Welcome to THE WRIGHT SIDE
Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you enjoy your visit. After you read the blog entries, watch my YouTube channel, where I read excerpts from my novels, which I'll be updating frequently. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCUGP_-yQnTm389lD9yZIVzA -Daniel Lance Wright, author
Novelist
Wednesday, October 25, 2023
Sunday, October 22, 2023
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Sunday, June 11, 2017
Defining Family - Young Adult Novel
"Defining Family", a young adult novel for the times in which we live.
"I could not stop reading this from the first page. How can anyone write about something with all of the kids in this story that is so accurate... ...A real definition about what the family is about outside of the box." -Gabrielle Hatton, Florida
I invite you to enjoy the download or a print copy today. And, I would appreciate a "share" of this.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
My Wife's New Year Shock
Once a year I let my wife share thoughts on my blog. Here's her New Year thing for 2017:
Started my New Year with a quick workout at the gym. The gym just happens to be located behind the emergency room at the hospital with a good view through the front window. I hit the point I wished my exercise routine was over but, alas, I had to keep going for a while longer. Suddenly, I looked up from my exercise bike and saw a hearse drive in and park near the back of the emergency room entrance. My eagerness to end my workout and go home, just as suddenly, went away and I began peddling a little faster. Happy New Year!,
Started my New Year with a quick workout at the gym. The gym just happens to be located behind the emergency room at the hospital with a good view through the front window. I hit the point I wished my exercise routine was over but, alas, I had to keep going for a while longer. Suddenly, I looked up from my exercise bike and saw a hearse drive in and park near the back of the emergency room entrance. My eagerness to end my workout and go home, just as suddenly, went away and I began peddling a little faster. Happy New Year!,
Friday, October 7, 2016
When Does Old Officially Begin?
It seems as though
that all too frequently I’m getting abrupt reminders of the aging process. I
speak of my own, of course. Sometimes these reminders are subtle but other
times they come at me like a brutal slap in the face. Something happened
yesterday that, to most folks, would not seem like a big thing at all. But, to
me, it was that brutal slap I just mentioned.
It was a
comfortably warm day—sun shining, winds calm. I got in the car to run a simple
errand. My destination took me out on a scenic and winding farm-to-market
highway for a few miles and the drive was pleasant—so pleasant that I began to
daydream, both hands draped over the top of the steering wheel. I was suddenly yanked
back to the moment by a feeling of closeness. I looked in the rear-view mirror
and noticed a car tailgating me dangerously close. Following that vehicle were
a number of others, looking much like a slithering snake. I was the head. A
quick check of the speedometer told me everything I need to know as to the
reason. The speed limit was sixty-five. I was going forty. It was a simple fix.
I sped up to the speed limit and the cars began to loosen behind me. That
should have been the end of it. Right?
Well, it wasn’t.
The episode
brought to mind a time many years ago that I was riding along with my aging
father on our way to town from the farm we lived on. He, too, had his arms
draped over the steering wheel, seemingly oblivious. He smoked a pipe and had
it clenched between his teeth, puffing methodically, having no concerns
whatsoever . . . apparently. We were in a highway construction zone where no
passing was allowed. The old rattle-trap of a pickup we were in rolled along at
about thirty miles per hour. I turned to see a long string of cars behind us.
Well, I figured that he just hadn’t noticed how slow he was driving. So, I
offered a gentle reminder, “Dad, you might want to speed up a little. It seems
we’re holding up traffic.”
In a way that only
another farmer would understand, Dad stopped puffing on that pipe and turned his
head slowly to face me. I couldn’t determine if he wanted to slap me or offer
fatherly advice. In that moment, I could see it going either way.
He turned back to
again look down the highway and resumed puffing on his pipe. I said nothing
more. After a few seconds, “If they wanted to get there sooner, they should
have left earlier,” he said in an uncanny calm manner. He didn’t vary his speed
at all.
I remember
becoming quietly angry at his total lack of highway etiquette and stewed over
it the rest of that day.
Now, in my case, I
did accelerate once I noticed how slowly I was going but I thought, as I
finished my short drive, that all those people following me should have left earlier
if they wanted to get there sooner. That thought gave me an age-reminding
shiver.
Afterthought:
If you enjoy novels, especially in the
romantic thriller genre, please take a look at “Call Me Mikki”. It’s newly
released and available now at Amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com,
sagewordspublishing.com and other fine booksellers.
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
Plausible Deniability
Something
interesting happened the other day. It concerns a dynamic that has been
consistent over a forty-six-year marriage that, for the first time, I saw from
a different angle, or, through fresh eyes, if you will. It started as a simple
question from my wife in the kitchen. She asked, “Does your clock show the day
and date?”
My first thought
was: What does she mean by ‘my clock?’ I
glanced around the kitchen at the wall oven clock, the coffeemaker clock, and
the clock behind me on the wall. So, I asked what I thought was a reasonable
follow-up question, “Do you mean my wristwatch?”
“Your clock,”
she replied in raised voice tinged with frustration, as if repeating the same words
louder would somehow magically add clarity to the question. I began to smile
and nod at her, and then I asked as gently as I could, “I just need you to
define ‘my clock’. Would you do that
for me, and maybe I can answer your question?”
My smile may
have been closely akin to a George W. Bush smirk, so I’ll accept blame here
when I tell you that she rolled her eyes, tossed her hands into the air and
became louder still. “Your clock! Your clock! For God’s sake how many times do
I have to say it?”
A boisterous
laugh came out of me so fast that I couldn’t stop it. Of course, that
aggravated her even more and she whirled around and marched away, which gave me
time to think. The only other clocks in the house that I could think of were
the wall clock above the television in the living room and the alarm clock next
to the bed. Neither showed day nor date. I let the question go unanswered
because I didn’t know which clock she was referring to. Maybe I’d forgotten one
and, clearly, asking again would probably lead to a divorce.
I thought about
her question and wondered why she didn’t simply offer a location for the clock
she was asking about. It would have been simple, quick and not at all
memorable. That led me to analyze previous contentious conversations when I would
press her for more details, just so I could develop an understanding of whatever
it was she happened to be talking about. Some of those conversations were
important but most were as inane as the exchange I’ve described here. I usually
just give up after a couple of shots at getting additional details, nod
stupidly and go back to what I was doing.
And then I
remembered how often she’ll toss out tidbits of information about one of those
conversations days or even weeks later. Of course I’ll deny awareness of it
because it usually leaves my mind in a matter of seconds afterward. Her responses
are always fairly consistent. They go something like these: “We just talked
about that last week,” or “I told you about it yesterday,” or “You never listen
to anything I say, do you?”
It occurred to
me like a lightning bolt, that she is reserving spin potential for later conversations
or arguments, or plausible deniability, because she can later take anything she
says and spin it if necessary to win a later argument because she will never
button down a statement or question with irrefutable facts. Pretty smart, I’d
say. She should have been a politician.
I need to ask
her someday if that conversational style is intentional or just a happy
accident. But, that’s an argument for another day.
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