The Lives of the Dead

Some of the most interesting people I meet are dead…

Archive for the category “script ideas”

The Eagle Has Landed!!!


Yippeeeee!!  The book is live on Amazon!!!  (click link to purchase)

I was hoping to keep the price down but It’s nearly 400 pages so printing is expensive. Sorry!!! Nevertheless,  I’m quite pleased with the way it came out.  What I particular love about the book format is that you can randomly open to any story, and depending on your mood and where you are in your life at that moment,  you may find different meaning in it each time.

Positive feed back on Amazon would be MOST appreciated!!!  (hint, hint!)

It would thrill me no end if small groups of people got together regularly (like a book club) to discuss some of the stories as jumping off points to their own deeper understanding of themselves and of life.  I’d love it if teachers assigned the book to students, then asked the students to write their own life story in a similar format. Therapy patients could benefit from a similar exercise.  I invite actors to use the stories as monologues and writers to use them as jumping off points for books, plays, or movies.  Truly, I hope this book finds some life outside the blog. I’d be most appreciative for any help you might offer in spreading the word/work.

Thank you ALL for your loyal support and feedback.  Gail, you see I took your advice re the cover. And Lino,  I took your advice about arranging the stories in a way so that each one informs on the one before and after it, (unlike the blog, where they are published as they come to me.) Both excellent suggestions!

Much love,


The Bombs Bursting In Air



What I remember most was the howling of the sirens.  I was a small child when the war started, and all my memories of that life are tied to that sound.  The blaring alarms immediately preceded panic among the adults.  Each time, I was grabbed or pulled or carried to shelter where I huddled with my mother and father, neighbors and strangers — many, many strangers — all of us terrified.

Then, inevitably, the explosions, and the screaming and crying and delusional outbursts of those who’d gone mad with fear. Sometimes the destruction came so close I could see the wounded and the dead, the crimson of fresh blood.  I was fascinated by the gaping views into the inside of a human body, but my mother would quickly shield my eyes from the horror so I would be spared such memories. Soon came the keening and the weeping. An unbearable sense of helplessness settled upon us like a toxic dust.  We remained there, waiting for the all-clear, clinging, shivering; prisoners of our circumstances and our fear.

And then, one evening, the explosions were very loud.  A bomb fell on the roof above us, and a large chunk of cement from the collapsing ceiling fell on my head. It killed me instantly.

This was my brief childhood.  I did not know it was supposed to be any other way.



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Also,  I have started a discussion group on Facebook,  for conversations about any of the concepts/issues in the posts.  Honestly, these are things in here which I don’t fully understand myself.  I would love  get your thoughts on this…even if you think this is all a bunch of hooey.

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