Hanover Fist - Fun at Camp #Nanowrimo

I don't know about the girls, but I've been having a blast at Camp Nanowrimo. On the first day, I got to show everyone how to play marbles. I even drug out my old marble collection to recount some stories. It was like being a kid again.

Yesterday was even more fun. Toledo and I played in the snow! I'm not joking you..there is snow in July at Camp Nano! I haven't heard Toledo laugh like that in decades. Of course, then I hit her smack in the head with a snowball, so she chased me down and threw one with all my strength. She hit me square between the shoulder blades. "That stung!"  I said.

"I meant it to," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"After all these years, you have to ask?" She just grinned and walked away.

Before you know it, they were all throwing snowballs at me. Even Regan was balling them up and chucking them and every single one of the girls were laughing. "What did I do wrong?" I yelled.

And they all started yelling out silly things I didn't even remember doing. So I just started walking away, out of the range of their insults and snowballs. They don't gang up on me often, but when they do, I want no part of it. I went to the clubhouse and got myself a hot cocoa and splashed in a little of my medicine. That's good rum these days, no that I don't have to settle for hooch. I sat next to the campfire and waited for them to return from their frolic in the snow. They did soon enough. Not one of them apologized, of course, but they all came in and sat by the fire. Before long, the sun sank below the horizon and Regan started telling a ghost story. All was as it should be. I am loving Camp Nano!

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Toledo Talks -- Celery Root: Ugly but Beautiful

I remember watching Mama cook celery root when I was five or six. I remember being scared of the ugly thing she plopped down on the counter -- all rough and misshapen. I said "I'm not gonna eat that, Mama."

Hanover was there and he said, "Me and Swampy play catch with those things."

Mama said, as I imagine most Mamas do, "You'll eat what I put on the table and you'll like it."

Celery root

I ate it, of course. Mama had a way of making sure I ate my vegetables and it usually involved some fresh-baked pie or cobbler cooking in the oven, filling the room with a fragrant promise for later, after I'd managed to choke down this awful looking monster of a vegetable.

As I grew older, celery root became just part of the meal. Something we ate from time to time, especially when Mama was stressed or if I had an important test in school the next day. I came to enjoy its sweet, spicy flavor and would even sometimes ask Mama to make it.

Sliced celery root

Hanover even likes it, especially when it is cooked up with carrots, onion, beef, and tomato. It turns out he had always liked it and he was just giving Mama trouble. Sure, he and Swampy tossed around the root. Swampy had cultivated some he'd found. Late each autumn, he'd convince Hanover to help him dig it up and toss it in the cellar. Through the winter, Swampy would use the root himself and sell it to the chefs around town. It turns out, some consider it something of a delicacy. They call it celeriac.

Celery root with carrots and onions

I didn't fully appreciate celery root until much later, after Mama had passed on to a life without me. Of course she'd told me of its health benefits -- she knew even before the scientists did -- that it was good for the digestive system and helped calm stressed out teenagers. She knew it helped people to be mentally alert and she'd often take a raw chunk of it along on deliveries if she suspected the labor would be a long and difficult one. But like most kids, I never paid much mind.

Hanover's Favorite

Then one day, I remembered. Hanover was distraught about a case he was working on. He was particularly bothered about how the victims were murdered. I wanted to cook him up something special to help him relax. So I sautéed up some celery root, carrots, and onions. I put a nice small roast on top, along with sliced tomato and let them cook until they were rare -- just the way Hanover likes them. Then I melted a little Parmesan cheese on top. I served it to Hanover along with some red wine.
I'm not saying it worked magic. I've sworn never to work magic on Hanover. But it did help him relax. The next morning, Hanover woke early and reexamined the evidence. He saw something he'd never noticed before -- a pattern he'd never seen. I like to think the celery root had something to do with it.

Do you want to know more about celery root? Here are some links:
Health Benefits of Celery Root
What to Cook Now: Celery Root
What is Celeriac?

I'd like to give a special thanks to Paul's Farm Fresh Produce Market for the organic vegetables and grass-fed beef used in the photo shoot. It was all delicious.

Striking Angels

Hanover Fist

I do apologize for keeping everyone waiting so long for Striking Angels. It was very hard for Mary O'Malley to read what the writers Rachelle Reese and John E. Miller have been writing about her father... a good man, Duncan O'Malley... Between him, Margaret 'Maggie' O'Malley and Alex O'Malley... and yes, of course, with Reagan's help, they have been able to tell the story of where my start as a detective began... It may seem obscure, but it started with him, Duncan O'Malley or least for me. He saw the realms from a different view... I'm sorry I'll try not to ramble *shouts* would you turn the tape off for a moment?

“Angels in Hell’s Kitchen” is where O’Malley’s life began as a cop. If you’ve read it, you know things are pretty messed up. But trust me, in “Striking Angels” his life gets worse.

I never had the pleasure to meet some of O'Malley's friends in his day, but I have met some in the realms. I wish I could say that it was the best of circumstances.

Mr.Fist you were speaking about the books.

My father was Mr. Fist. I guess you would say that O’Malley passed me his coin. You have to understand that he was a boxer and trainer before he was tossed the coin that turned out to be a coffin nail. You have to read Angels in Hell’s Kitchen for that story.

Yes... As far as 'Striking Angels' goes O'Malley not only saw, but felt the true pain of Hells Kitchen, but at that time he also got to see a bit of heaven.

For a moment, you can see a bit of heaven and hell from a man I admired…can we just end it at that?

Striking Angels is planned for release Summer of 2012. Striking Angels is the sequel to Angels in Hell's Kitchen.

Take advantage of our spring sale on Kindle edition Dime Store Novels....99 cents until 4/17/12.

Hanover Fist

 Keep your eyes open, your ears tuned, and your nose to the wind. That's the advice Swampy gave me when he taught me how to track. I wonder if he knew I'd be sitting in the mountains of India, watching for frogs in the middle of the night.

The researchers we talked to said we don't stand much of a chance now that the monsoons have passed, but that's even more reason to try. The frogs show up during monsoon season. Hmmmm. Could it be because the monsoons are caused by Khrou-ach? How many brain cells does it take to make the connection between the God of Storms and monsoon season?

So we missed monsoon season. There's always next year....if I'm unlucky enough to still be around. And if not, the girls can take care of it. Maybe not Regan, she's not much for the tropics, but Toledo and Mary are definitely troopers.

Toledo actually seems to be enjoying the trip, nibbling on herbs she's never seen before, digging up roots, and chatting with the local fairies, of course. We don't seem to be able to go anywhere without them showing up.

For that matter, Mary doesn't seem all that bored. She's not much for sitting out with us at night, but she talks to the local folk in their own language and writes a lot of notes. She's jabbering on about another book. I suppose she'll expect me to read it. Maybe when I retire. I only wish.

What's that noise? A cat yowling? Great...my luck it'll be a mountain lion.

Just some new frogs -- or so they say

Hanover Fist

I picked up the newspaper today, just as I do every day. Not much there...until I got in deep. Then I saw the headline that made me shudder -- Scientists Discover 12 New Frog Species in India.  So what, you ask? They're only frogs, you say?

Wrong. Not all frogs are what they seem. In fact, in my experience, most frogs are minions of Khrou-ach the storm god. If you doubt me, just listen next time it rains. Why else would they make a racket like the off-key hymns of worshippers, devout but tone deaf. I know, Whiskey Joe, I can't sing worth a hoot either, that's why I don't try. But these frogs, these worshippers of Khrou-ach, are obnoxious. And now I've got 12 more species of them to investigate.

Come on, girls. We'd better get packing. India's a long way off if we travel by air -- and that's how I intend to travel this time. I'm too old to realm-hop. You heard me, Mary. I said no....Damn.

The Reunion

Sorry we haven't checked in with all of you lately. Toledo and I have been working closely with the writers to get the next book right. It's been an emotional time for both of us -- and I don't like emotional times.

The Reunion is a coming of age story of sorts. It's a story of firsts and lasts. In it, Toledo and I both lose something, but we gain something too.

When can you read it? Very soon. The writers wrapped it up last night and sent it to the beta reviewers. But while you're waiting, if you haven't read the earlier books, now's your chance to read them cheap (or even free). But you'll have to do it soon...the Smashwords Winter/Summer sale only goes through July. Here's a link to From the Gator's Mouth. It's free and I'm partial to it. It is the story of my birth, after all.  http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/17401?ref=rachellereese

A Late Mother's Day Tribute - To Mama Cats



Hanover Fist



I meant to publish this on Mother's Day, but I missed it.  When you are as old as I am, the exact dates don't seem to matter so much. But I had meant to write a Mother's Day tribute, so here it is.

If truth be told, I had three mothers – the mother I never knew because she died for me, my wonderful Mom who taught me manners and loved me like a son, and Mama Cats. All are gone now to whatever reward awaited them. I hope it was a good one because they deserved it.

I had the artist who made our portraits create a picture of Mama Cats. She was special to me in a way I don't fully understand even now. She was special to a lot of people. You see, Mama Cats was the kind of person who drew you to her bosom and held you tight. It didn't matter if you were black or white, poor or rich, if you needed someone to hold you, Mama Cats took you in.



Mama Cats



It's not like she was soft though. No-sir-ree. If me and Toledo got ourselves into trouble, which we did occasionally... alright, Toledo, quit arching your eyebrow like that....like we did a lot, Mama disciplined us good. But we respected her for it and we grew from it.

There are three books out about Mama Cats back before she had me and Toledo to discipline. They are:

• Rips in the Weave
• The Desert Rose
• From the Gator's Mouth

And now....well....these writers who are telling our story decided to write one about Mama Cats after me and Toledo are grown up and I am reading it now. It's bringing back all kinds of memories about her...things I haven't thought about in years. And I remember what a great woman  she was...and I'm sad she's gone, but I'm not broken – not  anymore -- because I've lived enough of this world and I believe that where Mama went, she must be happy.

So, I know it's after Mother's Day. And most of you probably gave your Mom a hug or a call or something already. But if you didn't, take it from me. You never know when someone you love will be stolen from you...so tell your Mom or your Mama or whatever you call the woman who holds you to her bosom...I love you.

Happy Birthday Harry Houdini



Hanover Fist



Most of you might not know that yesterday was Harry Houdini's birthday. Happy birthday, Harry. Granted, it's a day late, but what's a day after all these years? Besides, Mary didn't tell me until late last night that I had to write this thing and by then Regan and I had taken a few drinks to toast you, my friend. You know, they've legalized absinthe again, so you can guess what Regan was drinking. I, on the other hand, drank my usual rum and coke.

I could give you the background of Harry Houdini, but you can find that on this Internet thing. I would prefer to tell you about the man, not his illusions. The illusions were his work, not the man.

Harry was a friend of mine. We had what some would believe was bizarre friendship. Harry Houdini did not have the soft hands you would think most actors would have. He was a real man who was not scared to get dirty. He was also a man who was not afraid to call a friend a friend, even if some people could see them as only freaks. That's right. Harry Houdini had lots of "circus freaks" as friends and he looked out for them when "normal" people tried to take advantage. As Harry always said, "The only true freak is the one that hides behind the mask of being normal."

Fine, fine. Mary wants me to talk about his illusions. She says that's the purpose of this what we're doing here – to let people in on the reality in the myths or some such thing. So I'm sorry, Harry. You know I've always been a sucker for my ladies. So after all these years, I'm going to give a few of your secrets away.

The world knew Harry Houdini for his stage magic – his illusions and grand escapes. But Harry's magic was more than that. When he wasn't on stage, he used his magic to try and repair the weave that protects us from the Realms. I do not know for sure if he was a realm creature or if he learned his magic from one. But I do know his magic was real.

Unfortunately, even real magic couldn't save him. The sad truth is, I watched him die not once, but twice. I am telling that story to those writers Mary hired. When they're satisfied I've told it all and I'm satisfied with their retelling, you'll learn the truth.

Well, Harry, I guess I'll sign off here. If you can access this Internet thing from wherever it is you went, know that me and my girls are still fighting the fight.

Meet Hanover Fist

 

Hanover Fist



Beautiful, aren't they? And you haven't even met Toledo yet. Ah Toledo, the first girl I kissed....so long ago. Most men would envy a man my age, consorting with three beautiful women. Hell, I'd even envy myself if I didn't know about the realms.

But since I know more about them than I'd like to, you know who I envy? Those men who have a 9-to-5, go home to a wife, grow old and die, without ever knowing that nightmares lurk in shadows, goblins hide in trees, and the frog song on a summer night might be cultists plotting another way to destroy some portion of the weave that protects us from the self-serving monsters who rule the realms.

I know, Toledo, don't say it. Not every realm god is a monster. Still...wouldn't it have been nice to have a normal life? *Chuckle* I guess not. After all, I'd be 111 -- or, given the way things normally go -- I'd be pushing up daisies.