I haven’t been reading anywhere near as much as I should. Much the same as how it’s been a year and a half since I’ve finished a short story I’ve started. A friend of mine presses me to read “Thrones”, but damnit, I can’t bring myself to even so much as watch the TV show.
I’m driven to crime drama now. Not sure why. I think it’s because my wife likes it so much. I want to get my head around it and maybe write her a good story she can enjoy.
That being said, I’ve since elected to start reading Dave Robicheaux novels, but starting from the first one to the last one. The first one I ever read was “Purple Cane Road” and that was only because I’d listened to the audiobook on a road trip and was entranced by the voice actor. He brought the characters to life for me. I can’t read a Dave Robicheaux novel without hearing that voice actor. I don’t know his name but I do know two movies he was in. Bit roles, to be sure, but I remember him. He was in “Armageddon” as one of the drillers and he was a bad guy’s liason and friend to Nick Cage’s character in “Gone in Sixty Seconds”. Yes, IMDB and Google and Wikipedia could be my friends, but I’m working on dusting the cobwebs in my memory palace. I want to see if I can remember.
At any rate, this whole post is about a paragraph in the third chapter in “The Neon Rain”. It’s about the origin of the .45 automatic pistol. I’ll close my entry with it, if that’s okay with you, and leave the rest open for your own considerations:
The.45 automatic was designed as a result of a Filipino insurrection. The insurrectionists would bind up their genitals with leather thongs, which would send them into a maniacal agony that would allow them to charge through the American wire while the bullets from our Springfields and.30-40 Kraigs passed through their bodies with no more effect than hot needles. The.45, however, blew holes in people the size of croquet balls.