass in what used to be a month.  So even though July was intolerable by any metric, with more consecutive 100+ days than I can ever remember, this entire summer flew by relatively painlessly.  Which is great, except for the reason that my perception of the passage of time is changing significantly as I get older.

Today not just significant meteorologically, but also literarily.  September 21st is a day when the literary starts align and open the portal to some pretty fantastical worlds and historical escapades.

First up, we have the original “time traveler” himself, H.G. Wells, born in 1866.  Wells practically invented the “what if?” genre, taking us away to Martian invasions and time machines.  Most of us would have been satisfied having written “The War of the Worlds” and “The Time Machine,” but not Wells.  He penned a lesser-known but awesome novel called “The Island of Doctor Moreau,” which would go on to be made into a movie in 1977, which movie I saw in the theaters as parr of a double-feature with something called “She-Beast” as the second feature during a grade-school slumber party.  Also, Wells totally predicted the Internet.

Fast forward to 1947, when the world welcomed Stephen King, for better or for worse.  With classics like “Carrie,” “The Shining,” “The Stand,” “Salem’s Lot” and “It,” King has made us all a little more cautious about prom nights, isolated hotels, and red balloons.  Then in 1999, King was walking on the shoulder of a road in Maine when he was run over by one of those wretched Dodge Caravans.  As happens with all authors who are run down by minivans, King was reduced from a horror-literature powerhouse to an insufferable twat who is now content to express his oddly womanly opinions on social media.  Alas.

On a more upbeat note, today we also remember Sir Walter Scott, the granddaddy of historical novels, who bowed out of this world on this date in 1832.  Scott wrote books about chivalry and adventure, namely “Ivanhoe” and “Rob Roy”, which you likely didn’t read unless you were an English major.  But you should have: they were damn fine books.  Despite financial woes and health struggles, Scott never stopped writing (the true artist thrives in conditions of poverty and suffering).  He finally died from a series of strokes.  His health, as just mentioned, had been declining for some time, exacerbated by the stress of the financial difficulties (also mentioned supra) and his relentless work schedule.  Despite his ailments, Scott continued to write and manage his affairs until his condition worsened, leading to his passing at his home in Abbotsford, Scotland.

In summary, a very happy birthday to H.G. Wells, finger to Stephen King, and pour some out for Sir Walter Scott.  Alright…enough of this bilge, dear reader…time to get back to work.

N.P.: “Crazier” – Numan and Rico

Let’s come together with the character that we are so proud of about who we are.  ~ Kamala Harris

A double-barrel of literary birthdays today, dear reader!  Today, we celebrate the birthdays of Upton Sinclair, who entered the stage in 1878, and George R.R. Martin, who graced us with his presence in 1948.  Both men gave us stories that linger in our minds, albeit for very different reasons.

We’ll start Upton Sinclair, shit-disturber extraordinaire.  His most famous work, “The Jungle,” published in 1906, shone (shined?) a light on the meatpacking industry that would lead to the passage of the Pure Food and Drug Act and the Meat Inspection Act.

Fun fact: Sinclair ran for governor in California, promising to “End Poverty in California.”  He didn’t win.  As an apparently permanent resident of this shithole, I kinda wish he had.

But never mind that.  Fast forward several decades, and we have the man who brought White Walkers and political intrigue to our living rooms: George R.R. Martin.  Born in 1948, Martin is obviously best known for “A Song of Ice and Fire,” which, I don’t need to tell you, informed reader, inspired HBO’s “Game of Thrones.”

Where Sinclair showed us the gritty reality of industrial American, Martin introduced us to the equally cutthroat world of Westeros, where winter is always coming and weddings are never boring.

Happy birthday, gentlemen.

N.P.: “Walkin’ Shoes” – Tora Tora

We are expanding access to transportation. You need to get to go and need to be able to get where you need to go to do the work and get home.  ~ Kamala Harris

A very happy birthday to William Golding, an author who could unravel the human psyche with as much finesse as a tiger unraveling a ball of yarn.  His was the first significantly anti-Disney voice I was exposed to, and I ate it up.  I knew Disney was full of shit.  I knew their version of the world was, entertaining to little children as it may be, was moronic bullshit.  So when Golding came along with the question, “What happens when you leave a bunch of kids alone on an island?” and his answer was not s’mores and campfire songs and everybody getting along and living happily ever after, I was on board.

Golding’s magnum opus, “Lord of the Flies,” wasn’t just a book; it was a rite of passage in high school.  That book didn’t just explore the darker side of human nature…it built a summer home and started receiving mail there.  The story of stranded boys descending into tribalism and chaos scratched a lot of psychological itches…at least for me.

Contrary to contemporary opinion, Golding wasn’t a one-hit wonder.  He wrote “Sea Trilogy,” beginning with “Rites of Passage,” which won the Booker Prize.  I’ve always found it amusing that Golding was once a schoolteacher (which likely informed his opinion on the truly dark nature of children).

And for you frustrated novelists: Golding was initially rejected by 21 publishers before “Lord of the Flies” was finally sold.  The establishment wasn’t quite ready for the lesson that the scariest monsters are the ones we see in the mirror.

N.P.: “Run Like Hell” – Soulidium

I grew up understanding the children of the community are the children of the community.   ~ Kamala Harris

Today, most attractive reader, is Samuel Johnson’s birthday, born September 18, 1709.  If you don’t immediately recognize the name, I will include you in my nightly prayers.  But, also understanding not everyone majored in English, here’s a very brief breakdown of this badass.

Johnson’s most well-known work, his magnum opus, was the “Dictionary of the English Language.”  Yep…he compiled the first truly comprehensive English dictionary.  And he did it with style.  Published in 1755, the Dictionary was compiled in nine years, which is pretty much warp speed in writer years.

I actually got significantly drunk in a bar in London where Johnson would drink at night whilst working on his dictionary almost 300 years prior.  I’m pretty sure he did some drinking as he was working…Johnson knew his work was going to be literally definitive for a long time, and knew the power that gave him, and took full advantage of his position to imbue his definitions with his own completely subjective opinions.  The weak are sometimes offended by this, but it’s important to remember he was always rather self-deprecating: he described a lexicographer as “a harmless drudge.”  In another instance, a lady exclaimed she couldn’t believe he had defined “oats” as food for horses and Scotsmen, to which Johnson retorted, “Yes, madam; and where else will you see such horses, and such men?”

Beyond his dictionary, Johnson was a prolific writer, essayist, and a poet.  His works include “The Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets” and “Rasselas,” a philosophical novella that explored things like happiness and purpose.  Because there were no phones or internet in the 18th century…the only entertainment was pondering existential crises.

We can’t talk about Samuel Johnson without mentioning James Boswell  Boswell was Johnson’s wingman.  Boswell was the Watson to Johnson’s Holmes, chronicling his life with an enthusiasm typically reserved for Instagram influencers documenting bottomless mimosa brunch.  Boswell was the ultimate biographer, and if you’re going to do any reading on or study of Johnson, you must start with Boswell’s biography.

Samuel Johnson was considered eccentric in his day.  He wore odd, mismatched clothes and was notorious for his tardiness.  And he talked to himself in public.  But who hasn’t?

Happy 315th Uncle Samuel!

N.P.: “Rooster” – Howling Giant