E. C. (Gene) Ayres Blogspot

We've listened to them all our lives, those back street boys (and girls) who provide the beat, the chords, the harmony, the backup singers, and studio musicians. Band members are a different story. We all know all of the Beatles names, or the Stones (mostly), or those so-called 'solo' artists who just sing, or maybe play guitar or piano, ranging from Tom Petty to Elvis, for that matter. Have you ever wondered who played those brilliant sax solos on Gerry Rafferty's Baker Street ? I might even say 'plays' because one thing about recorded music is that it freezes time. You are in the moment , when he or she or they sang, and/or played or both. If live you hear those audience shouts or comments. I've even wondered who those people were. Impossible to know, of course.  Gerry Rafferty's saxophone player was Rafael Ravenscroft (what a stunning name! I want to steal it for a book, different first name of course). Ravenscroft was paid the grand total of 27 pound

 A Moment in Time: We've all done this because to err is human (setting aside the issue of man's inhumanity to man--or woman): who hasn't pressed the 'send' or 'publish' or 'submit' button once too often, an instant too soon, and there is no way to undo what now has been done? This is metaphoric as well. Our errant actions can be anywhere from in bed to in-the-closet to in the supermarket, at work, wherever. And the harm they can do can be anything from trivial to disastrous. In all-too-many cases, disastrous can mean anything from death of a loved one (or oneself) to loss of a job, loss of a contract at the moment of signing, to a friend, to a potential love relationship. Or a life or business partner. My most recent such moment in time was not disastrous. At most, it may cost me my $20 submission fee: trivial to some, less so to others. I'd just entered the first chapter of a novel I'm working on in a contest called the Chapter One Prize (T

                                                                A Thief for All Time : This is a tale of a crime of monumental proportions, spanning four centuries and more. It is certainly the art theft of all time, if not grandest larceny of all time. And unlike in mystery fiction (such as my usual bread-and-butter), the perpetrator got away with it. Not only did he get away with it, but the objects of his theft would make him wealthy; immortalize him; lionize him, and finally elevate him into a deity.  And as in All the President's Men , the key was, as with most crimes apart from murder (and all too often even there), to follow the money .  The charges outlined in this book: A Tiger's Heart (about to be published by my publisher Speaking Volumes ) are presented through discovery: little by little through the efforts of my new protagonist Jake Fleming, an investigative journalist for a print newspaper ( The San Francisco Tribune , a fictional publication), and thus a member

Dear Readers: I am writing this blog in the belief that it will not be read, hence can write freely: In my life (also title to my favorite Beatles song) I have been healthy, if not wealthy, and smart, going- on-wise. But a combined series of events has changed my life in numerous ways. Yes, there is Covid19, alive and well, unlike its now millions of victims. Thus far, I have evaded assault, perhaps assisted by round one of the Moderna vaccine. But mental and emotional assault are another matter entirely. Four years of Trump has taken an enormous toll on all of us, having looted our nation's capital, and then led a violent assault on our nation's Capitol (for which crime he will most certainly be exonerated, like all his previous crimes).  My case, the one I wish to share here, is a combined consequence of the above multi-layered assaults, failing at marriage, growing old(er), and living alone in a studio apartment, when before it was sharing a 2000-sf house with my wife and s