Thursday, July 19, 2012

Hi, again and welcome.   I haven't been doing much writing.  I have a lot of rationalizations, but in truth I seem to have lost my confidence so I'm doing other creative projects ...some painting, even on tee shirts, (much fun)  some new and very frustrating knitting that involves lace.  My work involves more cursing and ripping out than actual knitting,  but eventually I shall conquer.
With that said I now present to you the Third Chapter of "SCAT, CAT!"   This little story was so much fun to write and I believe ....contrary to publishers...that it's fun for kids and all cat lovers.
                                               So....without further delay I give you...


Chapter Three: Questions and Answers



Hunter stopped on his journey and looked up at those same twinkling stars. The sky seemed enormous and very cold and cheerless. Now that he was alone again, Hunter realized just how much he missed his friend. A light misty rain began to fall and he decided to find a safe dry spot and try to sleep a little. Again, he dreamed of being warm and sheltered, with a family of his own.
When morning came, Hunter set off again after a very meager breakfast consisting of some unlucky beetles that were sharing his hiding place. Soon he could detect some tantalizing odors drifting on the air. Some were familiar: Cats and Big Ones and milk, but some eluded him. He couldn’t imagine what they were. Just a little further down the path, he came upon another white house with a very large building behind it. That was where all the curious odors were coming from. Hunter very carefully snuck up to the opening of the building and peeked in.
How extraordinary! What are those odd, black and white animals chewing on that grass? They’re very big, but they don’t seem dangerous. I know there are Cats here, so it must be safe for me.” So, in he went. He hadn’t gotten very far when three very large, very scruffy Cats jumped in front of him, hissing and growling with menace.
What do you think you’re doing here, little man? This place is ours and we certainly don’t need any more strays like you hanging around.” Hunter didn’t know what to do. He had never met Cats like these before and could feel the danger in the air. The three Cats started inching closer, their fur all bristly and their tails lashing. Just as Hunter was about to introduce himself and apologize, the Cats jumped, tumbling Hunter among the huge black and white animals.
No! Stop!” he cried. “I’ll leave and never bother you again.” The strange Cats paid no attention and continued to scratch and yowl. The large animals became excited and their massive horny feet were bumping and thumping and very close to crushing poor Hunter. At last, he sensed an opening and giving the largest Cat a good hard cuff, he ran out the door, frantically searching for a place to hide. At last he was in the meadow and found a secluded spot under a thorn bush, where he curled up as small as he could. After a while he decided he should assess the damage. He began to straighten out his fur and noticed a scratch or two that needed licking. One of his eyes stung a bit, but the rest of him seemed fine.
I’m glad my Mother didn’t see me run away like that but at least I did get in one good swipe and it WAS three against one.”
Just as he was beginning to calm down, he noticed movement in the grass and a fluffy white Cat came into sight. Hunter puffed himself up as big as possible and called out, “Leave me alone! I’m very dangerous! I’m leaving this place and I will never come back. You Cats must have eaten too much Catweed.”
The fluffy white Cat sat down beside the thornbush and began to wash her face. Then she looked at Hunter and smiled. “Don’t be afraid. I came to apologize.”
Hunter sniffed the air and decided it was safe to come out.
Who are you and why would you want to apologize?”
My name is Snow,” said the white Cat, “and I wanted to see if you were injured and help you, if I can. Those Cats in our barn behaved extremely badly, especially to one of the People. They were only brave because there were three of them. Separately, they are just mean bullies who think they can boss everyone around. I didn’t want you to think we were all like that.”
Well,” huffed Hunter, “as you can see, I’m fine and I don’t see how you can help me, even if you want to.”
Snow made herself comfortable in the soft grass and studied the small black and white Cat.
I see that you have been on a journey. Will you tell me who you are, and what you are seeking? Perhaps I can lend you the benefit of my experience to help you reach your goal.”
Hunter decided that Snow was sincerely trying to be helpful. He was so lonesome and tired of wandering that he was determined to trust her.
Greetings to you, Snow. My name is Hunter and I apologize for my own bad manners, but I don’t know who I can trust anymore or where I am going next.” Hunter settled down in the grass next to the white Cat and began his tale. After he had told her the details of his story, Snow felt drawn to the little Catling and came over to Hunter’s side. She washed his dirty little face with her warm rough tongue and sang softly to him.
You remind me of one of my own Kittens,” she purred, “too old to be washed by his Mother, but too young to be out in the world by himself. We definitely need to find you a home.”
Hunter was so happy to feel the warmth and comfort of another caring soul that he began to cry just a little, and finally to purr with gratitude. It felt so wonderful to have someone to share with again; he realized how much he missed Sharpclaw and even the cold companionship of the Big Ones.
Indeed,” murmured Snow, “you have been through quite an ordeal. I’m afraid that your story is all too familiar. Some of the Big Ones can be very cruel and unthinking when it comes to the People that they have under their care. Even the Barkers sometimes share our fate, left on their own when they become an inconvenience or just aren’t cute and cuddly anymore.”
Hunter was surprised to hear this sad news from Snow and it only confused him more. “If the Big Ones don’t want us, why do they take us from our families in the first place?”
Don’t despair, little Hunter. I don’t mean that all the Big Ones are this way. There are many of the Big Ones who love and cherish the People and treat them with all the respect they deserve.”
Where are these loving Big Ones and how does a little black and white Hunter find them?”
Snow gazed thoughtfully into Hunter’s eyes and finally spoke. “Are you ready to travel far and wide, to be on your own, to try and try again until you find the place that will make you happy and content?”
I must be ready, Snow. The weather is starting to change. I can feel it in my whiskers. Soon I must find a shelter of my own.”
Yes. Soon the cold times will be here and the snow is very hard on the People. Very few can survive out on their own.”
Excuse me, Snow, but I’m very bewildered. Your name is Snow and yet you talk of snow as if it were something to be afraid of. I don’t understand.”
Oh yes, little one. I had forgotten that you haven’t yet seen the passing of twelve moons. You have never experienced snow or the cold times. It will not be many moons before they are here. Often when the cold times come, soft frosty flakes, like the covering of the Feathered Ones, start to fall from the sky. They are not as wet as rain, but much, much colder. Cold and sharp as teeth, they can be, when the wind comes from the Land of Ice. But it can also be soft and light, and even fun to play in…for a while. But as the cold times advance, so does the snow. Then it gathers itself all over the ground in piles, sometimes many times higher than the People. It is very dangerous to be caught in the snow, but it can also be very beautiful to look at. It is the same color as my fur, which is why the Big Ones named me Snow.”
Oh, it sounds both wonderful and terrible at the same time, Snow. If the cold times are coming soon, then I must really hurry, but I am still afraid.” Hunter sat thinking about his future. Suddenly he jumped up and shouted, “ Wait! I just had a grand idea, Snow. Why don’t you come with me? Then you could find a home away from those mean bossy Cats and we could be happy and safe together.”
Hunter, I could not possibly leave. My family is here and my little ones still need me. This is my home, for good or ill, and I am content. I know that a traveling companion makes the journey seem shorter, but this is a journey you must take alone. Also, it is much easier for ONE of the People to find a home than two. I will send my love with you, along with my advice. With care and courage you will be successful. Great Bast, the protector of all the People, will guard and guide you, but you must get started soon and there is much for me to tell you. Even though you will be alone again, it will only be for a little time. I know this in my heart. Somewhere, not too near, but not too far, there is a family waiting for someone exactly like you.”
Your words make me sad and happy at the same time, Snow. If I must go alone, then teach me what I need to know quickly. It will be much easier to leave you if I leave soon.”
Much of what you need to know you have already learned from Sharpclaw. Where you are going, there will be fewer friends, though you may find help in unexpected places. The houses of the Big Ones are farther apart and there will be enemies that you must avoid.”
What kind of enemies, Snow? Are they worse than Barkers and strange Cats?”
Some are like the Barkers, but move about in packs. Their speech is an eerie howling that will raise the fur on your neck. They love to prey on the People, so if you hear or scent the Howlers, you must take shelter immediately. Practice your tree climbing every day, for if they detect you, it will be your safest retreat. There is also a feathered enemy, large and silent that flies the nighttime sky. His eyes are round and luminous and his sight more keen than even that of the People. He mainly feeds on Squeakers and Hoppers and even Stripers, but you are not too big for his sharp claws. If you travel at night, keep to the cover of the bushes and trees. Often y ou will hear them calling to each other, a strange hooting sound. If you hear it, be wary and remember all your skills.”
Snow, this seems like very bad news to a little Cat like me. I hope my skills will be enough, for I don’t know if I have enough courage.”
You have more courage than you realize, little one. Few your age could have come this far at all. Remember, too, that many of your skills will come to you when you need them the most; passed down from many generations of the People. My blessings on you, Hunter. May your path be easy and your dream come true.”
Thank you, Snow. Your kindness will always remain with me, along with your advice and the memory of your face. I will leave this evening, while I still have the heart to go.”
Snow gave him one final touch, nose to nose and turned to leave. As Hunter watched her disappear from his sight and from his life, he was determined not to cry. “I must not act like a foolish Kitten, but like the Hunter that I am becoming. I will make my Mother and Sharpclaw and Snow proud. And since I must leave, there is no time like the present; so they say.” Hunter sniffed the air and started toward the path, hopefully leading to a new and better life. As he trotted along, he sang a traveling song to make the hours seem shorter.
Whiskers and paws, tail and claws,
They guide me on by day, meow!
Dark or light, dim or bright,
My eyes can find the way, meow!”

Ears and nose, soft furry toes,
Help me as I roam, meow!
I sing my song. It won’t be long.
Till I will reach my home, meow!
Till I will reach my home!”


Wednesday, July 11, 2012

SCAT, CAT! Chapter 2

Hi folks.  I'm back after quite an absence.  Been busy with gardens and cats and crafts, oh my.
I will be sharing some photos of my projects at a later date, soon to be announced.  Kidding.
For now, I'd thought I'd share the 2nd chapter of "SCAT, CAT!"   It's a book about a lost kitty and
his search for a forever home.  Can be for kids or cat lovers of any age.  Hope you enjoy.








Chapter Two: Fear and Friendship





When he woke up, he was still in his box and daylight was not far away. Other creatures were beginning to stir: birds and bugs and other mysterious things, chirping, cheeping, chattering and chittering. After thinking about his predicament for a while Cat came to the sad conclusion that maybe the Big Ones were not coming back and that now he was on his own.
On his own! How could that be?” It was so frightening that Cat could hardly think. “How can I be alone, and maybe even lost?” he cried. “Why didn’t the Big Ones take me with them? Didn’t they love me just a little bit? What am I supposed to do now?” His little heart was racing with fear and breaking with loneliness at the same time. All he could do was curl up in his little box and cry. After a while, when his sobs had turned to sniffles, he started to think about his Mother and a song she used to sing. It was a song about a very brave Cat, a very clever Cat, a Cat who was a hero. Cat knew his Mother would want him to try his best, so he decided that he would try to be brave too… well, at least a little brave.
I guess a good first step would be to get myself out of this box.” So he began to push should let me out.” So he pushed some more and the top popped open. Cat peeked out of the box to see where he was. There was green grass all around and many tall bushes and trees. Off in the distance Cat saw a big white house.
That’s where my house is,” he mewed. “I'm not lost at all. If I hurry, I might be there in time for breakfast.”
So Cat started his journey. It took him quite a while to reach the white house and his little feet were starting to hurt from all the stones along the hard path that led to the big white house. Just as he was starting to pad up to the house, a large furry Barker came rushing at him, yelping, “Get lost, Cat! This is my house!” Cat was terrified. He ran as fast as he could to the tall bushes to hide. The Barker seemed satisfied and went back to the white house and curled up in the sun.
Cat was very confused. He just couldn't imagine Hey You and Old Lady having a Barker in their house. They could barely take care of themselves, let alone a creature as helpless and slobbering as a Barker. “ Well, I guess this isn’t my house after all. Where will I go next? What should I do now?” He sat shivering in the bushes, feeling very sorry for himself and just a little hungry too. After some more thinking, he decided to keep traveling. Maybe HIS big, white house was just down the path.
So, off he went, humming his Mother’s song to keep his spirits up. Soon his growling stomach was louder than his humming. “I should find something to eat and definitely something to drink.” He saw some water in a puddle near the big hard path and hurried down to explore. “This water smells okay. I think it’s safe for a small cat like me.” As he was drinking, he noticed some creepy crawlers nearby and quickly pounced. “Well, it’s not real food, but it’s better than nothing.” After his snack he discovered that he felt a bit more hopeful and definitely had more energy. “I guess it’s time to get moving again.”
Just as Cat was about to step on the path, he heard a loud rumbling noise and thought, “That sounds like the noisy Rumbler I was in. Maybe it’s the Big Ones looking for me.” Out of nowhere a large, smelly, metal Rumbler came whizzing by, the rumbly noise and hot gust of wind knocking Cat head-over-heels. He picked himself up, shook off the dust and coughed out a few fumes. Now he was completely bewildered and a little scared too.
Me-wow! Those Rumblers are very dangerous. I think they’re even more dangerous than Barkers.”
Suddenly, a voice came from some nearby weeds. “You better believe they’re dangerous, little fur ball. If I were you, I’d leave while I was still in one piece.”
Who are you?” mewed Cat, “and my name is NOT Fur Ball!” Out from the grass came a large, yellow and white Cat. The Cat sat down across from the little waif and studied him with his big green eyes. Cat was simply amazed at the size and majesty of the newcomer and suddenly felt himself to be very small and insignificant, indeed.
So, you’re not a fur ball. Then tell me who you are, and what you’re doing here, little stranger. This is my territory and you need my permission to stay.”
Cat bowed his head. He hoped the majestic Cat didn't notice his shivering shins. “Excuse me, sir,” he squeaked. “I am Cat and I...”
Speak up, Catling! You are one of the People, a member of the proud and noble race of Felis and we bow to no one! Do not sit there and quiver like a Squeaker about to meet its end!”
Cat jumped and tried to clear his throat, which was difficult because it seemed his heart had taken up residence there. He closed his eyes and spoke at the top of his little cat voice. “Excuse me, Sir. I am Cat and I am lost and frightened. Please let me stay for a while. I need to learn about this strange new place and try to find my way home.”
Well, Catling, at least you have some manners and know how to speak to your elders. My name is Sharpclaw, but my Big Ones call me Tiger; a silly name, but they mean well. You may stay if you wish and I will teach you the ways of the People. It’s clear that you are not familiar with our ways, so it will certainly take quite a bit of teaching. Be welcome in my domain and please be comfortable.”
Cat lowered his eyes. “Thank you, Sharpclaw. You are most kind.”
Sharpclaw circled around the newcomer and studied him with his sparkling green eyes and finally said, “I now name you ‘Hunter,’ for that is what you are, in more ways than one. Cat is not a real name and certainly not worthy of one of the People. In normal circumstances your naming would have been a wondrous ritual, a night of festivity, attended by your family, friends and neighbors. Your name would have been based upon a study of your eyes and fur, your habits and personality. The ceremony would be presided over by the Grand High Poohbah of Felidae, 'May his teeth be ever sharp.' but we must make do with what we have.”
Thank you again, Mr. Sharpclaw. I will always be grateful for this honor. I knew that having a real name was important and now I actually have one! Hunter… yes, I like the sound of that very much.”
So for the next few weeks, the two Cats roamed together and Hunter learned many new things. He learned to hunt the furry Squeakers that ranged through the meadows and the feathered Flyers that swooped in the sky. To be honest, he was not always successful but his skills improved immensely. He learned which plants and bugs were good to eat and which ones to avoid. He learned how to find sweet water and to avoid the water that was foul. He learned how to outwit the Barkers and how to cross the hard path safely. He learned how to find safe places to sleep and dry places to shelter from the rain. Most of all, he learned self-reliance and the value of friendship. His only regret would come when Sharpclaw had to leave to return to his home and his family. Then Hunter would lie in hiding and watch his friend through the warm yellow windows, being petted and loved by the Big Ones. A strange longing would settle over Hunter. Even though he was learning to survive on his own, he still yearned for a family. Then he would fall asleep dreaming of what it would be like.
Oh, to feel loved and welcome, with my very own family. What a marvelous thing that would be!”
One day, as the last rays of sunlight were bathing the meadow with golden light, the two Cats were sunning themselves in a grassy hollow and enjoying a peaceful moment of companionship. Sharpclaw turned to Hunter and said, “My friend, as much as I have delighted in our time together, I think you are now ready to continue your journey and fulfill your destiny.”
Hunter knew that Sharpclaw was right and nodded his head. “Yes, I must find my own way now. I promise I will never forget you or the lessons you have taught me.”
The older Cat stood and said, “Come, then. We will hunt together one last time.” The two Cats set off, tails twitching, for a rousing hunt and one final meal.
As darkness began to fall, they sang a Parting Song, each too proud to show his true feelings.

May your claws be sharp and your eyes be clear,

To help you on your way.
For even though we may not be near,
We share this road today.”

The time has come for us to part.
The Moon is rising high.
So as we stand here heart to heart,
We now must say Good-Bye.”
(Each verse must be followed by a mournful cry, perfectly described as caterwauling.)

As Hunter finally started down the path, Sharpclaw kept watch till the small black and white figure was long out of sight and the stars were twinkling in the sky.




Friday, May 11, 2012

A Frenzy of Butterflies

I know I've been afk for quite a while.  The outside world has been distracting me.
      Nature is bursting at the seams with new things to scrutinize.  Our Bluebirds have left the nest, but the Orioles are here, teasing me with their song..."Look at me.  Find me. Find me."  There are buds on my waterlilies and the miniature Irises are the same shade of yellow as the butter I put on my breakfast muffin.
     Butterflies...that was the subject.  I know we've all watched a butterfly carelessly drifting from flower to flower or seemingly blown by the wind over the lilacs and down again.  A few days ago the weather was just about perfect...sun, a bit of a breeze and mild, scented air.  I was inside, doing some mundane chore.  I may even have been lying on the couch staring at the television.  OK.  I admit it.  I like to nap in the afternoon.  I kept noticing something flying up from my flower bed and zooming away.  I began to watch more closely and great mother of mars, they were butterflies.  Hundreds, apparently emerging all at once.  They flew to the top of the windows and then rushed to the side yard.  They were flying with a purpose that astounded me.  I could hardly believe they were butterflies.  Finally one stopped to orient itself on the window.  It was indeed a small, brown and gray butterfly, plain and ordinary by butterfly standards, but butterfly nonetheless.  Suddenly it was gone like the rest.
     I went outside to find them but they were disappearing as hastily as they arrived but at last I knew their purpose.  Hundreds of mating dances were taking place in the air.  Spiraling bodies and flickering wings...nature again renewing herself.
     I felt somehow privileged to have seen these wonderful creatures, so determined, and driven by the urge to create something new.
      Now it's up to me...  to regain the purpose and determination  that I thought I had lost.  Unfortunately, like the butterflies I am used to seeing, the drifting, wafting ones,  I must try new things, restlessly moving from project to project.
     I need to remember the mission.

Monday, April 16, 2012

Taking some time off

Probably no one noticed but I haven't been doing much writing lately.   I'm in a mood.   I find the blank page a bit too intimidating at present.   Long story short...I'm taking a vacation from myself.   Going to try some new things, maybe revisit some old activities that I once enjoyed but have put aside.   Wtf?   I guess this isn't the first time I've bailed in the middle of a project but I will come back.  I know my characters will begin calling to me when I and they are ready.
I think I'll plant a tree!   Be creative and enjoy!

Monday, April 9, 2012

Gray day...gray thoughts

I know that this happens to every writer at some time, regardless of genre.   Let me add a bit of detail.

In the beginning when you first decide to write, your mind seems to explode with wonderful ideas.  Thoughts seem to roll down directly from your brain to your fingers.   Books seem to write themselves. Every idea is a brand new take on a theme...never before dreamed of by man nor beast.  These to me were the "I can do anything" years.  You say to yourself, "If Mary SoandSo  can be a success, why can't I?  You edit and edit and pass your manuscript around and around.  Family and friends are so encouraging..."Who knew you could write so well?"   Finally you think your book is ready.  Out comes the trusty Children's Book Market Guide and you search for the websites that are looking for exactly what you've written.
 Aha!    You've found the perfect publisher.  Out goes the manuscript with the  oh-so-clever letter  and the ubiquitous SASE.  Now, 10 years ago there would have been dozens of houses to choose from and you would have actually received a reply.  Granted, some would be form letters of rejection but precious others would include hand written notes from a "real editor" with encouraging bits of wisdom.  OK.  They still rejected your story but they thought you really had something of merit to offer the world of KidLit.
I remember...I actually framed my first rejection letter.  It was supposed to be something to chuckle over after my success.  Naivete has its own rewards.
So you mail and mail with no  results and after a few years you realize just how small the market is becoming.  Indie Houses have gone under or have been swallowed up by the Giants.  Fewer and fewer will publishers will accept un-agented material and the agents are even harder to query.  Most of the publishers will not have the courtesy to reply.  They're simply overwhelmed.  Every bored Mom or English major is sure they can write the next "Harry Potter."
You're still writing, of course, but much of your initial enthusiasm has drained away.  Any explosions in your head are now ones of doubt...doubt that your work has any value at all.   Do you have a unique "voice?"  What about branding and platforms?   Are you playing the Social Media game to your best advantage?   Very confusing and certainly not for the faint of heart.
Finally you must face what you believe.   Why do you write?
A.   I have to.  It's a passion.
B.   To sell books.
C.   To achieve fame and fortune.
If you didn't answer "A"  you may as well throw away your paper and pencil.   "B"  can happen in today's world of e-publishing but it won't be very satisfying and "C"...well...achieving fame and fortune writing for children is a difficult and maybe even questionable goal  and comes to only a few.
Know what?  Today is a gloomy depressing day with thoughts that match, but like any writer, you must have an ego (quite a large one) and perhaps the "sun'll come out tomorrow"  and along with it  hope and self confidence and more wonderful ideas. 
With that said I'll leave you with this.
"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."
                                                    Ralph Waldo Emerson

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Potato Chip Scarf

Now for something completely different.  I offer you,,,courtesy of my dear friend, Carol Sue, the directions for a lovely scarf , ta - da....
the Potato chip Scarf.    I consider myself a novice when it comes to knitting.  It's odd but 20 years ago I knew a lot more than I do  today.





Back to subject - if you know the basic knit stitch you can make this scarf.   It can be made on just about any size needle with just about any yarn.   In this project I chose Sz. 8 needles and a lustrous bamboo yarn that would be considered  worsted wight.


Cast on 20 sts.

 Knit the 20 sts.
*Knit 8 sts.  Turn project and knit the 8 sts.
 Knit 6 sts.   Turn and knit.
 Knit 4 sts.  Turn and knit.
 Knit 20 sts. *
 Repeat until scarf is the length you want.
 Bind off.

 Note,,,when you 1st begin to knit, two appendages will appear. (lol)  Maybe they look like potato chips to someone. 

                                  
 Keep on knitting and soon the scarf will start to turn on itself and make
a sort of ruffle.
This is as far as I've gotten on 1- 3 oz. skein.  I will probably go thru 2 more to get the length I want, but every yarn will be different, depending on yardage. 

Fair warning to friends and family....expect one for Xmas.


It's a fun and easy project that I like to do while watching the Tube in the evening.  
It's fairly easy to keep track of your place in the pattern,  I just make sure that I end each session with a K20 row.

I hope someone gives this a try.  Be sure and post a photo if you do.
Good luck  and have fun!

Friday, March 23, 2012

Devil in the Details

Hello, friends and neighbors. First of all .. huge congratulations to Suzanne Collins and "The Hunger Games.  More kids reading and loving it...  a wonderful turn of events for all children's book writers.
Today I find myself  in a peculiar ...at least for me... situation in my writing.
     Most of my earlier books have been Nature based and in a Non fiction format.  They have been written for Young Readers or they are Picture Books that weave tales of the Natural World into bedtime reading.   My 2 fiction tales for YRs  definitely have protagonists, but the character development was limited for the story and age of the reader.
     Now, creating 4 major characters in a MR/YA genre is proving to be quite a challenge.   Kids today are sophisticated readers and expect no less in their reading material than I would myself.  If a writer develops a novel then that novel had better BE developed!
     OK.  Let's start at the beginning.  How many main characters?  I'm doing 3...two girls and a boy.  Why are they friends?  What do they look like?  Are they good students?  Sports?  Are they popular or outcasts.  There are a million and one details to think of and keep track of.
     Okay...next.  I do believe they'll be just starting Middle School, so parents must be involved.  Are they central to the story or just on the fringes?  What about teachers?  Is their a favorite or a pain in the butt type?   How about the bad guys?  They say every good story must have conflict that must come to some sort of resolution.  Do we stick to the real problems that affect teens or do we walk down another type of path. ..the path to an alternate reality?  No vampires or werewolves allowed!  Perhaps some other type of entity.  But what hasn't been done before?  Besides the ubiquitous vamps and weres there are wizards, witches, elves, fairies, dwarves, orcs, dragons and all manner of ghouls and goblins.  How does one do it up differently?
    Now we come to location.  City?  Burbs?  School?  Each person and place must be fleshed out and God forbid there should be a conflicting detail!   Oops!  Lucy's father is a teacher.  It's Tyler's father that runs the restaurant.
     I start out with 3x5 cards for each major character but soon the cards are not big enough as each "person" develops...a person with loves and fears and must stay true to the character traits.  the cards turn into pages with headings....I hope I can keep them all straight.
     Well...as you can see...keeping track of all this is quite daunting and we haven't even touched on the most important detail of all... the story!  Is it a romance? A mystery?  An urban warfare situation?   Does the writer write about what he or she likes to read or follow the latest trends of  this years crop of popular themes?
   Will this imaginary seed grow to be nutritious or beautiful or just another weed in the vast field of KidLit?
     Hopefully I will take myself and the project seriously and perhaps turn out something worth reading.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

A change in the weather & a change in me

Well, it seems that with the change to Daylight Savings that Spring is actually here.  Along with the anticipation and the  birth of new plants and animals, I must recognize the responsibilities that arrive with the Season.  The yard is full of winter debris ; branches, stones, the ubiquitous plastic grocery bags and mole hills, giant mole hills that look like the work of some crazed prairie dog that lost his way to Albuquerque.  After all this is picked up and hauled away to the proper place we move on to step 2.  This clean-up requires one of Mike's make-do inventions that involves a length of fence, some 4x4s, a couple of concrete blocks and sometimes the springs of my vintage glider.  He then pulls this contraption behind the tractor to de-thatch, drag and rake all at once.  Works for me!
Now on to the really fun stuff- opening the Pond.  I won't bore you with details but rest assured it involves smelly water, lots of mud, a few dead frogs and heavy labor, Oh...and a lot of cursing.  Then it's on to the flower beds, the vegetable garden, the pruning, the raking, ad infinitum.
The point of all this; I must change my habits.  All winter long I've been waiting to "do" the computer until after Messrs. Stewart and Colbert , which puts me at the laptop at midnight.  Now ...go through 60 -70 emails.  Log on to Facebook, where I look at every post and picture and because it's hard for me to keep my opinions to myself,  comment on most of them.  On to the Word Games.  Don't get me wrong.  I love all of them, but when it 2am it's hard to come up with those high-score words. 
So I leave FB and move on to my Blog...must check the stats everyday, then read the blogs of people I'm following.  A lot of talented people out there.
Now, my latest infatuation, FlickR.  I can't stop myself from clicking that Reload button just "one more" time; so many beautiful and thought provoking photos to study.  Now it's 2:45 and I finally Log Off, but my brain isn't ready to shut down and requires a book and at least 1/2 hour of reading...."read to me Patti"....before I can get to sleep.  Finally at 3:30 it's lights out.  Needless to say, an early rise is usually not in the cards.  I know I'll never be one of those annoying "morning people" that's up at the crack of dawn ready to go.  They should all be restricted to an island somewhere so reasonable people can sit and drink their coffee and do their Crosswords for at least an hour.  Seems reasonable, right?
Long story long...I have to change.   From now on my computer time will be restricted to early afternoon  and evening.   Much of my writing I do with a good old fashioned pen and paper and it's done whenever or wherever it demands.
BTW, my work in progress, a MG/YA novel is giving me fits! 
More on that later. I think I feel a nap coming on.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Caution... Poetry Ahead!

A couple of poems that I wrote as a challenge.....for what they're worth...


                                   Wandering

There is a cemetery I know,
Rarely visited, barely tended.
As I wander amid the mossy stones
I think of those that were loved and then lost.

Here, a Soldier, lost for someone else's Freedom.
There a child, too fragile, too young.
Here a Great-Grandmother- all her offspring, listed as numbers,
As if she wre trying to outdo her neighbors.

And what trgedy befell this family,
Dying together so long ago?
Who wrote this sorrowful verse engraved on this crumbling stone?
Barely legible but with an echo that fills my eyes with tears.

Do others wander as I do?
Not for the history but for this strange feeling of peace that falls so softly.
This quiet pine scented place seems crowded with friendly folk.
Happy to have a visitor.

"Set down and chat a spell.
I'll put the kettle on."


                                           do you think you know me - 1

                              Blazing anger.  The eyes I thought I knew
                                     hold no forgiveness.
                              My friend, my sister of the heart.
                                     Where did she go?
                              What did I say to make her leave?
                                      I sit and think.

                                      bereft, bewildered, trying to remember.
                               Only remembering tears.
                                       I can't defend myself,
                                Therefore I must be guilty.
                                       But why?


                         do you think you know me -2

                                 Days I sit and wonder.
                                  Nights I search my conscience.
                                   How long do I wait,  leaving messages that aren't returned. 
          
                                  Sorrow turns to anger.
                                    Anger turns to apathy.
                                      Finally an apology,

                                  Impersonal email.  Vague excuses.
                                    "I'm under stress.  I need some space."
                                       I guess I don't know you.
                                   You definitely don't know me.



If you're up for it...I also have a Limerick
                      

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Musings of a Woods Walker

Blue skies, a brisk southerly breeze and temps. in the mid 60s.  Even though it's only the 7th of March, Spring Fever has me anxious to explore.  It's a perfect day for a walk in the woods.  Due to our strange non-winter the ground is bare and even the mud season seems to have passed us by.
I pack my tote bag, a souvenir from the 60s that I still use for my wanderings.  It's a woven jacquard pattern in green and white.  On each side is the word Gemini (my sign) and a woven image of The Twins.  It has been repaired more times than I can count but it's still serviceable and very sentimental.  In goes my trowel...you never know what you might find...some plastic bags and paper towels, Kleenex,  a Band-Aid and finally my camera.  And I'm off!
The woods begin only about 100' from my back door so it doesn't take long to reach the fairly new growth stand of maples.  The wind has definitely taken its toll this winter.  Branches and uprooted trees block my path and overhead the snags sing creaking songs in the wind.  "An accident waiting to happen" as the old saying goes.  I meander through the trees and finally arrive at the older part of the woods - huge maples and towering beech trees, some still vibrant and some beginning the slow process of the return to the earth.  A large fallen branch stands in the path, its broken face about 8' off the ground, giving the impression of some alien, insectile creature as it perches on its branchy legs.  I stare the creature down and continue on my way.
 The woods have no odor this time of year, only the dry dusty remnants of last year's leaves carpet the floor.   There is really no sound in the woods, either.  Only the wind blowing through the branches and the noise of my own clumsy passage.  There is life in the woods but for now it is hidden.
I see birds flitting ahead of me, taking advantage of the wind to flee from my presence.  Turkey tracks show where a small convention has met to dust themselves in the sand. 
I know the deer are here because I'm forced off my own paths to follow theirs.  The fresh footprints taunt me but I know I won't see them until dusk.  As I make my clumsy way over and under branches, my foot begins to roll on a hidden branch and I remember, too late, that I forgot to pack my phone.
How sad to have reached an age when I worry about falling in the woods.  How long before I was missed?   How long before Mike came looking?   Would I lie at the bottom of a muddy, wet swale as darkness fell and the woods got black and spooky?  Don't laugh... this may be a legitimate worry since I have a long history of falling while watching birds  day-dreaming or just tripping over my own feet.  But all is well now and it's time to follow the track home.  The stream runs high and silent below me, its banks bordered by tired patches of snow.  Tempting, but it will have to wait.
I pass through a clearing that I have stubbornly named "The Grove" and stop again to look for some sign of new life.  I love this spot and over the years have attempted many ambitious plans - A Japanese style garden - I even put in a small pond and lugged rocks and boulders into place.  Next I thought of a "Moss Garden"  collecting all kinds and colors to grow in my homemade hypertufa containers.  Lastly was a "Fairy Garden" -  a start was made, but the various gardens never completed;  for alas,  I have no patience and move on to other projects when the last one doesn't develop quickly enough to suit me.
Well, I'm almost home and still no sign of life.  Wait!  I hear them. High overhead are 4 flocks of geese returning to the North Country.  "Welcome back,"  I yell.  Yes!  spring is coming.
Satisfied that I've met my objective, I have only one more small bridge to cross and I'm back in my yard, pleasantly tired and relaxed; thankful for the land that is temporarily mine and all the creatures that dwell there.
Now...wouldn't you know it...outside my kitchen window are 3 Red-winged Blackbirds and a Robin.
C'est la vie.

Monday, March 5, 2012

A better look at my book

Hello again friends.  as promised, I shall now attempt to post the 1st chapter of my book, SCAT, CAT.




I hope it's easier to read this time.  I f you do give it a read, tell me what you think.  Good or bad, enquiring minds want to know.












SCAT, CAT!






Patricia A. Garbutt




Chapter One: Coming and Going


A small black and white cat with a very long tail and very chubby cheeks lived in a big white house in a small city nestled in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. The cat was not quite a kitten and not quite a cat, but at that awkward, gangly in-between age. The small cat didn’t have a name. The Big Ones in the house just called him “The Cat.”
Cat was mostly content with his lot because he was warm and dry and had enough food to fill his small cat tummy. The big white house had plenty of corners and closets to explore and tall staircases to run up and down. When he was bored, he could play games for hours by chasing his shadow or bouncing a scrap of paper around a room. Of course, he also had to work on his catnaps, and usually he needed at least four or five a day. Sometimes the Big Ones even rubbed his cheeks and patted his head, which made him happy. At other times, when he wanted the Big Ones to play, he would rub his small cat body around their legs and try to talk to them. All that came out was a tiny little “mew?” He guessed the Big Ones didn’t understand, because they always shoved him away with their big hard feet and said, “Scat, Cat!”
Cat would have liked to sit on the big soft places that the Big Ones used, but if he tried to join them, they would just put him back on the floor with the familiar, “Scat, Cat or some other words that Cat didn't understand, but that he was sure would not be appropriate in polite company.
Things hadn't always been like this for Cat. When he first arrived in the big white house he had been a small fuzzy kitten and the Big Ones would hold and cuddle him and play with bits of string and crinkly paper. As he began to grow things began to change. Perhaps it was something he had done. Was it the time he climbed all the way to the top of the silky window coverings? Maybe it was because he liked to unroll all the paper in the room with the falling water. He hadn't broken any of the Big Ones' belongings in a long, long time. Well...except for that shiny thing that just hopped right off the shelf right where landed in pursuit of a particularly enticing bit of dust.. Was it his fault that the floor was so hard?
Yes. He had learned some valuable lessons since then and he was sure his behavior would make his Mother proud. When Cat thought of his Mother he would often lie down in a box in the corner and feel very sad and lonesome, remembering his own family. He missed his Mother and Brothers and Sisters, but didn’t know where they were. One day they were all together, snuggly and warm, purring happily, and the next day he was alone with just the Big Ones for company.
Cat tried not to be sad and filled some of the lonely hours by amusing himself with other small things around the house that needed to be taught a lesson in manners. He stalked the wily dust bunnies under the beds. He skirmished with the savage cobwebs that lurked behind the couch, although he never did find the cobs. He was especially on the watch for flies or spiders or other creepy crawlers that dared to enter his house. Some of them were even quite tasty.
Sometimes when he was in a wistful sort of mood he would think about why he didn't seem to have a proper name and why he was always called “ScatCat.” Names were very important to his people and he hoped that one day someone would accord him that honor. After all, everyone needed a name. The Big Ones had names. Cat knew that the large hairy one was called “Hey You” and the smaller softer one was called “Old Lady.” The names didn’t mean much to ScatCat, but a lot of the Big Ones’ actions were impossible to understand. They stared at a strange noisy box with mysterious images moving across it. They seemed to be able to do this for hours at a time and never want to run or play.
Their eating habits were very odd, too. They took perfectly good meat and placed it over a hot, red, flickering light until it was dark and hard. ScatCat couldn’t understand why they would ruin good food this way, and then smack their lips like it was the most delicious squeaky morsel they had ever eaten. But he had to admit that sometimes the aromas coming from their bowls made his mouth water.
They never seemed satisfied with their fur either, because they kept changing it: dark to bright, soft to hard, fluffy to slippery, heavy to light… there seemed to be no end to what they would do. Sometimes they took their fur off completely, which really made him shiver. Then they would step into a strange small room and make water fall all over themselves. At times, they would even lie down in the water! Even though it made his skin crawl just to think about it, ScatCat was strangely drawn to the room with the falling water. Whenever Hey You or Old Lady went into this mysterious place, he simply had to follow. One day as he was watching this strange ritual he came to a stunning conclusion. They weren't changing their fur...they had no fur at all! Oh, the poor things! That's why they had so many different coverings. They did have a bit of fur on the top but it certainly didn't amount to much in ScatCat's opinion, even if Old Lady spent an excessive amount of time fiddling with it. Yes. They certainly were unusual animals but ScatCat felt he was much wiser now about their peculiar habits.
One day things began to change in the big white house. Things were moving out and large boxes were moving in. Then even the boxes began moving out. ScatCat watched all this activity with a sense of foreboding. Change was usually not a good thing for kittens or cats and he felt certain that this “change” would be no different.
Finally, there came a day when all the Big Ones’ belongings were gone and the big white house was empty. The only things left were ScatCat and one small box.
Suddenly one of the Big Ones scooped him up and put him in the small box. He felt himself being jiggled and bumped as he was placed in a noisy, rumbly, dark space that started to move. ScatCat was unsure where he was going or why. Soon the swaying rumble in the darkness made him drowsy and he drifted off to sleep.
He woke up to the voices of the Big Ones and found himself again being jiggled and bumped along. “Maybe we are back at our house,” thought ScatCat. “Soon things will be back to normal.” He felt his little box being set down on solid ground and waited for someone to set him free. He heard some banging and then the noisy rumbly thing began its rumbly noise. The noise grew fainter and fainter and then there was only quiet, then after a bit there came the sound of the chirping of crickets. ScatCat knew it was the dark time and wondered what he should do.
Maybe the Big Ones will be back soon and I should just wait here in my box. That seems the best choice for now. That's exactly what I'll do.” So he made a few circles in his box … one, two, three , making himself as comfortable as possible and after much tossing and turning was finally able to fall asleep.









OOPS!

I just realized that when I posted the 1st chapter of one of my Cat book that the font size was so small that it was almost impossible to read.  Mea culpa.  AND!  Because I have so many versions of my stories saved, I made another error....not the latest version.
Long story short, I will post the proper version in the proper size (I hope)  later today.
I hope you take a little time to read it and let me know what you think.
Somehow no comment at all is worse than a critical one. 
Yes...I can take it.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Preview of LITTLE CAT ON HIS OWN

Here is the 1st chapter of my very special kitteh book.  a highly fictionalized account of Oliver's search for a home.
Let me know if you want to read more...It'll be on Amazon as an e-book soon.



LITTLE CAT ON HIS OWN
                   by
Patricia A. Garbutt

Chapter One: Coming and Going


A small black and white cat with a very long tail and very chubby cheeks lived in a big white house in a small city nestled in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. The cat was not quite a kitten and not quite a cat, but at that awkward, gangly in-between age. The small cat didn’t have a name. The Big Ones in the house just called him “The Cat.”
Cat was mostly content with his lot because he was warm and dry and had enough food to fill his small cat tummy. The big white house had plenty of corners and closets to explore and tall staircases to run up and down. When he was bored, he could play games for hours by chasing his shadow or bouncing a scrap of paper around a room. Of course, he also had to work on his catnaps, and usually he needed at least four or five a day. Sometimes the Big Ones even rubbed his cheeks and patted his head, which made him happy. At other times, when he wanted the Big Ones to play, he would rub his small cat body around their legs and try to talk to them. All that came out was a tiny little “mew?” He guessed the Big Ones didn’t understand, because they always shoved him away with their big hard feet and said, “Get lost, Cat!”
Cat would have liked to sit on the big soft places that the Big Ones used, but if he tried to join them, they would just put him back on the floor with the familiar, “Get lost, Cat or 'shove off, Cat' and some other words that Cat didn't understand, but that he was sure would not be appropriate in polite company.
Things hadn't always been like this for Cat. When he first arrived in the big white house he had been a small fuzzy kitten and the Big Ones would hold and cuddle him and play with bits of string and crinkly paper. As he began to grow things began to change. Perhaps it was something he had done. Was it the time he climbed all the way to the top of the silky window coverings? Maybe it was because he liked to unroll all the paper in the room with the falling water. He hadn't broken any of the Big Ones' belongings in a long, long time. Well...except for that shiny thing that just hopped right off the shelf right where landed in pursuit of a particularly enticing bit of dust.. Was it his fault that the floor was so hard?
Yes. He had learned some valuable lessons since then and he was sure his behavior would make his Mother proud. When Cat thought of his Mother he would often lie down in a box in the corner and feel very sad and lonesome, remembering his own family. He missed his Mother and Brothers and Sisters, but didn’t know where they were. One day they were all together, snuggly and warm, purring happily, and the next day he was alone with just the Big Ones for company.
Cat tried not to be sad and filled some of the lonely hours by amusing himself with other small things around the house that needed to be taught a lesson in manners. He stalked the wily dust bunnies under the beds. He skirmished with the savage cobwebs that lurked behind the couch, although he never did find the cobs. He was especially on the watch for flies or spiders or other creepy crawlers that dared to enter his house. Some of them were even quite tasty.
Sometimes when he was in a wistful sort of mood he would think about why he didn't seem to have a proper name. Names were very important to his people and he hoped that one day someone would accord him that honor. After all, everyone needed a name. The Big Ones had names. Cat knew that the large hairy one was called “Hey You” and the smaller softer one was called “Old Lady.” The names didn’t mean much to Cat, but a lot of the Big Ones’ actions were impossible to understand. They stared at a strange noisy box with mysterious images moving across it. They seemed to be able to do this for hours at a time and never want to run or play.
Their eating habits were very odd, too. They took perfectly good meat and placed it over a hot, red, flickering light until it was dark and hard. Cat couldn’t understand why they would ruin good food this way, and then smack their lips like it was the most delicious squeaky morsel they had ever eaten. But he had to admit that sometimes the aromas coming from their bowls made his mouth water.
They never seemed satisfied with their fur either, because they kept changing it: dark to bright, soft to hard, fluffy to slippery, heavy to light… there seemed to be no end to what they would do. Sometimes they took their fur off completely, which really made him shiver. Then they would step into a strange small room and make water fall all over themselves. At times, they would even lie down in the water! Even though it made his skin crawl just to think about it, Cat was strangely drawn to the room with the falling water. Whenever Hey You or Old Lady went into this mysterious place, he simply had to follow. One day as he was watching this strange ritual Cat came to a stunning conclusion. They weren't changing their fur...they had no fur at all! Oh, the poor things! That's why they had so many different coverings. They did have a bit of fur on the top but it certainly didn't amount to much in Cat's opinion, even if Old Lady spent an excessive amount of time fiddling with it. Yes. They certainly were unusual animals but Cat felt he was much wiser now about their peculiar habits.
One day things began to change in the big white house. Things were moving out and large boxes were moving in. Then even the boxes began moving out. Cat watched all this activity with a sense of foreboding. Change was usually not a good thing for kittens or cats and he felt certain that this “change” would be no different.
Finally, there came a day when all the Big Ones’ belongings were gone and the big white house was empty. The only things left were Cat and one small box.
Suddenly one of the Big Ones scooped him up and put him in the small box. He felt himself being jiggled and bumped as he was placed in a noisy, rumbly, dark space that started to move. Cat was unsure where he was going or why. Soon the swaying rumble in the darkness made him drowsy and he drifted off to sleep.
He woke up to the voices of the Big Ones and found himself again being jiggled and bumped along. “Maybe we are back at our house,” thought Cat. “Soon things will be back to normal.” He felt his little box being set down on solid ground and waited for someone to set him free. He heard some banging and then the noisy rumbly thing began its rumbly noise. The noise grew fainter and fainter and then there was only quiet, then after a bit there came the sound of the chirping of crickets. Cat knew it was the dark time and wondered what he should do.
Maybe the Big Ones will be back soon and I should just wait here in my box. That seems the best choice for now. That's exactly what I'll do.” So Cat made a few circles in his box … one, two, three , making himself as comfortable as possible and after much tossing and turning was finally able to fall asleep.













Chapter Two: Fear and Friendship