Tuesday, July 23, 2024

Blog Tour: LETTERS FROM A WARRIOR, P.S., MOM, I LOVE YOU by Dale E. Dallman

 

LETTERS FROM A WARRIOR, P.S., MOM, I LOVE YOU

Dale E. Dallman

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GENRE
:  Non-fiction Military History

 

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BLURB:

 

"Letters From A Warrior, P.S. Mom, I Love You" is a captivating true story full of adventure and self-discovery. It is portrayed with a relentless wit that offers an intimate glimpse into the world of the US Marine Corps Boot Camp in 1960. This is all done through the eyes of a young man who trades his small-town roots in Minot, North Dakota for the thrilling and challenging life of a Marine.

 

Through a series of unapologetically honest and unintentionally humorous letters to his mother, the author shares his unvarnished experiences as a naive 18-year-old navigating the tribulations of boot camp. With the specter of his seemingly menacing drill instructors looming large, this young man's quest for a life beyond his hometown quickly becomes a rollercoaster of exhilaration, fear, and personal growth.

 

Witness the author's transformation from a small-town boy to a dedicated warrior as he overcomes adversity and learns invaluable lessons about courage, resilience, and the true meaning of strength. From his first day at the MCRD to his thrilling new beginning in Hawaii, this unforgettable memoir stands as a testament to the power of determination and the indomitable spirit of youth.

 

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Excerpt Three:

 

PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don't ever send me anything but mail. DO NOT SEND FRUIT, CANDY, NUTS, POPCORN, or anything other than paper! Only paper letters. Don't even put perfume on the letters. PLEASE. Tell anyone who knows me not to send anything. Tell Peggy not to bake me anything, PLEASE!

 

Vacky and a guy from Chicago got packages today at mail call. Vacky got a big box of fudge from his girl, and the guy from Chicago got popcorn balls. The D.I. made each go into the Quonset and get his galvanized bucket. He had them run to the head, fill the buckets with hot water and run back. He made them go three times because they kept spilling the water. He then took a box of salt and dumped half in each bucket. The street in front of our Quonsets is pretty long.

 

The D.I. had a recruit stand at each end. One with the water bucket, the other holding the sweets. They had to run to the one with the sweets, eat as much as they could, run to the guy with the water and drink as fast as they could. They had to keep this up until all was gone. They started throwing up right away! It just got worse.

 

We start bayonet training pretty soon. The D.I. said each of us would try to stick him with our bayonet. He said if we missed, he was going to stick us.

 

I think he is nuts!

 

One time I want to get out of here, the next time I wouldn't quit if I had to. I can't believe I am starting to like being in the Marines. We really are the best.

 

We went to a parade and the Navy and Army were there. They march like a bunch of pansies. They have no pride.

 

LOVE, DALE

 

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 GUEST POST

What was the hardest part about writing this book? How did you overcome it?

 

I imagined being able to write for as long as I can remember.  I wrote stories in grade school and beyond.  I dumped them in the trash.  I wrote to the editor at local and national newspapers.  Some of my work got printed but most got dumped.  When I joined the US Marine Corps at the ripe old age of seventeen, I kept a journal that I separated into letters I sent home. Life took over and my passion for writing was put on the back burner for 50 plus years as I struggled to live.  

Then, 2011 gave me a wakeup call!  A flood hit Minot, North Dakota.  It wiped out the family home which I had bought.  Swept it right down river! I went into the vacant lot when it dried out and low and behold, fourteen feet up in a tree was an old trunk.  In that trunk were the letters from the 1960's, Marine Corps Bootcamp!  I immediately made plans to write a book but gave up.  

I was at a V.A. shrink who was treating me for PTSD.  She told me to get back to writing.  I tried, but again just couldn't get over the hump!

A buddy who was in the Marines with me was dying.  He called and wanted to talk to me before he died.  I immediately went to his side and we talked until he took his last breath.   We spent three days going over our life in the Marines!  The highs and lows.

He recounted how another buddy that was in a helicopter crash with me, had contacted him when he was dying.  I found out then, that the second buddy had also been in treatment with the VA shrinks. I didn't realize that what we had been through had affected all our lives!!  I thought I was just an alcoholic.  I thought all three of us were ok, just wild and untamed!  So the last things he said was, "Dallman, finish that damn book, because I'm in it."   He added a very life changing statement when he said, "I won't be able to read it. I will be dead, but I want you to tell our children and grand kids!"

I went back home and made myself a promise.  I convinced myself I needed to change!!  I threw away the Cognac bottle, changed my diet, prayed to God for help and re-read the faded letters from the 1960's!  Everything suddenly fit as I recounted the stories, he and I told each other. It took two buddies dying to make me get the courage to write that book!  

THEN-my wife, who is a professional photographer and singer was recording a song in Las Vegas.  I went along and the people she was using for the recording asked me what I wanted out of life.  I told them I had lived a long time and accomplished a lot, but never could finish writing a book!  

Well, they immediately hooked me up with Traci Wooden, a great publisher, and with her guidance and my wife's prodding, I finished.

Now, I am on book #2 and #3!!

 

 

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

 


Dale E. Dallman, Senior was born on a hot dry day in Britton, South Dakota, just off the Sisseton Indian Reservation, east of Lake Tewaukon, because that was the closest hospital. His relatives all worked for the railroad and/or farmed near Fort Ransom, Cayuga, and Rutland, North Dakota. When his father got the chance to quit farming and transfer to the railroad they moved to Minot, North Dakota where Dale attended grade school at Sunnyside and graduated high school at Minot High.

 

After Dale and a few of his friends got themselves into trouble towards the end of their senior year, a nice judge “suggested” that he and several of his acquaintances join the United States Marine Corps. The formation of the “NODAK PLATOON” made the timeline fit. The Marines took him to San Diego, California, Hawaii, Asia, and back to San Francisco, California. He grew up fast in the Marines. One of his buddies stuck with him after they were discharged and the two followed each other off and on through life.

 

His first real job after the service was in Billings, Montana with Brown & Williamson Tobacco Co. as a road salesman.  This led to other road salesman positions with the American Greetings Company and the Bristol Myers Drug Company.  He ventured into real estate, casinos, auto sales, RV sales, which took him to Wyoming, North Dakota, and South Dakota. He became a deputy sheriff in California for a while, then traveled on to Washington, Arizona, Virginia, Germany, and Colorado, to name a few.

 

Today, Mr. Dallman lives in the South with his wife Cassandra Dallman, a professional photographer and singer out of Atlanta, Georgia.  He enjoys and continues to take great pride in his children and their offspring. 

 

This book is neither his first nor last written work so please check back to see upcoming books from Dale E. Dallman.

 

He can be found at

 

https://www.dallmanproductions.com/

https://www.facebook.com/Grizzlytrack

https://www.instagram.com/dallmanproductions/

 

 

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GIVEAWAY

 

Dale E. Dallman will award a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

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Saturday, July 20, 2024

Excerpt from UNBOWED by M.G. da Mota

 

7th November 2014

 

Haywards Heath, West Sussex, England

 

The room was in semi-darkness but he liked it that way. Should anyone peer inside at night he or she would see nothing but a person’s silhouette. A figure with no face and moving like a ghost among the undefined shapes of the furniture.

Opening the magazine on his desk he admired her photograph. A coloured headshot clearly showing her green eyes. He liked her eyes. Two emeralds on her lovely face. He followed the shape of her mouth with his fingers. Turning the page he looked at the second image. A full size portrait picturing her in a figure-hugging royal-blue gown, flaunting her curves beautifully. She was smiling, about to bow to the audience at the end of a concert. He held the magazine carefully, then took a pair of scissors from a drawer and for a moment let them catch the faint moonlight coming through the window, as if performing a sacred ritual. Respectfully he began cutting out both pictures and then repeated the procedure with the third and final picture where she appeared in front of the orchestra while conducting. Her arms seemed to float towards the musicians like an extension of the score. She wore an elegant navy-blue trouser suit with a pearl coloured silk blouse. He preferred to see her in a dress, a long evening gown, sleeveless and slickly wrapped around her body like a second skin. She owned a variety of evening dresses but his favourite was the dark claret red, embroidered with same colour sequins. In the stage lights it literally made her shine.

For the moment he placed the photos in a desk drawer. Picking up the concert programme he sat on the couch and placed it on his lap. He opened it on the page where she’d signed it. A large group of people had been waiting for her at the stage door. He had lingered, allowing others to get ahead. As she approached the place where he stood he stepped forward, placed the programme in front of her and asked, ‘will you sign it for me, please?’ Smiling she looked him in the eyes and said kindly, ‘of course.’ Quickly she scribbled, thank you for coming to the concert, with best wishes, Alex.

It made him happy she hadn’t signed her family name of Jewel, it felt more personal. Jewel was an appropriate surname for she was a diamond, a precious jewel to be admired and loved. He didn’t much care for her first name. Alex sounded like a man’s name. She was too feminine, too radiant, too sexy for it. One day when they were together – for he knew they were destined to be together – he’d make her see Alex didn’t do her justice and she’d change it to please him. Diamondah was a better name, as she was a bright diamond. Or Esmeralda to suit her emerald green eyes. His own personal jewel.

Touching her signature he followed the letters with his indicator finger and after a while placed the programme in his safe box of treasures. Opening the drawer with the recently cut out photos he looked through all photographs, newspaper cuts and concert programmes inside. They’d find their way into the safe later. He picked up the latest photo where she wore the blue gown and placed it aside. Everything else he deposited in the safe, then returned to the sofa and put his feet up. Running his fingers over the selected photo he touched the image of her body, imagining she was in the room and he was caressing her for real, quickly becoming aroused. He held the picture with his left hand, opened his trousers with his right and began to touch himself, fantasising his fingers were her hands working him until he reached the climax and cried out her name in ecstasy.


Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Unbowed-M-G-Mota-ebook/dp/B0D5HYBKG6/