Showing posts with label Skunk Corners. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Skunk Corners. Show all posts

Monday, April 24, 2017

#AtoZChallenge #TisFor ...Tess Noreen #Fin50

T is for Tess Noreen

In a Nutshell: Tess Noreen is the proprietor of Two-Timin' Tess's Tavern, located in Skunk Corners next door to the bank. She serves food, drink, and a large helping of help to those who need it the worst.
Biggest Secret: Who she's been kissing on the sly.
Favorite Line: "You leave that to me." Often said with a wicked smile.


https://thebookshelfgargoyle.wordpress.com/fi50-communal-flash-fiction/
Since today is also Fiction in 50 day, where we use a prompt from Bruce the Bookshelf Gargoyle to construct a bit of fiction in 50 words. I made mine a little more of a bio of Tess, in keeping with my A to Z project.

Born to Take Care


I attract strays. Everyone says so, and I reckon they’re right. All these folks in Skunk Corners who need just a little help, and how could I not reach out a hand? It’s the curse—or the blessing—I was born with, that I will try to save them all.

***
The series is The Ninja Librarian, with three books, suitable for ages 8 or 9 and up (way up--adults love the books too!). And while the narrator is Big Al, there is no question that the star is the Ninja Librarian himself. A mysterious character, he has only a single name--Tom--and has never told Al much of anything about himself, though bits leak through--everyone knows he grew up in the city--some city--and doesn't know country stuff very well. He's quick study, though, and can think of things no one else would dream of. Then he turns around and gets others to think as creatively.
Tess is an important character in all three books, but like Peggy, she really comes into her own in Book 3.
http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/p/blog-page_11.html
The Ninja Librarian’s back in town, school’s out, and all’s right with the world…or is it? Big Al may be looking forward to spending her time swimming in the creek and wandering the hills, but Peggy’s looking forward to a life of drudgery. If Al can’t find a way to sway her pa, the brightest kid in Skunk Corners is going to take drastic action. With a mystery from the past haunting one of the houses and creating the biggest threat yet to the town, Big Al’s going to be kept busy this summer, and not just with practicing her moves for the Ninja Librarian!

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

P is for...Pete and Peggy #AtoZChallenge


P is for...Pete of the Viridian System, and Peggy of Skunk Corners

So why do the best characters keep falling on the same letters? I couldn't miss either of these, so you get both!

From the Viridian System stories by Jemima Pett, we have
Pete Garcia
In a nutshell: One of many exiles from Corsair waiting to be called to arms to rescue the planet from the Imperium, and biding his time with wine, women and asteroid mining.

Biggest secret: His ear-ring

Favourite line: "Any chance of some food, mate?" As an adventurer and a miner, Pete has his priorities straight!

Pete is one of the central characters in the Viridian System books by Jemima Pett.  Book 1 of the series, The Perihelix, will be reissued around November, and work is underway on Book 2! Meanwhile, check out the short stories that started it all:
http://www.ppbooks.co.uk/
And, from the Ninja Librarian books, we have
Peggy Rossiter
In a nutshell: the smartest kid in the Skunk Corners school, and the best mathematician for a long way in any direction, Peggy wants an education like no one’s ever wanted anything before.

Biggest secret: what she thinks of Tommy Colson. She may have other, bigger secrets, before it's all over, but this one's a mystery even to her.
Favorite line:  Explaining why she didn't finish some work: "There was an equation...it took me most of the morning to work it out."
 
 Book Three of the Ninja Librarian books--The Problem With Peggy is the story of how Peggy manages to get her chance at that education. Here's how Big Al learns of the problem, from the first chapter of the book:

When I dismissed the class, I kept Peggy back.

“What’s wrong? When I said school was letting out for the summer you looked like I hit you.” I was almost sorry I asked. The look of desperation on Peggy Rossiter’s face would have broken a tougher heart than mine. She looked like she was about to cry, but Peg was no baby.

“I had a birthday a few weeks ago,” she said as though that answered everything. I kept looking at her, hoping she’d tell me what she meant. “Pa says, now I’m fourteen I should be done with school, like the law says.” Her tone was angry, to keep the tears in.

“The law doesn’t say you have to quit school at fourteen. Only that you can. You’re good at it. You should keep going.” 

Peggy shrugged. “I told him that, and that I want to go on. I even cried, but he won’t listen. Pa doesn’t believe in educating girls. He’s letting me finish this year, but I can’t come back next year. I guess,” she said with a smile that made me want to cry, “I was sorta hoping we just wouldn’t quit, and I could keep on coming to school here forever.” 


http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/p/blog-page_11.html
The Ninja Librarian’s back in town, school’s out, and all’s right with the world…or is it? Big Al may be looking forward to spending her time swimming in the creek and wandering the hills, but Peggy’s looking forward to a life of drudgery. If Al can’t find a way to sway her pa, the brightest kid in Skunk Corners is going to take drastic action. With a mystery from the past haunting one of the houses and creating the biggest threat yet to the town, Big Al’s going to be kept busy this summer, and not just with practicing her moves for the Ninja Librarian!
 
 

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

#AtoZChallenge C is for Crazy Jake Jenkins


Following the suggestion of fellow blogger and amazing author Jemima Pett, I'm doing a very simple A to Z with characters from my writing and the books of my author friends! I'm just posting a brief profile, sometimes a quote, and the book cover with links. Though you may also see some of my typical reviews (when I feature other peoples’ books) and the usual Friday Flash Fiction.

C is for Crazy Jake Jenkins

In a nutshell: Crazy Jake and his buddy Wild Harry Colson are  trouble personified. They get a bit straightened out when the Ninja Librarian comes to town, but even he can't fix their propensity for getting into trouble.
Biggest secret: After years of mocking students and harassing teachers and librarians, Jake has a yen to learn to read.
Favorite saying: "Oops." (He doesn't actually say this in the books, but he's that sort. You can bet he's spent his life saying it).

The series is The Ninja Librarian, with three books, suitable for ages 8 or 9 and up (way up--adults love the books too!).
The Ninja Librarian is a humorous set of tall tales set in the highly fictional gold-country town of Skunk Corners.  It’s the story of a dusty, tough, unfriendly town that gets a new outlook on life thanks to the advent of the Ninja Librarian—a mild-mannered librarian who offers his wisdom...with a little extra when folks don’t listen.
Amazon Kindle ebook  
Barnes & Noble (Nook or paper)


http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/p/blog-page_11.html  
When Big Al wakes up one morning and finds the Ninja Librarian has left town, everything seems to go wrong.  And just about the time she’s thinking maybe the town can cope after all, he comes back.  After that, it’s business as usual in Skunk Corners: bad guys, irritated skunks, and crises big and small that require the Librarian’s unique brand of outside-the-box thinking and direct action.
Paperbacks:
Barnes & Noble paper
Ebooks:

Amazon (Kindle)
Smashwords (all ebook formats)


http://www.ninjalibrarian.com/p/blog-page_11.html
The Ninja Librarian’s back in town, school’s out, and all’s right with the world…or is it? Big Al may be looking forward to spending her time swimming in the creek and wandering the hills, but Peggy’s looking forward to a life of drudgery. If Al can’t find a way to sway her pa, the brightest kid in Skunk Corners is going to take drastic action. With a mystery from the past haunting one of the houses and creating the biggest threat yet to the town, Big Al’s going to be kept busy this summer, and not just with practicing her moves for the Ninja Librarian!
 

Friday, July 15, 2016

Friday Fiction

In a nice collision of discouragements to a new story, not only did Terribleminds.com not give us a writing prompt this week, but the Ninja Librarian was out backpacking and only got home late Wednesday. Somehow, with all the other chores, a new story didn't get written. So...how about a sneak preview of The Problem of Peggy, i.e. the Ninja Librarian #3? This is from Chapter 1, and is about 2000 words.

Trouble Brewing

With nothing much for entertainment in Skunk Corners, everyone came to the spelling bee. They couldn’t all jam into the schoolroom, so we all trooped over to Tess’s, where the barroom had more space. Johnny agreed not to serve anything stronger than sarsaparilla while the kids were there, and we got down to some serious spelling. Eunice Reeves was up, trying to spell “procrastination,” when I slipped out the door for some air and a trip to the privy. Tom and Tess between them were running the spelling bee, and doing a fine job of it.
  I finished what I went out to do, and blew out the candle I’d used to light my way. I lingered a moment under the trees behind the Tavern and the bank, enjoying the cool night air and letting my eyes adjust to the dark.
   That was when I heard the soft plunk of hooves, extra soft like maybe they’d been wrapped in cloth to keep quiet.
   My eyes might have still been dazzled from the lights, but there was nothing wrong with my ears. Those horses were coming down the Endoline trail. I was glad I’d blown out my candle before I left the privy. As long as I didn’t move, I’d be invisible.
   Someone was sneaking into our town, and on the night when pretty much everyone was watching our children prove they could spell. Was that just chance? Six horses grew visible in the darkness. I couldn’t see any details, but it was definitely six horses, and six riders who didn’t belong around here.
   Honest men came to Skunk Corners by daylight, and most of them came off the train, or up the trails from down the mountain. People in Endoline didn’t have horses. People in Endoline didn’t have much of anything. It was in the name: Endoline. End of the line. Where you ended up when you'd run out of options. All the wealth had been sucked out of that place long since, before we’d contrived to send Mort Black packing. That man had thought he owned the place, and every person in it. Once, he’d thought he owned me, too. That was how I came to move to Skunk Corners: to make myself some options and prove I was no one’s property. Our town wasn’t much, but it was a long sight better than Endoline, even before the Ninja Librarian came and straightened things up.
   So I figured that anyone riding down the Endoline Trail quiet-like in the night was probably up to no good, and I snuck up a bit closer so’s I could hear them talking.
   “That’s it right there. Just a quick job.”
   “What’re we doing, anyway? Stick-up? Blow the safe?”
   “Don’t need to blow it. Boss says he wants some papers, and not just the money.” The man’s voice reflected his puzzlement over this command. I was confused, too. Papers? What for? And why wouldn’t they have to force the safe?
   His companions shared his feelings, and mine. “What in heck would we do that for? It’s a bank. You get money from banks, not paper.”
   “Mebbe some papers is more valuable than money.” The hoarse voice came from the smallest rider. A couple of the others started to laugh, but stifled it when someone hissed, “Shut up!”
   “So what’re we waiting for?” That was the guy who wondered what the job was. For someone who didn’t know much, he was mighty impatient.
   “Boss says wait for him. He’s comin’ up from the hide-out in the Badlands.”
   I wondered who the boss might be, and didn’t like the ideas that came to me. I tried not to think about it.
   “Too bad.” That was the little guy again. He sounded like someone who liked hurting people. “Looks like everyone’s in the Tavern just now. Some kinda party. We could take care of that bank right now and no one the wiser.”
   I felt a chill. I didn’t like Mr. Tolliver, the banker, but he was part of our town. I had to stop this.
How? If I went and raised the alarm, the men might ride off, but they might hurt some folks first. There were too many small fry in Tess’s place to risk involving them. But I couldn’t handle six fellows alone.
   I turned and tiptoed back around to the kitchen side of Tess’s. There was no light there, so I could slip in without being noticed. I ran quickly across and opened the barroom door just enough to get Johnny’s attention. He saw me, because he noticed most everything around his bar, and paused only to grab his shotgun. I smiled. Johnny’s pretty quick.
   Eunice had survived “procrastination,” and was watching while Lije misspelled “precaution.” I wondered if Tom had sensed something and chosen that word as a message to me. I’d take it as one, anyway.
   Johnny eased the door shut behind him, and we stood in the dark kitchen while I whispered an explanation.
   “I don’t want to get nobody hurt,” I finished. “And I’m afraid if we try to get the men-folk out of there,” I jerked a thumb at the other room, though he couldn’t see it in the dark, “we’ll have a panic. The rider are waiting for their boss, whoever that might be.”
   “I ain’t seen Hank and Yance tonight. They might be over in their workshop.”
   That was a thought. My two former students were apprenticed to Mr. Holstead and his carpentry business. They slept over the workshop, which was about the only place they wanted to be anyhow.
   “Run get them,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on this lot.”
   Johnny didn’t waste time arguing. He was out the back door before I could gather my thoughts and follow, moving like a shadow off towards the Holstead’s.
   The bank robbers were still clustered in the woods, so it looked like they were waiting on their mysterious boss. And it looked like he was due any time.
   My biggest worry was guns. I didn’t want any kind of shoot-out, because someone would get hurt for sure. I didn’t care if these fellows got themselves killed, but there were women and children in that tavern a few yards away. We had to handle this delicately.
   A mosquito buzzed in my ear, and I batted it away, then turned up my collar. I had learned from Tom to hold still no matter what, but I drew the line at letting the blood-suckers have more of me than I needed to. That went double for two-legged blood-suckers like the ones I was watching. I crept a little closer, then prepared to wait without moving, mosquitoes or not. I was close enough now to know these fellows didn’t bathe much.
   The riders were getting restless. “Where the heck is the boss, Smitty?” That was the whiney one again.
   “He’s coming. Hold your hosses,” growled the voice that had hushed them earlier. “Shut up.”
   “Don’t see why we gotta wait,” another one grumbled.
   “I said to shut your yammering! We need him ’cause he knows the signal.”
   Well, that was interesting. I wondered what signal that would be. But the men’s restlessness was giving me an idea. Johnny and the boys would move in from the other side if they could, and the boys might steal the horses if they got a chance. Johnny had big ideas about capturing this lot, which worried me some.
   I thought maybe I should try to spook them before the boys did something we’d all regret. I slipped out of my shoes and crept a little closer, thinking hard.
   “Hey!” One of the men changed the subject. “I smell a skunk!”
   I sniffed. Sure enough, I smelled one too, and not far off.
   “Sure,” said Smitty. “That’s why they call this place Skunk Corners. I hear it’s lousy with the stinkers.”
   Well, we did have skunks aplenty. That worried me some, because they didn’t have cause to love me. I’d have to take my chances this time. I thought maybe I could use that skunk to some good end.
   An outlaw on a light-grey horse, visible even in the dark, spoke up. What he said gave me a fright. “What’s Mort want with this place, anyhow? It ain’t much.”
   Mort. Mort Black. The thing I’d told myself was just foolish fear, was real. We thought we’d chased that low-down thief off for good, but he was back. I took a deep breath to calm myself while Smitty answered.
   “I reckon Endoline’s played out and he wants fresh blood. He’ll take over here and we’ll live like kings, with all them woman at Tess’s Tavern.” The laughter that followed that chilled me even more.
Not if I had anything to say about it they wouldn’t. And then I did have something to say. It was too dark for the men to see each other well, and I was almost underfoot. I was making the horses uneasy, but the men blamed the skunk. I made my voice as much as I could like the little guy they seemed scared of and said the thing I thought would upset them the most.
   “Mebbe Mort don’t plan to share.”
   “Course he’ll share,” Smitty said. “He always has.”
   “Allus a first time. He done set us to do the dirty work, ain’t he?” That was one of the other men. Seemed my question had set loose some doubts. I worked on them some more.
   “Anyhow, I smell that skunk, and I don’t like it. I hear them critters are just unnatural round here. Maybe they’s hydrophoby skunks!”
   “Stop fussing. Anyhow, we don’t gotta do nothin’. Just wait for Mort.”
   “Stupid to wait,” the little guy insisted. “This here’s our chance, while everybody’s busy. There’s something he ain’t telling us. Some secret about this place.”
   The creak of saddle leather told me at least some of the men were dismounting. To move in and rob the bank? I moved a little closer under cover of their sounds, thinking that if I had to fight, I’d take out the leader first, and let the boys handle the rest.
   “Ground-hitch them hosses so’s we can leave in a hurry,” the bossy one said, and I heard then what I guessed none of the men did: a horse coming, not too far off. If that was Mort Black, we had to move fast. I tried another approach, desperate to take care of them before Black could rally them.
   “Boss shoulda been here by now. I tell ya, he’s leavin’ all the work to us. An’ what fer? So’s he can get rich, I reckon. And what do we get?”
   That set them to arguing a bit, which hid the sound of Black approaching.
   I smelled Stinky pass close by me, and danged if that skunk didn’t walk right in among the men and start rubbing up against them like a cat. The one with the coarse laugh was first to notice.
   “Hey, there’s a cat or somethin’ out here getting cozy with my legs!”
   I jumped on the opening. “Reckon it’s done tangled with a skunk, then. ’Less that stink is you. When’s the last time you took a bath, anyhow?”
   That set them to bickering again, and they all huddled up to do it in angry whispers, with an occasional, “there’s that kitty again,” mixed in with the cussing and arguing. I backed off a bit, thinking it might be time to get out of there. I was just far enough away to miss the worst of it when that skunk cut loose.
   Stinky had a good sense of timing. You never heard such cussing and choking in your life. I’d have laughed, if I’d dared. The bandits took off for their horses, stumbling blindly, eyes watering too much to see their way. I guessed by the stamping and neighing that the horses didn’t much like their scent, but they scrambled into the saddles and rode right up the trail and smack into Mort Black. I heard him yelling and cussing, but his men wouldn’t stop, and his voice gradually faded as he gave up and rode after them.
   “Thanks, Stinky,” I said quietly, and started back toward the Tavern.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2016
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Like what you read? Take advantage of the summer reading sale and get books 1 & 2 for only 99 cents each!
 
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0079NQFAA  
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1490560742



Friday, March 14, 2014

Flash Fiction Friday: ". . . And His Dog"

This weeks' Wendig Challenge was a "must contain" challenge, with two lists of story elements from which the random number generator gave me two: an escaped prisoner and a faithful hound.  I chose to interpret that a bit loosely, of course.  As a bonus, it happened in Skunk Corners.

. . . And His Dog


I never liked being shut in a schoolroom all day.  Way I saw it, whoever thought of locking kids up most of the daylight hours had a mean streak a mile wide and a mile deep.  Early on, I took to dodging school as much as I could.

I’d start out toward the school in the morning—Ma was a stickler for that—then whistle up old Stinkpot and go off wherever.  Everyone called my dog Stinkpot because he liked smelly stuff way too much.  Ma’d make me wash him, and then he’d go and tangle with a skunk.  When that wore off, he’d roll in something dead.  He was that sort of dog.  You’d never say he was a dog who had much use for school.

Some days, when I would go to school, ol Stinkpot, he’d come and sit outside, like he was scouting a way to bust me out.  See, he knew as well as me that school was a sort of jail, mean to keep us kids locked up on account of the grownups don’t want us to have fun.  Mebbe on account of grownups never seemed to have much fun, most days.

Anyhow, when Stinkpot’d come to school, I’d say I had to take him home, else the dogcatcher would haul him off and eat him.  I’d cry about it if I had to.  That was when we lived in Lupine, and the dogcatcher was an old fellow we boys figured ate dogs and cats.  So teacher’d let me go, and I’d give Stinkpot a biscuit for busting me out of the jailhouse.
#
Everything got different when we moved to Skunk Corners.  I never knew why Pa took us off up there.  It was awful close to the edge of everything, and made Lupine look pretty good.  Anyway, though, we moved up there and Ma was so busy, she told me to just go up to the school and register myself.

“Or whatever they do in this two-bit town,” I heard her mutter when she thought I’d gone out.  Now, that wasn’t right.  Two-Bit was two stops down the train line closer to Lupine.   Skunk Corners was beyond Two-Bit and just one stop short of Endoline.

Ma’s instructions looked to me like my perfect chance.  No one around there knew I was even there, let alone that I was supposed to be in school.  I was twelve years old, and could read and figure, which seemed good enough to me.  How much learning did a boy need in those mountains, was how I argued it.  And Pa kept moving us farther back into the hills, so it looked to me like I’d had plenty of school for where we were heading.

Of course, I didn't make that argument to Ma and Pa.  Ma’d say to get my backside to the school if I didn’t want her to tan my hide.  And Pa would say that if I didn’t want an education I could start working on the farm for real.  I already did plenty of work, feeding the animals and grubbing out stumps.  So I just started up the trail to town, meek as could be.

Once out of sight of the cabin, I slung my books under a bush and whistled.  Stinkpot came trotting up, smelling more like skunk than ever.  Figured, now we lived in Skunk Corners.

“C’mon, boy, we’re going exploring.”

We went on that way for a week.  I left home every morning, and wandered off wherever we chose to go.  Stinkpot could always find his way home, so I didn’t worry none about getting lost.
But come Saturday, I wanted to see the town, such as it was.  We’d got off the train and gone right through to the farm, no time to explore nothing.  Ma’d been careful to point out the schoolhouse, but that wasn’t what I wanted to see.  I made a note of it all the same, to know what to avoid.

I’d stayed away all week so no one would send me to the school.  But Saturday would be safe, surely, so we started off early.  Ma wanted some flour and cornmeal from whatever they had for a store, so I even had an excuse.  I wasn’t in any hurry to do the shopping, though.  I just poked along the dusty street, checking things out.  I still avoided that school, but took a good look in at Two-Timin’ Tess’s Tavern.

All on a sudden, someone in dungarees, a big flannel shirt, and a pair of moccasins blocked my path.
“You’re new in town.”  I was surprised to hear a girl’s voice coming from the mass of denim and flannel.  I risked a look, and I guessed she was a girl, though her hair was cropped short and her hands were in her pockets, just the way mine were.

“Yeah,” I said, cautious-like.

“You got a name?”

“Lije.  Elijah Monroe.  Ma’am,” I added uncertainly.

She shook her head.  “I’m just Big Al.”  She studied me some more.  “On second thoughts, that’ll be ‘Teacher’ to you.  I’ll see you in class Monday.” It wasn’t a question.  Then she gave Stinkpot a chunk of jerky, petted his big silky ears, and was gone into the big brick building that claimed it was a library.

I shrugged and finished my exploring, and bought Ma’s supplies.  By the time I was home, I’d forgotten all about Big Al.
#
Come Monday, I did what I always did.  I headed for the creek, Stinkpot at my heels, and went to fishing.  It was a perfect day for it, and I had a great time in the creek, even if I didn’t catch no fish.
Along about mid-morning, Stinkpot disappeared, but I didn’t pay that no mind.  Stink, he’s always haring off after something or other, and he always comes back when he’s ready, or when he’s hungry.

Just when I was starting to think about eating the bread and butter Ma’d put up for my lunch, up bounded Stinkpot.  I took it for granted he’d come back for lunch, until a noise made me look beyond at the bushes.  There stood that Big Al person.  I looked from her to Stink and back, and she nodded.

“Yup.  He brought me, just like I asked him to.  And now he’s going home, and you are coming to school.”  Then she stood there with her arms crossed, and glared at me until I packed up my fishing stuff and came up to her.  I stood there waiting for the roof to come in on me, because she was big, and she looked mean.

But Big Al—Teacher—just laughed and petted Stinkpot.  She gave him another bit of jerky.  “Good boy.  You run along home now.”

And that lousy traitor dog panted a smile, wagged his tail, and trotted off.  And Teacher took me by the arm and hauled me back to prison.

Which is how I came to learn there’s more to school than ABC and more to ‘Rithmatic than two plus two.  I’m still not sure I like it, but Stinkpot won’t come bust me out anymore, so I guess I’ll have to stick around and learn something.
 ###


©Rebecca M. Douglass 2014

 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

It's HERE!


Yes, it has happened at last!  I have finished messing with it, and
Return to Skunk Corners 
has gone live! 

To celebrate, I am doing Goodreads.com giveaways of BOTH books.  Follow the links below to enter before August 31, and you could win a paperback copy of either book (or, if you are the kind of person who wins the Lottery twice, you might win both!).




Goodreads Book Giveaway

Return to Skunk Corners by Rebecca Douglass

Return to Skunk Corners

by Rebecca Douglass

Giveaway ends August 31, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter to win



Goodreads Book Giveaway

The Ninja Librarian by Rebecca Douglass

The Ninja Librarian

by Rebecca Douglass

Giveaway ends August 31, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Enter to win 

Not willing to wait?  Can't stand to take your chances?  Go right to the source and buy a paperback today from my Createspace store or from Amazon.  Or head on over to Smashwords for an ebook in any format you can imagine (and a few you can't). Get it for your Kindle, too!

Friday, July 12, 2013

Flash Fiction Friday!

Here's another bit from the Ninja Librarian himself. 

-->
The Librarian on the Flood

Once again I feel compelled to take up my pen and set the record straight, as there are some gaps in the narrative Alice has so ably constructed regarding the flood that came so near to washing our town from the face of the earth.  More happened that day than Alice ever knew, and I feel obliged to complete the record, though I fear it does not reflect on me the heroic light than even her somewhat ironic narrative provides.*
When the rains began—no, when the rain reached Skunk Corners, for subsequent events made it evident that it had been precipitating on the mountain above us for some time.  When, as I say, the rain reached us, I was in the library.  I was, in fact, reading a book which outlined the means, historical, fanciful, and scientific, by which Man endeavors to affect the weather.  In particular, I was reading about the calling of rain from empty skies.  I did not have any great faith in such methods, but conditions in Skunk Corners were becoming desperate, and I had nearly determined to attempt some such influence.
You will understand therefore, that I felt both interest and a mildly amused surprise on finding that it had commenced to rain, as though merely reading of the procedures had summoned the water from the sky.  Laying aside the book, I gazed out the window, smiling when I saw Alice and her bevvy of young scholars emerge from the school, laughing and shouting, to dance in the street.
After a moment, unable to resist their joyful spirit, I laid aside my frock coat (being unwilling to damage a garment I could not easily replace), and turned to the door.  The rain drumming on the roof set up a roar which, curiously, seemed little lessened on emerging from under its shelter.
Only when I splashed into the street and found myself stepping not into a puddle, but a stream of moving water, did I understand.  Miss Alice, too, was looking from the water about her feet to the forest from which it seemed to come.
A flood of this sort was outside my experience, but I had been cornered for two days on the train coming West by an old frontiersman with an endless supply of tales.  He had spoken, among many other things, of the violent floods that could follow a storm—what he called a “gully-washer”—in the dry desert areas to our south.  After months without rain, I now envisioned a wall of muddy water crashing down the mountain toward us.
Alice has narrated how I alerted the town and how we sent the children to the library and mustered the able-bodied citizens to attempt to keep the creek in its rightful channel.  Naturally, her narration creates the impression that I saw the danger instantly and with equal celerity determined a solution and put it into practice.
My view differs somewhat.
I come from a climate not subject to lengthy periods of drought, so that I was both more and less excited by the arrival, at last, of the rains.  More, because the lengthy dry period seemed to me odd and unnatural.  Yet a part of me refused to believe we could pass three months or more without rain, so I had counted each dry summer day as a gift.
When the water began to rise around me, however, I first froze in disbelief, then accompanied the crowds to the creek out of, I am sorry to report, an ignorant curiosity rather than a true grasp of the seriousness of our situation.
Now, in those early months in Skunk Corners, I was saved from many a blunder, and helped to appear far more knowledgeable than I truly am, by one person.  That person is Johnny, Miss Tess’s bartender.  Johnny was, in fact, the first person to accept me—but that’s another story.  I am speaking of our flood.
It was, as I say, Johnny who saw the danger and knew we had to restore the brook to it’s proper course before further damage was done.  Knowing he does not wield the authority of a librarian—the authority of a bartender is large, but of a different nature—he sought me out in the crowd and explained the danger in a few expressive words.
Now, I may not know the West, but when a plan is laid out for me, I grasp it quickly.  Thus I was able to mobilize the townspeople in time to dam the overflow and dig the diversion channel around the obstruction which was causing the flooding in our town.  Johnny informed me later that the rest—moving the fallen tree which blocked the stream—I had been able to do only because I failed to grasp that the effort was insane.
What no one, not even Johnny, ever knew was how badly that water frightened me.  I never saw so much water moving so fast.  And that, my friend, led almost directly to my near-death by drowning.
I must confess it: I was so determined not to show my fear that I put myself forward in every way, directing the efforts and laboring with the shovel alike.  And, I regret to say, I put myself forward to the edge of the channel Tess and Alice had so competently dug.  When that branch broke loose and swept me off my feet, I knew I was dead.  I did not hit my head at that time, but only when I had finished falling.  The time it takes for a fool to fall three feet is more than enough time to understand many things.
Being certain I was dead, therefore, I had no idea what to think when I again became aware of myself and found the faces of my friends peering at me.
Although my efforts very nearly cost me my life—and, more unforgiveable to me, nearly cost Alice’s life—I count that day as among my best.  When I awoke, wet, muddy, and with a head that ached as it has not since my student days, and saw myself surrounded by the anxious faces of people who had risked their lives to save mine, I found I had a family such as I had not known for many a year.
But I vowed never again to underestimate the force of moving water—nor my own ability to make poor decisions.  Whether I have kept that vow I leave to you to decide.
And that is the truth of the events of the day of our flood, which I will not tell to Alice.

*See The Ninja Librarian, Chapter 8, “The Ninja Librarian Meets His Match”


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Notice: This blog is posting itself in my absence.  If you comment, I WILL respond. . . but not for a few weeks.  This does not mean I no longer love you.  It just means I've gone hiking.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Flash Fiction Friday: Peggy's Story

This is another in my random and growing collection of stories from the denizens of Skunk Corners.  Peggy Rossiter is one of Big Al's students, and secretly wanted to learn even before the Ninja Librarian came to town and made it okay.


Photo by Tom Dempsey, c. Photoseek.com.  Used with permission

Peggy’s Story: When Big Al Came to Town


So, Mr. Tom wanted me to tell you about when Big Al came to Skunk Corners.  It was a few years ago, so I was only maybe nine or something, and still stuck in the Second Reader.  I might not remember everything, but I saw Al come to town.
   It was like this.  I guess I was the only kid who hadn’t heard that Jake and Harry had chased off another teacher.  They used to make the schoolmasters’ lives miserable, until they’d just up and leave.  One time we had a schoolmarm, a real cranky old maid you wouldn’t think had ever had a soft feeling in her life, and she left in tears after just two days.  The boys never laid hand on any of them, not like how they treated librarians.  They had other ways, being bound and determined not to go to school, or to learn anything when their folks walloped them into going.
   I guess the last laugh was on them, come to think of it, but you know all about how they ended up coming back to Big Al to learn to read.
   Anyhow, I’d come into town that morning for school.  Even then I kind of liked it, though I wasn’t making much progress, what with never having a teacher for more than a few weeks at a time.
So I was standing in the street by the empty schoolhouse at sunrise when someone walked into town off the trail from Endoline.  I could tell it was a kid, dressed in his Pa’s clothes and hat, which were just a little too big.  You could see he was pretty uncertain.  He looked around a bit, then his eye lit on Two-Timin’ Tess’s Tavern, and I saw him nod.  Of course, there was no one up at the Tavern at that hour, so the kid just walked on up to have a seat under the tree.  That was where I was, but I guessed he didn’t see me, not until he was already sitting down and I spoke up.
   “Hey.”
   Then the kid jumped a mile, before getting a grip and looking at me.  Then he said, “Hey yourself,” and the voice sounded like a boy who’s just starting to change, so I guessed he was maybe 14 or 15, but big.
   “I’m Peggy.  What’s your name?” I asked.
   “Al.  Some call me Big Al, I guess cause I’m big for my age.”
   “What’re you doing here, Big Al?”
   “Looking for work.  What’re you doing?  Dodging chores?”
   “Naw.  I came for school.  But looks like the boys chased the Master off again.”
   “You like school?”  Seemed like the kid wanted to talk.  I think talking was better than thinking, but then I was just kind of flattered that a big kid would pass the time of day with a squirt like me, and I was curious.
   “Well, I like learning,” I hedged.  “School isn’t so great.”  That got a bit of a smile out of the stranger.
   “Me too.  Guess that’s all done for me now, though.”  He turned away and didn’t say anything more.
   After a bit I said, “I suppose if there’s no school, Pa’ll expect me to come home and do chores.”  I didn’t get up.  “What’re you doing?”
   “Waiting.  My Pa,” I saw him swallow hard, “Pa talked of Miss Tess and this here Tavern, so I thought I’d ask.”  Suddenly sounding angry, the stranger said, “You’d better shove off then.”
   I’m no dummy.  I figured there wasn’t any Pa any more, and maybe the kid needed to cry, so I took off.

   That night my Pa started talking about the school, and how the townsfolk thought maybe it would be a good idea just to leave it closed, seeing as it cost money and no one was getting much good out of it anyhow.  Pa glanced my way when he said that, being as he knew I liked school.  I felt pretty low.
   But next day I went into town, and Mr. Burton, who calls himself the Mayor, was saying that they had to get a new teacher, because the School Inspector was coming and we’d be in big trouble if our youngsters weren’t in school.  So they were pretty desperate for a teacher.  Mr. Burton was asking around for who could read, but of course all the grown folk who had any learning were either long gone from Skunk Corners, or they had work already, and no time to teach a pack of mostly unwilling youngsters.
   Now, don’t you tell Al, or I’ll end up in the creek, but I up and told the Mayor that this Big Al fellow, seemed to have maybe been to school some.  I was making a wide guess, but I wanted my school, and maybe I felt bad for him, because he hadn’t found any work yet, and was sleeping in Tess’s woodshed with the mice and spiders.
   Al dodged a bit at first, but five dollars a month and a room to sleep in must’ve been a powerful temptation, because pretty soon we had us a school again.  That’s when the fun started.
   Everyone always came to school the first day with a new teacher, to see the fun.  That meant Jake and Harry, too, and they set right in with their usual tricks.  They figured that Al being younger’n them, he’d be easy pickings.
   It took about a half a day before our new teacher had had enough.  The boys were making comments about Al being some kind of sissy, or even a girl, on account of his voice not being really changed.
   Instead of bursting into tears or anything, Big Al walked down the aisle past the rear desks, where the big kids—Jake and Harry and a couple of girls—sat, and opened the door.  Of course, we all thought our new teacher was going to walk out.  But instead, Al came back, grabbed one of those boys in each hand—and now we saw that even though Big Al wasn’t any taller than them, he had a lot of muscle.  Next thing Jake and Harry knew, they were out the door, and Al stood on the top step saying, “You are done with school.  I don’t want to see your faces here again, unless and until you actually want to learn, which I don’t reckon will happen in this world.  Idiots.”  Then Al closed the door and walked back to the front of the room.
   “Anyone else?  If anyone doesn’t want to at least pretend they want to learn, you can join those boys in the street.  Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean you can get away with anything here.”
   Well!  You could have knocked us over with a duster full of feathers!  There Al stood, looking just as much like a boy as ever, saying she was a girl as though we’d known all along.  We were too stunned to move.  After that, I think most stayed out of curiosity about this girl who dressed and acted like a boy, and could throw bullies out without breaking a sweat.  I’m not saying many of us did much learning.  But I’ll tell you, no one ever tried to make Al leave.

  

So that’s how Big Al came to Skunk Corners and how she became our Teacher.  I guess maybe Tom would like to know more about why she came and all that, but she’s never said, except that bit the first day.  Al’s private, and I guess Mr. Tom’s the only one could ask her about it and not end up in the creek, unless maybe Tess could.  I’m not asking.  I’ve no hankering for a swim this early in the spring.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

N is for Ninja Librarian--and National Library Week!

 


Bonus fiction today--more from the Ninja Librarian himself to celebrate National Library Week.

Notorious Nate Nevada meets the Ninja Librarian


Most people who have read Miss Alice’s book assume that she has recounted the whole of my exploits in our town.  That could not be farther from the truth, for indeed, even to tell all she knows would fill several books.  Nor have I shared with Alice every minor disruption I have dealt with.
Consider, for example, one quiet day in November.  Alice was in school with her pupils when the notorious Nate Nevada rode into town and straight up to the library.  I suppose he had heard how I had managed Jake and Harry, not to mention all those rowdies from Two-Bit and Endoline who tried to disrupt our Fourth of July party.  Perhaps, in the local parlance, he “figgered he would show me a thing or two.”

As has so often been the case in such circumstances, it was my pleasure to improve Mr. Nevada’s education instead.

The gentleman in question—you understand that I use the term in the loosest possible sense—entered the library with a swagger, slamming open the door so that it struck the wall.  A couple of poorly balanced books teetered on the edge of a nearby shelf, and one fell, landing, to my distress, in the sort of crumpled heap which is so very hard on bindings.

I looked up from my desk and studied the newcomer.  As always in such cases, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and a civil greeting.  That does so infuriate the toughs.

Please refrain from mentioning that last to Alice, as she would be only too delighted to find I do at times provoke intruders deliberately and with malice.  I believe she already suspects me of enjoying the exercise perhaps more than is strictly polite.

In any case, my greeting, however genteel, served only to escalate the situation.  Slamming the door shut once more, so that the second book teetered and fell, he stepped forward and said—well, on second thoughts, perhaps it is best if I merely note that words were exchanged.

During this exchange, Nate strode to the center of the room and pulled off his riding gloves one finger at a time.  Watching him, I let my hand drift to the black silk in my breast pocket, but if he had heard of my penchant for wearing the mask, he did not react.  Perhaps he assumed the tales were exaggerated.  Perhaps he was merely too absorbed with himself to notice the subtle warning.
Tiring of our badinage, I took up once again the book I had been perusing when he entered.  For all my apparent unconcern, however, when the rough fellow laid a hand on the bookshelf housing the children’s books, I knew at once, and rose.

“I strongly recommend that you reconsider your intended actions, Mr. Nevada.”

In response, he swept a shelf full of books to the floor and leered at me with his black and broken teeth all showing.

“I does what I wants, and if any fool tries to stop me, I might just kill him with my bare hands.”  He flexed his big fists.

To speak truth, that wasn’t the whole of his utterances, but it was the only part which I might comfortably repeat to you.  And it was enough to make me act.

I believe he expected a great deal more talk, for he was unprepared for me, and I swept the floor with the Notorious Nate Nevada, and had the books repaired and reshelved before school let out.  Nevada left town slung over the back of his horse, to be taken wherever the horse believed his home to be.  I folded my mask and stowed it neatly in my pocket once more, and resumed my interrupted reading.

Friday, April 12, 2013

K: Kicked Out of the Library



It's Flash Fiction Friday, and time for another bit from Skunk Corners.  Today we hear from two of the more colorful residents about their view of the day the Librarian came to town.




 

 

Kicked in the Dust: Crazy Jake and Wild Harry's Story.


T’other day, me and Crazy Jake Jenkins was complainin bout how everyone talks about the Ninja Librarian and the way he took care of us when he came to town.  We don’t think it’s just fair.  I s’pose Teacher got tire dof hearing us, cause she said if we didn’t like her version, we had ought to tell how we saw it, so here we are.  I wanted her to write it so’s it would sound smart, but she says we gotta do it our ownselves.

I’m Wild Harry Colson, and me an Jake been hanging around together since we was little, dodging school masters and keeping them librarians in their place.  Nowadays, we’re both havin a little trouble recommembering how come we hated librarians so much.  Miss Tess says it was on account a bein ashamed we didn’t know nuthin.  I dunno.  We thought book learnin’ was fer sissies, but I reckon we’ve learned better since.  Though Big Al read this and says it don’t look like we’ve learned much, but that’s just her way.

Anyway, our Librarian ain’t no sissy.  We learned that, sure enough.

Way it happened is this.  We was out squirrel huntin when the train come in, so me n Jake didn’t see the feller.  We heared when we come in to Two Timin’ Tess’s Tavern that first evening, an everyone was talkin about the poor old white-haired fellow, and laughing a bit about how he’d never last a day.  And they was lookin at us, cause we always take care of the librarians.

So we figured when the book-place opened next day, if he had nerve enough to open it, we’d just go in and beat the guy up a bit and stick him on the next train outta town.  Just like always.  The kids and the ladies, they come up with fancy plans, and new ones every time, but me and Jake, we stick with what works.

‘Cept it didn't. 

It should have. Maybe we weren’t too early in town next morning, an the library was already open when we rode in, but that didn’t matter.  Lots of folk was outside watching, and them ladies was carrying in their nasty little hot dishes, and maybe haulin off a book or two just to get his goat, account of they sure wasn’t reading em.  Cept maybe one or two had a sneaky look, like they was maybe planning to do jest that, but didn’t want nobody to know.

Them kids were all over, some in, some out, and all watching out for someone.  Turned out it was Tommy, my no account little brother.  They wouldn’t none of em tell what he was up to, but it made for a lot of giggles.  Only that little freckle-nosed Peggy Rossiter, she watched a bit, but when she saw Tommy and Hank comin, she sloped off somewhere.  That’s one smart girl.  Too smart for Skunk Corners, I reckon.

We went on in, and slouched around the room some, tryin to catch that there librarian’s eye and get him to talk to us.  He just plumb didn’t seem interested, which was making me mad.  We had to have some excuse, you see.  Even us, even then, we wouldn’t just jump him without words.  You had to have words with someone before you did something like that.  I ain’t sure why, but them’s the rules and we stick to em.

Finally, I jest let fly with a gob of tobacco spit right in front of his desk.  That got his attention, you bet.  He said something to me that I couldn’t make out nohow—I keep forgetting to ask what he said, too, so I still don’t know.  A bunch of ten-dollar words.  I figgered that for an insult, one way or another, and told him as how he couldn’t talk to me that way.  Fer some reason, that made him smile, which made me meaner.

I’m not right sure what happened after that.  Big Al says the boys let loose a skunk, and the librarian kicked it out, and knocked me and Jake out, just one punch fer each of us, and pitched me out the window.  That part must’ve been right, because I came to in the dust, with a head like you wouldn’t believe, and when I crawled around front I found Jake laid out neat and pretty at the bottom of the steps.  And the whole place smelled of skunk.  So’d most of the townsfolk, turned out.

Now, since you can see that I can read and write now, and Jake too even though he made me write this, you might think we must’ve been converted by that kick into the dust.  I dunno.  Maybe we were.  Jake says it sure made him stop and think, that a fellow could be a librarian and still pack a punch that could put both of us out at once.  Like maybe just because we learned a few things we wouldn’t have to stop fighting.

It wasn’t that simple, though.  Some of it was Big Al, and some was Tommy, making fun of us for not being able to read, once that librarian had made him admit he could.  And some was Ma kicking me out and saying I had to find a job or my own place or somethin, cause she was finished  with me. 

Felt like one long series of kicks, until I started stealing primers and learnin’ to string letters together.  Now Tess says I’m makin’ somethin’ of myself, and Tom—that there Ninja Librarian—he just smiles.  And Al says to shut up and get to work.

And that story about us killin librarians, what Big Al tells right at the front of her book?  We never.  I made all that up to get a rise out of Al, account of her wantin to teach folks to read.  But it was a lie, and worst we ever gave anyone was a broken snoot.  I swear.






Friday, March 29, 2013

Flash Fiction--Tess's Tale

This week's flash fiction challenge from Chuck Wendig required me to chose five out of ten random words he'd posted, and use them as elements in a story.  I chose library, storm, envelope, chisel, and undertaker, and it seemed obvious this was a tale from Skunk Corners.  And I decided it was time someone besides Al and the Librarian got a word in edgewise.  So here it is:

Tess's Tale

Everyone knows Big Al, the chief storyteller of Skunk Corners.  And Tom himself has had a thing or two to say from time to time, but in my opinion the time has come for some of us common folk of Skunk Corners to have a turn.  So, Tess Noreen here, of Two-Timin' Tess's Tavern, to tell you how it was the day Ninja Tom came to Skunk Corners.  I'll tell you the parts that neither Al nor Tom can or will tell you.

Although we’d been mostly without a functional librarian to my recollection, the library itself was not new when Tom arrived.  Some folks came along, oh, about 30 years ago, and piled up those bricks.  But a library is nothing without a librarian, and we just couldn't seem to find one who could hold his own, by which I mean survive a week.  When the really rough element took over the town, the undertaker took to offering a special to the librarians right when they got off the train--buy your coffin now, and get it half price, rather than paying full price in a few days.  Word about Skunk Corners must've gotten around, because quite a few of those fellows bought.

Well, when our Tom got off the train, the undertaker was off somewhere, so he didn't get the chance to make his offer.  Probably that was just as well, as I’m not sure how Tom would have taken that.  But he had left an envelope with the Mayor, just in case a new librarian came to town while he was away, so as not to lose the chance of a sale.  He was all salesman, that long black clothespin.

Well, even Mr. Mayor Burton had more sense than to deliver that envelope to our strange new Librarian, but it still managed to cause a bit of trouble.  I don't think Al mentioned the big wind storm that tried to blow the town away a day or so after Ninja Tom moved in.  Al's attention was a bit distracted by other developments, and lousy weather’s not so uncommon in Skunk Corners.  Though the wind does keep the scent of skunk down.  But that storm blew a few things out of their rightful homes.  I had to send Johnny to chase our chimney topper into the woods, and when Mayor Burton went to return the envelope to the Undertaker, it blew right out of his hand.  He was too dignified to chase it into the woods--Burton was always good at being dignified, even if he wasn't good at much else.  He just let it go.

And two days later, up shows this old gummer from a farmstead way the heck back in the woods, clutching a muddy envelope and asking for the Undertaker.  Well, looked to Johnny and me like he maybe could use one any minute now, so Johnny, he stepped out from behind the bar and pointed the guy in the right direction.  The Undertaker was out back of Johnson's Mercantile, busy with axe, adze and chisel turning some slabs of fallen tree into headboards for grave sites.  We believe in rough and ready around here, nothing fancy and if the words he chiseled into your board wouldn't last more'n about 20 years, neither would any memory of you, most likely.  Nor are you likely to mind those words being forgotten sooner.

I was watching out the window when the old fellow met up with the Undertaker, and maybe I couldn't hear them with the window shut, but any fool could see that an argument was under way.  The old guy waved the envelope around, no doubt insisting on being given the deal promised therein, and our Undertaker was shaking his head and pointing.  Clear as day I could see that he was saying that offer hadn't been meant for him, but for the Librarian.  The argument went back and forth a fair while, getting louder and louder, so that before they were done I could have followed the whole thing even with the window closed--which by that time I must confess it wasn't.

At the time I couldn't figure why the man was so determined not to give the deal.  For now, it was enough that the Undertaker--he never was one of us, and we never even knew his name, as he considered himself too good to come into the Tavern--grew angry enough to catch up his chisel and wave it threateningly at the poor old fellow.

That was when I got my compensation for missing Tom's opening day at the library (though I'd heard plenty about it later, in the Tavern, from those few people who were free enough of the odor of skunk to be admitted).

Because that dignified white-haired librarian chap they'd sent us from goodness knows where came strolling around the corner, saw the threat to the old and helpless, and took care of it.  A few well-placed blows and one kick, which didn't even dislodge the hat from the Librarian's head, and the Undertaker was out cold.  When word got out that he only offered his special deals to folks he expected to be alive, but beaten up and on the next train out of town, local opinion decided that the Undertaker didn't belong in Skunk Corners.  We’re a sometimes low-down lot, but that’s just cheating and we won’t have it.

We're funny that way.  Go ahead and drink, fight, and even steal outright sometimes, but start trying to cheat us, and we get right peevish.

That long black clothespin was on the evening train, still out cold.  And the old fellow walked back out of town with no promise of a casket and grave, but the richer by a right fine chisel and adze. 

I'd no doubt he could make his own.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Editing: the next step

So last week I was chugging away at editing Murder in the PTA, and feeling a little sluggish about managing to get through only 20 pages a day.

Turns out that was the fast and easy part.

See, what I was doing last week was working with a print-out of the MS, fussing with words and sentences, but when it came to things that needed big changes or completely rewriting, I would scrawl "fix this!" or "needs rewriting," or my favorite, "UGH!" in the margin and move on.

Now it's payback time.  Sitting in front of the computer, typing in those changes, I'll cruise along pretty well for a page or two (though even when doing simple changes, I read the whole thing as I go to see if anything else wants tweaking, so it's not all that fast).  Then I hit one of those evil marginal notes.  "Fix this?  How?  What the heck am I supposed to do about it?  And how DO I make this plausible?  Can I cut it entirely?" I grind to a halt.  Stare at the screen.  Shuffle through my pages and pages of notes about what needs modifying.  Ask myself again why I even wanted to try to beat this thing into a readable book (the answer, for those who care, is that I love the characters and their home on Pissmawallops Island).

Then I start typing.  And I realize that however hard it is, this is the part of editing that returns me to creativity.

I also realize that sometimes editing 5 pages a day is good progress.

So now I'm going to go all philosophical on you about writing and editing.  We writer-types get a lot of positive feedback from writing rough drafts.  You sit down, take up pen or keyboard (yeah, still undecided about that), and let the words flow. Out come 1000 words, 1500, and you get a cookie for being a good little writer.

Editing is completely different.  Sometimes the greatest progress is represented by the fewest pages completed.  I may hit a chapter that's pretty good as is and I can zip through it, change a word here and a sentence there, and think I'm really cruising.  But I haven't actually done much.  It's when I hit the rough patches, the "fix this!!!" parts, that I have to really write.

Here's the philosophical part.  I used to be a trail-runner (long story about why I don't get to do that any more, never mind).  When running trails, particularly in hilly country, the first thing you have to do is dump your idea of what your pace is.  Yeah, sure, I'm an 8-minute mile runner.  On the flat.  But when grinding up a steep, rough trail, the pace drops.  Twelve-minute, 15-minute miles. . . it's good.  A completely respectable pace, because you're climbing like crazy and gravity is a very powerful force determined to keep you at the bottom of the hill.  So you change your mindset.  You put yourself in a place where a completely different definition of speed holds sway.  Heck, it's a completely different definition of running.  One that says that as long as you are moving forward at all, up that giant, rock-strewn mountain, you're fantastic.

That's what real revision is.  A place where maybe you take all day to make two or three pages work right.  And you are happy, because it took you only one day to turn two or three pages of dreck into sparkling, witty prose (or just readable prose.  Sometimes the goal has to be truly modest.  It can learn to sparkle on another day).  And you stand on your little pile of two or three pages, and you are the winner of the New York Marathon.

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For those who are wondering, I'm past that stage with Return to Skunk Corners, and hoping soon to get it back from my editors (you reading this, Lisa & Emily?) and put on the final polish.  Hope to have a cover to reveal soon, too!  Meanwhile. . . having fun with a little murder and mayhem, and starting a new kids' book to keep me out of trouble.


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On another note--jump over to author S. W. Lothian's gorgeous web site to get all the details on the 14-book Middle Grade sampler, Love Middle Grade, Actually, free on Amazon from Feb. 7-11.  Read it and enter to win a Kindle, gift cars, and ebooks!