top of page
The Transition

Mitiblende The Story of an American Family

Mitiblende features fourteen premium royalty-free images. The novel has a traditional table of contents, a second one, titled “Musical Inspiration” (which includes QR Codes), and a third titled “Photographic Images.” The images are presented at the beginning and end of each of the six chapters. Including the cover, and Acknowledgement fourteen images were selected from Getty Images and iStock photographic resources on the website.

In the short run, the author envisions that Mitiblende will be made available in electronic, paperback, hardcover, and audiobook forms. In the long run, the author anticipates that it might be possible to package the saga into a Hollywood movie production. 

I first heard the term mitiblende in 1964, at the beginning of my senior year in high school. I came home and encountered a burglar in the apartment. Ignoring my mother’s pleas, I went after him. I then proceeded to scale a six-foot cinder block wall and followed him into an alley. That’s when a confrontation occurred. As a defensive maneuver, I hit him with a glass Purex bottle.


Upon learning of the altercation, my mother said, “Joe, you got to learn how to mitiblende! I didn’t like any of that – that man could have hurt you.”

In 2013, forty-nine years after encountering the intruder, I was invited to join my first cousins in paying the annual taxes on fifty-six acres of undivided interest in Salene, Texas. The property essentially represented the transfer of generational wealth by Rosie Edwards, my great-grandmother, in the form of heirs’ property. From a mitiblende perspective, I soon learned that parents not including estate planning in occasional dinner table discussions could position their children for future legal problems.


I recall thinking, how truly peaceful it must be throughout the changing of the seasons. Here in this setting, where one-hundred-foot-tall pines ascend to greet azure blue skies. A place where radiating sun showers illuminate dew-laden leaves and caress the rugged landscape. I also envisioned that as I navigated the late March to mid-May brush and vegetation, shadows from the overhanging trees would dance playfully across my red clay-covered boots. Shadows in the form of dark colorless patterns that ebbed and flowed as if choreographed by a wind, rustling through skyward-reaching pink and white dogwood tree roots.


As we carefully traversed the dense brush and heavy vegetation, I couldn’t help but think, what if the vines wrapping around my boots from the floor of the woods were the symbolic hands of my ancestors grabbing at my ankles and imploring me not to sell?

The Transition: Chapter 1

Returning to my pursuit of John in the alley. I was five foot eleven and weighed 135, and John was six foot two and 190. It was clear that I was a lightweight. Short of mixed martial arts training, which I did not have, the only ammunition at my disposal was that empty Purex bottle.

Glancing back at me, John noticed that I had one arm behind my back. He stopped, turned toward me with a scowl on his face, and said, “Sherman, what you got there behind your back?"


"I asked you to come on back!" I replied defiantly.


John reached into his pocket, pulled out a pocketknife, and unlocked the blade.

In retrospect, I see the comparisons between my 1964 alley encounter and the attempted mugging of Nick in the 1986 comedy Crocodile Dundee. In response to the perp's demand for his wallet, Nick said, “That's not a knife. That's a knife!'


We began to circle each other, and I knew I only had one move left. I hurled the bottle with as much force as possible, hoping to make contact with John's face and jam his control tower.

However, my aim was altered by nervous tension, and the Purex bottle ended up shattering against his chest.


John took one step backward and shouted, "Ow! God damn you, Sherman!" The blunt force of the bottle ricocheting off his chest had served its purpose.


It provided the shock value I needed to execute a reverse pivot maneuver. I combined that move with what can best be described as a Roadrunner windup, followed by a shot out of the cannon, and a hundred-meter top-end sprint down the alley.

Anchor 1

Wine Me, Dine Me, Dance Me, Romance Me

His earliest publication dates back to 1967 when a short story titled, "Soul Set #5," was printed in the Claremont Collegian. The Collegian is the local newspaper for the Claremont Colleges. Selections from some of the authors' earliest poems were also published in the Collegian in 1968 and 1969. These poems were titled, “Notes From An Angry Blackman," "Who Am I?," and "Dark Shades." The author cites three courses taken during the Claremont College years as being instrumental to the development of his writing skills. These courses included: (a) Fiction Writing, (b) an Independent Study in Creative Writing, and (c) a Senior Thesis. The authors' Senior Thesis consisted of 64 pages of poetry, short story, and an essay. The current collection titled, Wine Me, Dine Me, Dance Me, Romance Me, begins with six of these Senior Thesis-related poems.

In 1971, during the UCLA period, "Who Am I," was also published in a journal entitled Plexus. This journal was an annual publication produced by the University of California at Los Angeles Center for Health Sciences. After completion of his Master's in Health Administration in 1972, the author joined the Watts Writers Workshop. He wrote three additional poems contained in Wine Me, Dine Me, Dance Me, Romance Me during his one-year stay with the Workshop.

The remaining 28 poems were written during the period 1973 to the present. To date, four of the 37 poems in the current collection have been published in various National Library of Poetry anthologies. These include: (a) "Ebony Lady" in Nightfall of Diamonds, 1995, (b) "Firefly" in A Muse to Follow, 1996, (c) “The Last Time I Saw Spring" in Best Poems of 1997, and (d) “It's Gonna Take A Miracle," in Outstanding Poets of 1998. In addition, "My Funny Valentine," was published in the Spring/Summer 1997 issue of Night Roses.

Disclosure: I am an affiliate of and I will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase.

About The Books

The Last Time I Saw Spring

The last time I saw spring, I knew happiness, I met towering trees, lime-green acres of budding leaves redwood-lined mountains, a gentle breeze, engulfing shallow brooks, and jagged cliffs


Raindrops fell glistening, and as the world stilled, listening, a nakedly damp earth rolled in moss laden mounds


I knew glowing cinders, housed in scattered log taverns, connected by salt and pepper, bicycle trail patterns


And cotton clouds rolled by, revealing an ice blue sky, a coral-veiled sunset falling, a yellow-gold sunrise rising


So you see, the last time I saw spring, it was crowned by a halo of clear skies above, riding high on windblown clouds like a dove


It was running away, in sparkling blue streams, evaporating, like misty distant dreams, chasing rainbow laden hopes, hidden amid mountainous, rocky schemes


I'll never forget the last time I saw spring, the seasons changed, and I stayed behind, to go to the places we used to find


To lie in cool shade, and toss smooth stones, into a stream that churned and foamed, and tauntingly seemed to murmur, "gaze upon the face of your new love, her name is summer"

bottom of page