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I couldn’t resist.  Here are a few more pics of Uncertain.

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Uncertain (yes, there is such a place) is an ecletic little town on the banks of scenic Caddo Lake.  Here are a few pics to give you a feel for the place.

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Another pixie shot from near Caddo Lake.

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The fauna of Caddo Lake is diverse and exotic.  Here are two pics to show what I mean.

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Here are a couple of pics of two of my babies, Lucky and Rouge. Hey, and one of Kate, too.

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Much of the area from Shreveport, Louisiana to Jefferson, Texas was once covered with a body of water known loosely as the Fairie Lakes.  Fairie, supposedly, was a place-name rather than a reference to tiny magic beings.  Most of the water is gone but many gloriously beautiful places still exist.  And like in times past, the area is still one of the most mysterious places on the face of the earth.  Are there fairies to be found?  Well, check out this pic I took a while back near the Jeems Bayou Bridge.

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A short distance from Vivian, Louisiana is the Jeems Bayou Bridge.  Continue on this highway and you will soon reach Jefferson, Texas.  Jeems Bayou offers much in the way of beautiful southern scenery.  Here are a couple of pictures.

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It’s Mardi Gras day and this year’s Fat Tuesday signals continued recovery from the devastation of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.  This year, there are more available hotel rooms and 95 % of them are occupied.  Many more restaurants and night clubs are up and running and signs of hurricane destruction are gone from the parade course.  There is much more to do, but this year’s Mardi Gras shows that New Orleans survived the storms and continues to recover.  Way to go, NO!  Happy Mardi Gras Day.

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I just came across this report of a bigfoot sighting near Caney, Oklahoma.  The tiny town of Caney is located in rural southeast Oklahoma.  Several locals reported seeing the creature prompting bigfoot researchers to fly in from California to investigate.  Below is a proported picture of a bigfoot captured by a wildlife camera.  To me, it looks like a hairy creature with a wolf pelt (?) on its back.  Who knows?

http://www.gondwanapress.com

A rejection of four of her works by Atlantic Montly convinced Emily Dickenson to keep the nearly 1800 poems she had written during her lifetime to herself. Only a couple of her poems were published while she lived. What a pity for her contemporaries but what a blessing that her poetry was posthumously released. For those of us fortunate enough to read and experience the poetry of here genius, here is but a single example:

IX

Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And let your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.

Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!

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Abe Books, the large new and used book store, is highlighting their science fiction and fantasy section.  In an e-mail from them received today they listed the top ten most expensive sci-fi editions they sold in 2006.  The list is quite interesting and here it is:

10). The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien – $3,000

9). Brave New World (1st Edition), Aldous Huxley – $3,250

8). Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang, Kate Wilhelm – $3,975

7). The Ship That Sailed to Mars, William Timlin – $3,995

6). Brave New World (true 1st Edition), Aldous Huxley – $4,025

4). (tie)  The Healer’s War, Elizabeth Scarborough – $4,500

4). (tie) I Robot, Isaac Asimov – $4,500

2). (tie) The Dark Tower – The Gunslinger, Stephen King – $7,500

2). (tie) Neuromancer (2), Count Zero, Mona Lisa Overdrive, William Gibson – $7,500

1). 1984, George Orwell – $8,258.40

Check out more wonderful books at http://www.gondwanapress.com although none so expensive.

It’s the 2nd Mardi Gras since Katrina and Rita.  Fat Tuesday is February 20, 2007.  I am writing a sequel to the Big Easy called Blink of an Eye.  It starts out with two cops, Tony Nicosia and his partner, staking out a Mardi Gras Parade.  The book won’t be out for some time.  Meanwhile, if you have an insatiable need to experience New Orleans – and who doesn’t? – then please read Big Easy or Murder Etouffee.  Both are available at http://www.gondwanapress.com.

BLINK OF AN EYE

A Novel by Eric Wilder

CHAPTER ONE  

Lieutenant Anthony Nicosia didn’t look like a cop. He didn’t feel like one either, and his baggy green shorts, black Reeboks, white socks and plaid windbreaker did little to change anyone’s first impression. Along with his thinning hair, sallow complexion and dumpy physique, he looked like a middle-aged. couch potato, more interested in soap operas than crime. His muscles ached from months of disuse and he vowed to visit the Y soon as Mardi Gras ended. Now, sore muscles or not, the world’s biggest block party was swinging and he was on duty.

Although the Muses parade had barely begun, crowds of observers already agitated into a state of mass hysteria jammed Canal Street. Consecutive days of policing parties, parades and revelry had left Tony Nicosia’s nerves frayed, his temper short. His extra ten pounds of body weight resulting from his recently failed diet pounded away at his legs, sore knees and tired feet. His shoulder holster chafed his chest raw and he felt like screaming. No one would have noticed. The sea of frantic people surrounding him raised the chaos level to an ear-splitting roar when Nicosia’s younger, red-headed partner, Sergeant Tommy Blackburn, tapped his shoulder.

"You look like hell, Tony."

"Yeah, and Fat Tuesday still a week away!"

"Not to mention we missed lunch."

Nicosia hadn’t forgotten. Piquant aroma of boiled crawfish from a nearby tailgate party wafted toward them in an enticing and unattainable cloud of tasty temptation. Blackburn looked more like a defensive end then his older partner’s middle-aged beer drinker image conveyed. He and Nicosia, along with fifty other cops and state troopers, mingled with the Mardi Gras crowds, trying to quell the growing spate of violence and vandalism. The plan worked but every over-stressed man on the force felt ready to drop from exhaustion.

Nicosia and Blackburn had little time for conversation as the parade’s lead float rumbled off St. Charles Avenue and headed toward the Mississippi River, down Canal Street. The raucous crowd grew more animated and nosier as masked Musers rained beads, baubles and souvenir doubloons from the gaudily decorated floats. Costumes mimicked float colors, each Muser dressed in the Krewe’s theme for the year. Burgundy tunics draped black tights on the lead float and grotesque masks made it impossible to determine the sex or race of the souvenir tossers. Canal Street revelers didn’t care, parting in human waves as the lead float approached.

Gorgeous southern college girls, middle-aged tourists and a multitude of locals that had seen it all before, comprised the crowd. They all had something in common — loss of inhibitions and lack of common sense. One female, not much older than Nicosia’s youngest, bared her breasts and hugged his neck, caking crimson lipstick on his cheek as she wobbled away down the street. Nicosia wondered if she would make it home okay and why at least a few parade watchers weren’t crushed every year beneath the wheels of the floats. He had little time to ponder the question.

An explosion of sound erupted and several bullets passed over his head, riveting his attention to more pressing matters. An unknown shooter had just unloaded the contents of a semi-automatic pistol into the crowd. A local gang-banger, Nicosia quickly decided. Someone nearby had incurred his wrath and she lay on the ground, hugging her bullet-nicked arm. Mostly unhurt, her boyfriend jumped to her immediate rescue. The bullets, as if by miracle, struck no one else in the crowd.

It wasn’t Lieutenant Tony Nicosia’s first dance. He’d been shot at before. Whirling around, he dropped to his knee and drew his revolver. Tommy Blackburn, ten years younger and several steps faster, had already reacted, racing after the shooter, trying to exit the scene. The crowd, mostly unaware that someone had unloaded an automatic weapon in their midst, resisted the burly sergeant as he shouldered his way after the fleeing perp. Seeing the unfolding fray, Nicosia rose to his feet only to have his leg collapse beneath his weight. Grabbing his left knee, he squeezed as searing pain surged through his extremity. The crowd didn’t notice or care.

Floats passed, beads raining from the Musers. Gray, February clouds further darkened the gloomy day, the third float passing on Canal. Lieutenant Nicosia shielded his face as the crowd, intent on catching flying beads and dated doubloons, stepped on and over him.

Unaware of his partner’s injury, Sergeant Tommy Blackburn bullied his way through animated spectators, bowling over revelers in his wake. The going was slow but the man he pursued had the same problem. His pistol empty, the gang-banger swung it ineffectively at people crushing around him. Most of them didn’t notice, their attentions focused on flying beads and trinkets. Blood flew from a woman’s mouth when he nailed her with the barrel of his gun. She dropped to her knees in pain, her husband oblivious to her plight.

As Tommy Blackburn gained ground on the shooter, he saw the injured woman but didn’t stop. Close enough to recognize gang tattoos on the back of the man he pursued, it caused blood to surge up Blackburn’s shoulders. Rising blood pressure turned his thick neck and florid face an angry red. Redoubling his efforts, he fought to within six feet of the shooter, his stare focused on the back of the man’s head. When he finally saw his opening, he dived forward, grabbed a pair of legs he prayed were the right ones and rolled the person to the ground, knocking down half a dozen unsuspecting revelers along with them.

Blackburn transferred his grip to the man’s tee shirt. The young Chicano gang member backhanded Tommy, ripped the shirt down the front, tore it away and was back on his feet in a single fluid motion. Blackburn, ignoring his broken lip and skinned knees, didn’t bother yelling for him to halt, charging after the gang-banger instead.

Six-four and two hundred twenty pounds, Tommy Blackburn was an imposing man. Ten years out of high school, he still held the State shot put record. When his hand snagged the strap of a digital camera, he slammed it into the fleeing man’s back. The gang member dropped in pain. Just enough time for Blackburn to overtake him, rolling him bodily through the crowd.

Tommy Blackburn wasn’t prepared for what happened next. The young Chicano retrieved a knife from his baggy pants. Opening it with a flip, he stabbed it into Blackburn’s mid-section. Yanking the blade free, he went for Tommy’s throat, trying to end the larger man’s attack. Tommy grabbed a strong wrist and held on, his own strength quickly ebbing as blood gushed from an open stomach wound. Realizing the life-or-death struggle at their feet, people drew back in horror, forming a barrier around the two combatants. Mesmerized by the struggle, no one stepped forward to help the desperately injured police sergeant.

The gang-banger’s blade cut his face but Tommy resisted, even though he no longer felt sharp pain that set his stomach afire. Nor could he feel his arms and legs, his mind dulling, threatening to shut down completely. He could only see his mother’s face, and his grandmother’s, and they were both crying. Consciousness had faded when what next happened.

Strong hands grabbed the gang-banger’s neck and squeezed.. The gang-banger’s body went limp and he dropped the knife. Lieutenant Tony Nicosia pulled the slack body off his fallen partner, kicked the perp in the head for good measure, then turned his attention to Blackburn. Quickly assessing the situation, he removed his windbreaker, stuffing it into the flowing wound. Grabbing his walkie-talkie, he called for backup and medical assistance. Each cop carried a GPS device and reinforcements would quickly reach them.

Lieutenant Tony Nicosia, after surviving the weight of the crowd, pushed off the ground and dragged his useless leg through the melee, following the fleeing man and his partner.

"Police," he yelled, waving his badge. "Move it out of the way!"

Nicosia’s knee hurt like hell, the beignet he’d eaten earlier lying like a rock in his stomach. His inner warning sirens screamed. Tommy Blackburn was in deep shit and needed his immediate assistance. He kept moving, trying unsuccessfully to focus on something other than searing pain racing through his leg, knocking people out of his way to enter the circle where his partner gasped his last breaths. When he reached the two men on the ground, Nicosia reacted. Almost too late for his fallen partner. Tommy’s eyes were closed and pluming blood painted a growing stop sign on his chest. Nicosia had learned the choke hold in police academy. It was no longer taught, at least officially, and no longer used. Again, at least officially.

It didn’t matter to Lieutenant Tony Nicosia. With the situation dire, it was either the choke hold or a bullet through the gang-banger’s brain. If he could have grabbed his service revolver before the man slit Blackburn’s throat, there would have been nothing to decide. As it was, he had only enough time to dive for the throat, grab it and squeeze.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Some disbelievers said it would never happen again, but New Orleans is in the throes of Mardi Gras for the second time following the devastation of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. The venerable city and its heroic citizens survived a near-fatal blow from the brace of wild storms. Mardi Gras Day, known by everyone as Fat Tuesday, provides its own brand of wildness this year on February 20, 2007. Take my advice and experience the festivities for yourself. You won’t be disappointed.

If you simply can’t make it to Mardi Gras, at least read my new novel Big Easy.  It’ll give you a thirst for the City you won’t be able to quench without a visit there.

Available at http://www.gondwanapress.com

Driving east of Vivian on Louisiana Highway 1, you will soon encounter the road to Trees City.  A large filling station, convenience store, restaurant and casino called The Station marks the intersection.  Follow the winding road a few miles and you will reach the Harts Ferry Bridge that crosses Jeems (sometimes called James) Bayou.  Years ago, there was a very old oil well on the north side of the road.  The well is gone but snowy egrets, waterlogged cypress trees, lily pads and acres of marvelous scenery remains.

Growing up in north Louisiana, I remember traversing the road with my parents following heavy rain.  High water would rise almost to the asphalt, old cars and trucks having transported families, fishing with cane poles on both sides of the road.  The old bridge would be under water, passage to Trees City impossible except by boat.

Here is a topo map of the present Harts Ferry bridge, and a pic of some of that marvelous scenery.

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Winter weather in Oklahoma, like much of the country, is bitter this year.  Still, Okies are tough, as are Oklahoma animals and plants.  Here is a pic taken less than an hour ago in my front yard.  Yes, they are blooming flowers – Oklahoma snowdrops.

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I’m presently reading Short-Timers, a novel about the Vietnamese war by author Gustav Hasford.  Director Stanley Kubrick based his movie Full Metal Jacket on this book.  I loved the movie but it pales in comparison to the book.  Powerful?  Well, you be the judge.  Here is a short passage about what happens to a dead soldier being shipped home in a cheap metal box, to give you a taste:

“You’re friends from school and all of the relatives you never liked anyway will be at your funeral and they’ll call you a good little Christian and they’ll say you were a hero to get wasted defeating Communism and you’ll just lie there with a cold ass, dead as a mackeral.”

This book is not for everyone, but neither is war.  Powerful?  Read it and you’ll get a real feel for seeing the person beside you take a bullet through the heart and then bleed to death on your boots.

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://www.gondwanapress.com

I just watched some video shot from a helicopter over tornado-ravaged Florida.  I could not believe the destruction.  Oklahoma, as everyone knows, has its share of tornadoes and the category 5 tornado that struck Moore and Oklahoma City several years ago wreaked its share of damage.  Still, I wonder what manner of storm produced the massive destruction in Florida.  Was it a group of several tornadoes, or a single killer twister?  Whichever, I have great empathy with the poor people in Florida that lost their homes, and in some cases their lives.

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Here is a new Big Easy review from a reviewer for ForeWord CLARION Review.  I hope it will whet your appetite for a literary trip to the Crescent City.  The book is available on the web at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Gondwana Press, Lulu, and many other places.  http://www.gondwanapress.com

FICTION: MYSTERY

Big Easy

Eric Wilder

Lulu.com / Gondwana Press

Softcover, $21.95

337 pages

ISBN: 9781847283382

Three stars

Forget it, Jake -- it's Chinatown. —Robert Towne, Chinatown screenplay, 1973

Not far into Eric Wilder’s New Orleans crime and voodoo novel, Big Easy, the underlying structure begins to strongly suggest that of a screenplay. Utilizing cinematic elements such as definite division of acts, major plot points as foundational anchors and a visual emphasis, the story materializes as a loose homage to one film in particular—a choice largely to do with mood and inspiration. Thankfully the picture in question is of top quality and isn’t Gigli or Ernest Goes to Camp.

This book is rich in Nawlins-specific content which informs the plot and stimulates the senses. Hurricane Katrina has left a lingering residue: “...the smell of garbage, dead fish and mildew.” Still, the place remains a unique showcase for great food and rolling good times. But the resurrected, half-empty Big Easy is still a dangerous place. There are no Puritans left in town. Homeless women are being ritualistically killed and NOPD detective Tony Nicosia with Wyatt Thomas, a teetotaler of nebulous profession living in a bar, must determine who’s responsible.

Tulane literature professor and mambo priestess Mama Mulate is a fount of information and an untraditional love interest. Wyatt is attracted to both Mama and Celeste Duples, the innocent out-of-town visitor who is reminiscent of Chinatown’s Katherine Mulwray. Mama and Celeste, very drunk in thin nighties, playfully tease the extremely married Nicosia in an amusing scene: “’I love you ladies but you’re not only going to get me fired, you’re going to get me killed. Please have mercy. I’m too weak to resist.’

Cuervo, ganja and Nicosia’s words sent the two gorgeous women into yet another fit of laughter.”

Big Easy place descriptions are authentic, the dialogue is often witty, and the copy is pretty clean. When the characters go to dinner, readers will get hungry. Voodoo sequences seems to reflect a native knowledge. Mama Mulate’s fast cycles of anger and apology are a bit irrational. The author chooses to tell this story from mixed points of view. Wyatt’s sections are first person, all others are third person with varying degrees of omniscience. The focus is divided, the true center is challenging to pin down. Neither Wyatt’s threads nor Nicosia’s dominate the story enough to declare one the definite protagonist.

Eric Wilder is a petroleum geologist in Oklahoma who hails from Louisiana. He’s published five works of fiction, including Ghost of a Chance, and a volume of poetry. Readers with an affinity for this book’s characters can reconnect with several of them in Wilder’s short story collection, Murder Étouffée. The author may be positioning himself for a shot at Hollywood. He already knows what to say to someone disillusioned by a milieu of mysticism and corruption: “Forget about it Wyatt. It’s the Big Easy.”

Reviewed by Todd Mercer

http://www.ericwilder.com

Papa Legba is the Haitian voodoo god who acts as an intermediary between the loa and humans. He is also the god of the crossroads; he opens the road to the spirit world. He taught mankind the use of oracles and how to interpret them.  Here is his vever.

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Here is a passage from Over the Rainbow, my little book of haiku:

Lie still bold panther

your prey snorts below you

awaiting your leap

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   available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble

Here is an area topographic map of Robber’s Cave State Park near Wilburton, Oklahoma.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Here is a very interesting and disturbing article.

Bloomberg.com: Energy

Flipping TV channels tonight, I encountered a movie that I’ve seen many times before.  Like The Godfather and Chinatown, it is a mesmerizing movie - at least the last thirty minutes.  I’m speaking of Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket.

A newbie director could have directed the movie’s first hour.  It bops along slowly, neither boring nor engrossing (although many disagree with me).  The characters are caricatures – the black man from Alabama, the southern bigot, the recent college graduate.  The last half hour of the movie grasps your soul, yanks it inside out, and leaves you contemplating deep into the night about what you just saw.

The movie’s backdrop is the Vietnamese city of Hue.  Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket does more than set a memorable scene.  He transports you, kicking and screaming, along with a rifle platoon as it recons the bombed out remnants of the ancient city.

What a scene!  Kubrick, the consummate artist paints it with from a palette comprised of fire, smoke, distressed metal and broken concrete.  No music.  Kubrick employs a single drum and what sounds like the tortured movement of a rusty windmill in a persistent breeze.

Dorian Harewood as Eightball, realizes the patrol has taken a wrong turn (shit, this is deep!).  The black Alabama trooper (more allegory?) volunteers to scout a new route and is soon shot by a sniper hidden in the ruins.  When Cowboy (Arliss Howard) orders the troopers to retreat, Animal Mother (Adam Baldwin) defies him and moves forward to rescue Eightball, and the medic that had gone to rescue him.  The troops soon follow.

Kubrick ratchets the suspense and canned, in my opinion, the best death scene ever filmed.  Arliss Howard as the squad leader Cowboy should have won an academy award for his performance.  Check it out and see if I’m making this up.  The final five minutes of the movie, Matthew Modine as Joker has the finest and most persuasive performance of his career.  Adam Baldwin as Animal Mother is impossible to overlook.  His is an imposing performance, so subtle, and yet so explosive.

The best performance has gone unheralded for 20 years.  Ngoc Le is the Vietnamese sniper.  Who knows how old she is, but she looks eighteen.  She also looks brave, dedicated and absolutely ready to die for a cause that many Americans don’t even remember, much less understand.  Catch the last ten minutes of this movie and see what I mean.

Some say Full Metal Jacket is the best war movie ever made.  No way!  Hell, Kubrick’s own Dr. Strangelove is better.  FMJ isn’t even the best movie about Vietnam.  Platoon, in my book, takes that title.

Still, the last thirty minutes of  Full Metal Jacket is as riveting as The Godfather or Chinatown, and the movie proves one thing to me:  humans are imperfect.  We strive for perfection and never quite reach it.  But, every now and then, we see a movie, or hear a song, or read a particularly strong passage from a novel that embeds itself in our souls, and never quite goes away.  The last thirty minutes of Full Metal Jacket is like that.

Hey, give credit to writer Gustav Hasford.  Full Metal Jacket was adapted from his novel The Short Timers and some critics say the last passages of his book are deeper and darker than the darkest of the dark.  If you can find this rare volume, read it and weep.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Whmph!

I had tarried too long at the crime scene, darkness already beginning to drape the late fall sky.  I heard a sound in the distance that curdled my blood.

Whmph! 

It was J.D.’s panther, the mythical beast that I had laughed at him about.  That moment I realized that it was very real, and it was making a coughing sound that carried through the dense Logan County backwoods.  The black muscled giant was herding me, using his guttural voice to intimidate me, trying to make me turn my back on him and hurry for the distant section-line road where my truck awaited.  Knowing that my gut reaction was about to get me killed I turned, picked up a big stick and began yelling at the top of my lungs.

http://www.ericwilder.com

It’s snowing in much of Oklahoma and raining in Oklahoma City.  Still, there are flowers blooming in places, mostly inside.  Here are a few pics to cheer your day.

http://www.ericwilder.com

This article about Robber’s Cave in Oklahoma is so interesting, I am providing a link so that all may read it.  Robber’s Cave is a state park located in the San Bois Mountains of southeastern Oklahoma.

robber's cave experiment

Southwest Arkansas, the area where I wrote my geologic master’s thesis, is rife with structural faults that extend all the way to the surface. Still, for those that have visited southwest Arkansas, they know that trees and undergrowth there cover practically everything. This means that surface faults are difficult to locate and to map. Modern technology such as side-looking radar, Landsat, and even aerial photos help alleviate this problem, but what did early explorers and prospectors do to locate and map these faults before this technology existed? Well, they consulted Mother Nature.

You gardeners know that plants and trees prefer specific chemistries in the soil they occupy. Pine trees like a particular acidity, oaks something totally different. Smart prospectors and savvy field geologists still use this very basic bit of information to their advantage.

How does it work? In southwest Arkansas, many near-vertical reverse faults often extend to the surface. For those that understand about the structural mechanism of faulting, they know faults often separate rock of different ages and chemical composition. Side "A" might comprise an acidic soil, Side "B" more alkaline. Pines, that may prefer a more acid soil, would grow to the very edge of the fault on Side "A", and then stop. Oaks like more alkaline soil and would prosper on Side "B" right up to the edge of the fault line. The result is an abrupt change in vegetation that alerts explorers that a surface fault is present.

Prospectors and field geologists are trained to notice these "tree-line faults." Next time you are on a field trip, check it out.

http://ericwilder.com

The recent ice storm in Oklahoma has brought out several rare animals, many seen only during occurrences such as the events of the past few days.  While taking pictures in my front yard, I managed to snap this appearance of one of the world’s rarest animals: the extremely elusive icy hedgehog.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Day Three – Central Oklahoma

The final wave of sleet passed through central Oklahoma today (01–14–07) before noon.  The storm, at its worst, extended from New Mexico to Chicago, and as far south as San Antonio, Texas.   Even northwest Louisiana, including Shreveport, has accumulations of ice.  All 77 counties in Oklahoma have been declared a disaster area by the government, giving our state the questionable distinction of having the worst weather conditions in the nation.  Here in Edmond, 4” of sleet fell.  Here are a few pics from the storm.

http://www.ericwilder.com http://www.gondwanapress.com

Freezine weather had already encompassed central Oklahoma yesterday morning.  It soon began sleeting and continued well into the night.  This morning, a sheet of ice covered the ground and roads.  Another storm is approaching, scheduled for later tonight.  Here are a couple of pics from the storm.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Catherine, a writer friend of mine, is a predictor (I hope that is a correct spelling).  She “feels” approaching earthquakes and other natural phenomena.  Knowing that I am also interested in such things, she sent me this e-mail correspondence between herself and Steve, another predictor.  It is so interesting, I feel compelled to post it in its entirety.

Catherine writes: 

sent an email to Steve (in RI) who is a predictor friend of mine. The following are snipits of today's conversations re: the stinky smell in NYC and NJ yesterday:

Steve replied:
<<Also another clue you are right is: the amazing mag fields that set off Soufriere yesterday blasting ash 5 miles high are aligned with East coast. Had a wicked bitchin headache that woke me up yesterday, then the Georgia storm and volcano went off.  Post a vision for it if you get one for the rotten apple.>>

I had gotten one. So I posted it--
Date: January 09, 2007 at 12:49:43
From: catjo
Subject: Stinky prediction NYC+ 4-6+ by EOM Jan
Subwindow by 27th. I know in my gut that's what's coming down the pike there with the stink. A biggazz fault line runs right under Manhattan and there have been a couple of building collapses there in the last year as I recall. I got a vision for NE states coastal and I forgot to post it. It was multiple and as I recall it did tie in with (and shortly after) the activity around Mont & Souf which Steve pointed out are in alignment with NYC. Look for 2-3 of them from Maine to NJ 4-6+ Mag. There were also MANY EQ clouds there a couple of weeks ago so I'd say within two-3 wks. >^..^<

Steve replied:
<<And here I thought the Statue of Liberty got a bad Burritto. Young lady you may very have well solved the conundrum of the stankulation. Maybe Mother Earth got a bad Burritto. 4 weeks ago I had a map dream repleat with red box  for quakulation off
the N.E. USA  Off Long Island. Lately I have seen quake clouds and have been inclined to forecast a quake but chicken out, so far so good no quake.
    I don't know whether the weather will wallop with cyclone out your way, there was a small cyclone down in Georgia as I had that cyclone dream, hopefully that is all. Stay sharp.>>

My reply:
<< I know in my gut that's what's coming down the pike there. A biggazz fault line runs right under Manhattan and there have been a couple of building collapses there in the last year as U recall but they don't want a panic of 20M so they are just wait and hope for the best (bad plan if U ask me). I did get a vision for NE states coastal and I forgot to post it. It was multiple and as I recall it did tie in with the activity around Mont & Souf so I better post it now. U stay alert up there too because it could splash. Look for 2-3 of them from Maine to NJ 4-6+ Mag. Those EQ clouds are a couple of weeks old if memory serves so I'd say within two-3 wks. >^..^<>>

Steve wrote back:
<<Thanks for the heads up, I'll keep my surf board handy.
and pasted this into the message:
[His Previous Message that he had posted]
<<[Date: January 09, 2007 at 12:48:35
From: Steve
Subject: Spain is in danger-------watch out MADRID

This month is bad for western Europe. Thought it may be more northern, London Paris Amsterdam Brussles. There was a car bomb at the Madrid Airport last week. I think there is more danger for Spain, this time is all about danger, fire, explosives, crazies. Two eclipses cut paths thru Spain last year, not good. I don't know for sure but other European cities should be on RED High alert at this time.]>>
He adds:
<<7 hours after I put up the Europe Alert, Madrid was attacked. >>

People added these to my NYC prediction:
<<re: running under Manhattan. I remember many years ago they wanted to build the nuke plant in Yonkers and people put up a big stink. Turns out that where they
wanted to build was right on a fault. >> from a lady near there and

Steve posted this:
<<The Rescue is in progress. Monster magfields in the Atlantic that set off Soufriere and NYC aromas are most likely the culprit, See Catjos prediction. Last month I posted for a dream of a quake off Long Island , Narragansett Bay.  It ain't over till it's over and the fat lady may have another song to sing.
   21 dolphins have come ashore (off the coast of Mass.) over the last month, there are 8 in this pod in the shallows they being rescued now at Wellfleet. I am about 35 miles from there and had a wicked headache yesterday around the time Soufriere erupted. >>

And another post was:
Date: January 09, 2007 at 14:19:21
From: Mariane
Subject: Re: Stinky prediction NYC+ 4-6+ by EOM Jan
I believe that is the Ramapo Fault. There are two other faults running under Manhattan. I remember many years ago they wanted to build the nuke plant in Yonkers and people put up a big stink. Turns out that where they wanted to build was right on a fault.>>

It'll be interesting to watch the developments...
>^..^<

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://www.gondwanapress.com

I live in Edmond, Oklahoma, on the edge of town.  Not far from Lake Arcadia, wildlife of all kinds, is abundant.  Marilyn feeds the birds and squirrels and the backyard often looks like an aviary.  There is also a pair of hawks living in the tall oaks in my back yard.  Lately, they've begun chasing sparrows into the picture window in back of my house, then swoping down and flying away with the stunned birds.  The loud thumps against the glass have become quite disconcerting.  I have a long picture of one of the hawks as it sat on the fence around my pool.  Hopefully, I will get a better one soon.

http://www.ericwilder.com  http://www.gondwanapress.com

Release Source:  Gondwana Press

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Edmond, OK—January 6, 2007— Gondwana Press is pleased to announce the long-awaited release of the novel Big Easy by author Eric Wilder.

Lust, murder, and voodoo amid the backdrop of post-Katrina New Orleans.

Someone is killing street people in New Orleans, and the murders threaten to stifle the City’s delicate recovery process following killer hurricanes Katrina and Rita.  Homicide detective Tony Nicosia suspects the practice of voodoo is somehow involved in the killings.  He enlists the help of local expert Wyatt Thomas and his partner Mama Mulate.  Thomas is the “go to” man for esoteric French Quarter information, Mama Mulate a professor of English literature at Tulane University.  She is also an authentic voodoo mambo.

Author of Murder Etouffee, Prairie Sunset and A Gathering of Diamonds, Eric Wilder has penned his most suspenseful novel yet.  A Louisiana native, Wilder places the reader directly on dark French Quarter streets, beneath lacy ferns and filigree ironwork.  “A must read,” Heather Froeschl of Bookreview.com writes.  “A murder mystery with a deliciously dark side - I loved it!”

Link to Publication*:  http://www.gondwanapress.com

ABOUT AUTHOR

Native of Louisiana, Eric Wilder now lives and writes in Edmond, Oklahoma.  The author of six other books, Wilder is a noted energy expert, and a scholar on events of historical significance that occurred in Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana.

ABOUT GONWANA         

Founded in 2006, Gondwana Press is a small regional publisher seeking to expand the bounds of both knowledge and entertainment.

# # #

MEDIA CONTACT:  Shane Bohl, bohlstbs@sbcglobal.net.

There exists an escarpment on a mountain side in eastern Oklahoma.  A large rock, carved around 1000 A.D., is the only remaining sign that someone, possibly of Norse origin, once occupied the escarpment.  The rock, now known as the Heavener Runestone, marks Oklahoma’s Runestone State Park.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Just outside of Mulhaul, Oklahoma, winding blacktop mimics the course of Beaver Creek, finally crossing it on the time-weakened backbone of an aging edifice.  Framed by the bridge’s rusty abutments, a lonely pumping unit siphons oil from a half-empty fountain situated deep within Mother Earth.

http://www.ericwilder.com

Ricky Nelson

Stevie Ray Vaughn

Buddy Holly

Jim Croce

Ronnie Van Sant

John Denver

Otis Redding

Richie Valens

Dean Paul (Dino) Martin

Patsy Cline

Amazingly, almost all of these artists played the guitar.

http://www.ericwilder.com