Mark Ozeroff's Posts - The Book Marketing Network2024-03-28T22:27:43ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroffhttp://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2977865473?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=0icznu9b6pcp8&xn_auth=noReview, IN THE WEEDStag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2018-08-03:523145:BlogPost:7187222018-08-03T18:00:00.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>Cynthia Varady has reviewed my latest novel, IN THE WEEDS, on her excellent website. Please stop in for a read (and buy a copy, if you’re feelin’ right special sporty).</p>
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<p><a href="http://www.cynthiavarady.net/blog/in-the-weeds/">www.cynthiavarady.net/blog/in-the-weeds/…</a></p>
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<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2865905328?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-center" height="216" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2865905328?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024" width="144"></img></a></p>
<p>Cynthia Varady has reviewed my latest novel, IN THE WEEDS, on her excellent website. Please stop in for a read (and buy a copy, if you’re feelin’ right special sporty).</p>
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<p><a href="http://www.cynthiavarady.net/blog/in-the-weeds/">www.cynthiavarady.net/blog/in-the-weeds/</a></p>
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<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2865905328?profile=original" target="_self"><img width="750" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2865905328?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024" width="144" height="216" class="align-center"/></a></p>IN THE WEEDS, Guest Blogtag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2018-05-09:523145:BlogPost:7155782018-05-09T13:40:16.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>I am pleased to be a guest writer on Dueling Librarians, a blog devoted to matters literary. Please visit the site, take a look around, soak in the ambiance.</p>
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<p><a href="http://www.duelinglibrarians.net/blog/mark-ozeroff-flyin-the-barn/">www.duelinglibrarians.net/blog/mark-ozeroff-flyin-the-barn/…</a></p>
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<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494455?profile=original" target="_self"><img class="align-full" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494455?profile=original" width="275"></img></a></p>
<p>I am pleased to be a guest writer on Dueling Librarians, a blog devoted to matters literary. Please visit the site, take a look around, soak in the ambiance.</p>
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<p><a href="http://www.duelinglibrarians.net/blog/mark-ozeroff-flyin-the-barn/">www.duelinglibrarians.net/blog/mark-ozeroff-flyin-the-barn/</a></p>
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<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494455?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494455?profile=original" width="275" class="align-full"/></a></p>
<p></p>IN THE WEEDS, Civil Rightstag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2018-05-07:523145:BlogPost:7155002018-05-07T22:15:24.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>Fifty-five years ago this month, Bull Connor directed the police department of Birmingham, Alabama to sic police dogs on peaceful protesters. He also ordered the fire department to spray protesters with high-pressure hoses. These tactics backfired on Connor – widespread news coverage of these outrages brought public condemnation down on Connor’s head, ensuring the passage of the Civil Rights Act only one year later.</p>
<p>My humorous novel IN THE WEEDS uses a cut-rate Bull Connor in the…</p>
<p>Fifty-five years ago this month, Bull Connor directed the police department of Birmingham, Alabama to sic police dogs on peaceful protesters. He also ordered the fire department to spray protesters with high-pressure hoses. These tactics backfired on Connor – widespread news coverage of these outrages brought public condemnation down on Connor’s head, ensuring the passage of the Civil Rights Act only one year later.</p>
<p>My humorous novel IN THE WEEDS uses a cut-rate Bull Connor in the form of Bobby Ray Pistle, “chief” of Farth’s two-man police force. Pistle’s the sort of man who considers the Klan an upstanding civic organization – he views protagonist Slats Kisov as a Hebraic hippie who pr<a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494507?profile=original" target="_self"></a>efers the company of minorities to that of…paler folk. The chief also suspects that Slats is smuggling the same weed he’s been smoking, though Pistle’s bulb burns too dimly to find proof. But when the chief’s lusty ex-wife starts cozying up to Slats, buddy, temperatures really get to boiling.</p>
<p>History long ago relegated Connor to his own violent corner. But the only way to discover Bobby Ray Pistle’s fate is to follow one of the buy links listed below.</p>
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<p><br/>Amazon buy link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref%3Dsr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510148979&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff&dpID=51ftmZUCg2L&preST=_SY291_B">www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref%3Dsr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510148979&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff&dpID=51ftmZUCg2L&preST=_SY291_B</a></p>
<p>Publisher buy link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>
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<p><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2997494507?profile=original" width="197" class="align-full" height="233"/></p>Literary Review, IN THE WEEDStag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-12-02:523145:BlogPost:7114392017-12-02T14:30:00.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>I received a literary review from Martha A. Cheves (<a href="https://booktownusa.org/blogs/91/6573/in-the-weeds-mark-ozeroff" target="_blank">BookTown Review</a>), who put a big smile on my face. </p>
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<p>"I sat on Bian's bed, staring out the only window in the tiny room. She'd been looking west, toward the Everglades. The fleeting patches of sun a couple days ago probably would have seemed familiar to her, perhaps like her memories of Vietnam. Here, she'd known nothing but…</p>
<p>I received a literary review from Martha A. Cheves (<a href="https://booktownusa.org/blogs/91/6573/in-the-weeds-mark-ozeroff" target="_blank">BookTown Review</a>), who put a big smile on my face. </p>
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<p>"I sat on Bian's bed, staring out the only window in the tiny room. She'd been looking west, toward the Everglades. The fleeting patches of sun a couple days ago probably would have seemed familiar to her, perhaps like her memories of Vietnam. Here, she'd known nothing but strangers, uniforms, and pain. But perhaps a familiar sight, and a memory of home, drew her toward the unknown.</p>
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<p>I left her room and descended the stairwell, just as she must have done. I turned left on the landing toward the exit and found myself looking at the eastern edge of the Everglades.</p>
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<p>I dropped to my knees to get a child's perspective, and could clearly see a gap in the vegetation, the start of a trail. I stood and followed it, then closed my eyes. Burrowing as deeply into the mind of a young girl as I could, I took a fresh look down the trail. To a hurting and exiled orphan, this must have looked like a path to freedom. I took my bearings, like the pilot I was, then marched back to the orphanage."</p>
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<p>This young child, aging around 4, was brought from Vietnam to the US to start a new life. She had been burned over thirty percent of her body and one of her legs had been amputated below the knee. She is lost and looking for someone or something that might make her feel that she is safe and cared about.</p>
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<p>This young child will also be what brings Vietnam veteran "Slats" Kisov, back to a new start of his own. Slats flew an O-1 for the Air Force as a 'spotter' who would fly low enough to spot the enemy and report their position to the pilots flying the F-4 Phantoms. After being shot while on a mission, he was eventually sent home to what should be a normal life. It didn't take long for Slats to find his life was going to be far from normal. When you combine PTSD, pot, a girlfriend who used to be the sheriff's wife, the fact that the sheriff is a member of the Klan, and a hurricane that should have taken his life, you find a man with a really mixed up life. Just the kind of life only a child can smooth out.</p>
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<p>This book is full of Vietnam War history. I've know several who served during this terrible war and when asked about events as I read them, they assured me that what I was reading was true. All the way down to the orphans that were brought over, some in very sad health. Reading about some of the events we were never told here in the states, it broke my heart to know what these men went through. So when Slats took his flying ability to an illegal level, I actually worried about him making it through the dangers of his actions. I've read hundreds of books and have to say that this one is written in a fashion that made me feel like I was listening to a real person as he told me about his life. It's very believable and well worth reading.</p>
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<p>Amazon buy link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref%3Dsr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510148979&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff&dpID=51ftmZUCg2L&preST=_SY291_B" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p>Publisher buy link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html" target="_blank">Open Books</a></p>IN THE WEEDS, excerpttag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-11-28:523145:BlogPost:7113142017-11-28T18:46:57.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>Read an excerpt from IN THE WEEDS, courtesy of the publisher’s e-zine, Book Glow (<a href="http://www.bookglow.net/read-excerpt-in-the-weeds/" target="_blank">http://www.bookglow.net/read-excerpt-in-the-weeds/</a>). And here are buy links to several book sellers:</p>
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<p>AMAZON: …</p>
<p>Read an excerpt from IN THE WEEDS, courtesy of the publisher’s e-zine, Book Glow (<a href="http://www.bookglow.net/read-excerpt-in-the-weeds/" target="_blank">http://www.bookglow.net/read-excerpt-in-the-weeds/</a>). And here are buy links to several book sellers:</p>
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<p>AMAZON: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref%3Dsr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510148979&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff&dpID=51ftmZUCg2L&preST=_SY291_B" target="_blank">www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref%3Dsr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1510148979&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff&dpID=51ftmZUCg2L&preST=_SY291_B</a></p>
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<p>OPEN BOOKS: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html" target="_blank">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>Book review of IN THE WEEDS, by author and blogger Michele Stegmantag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-10-21:523145:BlogPost:7094182017-10-21T21:30:00.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>I first “met” Mark Ozeroff when I edited his first book, Days of Smoke, for Asylett Press. In the Weeds, is his second book and it is well worth the wait!</p>
<p>In the Weeds by Mark Ozeroff is a story of a Vietnam veteran working through his own brand of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in the early 1970’s. Sometimes gallant and heroic, Slats Kisov often does more than just bend the rules and the law. But through it all, he retains his own morality, which includes helping the weak and…</p>
<p>I first “met” Mark Ozeroff when I edited his first book, Days of Smoke, for Asylett Press. In the Weeds, is his second book and it is well worth the wait!</p>
<p>In the Weeds by Mark Ozeroff is a story of a Vietnam veteran working through his own brand of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in the early 1970’s. Sometimes gallant and heroic, Slats Kisov often does more than just bend the rules and the law. But through it all, he retains his own morality, which includes helping the weak and helpless without thought of his own personal loss or gain.</p>
<p>This one-man vigilante wrecks havoc on those who trample the rights of others and he does so with a huge helping of humor. I laughed out loud on every page. In the Weeds reminded me of M.A.S.H. Lots of humor even in the midst of war and ugliness.</p>
<p>Slats is far from perfect, however. He learned to smoke “weed” in Vietnam, and sees no reason to stop when he comes home. It is more than a comfort to him and, as a pilot, he sees no reason not to “help” out a family who grows marijuana by flying loads of their crop into Florida.</p>
<p>Ever at odds with the local police chief over civil rights, brutality, and the cop’s downright stupidity, Slats eventually gets into big trouble with the law. While watching helplessly as other veterans succumb and spiral downward, inviting death rather than live with their PTSD, Slats maintains his humor. Through the support of a girlfriend, the weed growing family, an airplane, and a little girl, Slats learns to deal with his own demons and stop his own self destructive life-style.</p>
<p>In the Weeds is heavy on the flying aspect of Slats’s life, providing details about flying and airplanes that only an experienced pilot could supply. But those details are well-written and interesting. Any pilot will greatly appreciate this book. Mark Ozeroff twists the English language more than Slats twists the law to provide a read that, although troubling at times, never lets up on the humor. I highly recommend this book.</p>
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<p>Available at Amazon ( <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1508621946&sr=1-1&keywords=mark+ozeroff" target="_blank">amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/</a> ) or your favorite book source. </p>Five Must-Read Novels About PTSDtag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-09-25:523145:BlogPost:7082362017-09-25T17:09:37.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>IN THE WEEDS has been out for a week now. To help whip up a tsunami of book sales, here is a listicle showcasing five novels which explore post-traumatic stress disorder through fiction. IN THE WEEDS is available in paperback or ebook, through the publisher or your favorite bookseller. </p>
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<p>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/must-read-novels-about-ptsd/">www.bookglow.net/must-read-novels-about-ptsd/</a></p>
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<p>Buy Link:…</p>
<p>IN THE WEEDS has been out for a week now. To help whip up a tsunami of book sales, here is a listicle showcasing five novels which explore post-traumatic stress disorder through fiction. IN THE WEEDS is available in paperback or ebook, through the publisher or your favorite bookseller. </p>
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<p>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/must-read-novels-about-ptsd/">www.bookglow.net/must-read-novels-about-ptsd/</a></p>
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<p>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>Book Release: IN THE WEEDStag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-09-16:523145:BlogPost:7080272017-09-16T21:42:59.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>IN THE WEEDS release day has finally arrived. Paperbacks are now available from three sources: Open Books (publisher), Amazon, and B&N – this should satisfy most folks. Ebooks are still getting the finishing touches – they should start popping up for sale on websites within several days (book release tends to occur in stages).</p>
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<p>Open Books buy link:…</p>
<p>IN THE WEEDS release day has finally arrived. Paperbacks are now available from three sources: Open Books (publisher), Amazon, and B&N – this should satisfy most folks. Ebooks are still getting the finishing touches – they should start popping up for sale on websites within several days (book release tends to occur in stages).</p>
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<p>Open Books buy link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>
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<p>Amazon buy link: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1505511571&sr=1-1&keywords=in+the+weeds%2C+mark+ozeroff">www.amazon.com/Weeds-Mark-Ozeroff/dp/0998427497/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1505511571&sr=1-1&keywords=in+the+weeds%2C+mark+ozeroff</a></p>
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<p>B&N buy link: <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-weeds-mark-ozeroff/1127088772?ean=9780998427492">www.barnesandnoble.com/w/in-the-weeds-mark-ozeroff/1127088772?ean=9780998427492</a></p>
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<p>IN THE WEEDS is a humorous ‘70s tale of gas, grass, ass…and Vietnam. Slats Kisov is an Air Force pilot who returns to the US a changed man, suffering from undiagnosed PTSD. Slats just thinks he’s addicted to the adrenaline of combat flying, so for excitement he starts smuggling marijuana into Florida from the Bahamas. He is aided in this venture by the Morales family, moral people…who just also happen to be money launderers, gun molls, and poetry-spouting bulimic Cuban pot farmers. </p>
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<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2894367120?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2894367120?profile=original" width="168" class="align-center" height="167"/></a></p>Ten Books About the Vietnam Wartag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-09-08:523145:BlogPost:7070972017-09-08T20:30:08.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>The hard-copy proof of IN THE WEEDS is in the mail right now, heading toward me. I’ll have this final piece of the editing puzzle next week – pending publisher and my approval, WEEDS goes straight to print from there. To keep interest up until the literary tap opens, here's another listicle for y’all to contemplate: Ten Books About the Vietnam War.</p>
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<p>Listicle:…</p>
<p>The hard-copy proof of IN THE WEEDS is in the mail right now, heading toward me. I’ll have this final piece of the editing puzzle next week – pending publisher and my approval, WEEDS goes straight to print from there. To keep interest up until the literary tap opens, here's another listicle for y’all to contemplate: Ten Books About the Vietnam War.</p>
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<p>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/10-books-about-the-vietnam-war/">www.bookglow.net/10-books-about-the-vietnam-war/</a></p>
<p><br/>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>Interview with Mark Ozeroff, Author of IN THE WEEDStag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-08-06:523145:BlogPost:7062012017-08-06T13:19:04.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>The content edit of <em>In the Weeds</em> is nearly finished – publication date draws nigh. I was recently interviewed by Book Glow – here’s a link to that article (and a Buy link as well, ‘cause the search for readers is eternal).</p>
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<p>Interview: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/interview-mark-ozeroff-author-in-the-weeds/">www.bookglow.net/interview-mark-ozeroff-author-in-the-weeds/</a></p>
<p><br></br>Buy Link:…</p>
<p>The content edit of <em>In the Weeds</em> is nearly finished – publication date draws nigh. I was recently interviewed by Book Glow – here’s a link to that article (and a Buy link as well, ‘cause the search for readers is eternal).</p>
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<p>Interview: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/interview-mark-ozeroff-author-in-the-weeds/">www.bookglow.net/interview-mark-ozeroff-author-in-the-weeds/</a></p>
<p><br/>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>Weed Readstag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-07-18:523145:BlogPost:7059792017-07-18T13:04:54.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>In preparation for the mid-August release of IN THE WEEDS, I post another listicle, Weeds Reads: 10 Excellent Pot-Related Books. This one compares my novel to some of the top marijuana-related novels published since the ‘60s. I don’t know if this will help boost my book to readers, or land me on some kind of governmental watch list, but here you go:</p>
<p>Listicle:…</p>
<p>In preparation for the mid-August release of IN THE WEEDS, I post another listicle, Weeds Reads: 10 Excellent Pot-Related Books. This one compares my novel to some of the top marijuana-related novels published since the ‘60s. I don’t know if this will help boost my book to readers, or land me on some kind of governmental watch list, but here you go:</p>
<p>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/weed-reads-pot-related-cannabis-books/">www.bookglow.net/weed-reads-pot-related-cannabis-books/</a></p>
<p><br/>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>It's a Madhouse: A Writer's Guide to Character Developmenttag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-07-08:523145:BlogPost:7056462017-07-08T17:59:20.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>I know – another promotional piece? At least this one was actually written by me. Neither prevarication nor obfuscation is to be found. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so fast to admit authorship, though – this article casts more’n a shadow of doubt on my sanity. Well, since any opportunity to conceal instability is long gone, you may as well read on.</p>
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<p>Article:…</p>
<p>I know – another promotional piece? At least this one was actually written by me. Neither prevarication nor obfuscation is to be found. Perhaps I shouldn’t be so fast to admit authorship, though – this article casts more’n a shadow of doubt on my sanity. Well, since any opportunity to conceal instability is long gone, you may as well read on.</p>
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<p>Article: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/its-a-madhouse-a-writers-approach-to-character-development/">www.bookglow.net/its-a-madhouse-a-writers-approach-to-character-development/</a></p>
<p><br/>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>IN THE WEEDS, SOON TO BE RELEASEDtag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-07-04:523145:BlogPost:7048772017-07-04T00:03:02.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p><span>Here's a listicle (list of books similar to mine), featuring my soon-to-be-released novel IN THE WEEDS. Now this is a shameless piece of self-promotion, if ever I saw one. I like it, though, because it features aviation books I have loved all my life. In fact, just mentioning the title sent me to the library so I could hunt up a copy of THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS, in which I am currently engrossed. </span></p>
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<p>Buy Link: …</p>
<p><span>Here's a listicle (list of books similar to mine), featuring my soon-to-be-released novel IN THE WEEDS. Now this is a shameless piece of self-promotion, if ever I saw one. I like it, though, because it features aviation books I have loved all my life. In fact, just mentioning the title sent me to the library so I could hunt up a copy of THE SPIRIT OF ST. LOUIS, in which I am currently engrossed. </span></p>
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<p>Buy Link: <a rel="nofollow" href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>
<p><br/>Listicle: <a rel="nofollow" href="http://www.bookglow.net/pilots-must-read-aviation-books/">www.bookglow.net/pilots-must-read-aviation-books/</a></p>IN THE WEEDS, Preparing for Releasetag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2017-06-28:523145:BlogPost:7047672017-06-28T21:07:21.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<p>In preparation for the planned August 10 release of IN THE WEEDS, here is a Listicle. There may be a few folks as clueless as I recently was, so I'll explain that a listicle is a short article comparing my book to others written from a similar standpoint (in this case, absurdism). I put myself in some high-falutin' company, here:</p>
<p><br></br>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/best-absurdist-novels/">http://www.bookglow.net/best-absurdist-novels/</a></p>
<p></p>
<p>Buy Link: …</p>
<p>In preparation for the planned August 10 release of IN THE WEEDS, here is a Listicle. There may be a few folks as clueless as I recently was, so I'll explain that a listicle is a short article comparing my book to others written from a similar standpoint (in this case, absurdism). I put myself in some high-falutin' company, here:</p>
<p><br/>Listicle: <a href="http://www.bookglow.net/best-absurdist-novels/">http://www.bookglow.net/best-absurdist-novels/</a></p>
<p></p>
<p>Buy Link: <a href="http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html">www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/in-the-weeds/order.html</a></p>Messerschmitts, Walter Mitty, and Metag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2010-09-12:523145:BlogPost:3706762010-09-12T17:48:57.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
From kindergarten through graduate school, I sat in a lot of classrooms. At least half that time was spent staring out the window, daydreaming. I’m not sure why it took me so long to realize that if I just wrote these daydreams down, I’d have a book. Those first attempts were pretty shaky, but eventually I tried writing from first person standpoint, and my novel DAYS OF SMOKE took off with a life of its own. I don’t know how else to describe using first person, other than to call it Walter…
From kindergarten through graduate school, I sat in a lot of classrooms. At least half that time was spent staring out the window, daydreaming. I’m not sure why it took me so long to realize that if I just wrote these daydreams down, I’d have a book. Those first attempts were pretty shaky, but eventually I tried writing from first person standpoint, and my novel DAYS OF SMOKE took off with a life of its own. I don’t know how else to describe using first person, other than to call it Walter Mitty-ish. This is a lesson to budding writers – experiment a little, vary the way you write, to help you find your voice.<br />
<br />
I believe one should write about something for which they have a passion, and I’ve been passionate about airplanes since I was a kid. I was very lucky as a boy – I had nurturing, loving parents, who encouraged any interest their three sons’ showed that didn’t include beating the tar out of each other. That’s how I came to get a ride in the copilot’s seat of a 1927 Ford Trimotor, an experience which cemented my interest for life. In fact I now live on an airport, in a hangar. I suppose I took up aeronautical writing partly in self-defense – now, when I drool over planes for hours at a time, I can at least tell people I’m doing research. This is funny, but it’s also another lesson – if you’re even half as passionate about as a subject as I am about flying, you’ve got a powerful source of inspiration to draw upon.<br />
<br />
But inspiration can come from anywhere. For example, the German squadron commander in my novel was inspired by the principal of my junior high school. Like the fictitious commander, Mr. Thompson was a no-nonsense administrator who nonetheless turned out to be a really nice guy. I say that even though on the first day of school back in 1969, he paddled me. Let me tell you something, THAT was inspiration.<br />
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I’ve been a pilot for more than thirty years, and I took a number of the novel’s flying scenes straight out of my logbook. I’ve flown a lot of hours with a guy named Charlie, who takes pity on a starving writer and lets me keep my hand in at the controls. Most of these flights took place on beautiful days, and they inspired descriptions of flying that were almost as much fun to write about as they’d been to live.<br />
<br />
But one scene was based on a less than ideal flight. As we approached the airport that day, the engine seemed to be losing power. The instruments were all in the green, but the engine continued to rev down, and Charlie announced he was cutting the landing pattern short. As we turned base leg, the engine quit cold. The propeller continued to windmill at first, but after Charlie dropped the landing gear and flaps, we slowed down enough for the prop to freeze in flight. I distinctly recall one propeller blade pointing straight toward heaven – I didn’t wanna think about where the other blade was pointing. But Charlie kept a cool head and set us down light as a feather. I’d have kissed the ground after jumping out, except that fuel pouring from under the cowling had already formed a gassy lake under the plane.<br />
<br />
My most intense inspiration came from family history. I was researching Nazi mass-murders in Ukraine for a pivotal scene, when I stumbled across a brief description of the destruction of Pochep, the village from which my grandfather had emigrated in 1923. I knew I had to write about this, keeping in mind all the while that these doomed people were relatives and friends of my direct forebears. I became obsessed in the two weeks it took to write just nine pages – I woke up one night at 3:00 AM after a vivid dream about an infant victim, and I fired up the computer to get it down while it was still fresh in my mind. While this process could be a little disquieting at times, the result had greater impact than any writing I’ve ever done.<br />
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The lesson from these stories is that we all have a lot of life experience to use as inspiration. Mix it with a little imagination, and you can create compelling storylines.<br />
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I believe that fiction can sometimes tell a more profound truth than history. But that doesn’t relieve an author from doing extensive research. I conducted interviews with several ex-Luftwaffe pilots. Prime among them was Gunther Rall, Germany's third ranking ace, credited with an astonishing 275 aerial victories. General Rall flew the same type of aircraft – over the same area of Russia – as my protagonist, and he generously shared with me the mindset and experiences of a top German ace. A writer in my position simply cannot get luckier.<br />
<br />
But it was US combat veterans who taught me the true extent of Hitler’s threat. The most influential of these vets was George Moore. Near the end of the war, George’s unit had been advancing through Germany when out of nowhere a tremendous firefight broke out. There was nothing worth defending in the area, only a tiny village called Gardelegen. They fought all afternoon and into the evening, before the Nazis finally melted away into the woods. Next morning, George was sent out as part of a patrol. They found a burned barn with more than a thousand bodies inside, political prisoners and Jews from some concentration camp. That’s the only reason the German army fought a delaying action, so they had time to roast those poor people. This atrocity struck more deeply into George’s soul even than watching his best friend die next to him in combat. The lesson here is that you cannot overestimate the value of doing eyewitness research, if possible. Not only do you stand to learn facts from a unique perspective, you might also find yourself a good friend, like I did.<br />
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Now, selling the book isn’t necessarily the end of your trouble. For instance, when my book cover was first sent to me, I was appalled to see that the graphic artist had mistakenly used a picture of a Spanish-built Messerschmitt. No amount of explanation could convince the publisher that this was a glaring error. It wasn’t until the release of the ebook that reader comments finally got ‘em concerned. Thus it was that one morning I awoke to find a brand new cover in my email – I bet I sat and stared at that correct picture for more’n half an hour, with a big sloppy grin on my face. Only then did my eye wander down to the bottom of the page, where I noticed that my name was now misspelled. If there’s a lesson here, I guess it’s to keep your sense of humor intact – you’re gonna need it.<br />
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In closing, I’d like to make two recommendations to anyone looking to get published. First, find yourself a good writer’s critique group. My own – the Word Weavers – sure taught me the finer points. And second, stick to your guns. In trying to sell DAYS OF SMOKE, I received a stack of rejection letters so thick it could’ve replaced the Sears and Roebuck catalogue in an outhouse. So keep writing, keep querying those publishers, and don’t let a few rejections get you down.<br />
<br />
Not even sixty-nine of ‘em, like I got.DAYS OF SMOKE (Chapter III)tag:thebookmarketingnetwork.com,2010-07-07:523145:BlogPost:3349992010-07-07T21:47:28.000ZMark Ozeroffhttp://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/MarkOzeroff
<span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN"><br />
</span><p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">October 19, 1937; southwestern Spain</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Early on a Monday morning, following a good night’s sleep and a light breakfast, I walked out to my Messerschmitt Bf 109. She looked newly minted, the gray paint and St. Andrew’s crosses contrasting sharply with my personal emblem, Betty Boop. This was to be my first offensive patrol as a fighter…</span></p>
<span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN"><br />
</span><p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">October 19, 1937; southwestern Spain</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Early on a Monday morning, following a good night’s sleep and a light breakfast, I walked out to my Messerschmitt Bf 109. She looked newly minted, the gray paint and St. Andrew’s crosses contrasting sharply with my personal emblem, Betty Boop. This was to be my first offensive patrol as a fighter pilot, and I felt both pride and apprehension.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">My crew chief Werner and I religiously followed the starting ritual and were rewarded with earsplitting blasts from the short exhaust stacks.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Otto and I taxied to our places behind, and to either side, of Captain Rintel, and at a nod from his leather-helmeted head we advanced the throttles together. A short roll over the uneven grass and we took to the air.</span></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I watched the familiar view open before me as our three aircraft rose above the trees. I jockeyed the throttle so as to maintain my position. We followed Rintel into a turn to a course of 055 degrees, keeping our heads swiveling constantly as we had been taught. Swiftly, we topped twenty thousand feet, the sun seeming to illuminate all of Spain. In the clear sky no thermals rocked our wings. The air felt as dense and still as a bowl of cold milk.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Break!" Rintel’s plane was…<i>gone</i>. I looked around for him and noticed instead a curious phenomenon – a reddish stream was bypassing my right wing. As I watched, it curved to my rear and stopped.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Break, you idiots!" Rintel’s voice again invaded my reverie. And now Otto had vanished, too.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Do you need flying lessons, Shit-for-Brains? Push the stick sharply to the right and feed in some rudder! Or, are you going to wait for the next pass?"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN"><i>Gott in Himmel, that had been a stream of tracer bullets bypassing my plane!</i> I accepted Rintel’s advice with belated alacrity, slamming the stick over and hitting the rudder hard. Then, when inverted, I pulled the stick back into my stomach, executing a clumsy but effective split-S. I looked for Rintel or Otto, or perhaps the enemy aircraft. As far as I could see, I was alone.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Hello?" was my hesitant radio hail.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Hans, where are you?" Otto called back.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I didn’t know his location, but somehow just hearing his voice was reassuring.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"I’m not sure." I looked around and was startled to see Captain Rintel off my left wing.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Are you both done whining?" he inquired, looking across the airspace separating our two planes. "The Rat is gone. Formate on me."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I meekly took station off his right wing as he called to Otto, "Wolf Two, take up a heading of 235, say altitude." Rintel was putting matters back on a professional footing.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Otto called back, "Affirmative, turning to 235. I’m at thirteen thousand feet."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Rintel corrected our course and shortly said, "There."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I still saw nothing, but Rintel was more amused than angry now at the deterioration of my once-keen eyesight. "You don’t see him, do you?" he asked. "Ten o’clock, low."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">There he was, paralleling our course and cruising along with no apparent worries. We nosed over, allowing the airspeed to build as we lost altitude, then sliding smoothly into place near Otto’s 109. He rejoined the formation and, as we flew in silence back to the field, I thought about my less-than-inspiring performance. Perhaps I should be flying apple barges instead of fighters.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">It took twenty minutes to cover the distance back to our aerodrome. Upon arrival we made a low pass, chandelled sharply up, and came around for landing. My touchdown was perfect, a full-stall landing as if to make up for my dismal flight. I didn’t feel like a superman now, I can tell you. I braced myself for what would no doubt be a most unpleasant session with Captain Erich Rintel.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Though now graying, Rintel was small and compact, giving the impression he was in the same condition as he’d been when competing as a gymnast in his younger days. He’d learned to fly in the 1920s, when military aviation was outlawed. Germany had somehow secured the invitation of the Soviet government to train pilots outside of Moscow, ironic since we now fought those same Russians. Rintel had flown throughout the intervening years, accumulating a lot of hours in his logbook.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">We went into his office, and he closed the door behind us.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Sitting down, he began, "So, the two of you are now blooded. How do you feel about your first fight?"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Otto and I exchanged a miserable glance, but I believe mine had the edge in self-disgust. Rintel’s eyes caught mine.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Sir, my conduct was unforgivable. I accept any form of punishment you deem necessary." I was appalled by my poor performance.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"<i>Leutnant</i>, I know how you must feel. You didn’t see the Rat that attacked us until…well, I don’t think you ever saw it. And now you feel deflated. Let me say that this is normal. On my first combat flight with the Italians, I brought back some stitching through both right wings, and more than a little disillusionment.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Believe me, this will change. You will ‘acclimate to the combat environment,’ as the manual says. You must think ahead of your airplane. Keep your eyes moving, don’t focus on any one piece of sky. Keep a keen eye out for aircraft above you, especially between you and the sun. Use the tip of your thumb to block out the sun, like so." He demonstrated on the light bulb. "Protect the tails of your comrades. Most important, keep your mind on what you’re doing. These are not pleasure flights!"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">He told us a brief though chilling tale. As Otto and I had flown along unaware of danger, the captain had spotted a Republican I-16 fighter several thousand feet above us, circling in the sun. The Rat had pitched over and streaked toward us. Rintel had waited until the I-16 was in the right position, too far for accurate shooting but committed to the pass. He turned into the attack, calling for our break as he did so while firing a long burst at the fighter. He spoiled the aim of the Rat, which prudently maintained its dive and disappeared as quickly as it had come. He had then waited for me to react.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Someone would be dead right now if I hadn’t distracted that pilot. You think about that while you’re getting drunk and bullshitting everyone about how you nearly became <i>Kanonen</i> today." He used the archaic term for aces while fixing me with his stare. "Now leave me to my paperwork," he said, dismissing us.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">All I can say is that I felt more like cannon fodder than <i>Kanone</i>.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="center"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">* * * *</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Despite the assumption by Rintel that we would get drunk with our squadron mates, Otto and I decided to exorcise the demons of the day with physical activity. We put on our utility uniforms and our most broken-in boots, determined to hike the hills between Tablada Aerodrome and Seville. Placing bread, fruit, cheese, and water in a small rucksack, we set out to do ten miles.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I also brought my service pistol – as Rintel was so fond of pointing out, we were in a war zone.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">We walked hard and fast. Both of us were so disillusioned we had trouble broaching the subject of our dismal performance. It took several miles of hiking before I could say, "I just sat there like an old man backing one out in a privy, while that Russian fired off a long burst."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I looked over at Otto.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">He looked back with a hangdog expression, but a snicker escaped his lips. He put his fist over his mouth to muffle it, but the snicker became a chuckle. Soon he was snorting with laughter, tears in his eyes. "An old man…backing one out…in…a privy!"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Otto’s amusement was contagious – I too lost control. We collapsed to the ground, unable to continue walking. Laughter may have been a questionable reaction to a near-death experience, but it sure helped to clear our minds.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"I’ll never visit an outhouse again without thinking of this," Otto said when he was again capable of speech.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"I’m just glad I didn’t use my cockpit as an outhouse when I finally realized I was under fire," I retorted, both of us breaking into fresh laughter.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">We snacked in the shade of a tall tree, talking frankly about the mission. We tried blocking the sun with our thumbs as Rintel had suggested, a most effective trick. We also discussed mimicking the Russian’s tactics to become the "Hun in the sun," as British fliers had called high-altitude German attackers in the last war. We’d had a potent demonstration of this tactic only three hours before.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">We enjoyed a relaxing meal before resuming our hike. Muted sunlight slanted through the overhanging branches; we were caressed by cool, scented air. Exiting the copse of trees, we chanced upon a nude couple lying locked in embrace. Otto and I slid quietly to a stop, beginning to back away to allow them their privacy, when the man viciously backhanded the woman.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Never before had I witnessed violence perpetrated on a woman. As she cried out in pain, fury swelled within me. I drew my pistol and stormed across the clearing, slamming the frame of my automatic against the man’s head with as much force as my one hundred and thirty pounds allowed.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">With a sickening thud, he was knocked completely off the woman. She immediately tried to cover herself, and I averted my eyes.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Only the man’s size prevented his serious injury. He was a monster, tall as Otto but considerably fatter and hairier. He shook off the blow and began to lumber to his feet. I placed the muzzle of my pistol against his forehead, cocked it, and said through gritted teeth, "I wouldn’t."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">He may have been twice my size, but he was not insane. He looked into my eyes and recognized something primal that warned him not to take me lightly. I backed slowly away, keeping my weapon aimed squarely at his head, barely mastering the primitive urge to kill. Handing my pistol to Otto, who was recovering from surprise at the speed with which the encounter had unfolded, I picked up a piece of clothing and handed it to the girl.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Tears cascaded from her almond-shaped eyes, one of which was bruised and already closing shut. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed as gently as possible at the blood flowing from her mouth and nose with hands shaking from suppressed rage. "Are you all right?" I inquired, as solicitously as my own high emotion would allow. Her only response was continued weeping. "Do you speak German?"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">She made no reply. I gathered the rest of her torn clothing before turning away to afford her some degree of privacy, whereupon I caught the salacious expression of the rapist.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Rage again overwhelmed me. I caught up a stout branch lying on the ground and closed the distance separating us.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Like most bullies, the man was a coward. He could dominate the weak, but faced with righteous wrath he quailed. I knocked him to the ground and administered a beating I knew he wouldn’t forget for a long time to come. I rained down blows on whatever target presented itself: arms, legs, torso, and finally his back when he rolled over to protect himself. At one point I heard the satisfying crack of a breaking rib. I finished, out of breath from exertion and emotion, leaving him in considerably worse shape than the girl.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">She was dressed by this time, and I noticed a detail that had escaped me until now. The clothing left lying on the ground was a Brownshirt uniform – the man I’d just beaten was a Storm Trooper. My anger ballooned anew.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"You represent the Fatherland, yet you attack the very people we are here to <i>help</i>?" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "I will notify your commanding officer! I will see that you are shipped back to Germany in disgrace! I will shoot you myself, you…"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I made a grab for the pistol in Otto’s hand. Luckily he was quicker than I, withholding the gun lest I kill the Storm Trooper.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I fought for control. "Get up!" I shouted.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">He struggled woozily to his feet, looking down at me with sullen eyes before moving toward his clothes. I snapped, "The lady will be wearing your tunic. The rest of your clothing will remain here at the crime scene, for the investigation which will shortly be taking place." I took the pistol from Otto, now that he could see that I had regained some semblance of control. "Get moving," I told the battered sergeant. For sergeant he was – I could see the insignia now that the woman had donned his tunic.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The <i>Sturmabteilung</i> were Hitler’s bullyboys. A major factor in his rise to power, the Storm Troopers were as ready to fight the enemies of Fascism as they were to beat up helpless old Jews in the street, examples of both occurring on frequent and drunken occasions. Although once in a position of prominence in the eyes of the <i>Führer</i>, the SA’s star had descended considerably since those days. <i>What is a Storm Trooper doing in the middle of Spain?</i></span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">With the muzzle, I indicated the direction toward town. Growling his agreement deep down, Otto shoved the sergeant into motion. I uncocked the pistol, motioning in what I hoped was a friendly manner for the woman to accompany us.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">As we walked, I got my first clear look at this young woman. Although no beauty in the classic sense, she was nonetheless very attractive. She was small, just over five feet in height, and slim. Her face had a slightly exotic cast about it, her expressive eyes radiating intelligence. All this I could see despite the swelling and blood that dominated her features at the moment. I could also see a six-pointed star on a thin gold chain dangling from her neck. A single drop of blood smeared its surface.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I had met only one Jew before, a wartime comrade of my uncle, when I was a child. Though I had long heard the Führer rant about the "Jewish problem," I’d never given the talk much consideration.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The woman was in obvious pain, walking slowly and favoring her left leg. I offered my arm, which she grasped with a pale and delicate hand. I regarded the sergeant coldly. What sort of man could do what he had done to so vulnerable a girl? As we paraded miserably into town, the SA man seemed to shrink in on himself. We went directly to Spanish police headquarters.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The policeman looked up in astonishment as we entered: two giants – one naked and the other in German uniform – accompanied by a second German with a gun in one hand and a striking though disheveled woman in the other. I stood there, wondering what to do as I realized there was no way for me to tell the policeman what had transpired. Neither Otto nor I spoke a word of Spanish.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The woman disengaged her hand from my arm and began to speak in a soft though authoritative voice. Otto and I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. The wretched Brownshirt covered himself and bled quietly, almost politely.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The policeman asked a question of her and she turned, astonishing me by inquiring in good German, "The officer asks if you know him," she indicated the Brownshirt with a thrust of her chin.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"I never saw this criminal before today," I told the policeman by way of the girl. "I would appreciate your putting him in a cell."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The suggestion appeared to disconcert him. He made a lengthy speech to the woman. She translated to me, "He says it is beyond his authority to jail a German soldier."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I looked directly at the policeman and spoke firmly. "I will be responsible. I outrank this…<i>person</i>, and I intend to see that the full weight of German law comes down upon his head. Please, lock him up."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The policeman reluctantly acceded and, upon returning, he and the woman continued their discussion. I found myself marveling at her composure. She seemed to have somehow shaken off the emotional toll, but I now wondered about her physical state.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Excuse me," I interrupted. "I’d like this woman to be examined by our flight surgeon before you continue." The policeman looked abashed, while the woman turned her warm eyes – or single eye, thanks to the swelling – on me.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"You are very kind, sir, but I prefer to use my family physician. And please, my name is Rachel Cartofilo."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Miss Cartofilo, may I introduce Leutnant Otto Jorgensen. And I am Leutnant Hans Udet." I added a formal click of the heels to my introduction. "I hope you’ll allow us to escort you to your physician’s office."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"That is most kind of you, Leutnant Udet. However, I’ll summon a car to take me home. The doctor will make a house call."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">While we waited for the car, I phoned the base and outlined the incident to Captain Rintel. He’d know who to contact and how to best handle the situation. Miss Cartofilo had retreated to a bathroom to fix herself up, insofar as was possible in this place.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">The car arrived, a chauffeur-driven Daimler bearing a concerned-looking young man and an older woman. Any composure Miss Cartofilo had recovered fell away upon sighting her family. She began to weep, limping from the doorway into the embrace of the woman I suspected was her mother – despite the age difference there was a strong resemblance. The gentleman put his arms protectively around both women and murmured soothingly. They conversed briefly before he approached Otto and me.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Leonardo Cartofilo," he introduced himself, continuing in fluent German. "My sister informs me that the two of you are responsible for saving her honor, perhaps her very life. I will never be able to sufficiently express my gratitude." I shook the proffered hand, Leonardo’s grip firm and sincere. "But I’ll begin by inviting you to dine with us."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"We’d appreciate the opportunity to make ourselves more presentable."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">"Of course. This evening, perhaps?"</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">I looked at Otto, and he nodded. "This evening, then."</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">Leonardo assured me that we’d be expected. I watched them get in the car and drive away, my mind preoccupied by one detail; Leonardo had indicated that we’d prevented the actual rape of his sister.</span></p>
<p align="left"></p>
<p align="left"><span lang="EN" xml:lang="EN">For this, I breathed a silent prayer of thanks.</span></p>