My next book will be an exploration of John Allegro's book The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross, a work that fascinated my husband.
Allegro, a member of the Dead Sea scrolls team, developed a shocking thesis about early Christianity. He asserted that it was just one of many fertility cults, and that the early Christians achieved visionary experiences by eating a poisonous mushroom.
Watch for my book and Allegro's book, coming soon.
~~~
It's a Philip K. Dick World! “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” —Philip K. Dick Government intrusion into our personal lives is increasing, the economy is shot and the media focus on hate and violence. Philip K. Dick's fifth and last wife, Tessa Dick, talks about her husband. I have my own books and stories, as well.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
The Postmistress - book review
I read Sarah Blake's novel The Postmistress because it was this month's selection for the local book club.
I have mixed feelings about it, since the story is so important but the author is somewhat lacking in skill to tell it. Here's the beginning of my review:
Sarah Blake used a wealth of actual and imaginary history to craft a tale about ordinary people living through the horrors of Nazi Germany’s march across Europe, the London Blitzkrieg and the pogrom against European Jews. Based partly on research and mostly on imagination, she takes us into the lives of a menagerie – and there lies the problem. She gives us too many main characters, none of whom is the postmistress of the novel’s title. The story of Iris James, Postmistress of Franklin, Massachusetts, turns out to be peripheral to the central story. Moreover, so many stories are told that the central story gets lost in the tangle of smaller stories.
Please follow the link and read my full review. It will increase the pittance that Epinions pays me.
http://www.epinions.com/review/Book_The_Postmistress_Sarah_Blake/content_575649189508
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have mixed feelings about it, since the story is so important but the author is somewhat lacking in skill to tell it. Here's the beginning of my review:
Sarah Blake used a wealth of actual and imaginary history to craft a tale about ordinary people living through the horrors of Nazi Germany’s march across Europe, the London Blitzkrieg and the pogrom against European Jews. Based partly on research and mostly on imagination, she takes us into the lives of a menagerie – and there lies the problem. She gives us too many main characters, none of whom is the postmistress of the novel’s title. The story of Iris James, Postmistress of Franklin, Massachusetts, turns out to be peripheral to the central story. Moreover, so many stories are told that the central story gets lost in the tangle of smaller stories.
Please follow the link and read my full review. It will increase the pittance that Epinions pays me.
http://www.epinions.com/review/Book_The_Postmistress_Sarah_Blake/content_575649189508
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
sneak preview -- my second murder mystery
Murder Bleeds
A Lavinia Stout Murder Mystery
By Tessa B. Dick
Chapter One
I keep my license with me at all times, even when I am outside California, the only state where it is valid. The shiny, officially embossed, laminated piece of wallet-size paper rests inside one of those plastic pouches that are designed to keep your fishing license dry, even if you fall into a lake. My license reads: Lavinia Stout, Licensed Private investigator. My friends call me Livvy, while other people try to stifle a giggle when they call me Miss Stout, a name that evokes an image quite the opposite of my short, thin body.
I never expected to find myself investigating vampires, even though I thoroughly enjoyed that old TV show “Kolchak, the Night Stalker”. Fantasy is fine for entertainment, but a detective deals in facts.
I’ll explain later how I came to be riding on a Greyhound bus from Phoenix, Arizona, to San Bernardino, California. Let’s just say that my dependable old Honda Accord had finally met its end, not due to any fault of its own, but courtesy of a reckless driver who shared the road with me. I would like to point out here that it’s quite comfortable sleeping in the driver’s seat of a Honda Accord when you recline the seat back as far as it will go.
I had arrived at the station about seven in the morning, but the 8:30 bus was already sold out, so I bought a ticket for the next bus to San Bernardino, which was scheduled for 11:30. If I had known how much it would cost me for a one-way ticket with one checked bag, I might have gone to the airport instead. It would have cost about the same to fly from Phoenix to Ontario, a trip of less than an hour. I was slightly annoyed when they weighed my bag and charged me a couple bucks extra for it, as if this were an airline, where the weight of the load would make a real difference in the fuel consumption. It was too late to change my mind now, since I was too tired to navigate the Phoenix bus system and too cheap to pay for a taxi cab. Moreover, Homeland Security rules made the last-minute purchase of a one-way airline ticket look very suspicious, and I didn’t feel up to having my bags and body searched.
I had come a long way since putting up the new sign on my storefront in the strip mall back home: Lavinia Stout, Private Investigator, replacing Madame Lavinia, Psychic Readings. Somehow, my name seemed to fit the psychic reader more than the detective, but there was no going back now. Ever since my adventure with Mark and Doris Bell in Denver, I had no more taste for deception. But I hadn’t expected to get myself into so much trouble by changing careers. I had rescued the victim of a gang attack, only to have him turn on me and try to strangle me, been accused of murdering a man that I barely knew and sent on a fool’s errand to Phoenix in the middle of summer, when the heat was unbearable. It was actually 117 degrees Fahrenheit, with no spot of shade to be found. At least the bus station was air conditioned, but they kept it so cold that I had to wear a sweater.
The 8:30 bus came and went, leaving about a dozen people still waiting in line because the bus was full. I surveyed the other passengers at the Phoenix station, wondering whether I would be riding with any of them – even the thought of the shadowy people that I had encountered back in the mountains sent a shiver through my spine like a cat wrapping itself around a pole. I had begun to believe that vampires were real. They certainly did drink blood, but sunlight didn’t seem to bother them, and they even wore large silver crosses on their black leather outfits. Even so, a few of them did seem to have an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as mysteriously.
The people in the bus station seemed ordinary enough. I first noticed two young Chinese men who sat on their suitcases conversing in their native language. From their clothing – black slacks and white shirts – I guessed that they were college students. From their haircuts – long on one side and very stylish – I guessed that they were from Taiwan and had money. I wondered why they didn’t rent a car.
A couple with three small children waited in the priority boarding line where you could be assured of a seat and you could get on the bus ahead of ordinary passengers, for a fee of $5 for each adult. If I had small children, I would have thought it well worth the extra money. I also noticed that the woman had another baby coming; she appeared to be about ready to give birth at any moment. I hoped that it wouldn’t happen before we got to San Bernardino.
A blond man with a backpack that looked too heavy for his thin frame explained to me that he had been trying to get on a bus since midnight, but Greyhound had oversold the seats and he kept getting bumped. That sounded like another good reason to pay for priority boarding. I considered it, but my parsimonious nature prevailed.
I made my way to the coffee shop nestled in a room about the size of a cubby hole set into the wall opposite the ticket counter, weaving a path among bags and boxes sitting on the floor and waiting passengers in various poses, until finally I approached the few overpriced items of food and drink that they offered. A standing rack made of folded cardboard displayed paperback books with garish covers. Half a dozen little round, white plastic tables stood just outside the coffee shop, and a few generous people had left magazines and newspapers on the tables for others to read. I bought a small cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. It cost me almost $6, which I considered outrageous, but I needed the caffeine and calories.
Various announcements came over the loudspeaker from time to time, but it was so crackly that I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Passengers lined up and boarded buses for various locations in Arizona and New Mexico, but the line for San Bernardino stayed put. People milled around, talked to each other, watched cartoons on the overhead television set and sometimes sat on the steel benches that had been provided by some twisted sadist. If you had a pillow, sitting on those benches could be made less painful. I did not have a pillow. The waiting time dragged like an abused puppy who is afraid to walk on a leash.
When I first arrived at the station, one of the two overhead television sets had been showing the cable news, but at 9:00 it switched to the same cartoons that were on the other set. I set my bag down on the floor and sat on it, which turned out to be much more comfortable than the steel benches.
A Lavinia Stout Murder Mystery
By Tessa B. Dick
Chapter One
I keep my license with me at all times, even when I am outside California, the only state where it is valid. The shiny, officially embossed, laminated piece of wallet-size paper rests inside one of those plastic pouches that are designed to keep your fishing license dry, even if you fall into a lake. My license reads: Lavinia Stout, Licensed Private investigator. My friends call me Livvy, while other people try to stifle a giggle when they call me Miss Stout, a name that evokes an image quite the opposite of my short, thin body.
I never expected to find myself investigating vampires, even though I thoroughly enjoyed that old TV show “Kolchak, the Night Stalker”. Fantasy is fine for entertainment, but a detective deals in facts.
I’ll explain later how I came to be riding on a Greyhound bus from Phoenix, Arizona, to San Bernardino, California. Let’s just say that my dependable old Honda Accord had finally met its end, not due to any fault of its own, but courtesy of a reckless driver who shared the road with me. I would like to point out here that it’s quite comfortable sleeping in the driver’s seat of a Honda Accord when you recline the seat back as far as it will go.
I had arrived at the station about seven in the morning, but the 8:30 bus was already sold out, so I bought a ticket for the next bus to San Bernardino, which was scheduled for 11:30. If I had known how much it would cost me for a one-way ticket with one checked bag, I might have gone to the airport instead. It would have cost about the same to fly from Phoenix to Ontario, a trip of less than an hour. I was slightly annoyed when they weighed my bag and charged me a couple bucks extra for it, as if this were an airline, where the weight of the load would make a real difference in the fuel consumption. It was too late to change my mind now, since I was too tired to navigate the Phoenix bus system and too cheap to pay for a taxi cab. Moreover, Homeland Security rules made the last-minute purchase of a one-way airline ticket look very suspicious, and I didn’t feel up to having my bags and body searched.
I had come a long way since putting up the new sign on my storefront in the strip mall back home: Lavinia Stout, Private Investigator, replacing Madame Lavinia, Psychic Readings. Somehow, my name seemed to fit the psychic reader more than the detective, but there was no going back now. Ever since my adventure with Mark and Doris Bell in Denver, I had no more taste for deception. But I hadn’t expected to get myself into so much trouble by changing careers. I had rescued the victim of a gang attack, only to have him turn on me and try to strangle me, been accused of murdering a man that I barely knew and sent on a fool’s errand to Phoenix in the middle of summer, when the heat was unbearable. It was actually 117 degrees Fahrenheit, with no spot of shade to be found. At least the bus station was air conditioned, but they kept it so cold that I had to wear a sweater.
The 8:30 bus came and went, leaving about a dozen people still waiting in line because the bus was full. I surveyed the other passengers at the Phoenix station, wondering whether I would be riding with any of them – even the thought of the shadowy people that I had encountered back in the mountains sent a shiver through my spine like a cat wrapping itself around a pole. I had begun to believe that vampires were real. They certainly did drink blood, but sunlight didn’t seem to bother them, and they even wore large silver crosses on their black leather outfits. Even so, a few of them did seem to have an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere and disappear just as mysteriously.
The people in the bus station seemed ordinary enough. I first noticed two young Chinese men who sat on their suitcases conversing in their native language. From their clothing – black slacks and white shirts – I guessed that they were college students. From their haircuts – long on one side and very stylish – I guessed that they were from Taiwan and had money. I wondered why they didn’t rent a car.
A couple with three small children waited in the priority boarding line where you could be assured of a seat and you could get on the bus ahead of ordinary passengers, for a fee of $5 for each adult. If I had small children, I would have thought it well worth the extra money. I also noticed that the woman had another baby coming; she appeared to be about ready to give birth at any moment. I hoped that it wouldn’t happen before we got to San Bernardino.
A blond man with a backpack that looked too heavy for his thin frame explained to me that he had been trying to get on a bus since midnight, but Greyhound had oversold the seats and he kept getting bumped. That sounded like another good reason to pay for priority boarding. I considered it, but my parsimonious nature prevailed.
I made my way to the coffee shop nestled in a room about the size of a cubby hole set into the wall opposite the ticket counter, weaving a path among bags and boxes sitting on the floor and waiting passengers in various poses, until finally I approached the few overpriced items of food and drink that they offered. A standing rack made of folded cardboard displayed paperback books with garish covers. Half a dozen little round, white plastic tables stood just outside the coffee shop, and a few generous people had left magazines and newspapers on the tables for others to read. I bought a small cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. It cost me almost $6, which I considered outrageous, but I needed the caffeine and calories.
Various announcements came over the loudspeaker from time to time, but it was so crackly that I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Passengers lined up and boarded buses for various locations in Arizona and New Mexico, but the line for San Bernardino stayed put. People milled around, talked to each other, watched cartoons on the overhead television set and sometimes sat on the steel benches that had been provided by some twisted sadist. If you had a pillow, sitting on those benches could be made less painful. I did not have a pillow. The waiting time dragged like an abused puppy who is afraid to walk on a leash.
When I first arrived at the station, one of the two overhead television sets had been showing the cable news, but at 9:00 it switched to the same cartoons that were on the other set. I set my bag down on the floor and sat on it, which turned out to be much more comfortable than the steel benches.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Flickering Reality -- book review
So sorry that it took me this long to figure out how to upload my stuff at the library. It's a long story, but I no longer have Internet at home. I'm really broke and unable to work, and still trying to maneuver thru the disability maze.
Here's my review of A Flickering Reality, and great nonfiction book that looks at alternate reailty in film.
David Peat’s A Flickering Reality: Cinema and the nature of reality
My interest in this book began form the fact that it discusses some of the films that have been based on books and stories by my husband Philip K. Dick. However, the value of the work does not end there. In fact, David Peat outlines our recent technological history with a view to the reasons why our reality is very much like the movies, as well as the reasons why computers cannot achieve true artificial intelligence, but only an approximation thereof.
I found myself immersed in David Peat’s train of thought as he led me through the mirrors of mind, movie and reality. He explores the meaning of human consciousness while focusing on films like The Truman Show, The Matrix and The Men who Stare at Goats.
This exploration of science and philosophy goes beyond the movies to the fabric of our reality and the essence of ourselves.
Peat invites us to speculate as to whether we live in a simulated reality and whether we, ourselves are real.
It’s a fascinating read.
Five stars out of five.
Excellent!
David Peat
A Flickering Reality: Cinema and the nature of reality
Pari, Italy: Pari Publishing, 2011
~~~
Here's my review of A Flickering Reality, and great nonfiction book that looks at alternate reailty in film.
David Peat’s A Flickering Reality: Cinema and the nature of reality
My interest in this book began form the fact that it discusses some of the films that have been based on books and stories by my husband Philip K. Dick. However, the value of the work does not end there. In fact, David Peat outlines our recent technological history with a view to the reasons why our reality is very much like the movies, as well as the reasons why computers cannot achieve true artificial intelligence, but only an approximation thereof.
I found myself immersed in David Peat’s train of thought as he led me through the mirrors of mind, movie and reality. He explores the meaning of human consciousness while focusing on films like The Truman Show, The Matrix and The Men who Stare at Goats.
This exploration of science and philosophy goes beyond the movies to the fabric of our reality and the essence of ourselves.
Peat invites us to speculate as to whether we live in a simulated reality and whether we, ourselves are real.
It’s a fascinating read.
Five stars out of five.
Excellent!
David Peat
A Flickering Reality: Cinema and the nature of reality
Pari, Italy: Pari Publishing, 2011
~~~
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
thank God for the public library
`
Now that I have no Internet at home, due to financial problems, I am limited to one hour of Internet access at the publikc library, whcih would not be so bad if I didn't have to alk a mile to get here.
I still have no car, so I hoof it everywhere.
~~~
Now that I have no Internet at home, due to financial problems, I am limited to one hour of Internet access at the publikc library, whcih would not be so bad if I didn't have to alk a mile to get here.
I still have no car, so I hoof it everywhere.
~~~
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Pre-crime in the real world
`
In Philip K. Dick's story (and the Tom Cruise film), mutants with precognitive abilities predict that someone will commit a crime, so the police can arrest them and prevent them from committing the crime.
In the real world, a computer program uses an algorithm to predict crime. Police in Santa Cruz, California are actually using it to prevent burglaries and car break-ins.
The heart of the program is the belief that criminals often commit a second or third crime in the same location and the same time as a first successful crime. For example, if a burglar is successful breaking into a home at 2 p.m. in a certain neighborhood because no
http://www.clusterflock.org/2011/09/unlike-philip-k-dicks-novel-the-minority-report-or-the-film-inspired-by-the-novel-the-program-relies-on-algorithms-and-not-mutants-to-predict-the-likelihood-of-something-happening.html
~~~
In Philip K. Dick's story (and the Tom Cruise film), mutants with precognitive abilities predict that someone will commit a crime, so the police can arrest them and prevent them from committing the crime.
In the real world, a computer program uses an algorithm to predict crime. Police in Santa Cruz, California are actually using it to prevent burglaries and car break-ins.
The heart of the program is the belief that criminals often commit a second or third crime in the same location and the same time as a first successful crime. For example, if a burglar is successful breaking into a home at 2 p.m. in a certain neighborhood because no
one is home, the criminal will use that experience to do it again to another house in the same neighborhood around the same time.
In the case of Santa Cruz, on California’s central coast and home to a University of California campus, that would be about four days later.
The algorithm knows this because Mohler has fed eight years of data on crimes in Santa Cruz into the algorithm.
http://www.clusterflock.org/2011/09/unlike-philip-k-dicks-novel-the-minority-report-or-the-film-inspired-by-the-novel-the-program-relies-on-algorithms-and-not-mutants-to-predict-the-likelihood-of-something-happening.html
~~~
Friday, September 16, 2011
Natural health products
`
I have joined a new affiliate program to help me make a few bucks and provide my readers with some awesome natural health products.
Please check it out:
The Natural News Store
Thank you so much!
~~~
I have joined a new affiliate program to help me make a few bucks and provide my readers with some awesome natural health products.
Please check it out:
The Natural News Store
Thank you so much!
~~~
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