Nine Days Left!

Happy Monday Bloggers and THE SAVANNAH SYNDROME (TSS) fans!  Only nine short days left to hear the book's fate in Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award Competition!  No news other than that for the book.  Before I share the next page in the novel and another picture, I would like to talk about how surprised I was at the emotional impact some of the commercials of the Super Bowl were this year.  Chrysler definitely stole the show with their two heartwarming, poignant commercials.  Even Budweiser sought to pull on some heart strings with their annual Clydesdale horse commercial.  But I think Chrysler's two commercials for Jeep and Dodge were amazingly well written and exactly what this country needs right now. Comedy is always hard to write and I think Doritos was the only brand to have some half-way funny commercials.  Though the commercials that had me laughing the most were the Leon Sandcastle NFL commercial and the Wonderful Pistachios PSY commercial.  Still, my hat goes off to Chrysler for these two commercials.

The Jeep commercial, which can be viewed here, was a humbling and appropriate message for, not only those still serving, but for the families that have endured and sacrificed along the way for our country.  As I am typing this, I have the commercial playing in the background.  Beautiful words, music, and Oprah.  Kudos Jeep, you have stepped up to the plate and done what no other company dared do, speak out for a minority in this country.  And while everyone likes to say they support our troops, few go that extra effort to show that appreciation, and none have ever done it so elegantly as Jeep did.  Bravo.  Then I read the comments on the YouTube page and I am reminded of how stupid people are in this country.  So what if Jeep is owned by foreign investors.  So what if they are doing subliminal marketing.  So what.  Did this commercial want me to buy a Jeep?  Hell no. Did it give me more respect for the company?  Yes.  Want to know why?  Because they paid a lot of money to make a commercial that saluted our troops.  And too many people can't get that past their thick skulls.  Mostly because they have probably never served, or don't know anyone who has served and have their heads up their own asses (pardon my language).  I wish I hadn't read the comments now.

The second commercial by the foreign owned (by owned that means Italian automaker Fiat holds 61.8% of the shares right now, read about it here) Chrysler was about American farmers.  You can watch that commercial by clicking here.  I didn't read that many comments on that video's YouTube page but it doesn't seem as negative.  I guess the majority of the cynical internet opinion-givers realize how important farmers are more readily than they show that appreciation to our troops.  But again, here, the marketing department decided to spend high dollars to make an add that gives the proper people some of the credit they deserve.  Kudos to the Ram team.  That was a two minute commercial which I believe would have cost them over fifty million dollars to run during the Super Bowl.  And it's awesome that Ram is helping raise funds for the FFA with that promotional run.  So while I won't be rushing out to buy either a Jeep or a Ram, I will say that if I was ever in the market for a truck, I would still buy a Ford, these two companies made the first commercials I was glad I actually watched.  Ever.  They make nicer trucks, I could care less about the commercials when it comes to actual product purchases.

So, that being discussed, here is page eleven of TSS and another picture of the city we love.  Check out my personal blog here.  I'll be ranting about a tragic loss our country was hit by this weekend and went virtually unnoticed thanks to our countries misappropriated sense of worth.  See y'all tomorrow!

Enjoy:

"she released her feet and pulled her legs up directly in front of her.  With her sneakers flat, she compressed her legs and pushed off, spinning, turning her body away from the wall and releasing the rope.  She came splashing down into the moat and hurriedly swam to the far side, just a few short meters away.  Her left hand reached back and felt the reel of her rod, a security measure even though she could still feel both the fishing rod and her machete on her back.  She kicked her legs as hard as she could like an egg beater to elevate her height in the water.  Her hands grasped the sandstone border of the moat and she pushed up with her shoulders.  She was mindful of the oyster shells and barnacles on the wall of the moat with her legs, but she got her sneakers under her and helped kick her body up.  She spilled onto the high grass and lay still.  Counting to 300, she waited for the noises of the island to come back to life.  The cicadas started up again.  A few song birds continued singing back and forth to each other.  Those fingertips of fall swept across the grass and shook the trees.  No other sound caught her attention.  She rose, gathering her bucket, giving a quick look to her hunting knife, and then turning her attention to the ground around her.  A quick hunt for bait and then she would be heading to the beach.

†

The betrayals continued.

            Those little brown crickets, which some days gave her trouble, some days they made her chase them throughout the high marsh grass to catch, filled her bucket far too easy that evening.  She was at her fishing spot on the soft white sand that bordered the north face of Cockspur Island while the sun was still visible over the western horizon.  Her boots sat drying on the broken pieces of concrete that made a rectangular border called the “Historic North Pier.”  She had her pant legs rolled up as she waded out ankle deep in the warm brackish waters where the mouth of the Savannah River met the Atlantic Ocean.  The wind blew stronger here, rustling the"

Cannon overlooking Ft. Pulaski's high walls.