In this collection of thirty-eight chiseled short stories, George Thomas Clark introduces readers to actors, alcoholics, addicts, writers famous and unknown, a general, a lovelorn farmer, a family besieged by cancer, extraterrestrials threatening the world, a couple time traveling back to a critical battle, a deranged husband chasing his wife, and many more memorable people and events.
Hitler Here is a well researched and lyrically written biographical novel offering first-person stories by the Fuehrer and a variety of other characters. This intimate approach invites the reader to peer into Hitler’s mind, talk to Eva Braun, joust with Goering, Goebbels, and Himmler, debate with the generals, fight on land and at sea and in the air, and huddle in the death camps as, everywhere, civilization is consumed.
Joseph McCarthy says he’s a tough and dedicated guy in the boxing ring and U.S. Senate. Richard Nixon denies he’s an awkward, resentful, and paranoid president. Fidel Castro asserts he’s an appealing and inevitable historical character while embracing megalomania. And all three frigid warriors tell their stories as they fight again.
Category Archives: Madrid Vacation
Would I ever want to live in Madrid? I didn’t know. I hadn’t been there so before going prepared vigorously, studying maps and scouring cyberspace and printing out stacks of material that bulged from three folders. In Madrid I annotated my reference material and encouraged local citizens to also do so. I jumped into dozens […]
After years of studying websites, scouring maps, and making many wrong turns en route to art galleries usually difficult to park near and often closed during listed business hours, or that had quietly gone out of business, I said screw it. I’m simply going to Bergamot Station in Santa Monica, a constellation of about thirty-five […]
One morning in Madrid, en route to the sumptuous Prado National Museum, I told the taxi driver that the day before I’d visited and been shocked by the harsh industrial neighborhood Villaverde where around the clock provocatively dressed women stand on streets, waiting to rent their bodies. “I know a place a thousand times worse […]
My first evening in Madrid I strolled from my hotel a hundred yards to Gran Via, the most celebrated street in Spain and frequent scene from movies highlighting its ornate old buildings and statues that hold up balconies bordered by iron railings. After waiting for frenetic traffic to stop at a red light, many people […]
The double-deck tour bus with top open had just completed its modern Madrid route north of downtown on shady Paseo del Prado into the chic Salamanca neighborhood where renowned Real Madrid plays soccer in a massive stadium and the most exclusive shops are found, and then back down Calle Serrano past several elegant foreign embassies […]
My journey to Madrid began on a Sunday morning as I drove from blistering Bakersfield down Highway 99 toward Los Angeles and punched sports talk radio but heard an ESPN guy strain to be funny and cool but sounding lame: most jockeys lack comedic skills and can’t sustain the purported subject matter of their shows. […]
My god, I thought I was rid of the Nazis after World War II. For years they’d been calling my paintings perverse and defective, and in 1937 Adolf Ziegler, the man named by Hitler as President of the National Chamber of Fine Arts and thus arbiter of everything that could and could not exist in […]
I’m no longer angry with Pablo Picasso though I should be. His most famous work, and perhaps the most powerful of the Twentieth Century, “Guernica,” is celebrated as a passionate denunciation of war, particularly when hostilities result in deaths of civilians. I absolutely agree. I swear I didn’t order the attack on the Republican stronghold […]
I am both surprised and honored to be invited to distinguished Prado National Museum in Madrid to comment on some thirty of my paintings in an exhibition titled “The Young Ribera.” Initially I worried I might be disheartened by work I created in my early twenties, about four hundred years ago, and hadn’t seen since […]
I wish these museum visitors would stop saying I must’ve been the little girl in the “The Dinner” by Antonio Lopez. Granted, I’m the dour and submissive wife in “Mari and Antonio” but I assure you I had a happy childhood, well, perhaps not happy but not unhappy and definitely not traumatic or anything that […]