Growing up during the height of the Cold War made a dent in my childhood, but there were a series of personal disasters that made a larger dent. I nearly bought the farm from scarlet fever, a black window nearly killed me with it bite, then occurred a boat accident where I barely survived drowning, and our family house burned to the ground, all of this before I became fourteen.
At sixteen I was in a serious car accident which my father blamed on me, and I paced up and left home. I became footloose and fancy-free, transferring from one school to another and working various and sundry jobs around California though the Sixties. My childhood mentor, a neighbor who worked for United Press International told me once that since I was so fond of my paperboy job, I should consider a newspaper career when I grew up. He said that the industry is overrun with those who would sell their own mother downriver for a good story. Someone of such upstanding character and integrity as myself, would be a credit to the Fourth Estate he flattered me.
I took to heart his encouragement. I did love my paperboy job. Becoming a newspaper reporter some day, had the natural feeling of graduating from the school of paperboy. On the other hand I thought, who would want to work daily in the slightest union with a bunch of bottom dwellers, those who would as much stoop to sell their own mother downriver for a story? It turns out, as one major life event after another befalls me over the years, a newspaper career seems fitting.
Meanwhile, between my many paycheck endeavors, I hawked newspapers on the street from LA to 'Frisco.
She's out of retirement – and out for revenge
When Georgina Garrett wakes in the night to find intruders in her house, she knows she must do everything she can to keep her children safe.
But just when she thinks the ordeal is over, she realises something is terribly wrong. She arrives at her crime-lord husband David Maynard's London house to find a bloodbath. Six of David's best men lie dead and he is nowhere to be found.
Georgina may have walked away from the game but she's still the best player on the street. Now, she will stop at nothing to get her husband back and to make whoever took him pay for ever daring to set foot in her town.
'Terrific – read it and be hooked!' - bestselling author Jessie Keane on Trickster
Readers are loving RAVEN!
'Fast moving, gritty and not for the faint hearted' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
'Another fantastic episode in the series' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
'Yet another amazing book by Sam Michaels' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
'Gritty, violent, edge-of-your-seat tension. The end – phew!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
'This is a BRILLIANT book and Sam's fans will love it. Worthy of more than 5 stars!' ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
In this collection of essays and short stories, the Native American author explores reservation life through a range of genres and perspectives.
In this moving collection, Gordon Lee Johnson (Cupeño/Cahuilla) distinguishes himself not only as a wry commentator on American Indian reservation life but also as a master of fiction writing. In Johnson’s stories, all of which are set on the fictional San Ignacio reservation in Southern California, we meet unforgettable characters like Plato Pena, the Stanford-bound geek who reads Kahlil Gibran during intertribal softball games; hardboiled investigator Roddy Foo; and Etta, whose motto is “early to bed, early to rise, work like hell, and advertise,” as they face down circumstances by turns ordinary and devastating.
The nonfiction featured in Bird Songs Don’t Lie is equally revelatory in its exploration of complex connections between past and present. Whether examining his own conflicted feelings toward the missions as a source of both cultural damage and identity or sharing advice for cooking for eight dozen cowboys and -girls, Johnson plumbs the comedy, catastrophe, and beauty of his life on the Pala Reservation to thunderous effect.
The knowledge of Mind is the highest and hardest, just because it is the most “concrete” of sciences. The significance of that “absolute” commandment, Know thyself—whether we look at it in itself or under the historical circumstances of its first utterance—is not to promote mere self-knowledge in respect of the particular capacities, character, propensities, and foibles of the single self. The knowledge it commands means that of man's genuine reality—of what is essentially and ultimately true and real—of mind as the true and essential being. Equally little is it the purport of mental philosophy to teach what is called knowledge of men—the knowledge whose aim is to detect the peculiarities, passions, and foibles of other men, and lay bare what are called the recesses of the human heart. Information of this kind is, for one thing, meaningless, unless on the assumption that we know the universal—man as man, and, that always must be, as mind. And for another, being only engaged with casual, insignificant and untrue aspects of mental life, it fails to reach the underlying essence of them all—the mind itself.
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