Missing In Action

You may have noticed a bit of an absence on my part with not explanation. I had a severe attack of colitis a week ago and spent 6 days in the hospital. This is day 11since it hit, and the first day I have felt almost like a human being. The worst part is that I missed most of the performances of my show, "Bonnie & Clyde In Winsboro." I was there for opening night October 17 and in the hospital the next day.

Yesterday, I had someone take me to the theatre to see the last performance and stay a little while at the cast party. What a terrific group of players who carried on just fine without me, although they were very happy to see me. They gave me this great shirt that they all signed, and we all cried. You can see lots more pictures of the cast at the Winnsboro Center for the Arts Facebook page.   The young people who played Bonnie and Clyde were amazing.

Cassie Rose played Bonnie and Thomas Hulme played Clyde. In the background is Ian Dierflinger as Hank the mechanic.  These young folks are all graduates, or near graduates, of my summer drama camp. They make me proud.

Since I am supposed to rest for a couple more weeks, my computer time will be relegated to working on my book, so I  may only post an occasional piece here from my friend, Slim, and take some time off.

I'll leave you with a few jokes to get your week off to a fun start.

These relationship questions were posed to children, and I love their answers.

 HOW WOULD YOU MAKE A MARRIAGE WORK?
Tell your wife that she looks pretty, even if she looks like a dump truck.
-- Ricky, age 10

  IS IT BETTER TO BE SINGLE OR MARRIED?
It's better for girls to be single but not for boys. Boys need someone to clean up after them.
-- Anita, age 9 (bless you child )

A police recruit was asked during the exam, 'What would you do if you had to arrest your own
mother?'
He answered, 'Call for backup.'

Two boys were walking home from Sunday school after hearing a strong preaching on the devil.
One said to the other, 'What do you think about all this Satan stuff?'

The other boy replied, 'Well, you know how Santa Claus turned out. It's probably just your Dad.'

Before I forget, I have a review copy of an anthology that will release on November 15th. I am  pleased to have a story in this International Anthology, and I would love to send a review copy out if you are interested in reading and writing a review on the 15th.

Book Review - Friday Afternoon by T. D. Johnston

Friday Afternoon
T.D. Johnston
File Size: 192 KB
Print Length: 38 pages
Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
Language: English
ASIN: B008B1021M


One thing I always love about a short story, in addition to being able to finish in one sitting, is the fact that the theme is always present and foremost in a reader's mind. This is so true of Johnston's wonderful short story that points out so vividly the consequences of poor choices.

Brent Stanford, a very important businessman, is on his way to his father-in-law's birthday party. Stanford's father-in-law is also the owner of the company where Stanford is the CEO, and said father-in-law has a very low opinion of Stanford. On a country road in North Carolina, Stanford gets stuck behind a farmer who is going way too slow, and his anxiety builds the longer he drives, unable to pass on the winding narrow road.

Thinking of all the ways his father-in-law can make his life more miserable if Stanford is late - something that is never tolerated in his wife's family - he finally attempts to pass the pickup. Certainly that chicken truck coming the other way is driving as slowly as this bumpkin.

Does he make it?

The rest of the story answers that question, and I don't want to give anything away by revealing what happens. In a cross between an O. Henry story and an episode of The Twilight Zone, Stanford meets that farmer he tried to pass, and what happens will keep you guessing until the very end.

Well done, Mr. Johnston

Novelist in the Making - Kathryn Craft

Please help me welcome Kathryn Craft as today's Wednesday's guest. She has a different kind of post for us today, a charming story from her childhood she calls, "Novelist in the Making". So grab your beverage of choice, and a donut, and enjoy the story. When you are finished here, you might want to hop over to The Blood Red Pencil where I've shared a little fun from the comic strips.

In memory of my father, who did not live long enough to see me complete my journey to publication.

Sandy sits at the kitchen table with an impressive array of art supplies in front of her. I pull out a chair and sit down to watch.

“Whatcha doing?”

“A long-range project. All the sixth graders have to do one.”

The way she says this burns me up. I am in fourth grade, and whatever she’s doing I could do too, I bet, but I have no idea what a long-range project is. So I say, “What is the objective?” (One of my spelling words, used in a sentence.)

She tells me she has to research a country and write a report about it. Here’s the best part: she must glue pictures onto construction paper and make the whole thing into a book. She has already colored in a map of Africa using Dad’s forbidden Prismacolor pencils.

 

Sandy picks up the scissors and starts to cut a picture from National Geographic.

“Dad is going to kill you for cutting that up.” National Geographic is a keeper. Ripping pictures from it would be like tearing a page from the dictionary. Even worse, she has torn off the covers.

 “These aren’t Dad’s.”

So Sandy has her own source for National Geographics and gets to do a big project to impress her teacher and make a book and get attention from Dad?

I want in.

My father is not the type to leave love lying around the house where you might trip over it; you must rise to where he keeps it. I want to make that climb, so at dinner I always make sure I have something to report. “Daddy, I got the fastest time in the obstacle course.” I always scramble as fast as I can, as if he were cheering me on, and it hurts that he doesn’t acknowledge this achievement.

But Sandy has my father’s attention; she is talking about her long-range project. Jacquie is jiggling her leg until the whole table shakes because she wants more mashed potatoes and my mother is telling her she can’t have more until she eats her vegetables and Nancy is saying Jacquie can have her mashed potatoes. I don’t know it will suddenly get quiet as Sandy takes a bite of her meat, my mother wipes mashed potatoes out of Nancy’s hair, and Jacquie spits chewed vegetables into her napkin and I say, “DADDY, I GOT A 104% ON MY MATH TEST.”

“You don’t need to speak so loud, Kathy. I’m sitting right next to you.”

My cheeks burn. This is not how I hoped this would go.

So I have to do it.

“Guess what, Daddy?” I look at Sandy out of the corner of my eye. “Mrs. Arnold gave us a long-range project today. We have to research an African country and write about it and make a book.”

“But that’s the same assignment Sandy has. You’re only in fourth grade.”

“I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Can you believe how hard she makes us work?”

“Well, pick the Congo. You can use the same magazines I bought for Sandy.”

Sandy is looking at me as if she was the queen of the Congo, and I just invaded it.

“I already signed up for Tanzania.”

The next night Dad comes home from work with a stack of National Geographics—this time, for me. I savor every moment of this project. My father leans in close to show me how to make bar charts and I love that he shares his art supplies with me. When the magazines don’t have enough pictures of Tanzania for the scale of my project (I interpret “long-range” to mean I will be working on this a very long time, since, strictly speaking, I have no turn-in date), he goes out looking for more.

Finally he’s had enough and calls Mrs. Arnold to complain about the amount of work she’s asking me to do.

Busted.

My long-range project came to an abrupt termination date. But he couldn’t exactly punish me for wanting to work too hard, could he?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kathryn Craft applied this tenacity to the writing of her debut novel, The Art of Falling, (Sourcebooks) and a second novel, due out Spring 2015, based on true events of the standoff that resulted in her first husband’s suicide. Her work as a developmental editor at Writing-Partner.com follows a nineteen-year career as a dance critic. Long a leader in the southeastern Pennsylvania writing scene, she now serves as book club liaison for the Women’s Fiction Writers Association. She hosts lakeside writing retreats for women in northern New York State, leads writing workshops, and is a member of the Philly Liars Club.

See my review of The Art of Falling

A Holiday Gift

HAPPY HOLIDAYS

As we get caught up in the hustle and bustle of preparing for the holidays, it is easy to forget what the season is all about.

After my husband and I moved to Texas from Michigan, we rarely made it back to our home state for holidays, and my mother always sent handmade gifts for Christmas. The necessity of counting pennies has ruled her entire life, and we became accustomed to not expecting gifts of any great monetary value. Even so, the arrival of her annual box always sparked an eagerness in me that I never fully understood. The gifts were either hand made or just a small trinket, and sometimes there were even gifts for ‘we-don’t-know-who’.  There were also times we didn’t even know what the gift was or what it was for; usually something she knitted or crocheted that could be a small afghan or a large lap blanket.

When the kids were young, they never understood my excitement over mother’s box, either, but I couldn’t fault them for that. It's easy for a simple gift to be diminished when stacked up next to one larger and more expensive, and like the kids, I often saw my mother's efforts as a mere gesture.
But the year that necessity forced me to make gifts, was the year that I finally understood what a gift really is, whether handmade or purchased.

A gift is not just a thing. It's a connection between the person giving and the person receiving that says something special about the relationship between the two. And a gift should never be rushed. The longer you think about it, plan it, and work on it, the stronger the connection.

That's the special, intangible ingredient my mother wrapped up and sent to us for all those years.


So that is the intangible ingredient I wrapped up in this short story that is my gift to you this Christmas. It was written a number of years ago with a dear friend, and every year since when I read it again at Christmas, I can't help but think of the magic of this season.

The story will be free through December 17th, so you can get a copy for KINDLE or read it on my WEBSITE     ENJOY!

A Gift From Me to You

As writers it is important to stretch ourselves beyond what we normally write. This is something I learned in a great critique group in Omaha NE, where we would always start our meetings with a short class on some form of writing. This is where I was encouraged to write poetry, although that is not my medium of choice, and I learned how to write with more conciseness.

For one of our class assignments, we were asked to write a short story based on some classic fairy tale or nursery rhyme. I decided to use Goldilocks and The Three Bears and put a modern twist on it. The result was my short story "The Visitor" which I published myself on Kindle. It is free today through Tuesday, so if you enjoy short stories you might want to snag a copy. If you don't own a Kindle, there are all kinds of Kindle apps for computers and iPhones and all kinds of smart phones.