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Once in a while I find treasure in this world, as wonderful and precious as an heirloom quilt or a warm cup of Joe on a frosty morn. Something that sticks to your bones, like the feeling you get when you walk up your parent’s driveway, and you know you’re home.

The treasure of which I speak are two men.


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As the bells toll at the darkest hour, a golden light shines, for the Happy Warrior cannot do good works in the dark. ~ Me.

Winter 1941.

Although an exact time cannot be set as to the darkest period in World War II, by year’s end 1941, the world was pretty darn bleak.

England had endured the Nazi bombing Blitz for the last eight months, the island nation literally surviving on Canadian and American supplies ferried across the Atlantic in freighters lucky enough to avoid Hitler’s U-boat wolf pack torpedoes. A mere 18 days before Christmas, Americans got their first…


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Close to four years the world has been mired in the Fear of the Unknown, as the United States took its democracy to the brink.

Bit-by-bit, American’s rights and freedoms slowly eroded with a tweet or the stroke of a Sharpie pen upon an errant Executive Order, edging the nation ever closer to an autocracy through the consequential decision to vote Donald Trump in as president. The days of America being a shining democratic beacon upon the North American hill along with Canada were fading fast, and the world watched helplessly as the U.S.’s global strength slowly ebbed away.

On…


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Time has not forgot, Me, that sweet Dutch girl, so terribly sought, For my youth, and my charm, and my wet sensuality, Men hovered and coveted, That ended me, eventually. D.R. was my nickname, A loved one once used, Dorothy, many did whisper, when hot males so mused, On my innocence, my light, and my lusty skill, Then, why, oh God why, did a man want to kill? Beauty, to me, is to the beastly Elephant Man, All the eyes, they did stare, All the glares from drooling fans. My life cut so short, My life lived so tough, A…

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Yes, Elisa Lam’s sad end has been covered from stem to stern over the turbulent internet waves; from video to book, from blog to magazine article, from breaking news to final op-eds, but as with all horrendous ends, red herring fish jump and conspiracy theorists rant, when all the while there’s a calm, quiet, and cold end to this woeful tale.


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The online world is sick. There is a worldwide “Infodemic.” And its scourge is burning me up to a fever pitch.

(NOTE: Before you start reading, I want you to know that I’ve set this post to FREE. I will NOT make one red cent off of you for anyone else reading this Medium dot com article.)

~~~

Last week, without even trying, I bumped into online quack info. Three times I found posts or ads from people either flogging useless products to defend against or counteract Covid-19 or people sharing false information regarding the virus.

The medicinal quacks who…


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This post is so going viral!

This post will be literary cheese to mice, shoes to Kim Kardashian, lies to Trump!

I’ll receive the Bloomberg bankroll equivalent in Medium.com royalties for this baby, and I won’t even feel guilty about bilking the site readership of their hard-earned nickels and dimes while I shove meaningless tripe down their figurative throats to infect their struggling minds. Nope. Not at all… as I apply another coat of $100 Holt Renfrew lipstick to my smarmy smile-plastered lips.

People will be talking at water coolers the globe over about this awesome, never-before-thunked Medium.com …


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I’ve heard through the online grapevine that Baby Boomers are considered Happy Warriors, and I suspect the younger gens look at this moniker as naïve. I’d beg to differ.

Elizabeth is a Boomer and a Warrior, of course, and by God, thank God, because without her endless get-up-and-go-to-get-things-done attitude, no progress would ever be made in so many issues that plague American society today.

You don’t have to espouse all her plans, but you darn well have to be married to her initiative, her drive, her innovation and creativity, and her plain zest for life and ebullient pride in what…


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On February 6th, I finished the draft of my Pearl Harbor epic, AIR, nearly three years to the spark of the idea taking hold in my head, refusing to let go, that had me travel to Hawaii in search of the USS Oklahoma dead, those 429 boys who captured my heart, tore at my soul, and bled onto every page that became this literary novel.

I ended the manuscript tired, emotionally wrecked, physically depleted. In essence, not very damn well at all. Writers pay a price to put down words. …

Books by B. J. Thompson

North-Irish-Canadian literary novelist who yearns to hack out tales on either side of Cocktail Hour...

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