Tumbleweed Skies

A motherless girl, a grandmother who cannot forgive, an injured magpie and a warm prairie summer ...

Tumbleweed Skies takes place in Saskatchewan during the 1950s.  Ellie Stewart, whose home is in Moose Jaw, finds herself having to spend the summer in the fictional town of Weybolt after her father is laid off from his regular job and is forced to take a temporary position as a travelling salesman.

From her first glimpse of the farm that will be her home for the next months, Ellie senses that she may not be particularly welcome.

"I could tell right away that this wasn't a house that wanted me."

The beautiful cover of this book is the artwork of illustrator David Jardine.  His portfolio can be seen at:

http://davidjardinemedia.blogspot.com

This is my first book for this age group, and it was thrilling to write from the perspective of a child this age.  I hope that readers will enjoy meeting Ellie.

- Valerie

There's a GOLDFISH In My Shoe!

What?  Is it really a whole year since the first picture book came out?

Apparently, yes.  And now the second one is in bookstores.

I like to believe that the story is fun, but it's the off-the-wall zaniness of the illustrations that I think will really appeal to children.  They are wild and crazy and quirky enough to delight kids and adults alike.

In his second adventure, Oscar Ollie Brown tries to figure out why it's not always a good idea to do exactly what his mother tells him to!

For example, when Oscar's mom tires of his endless chatter and tells him to hold his tongue ...

A tongue is rather hard to hold
But boys like me do what we're told
I used both hands and got it tight
And held my tongue with all my might.

Then, as I waited to be praised
My mother said, as though amazed,
"Now what on earth is this about?
Don't put your fingers in your mouth!"

You might think she'd make up her mind!
Not my mom, she's the changing kind!

Watcher

From the back cover:

Sixteen-year-old Porter Delancy believes he has his future figured out, but his nice, neat plans are shaken when a man he believes may be his father suddenly appears in his Toronto neighbourhood.  Porter knows he wants nothing to do with the deadbeat dad who abandoned him and his sister 12 years earlier, but curiosity causes him to re-examine the past.

Unfortunately, actual memories are scarce and confusing, and much of what he knows is based on things his mother has told him.  As Porter looks for answers, it begins to seem that all he's ever going to find are more questions.
__________________________________________

Watcher wasn't an easy book for me to write.  It deals with an issue that horrifies me, for many reasons - that being, Parental Alienation.

Parental Alienation is a form of abuse involving the destruction of a child's relationship with one parent, by the other.  It is, for the most part, an unpunished crime.

Those who pay the highest price are the victims: the children, who are often programmed to become innocent participants in the attack against a parent with whom they formerly enjoyed a loving relationship.  Their real memories are replaced with stories of abuse and abandonment.

Parental Alienation is a hate crime - a crime of lies and manipulation.

Our courts have been slow to recognize and act to protect the children of divorce who are affected by PA.

We pray for justice to prevail through truth and love.

My First Picture Book

What do children think when they hear an adult tell them they have a cowlick in their hair, or other, similar expressions? In the opening stanzas of my first picture book, There's a COW Under My Bed! we meet a boy who explores this confusing world of invisible creatures:

My name is Oscar Ollie Brown
And there are things that make me frown
That irk, annoy, and puzzle me
Because - they're things I cannot see!

The first one is especially strange
For cows live on a farm, or range
And yet each night when I'm in bed
One sneaks in here and licks my head!

The idea for this story came some years ago, and, while I wrote the original version then, it was a long time before I polished it and sent it to Tuckamore books, along with some sample illustrations by David Jardine.

Sending artwork isn't generally recommended when submitting picture book stories, but it was the right fit in this case. In the fall of 2007, the publisher offered contracts to both David and I and a little over a month ago There's a COW Under My Bed! hit the bookstores.

I love David's richly coloured, zany illustrations, which can still make me laugh out loud.

Now, we're looking forward to next fall when Oscar will meet new challenges in his second book, titled, There's a Goldfish in my Shoe!

A Different Kind of Reluctant Reader

Yup, I admit it. I'm a lousy blogger. (Is there a support group out there?)

So, it's been more than a year since I've been here. In that time I've had one (that's right - one) person comment that she'd read my blog and it was all about cats. For some reason, she sounded unimpressed.

I keep hearing about how I'm supposed to use this golden opportunity to promote my books. Maybe I should give it a shot.

I suppose I could mention that a new Shelby mystery hits the shelves this month. Searching for Yesterday - book 6 in the series. I haven't seen it yet but it should be arriving soon. I actually thought it would be here last week but no such luck. Good luck, as it turns out, for my dad, who actually groaned out loud a couple of weeks back when I told him I'd have a new Shelby for him soon.

Out loud! With me standing right there. "You don't have to read it," I said. I smiled to show him I meant it.

"That's the problem," he sighed. "I have to read it."

I can't persuade him that it's not necessary. I know these are books for teens and even if they weren't they're not the genre he'd normally read. It would be all right if he skipped some of them. But in his mind duty demands that he supports me by reading every book I write.

It's amusing to see the doomed-man look on his face when I pass him a new volume.

The feedback wouldn't inspire a novice to a career in writing either. I've lost track of how many times he's patiently explained that my work is "kind of juvenile."

That's the point isn't it - when you write for teens? I tell him so. He says he knows but I can tell he's not getting it. : )

But then, sometimes he calls me and says something quite different. Like when he read Speechless, and commented, "This book should be in every school in the country." It doesn't take a genius to translate that. He liked it.

And even when he doesn't ... even when he groans and proclaims something 'juvenile' he keeps on reading them. One sentence at a time, if you'll pardon the pun.

And that's something. It's more than something.

Cat Scratch Fever!

Yes, I said cat scratch fever. It's the only explanation I can think of to account for the decision we've made.

That being - to keep all of the cats. Yes, Mom Lily, and all four of her babies.

"We'll be known as the crazy cat people,"I told Brent.

"So?" he said, shrugging.

We'd gone over and over the subject. At any given moment you could find us firmly determined to keep one, two, four, none ... it had gone back and forth and around and around. In the end, it was Thragg who decided things for us.

Thragg is the firstborn, a black male with a tiny white tuft at his throat and a single white hair protruding from the middle of his back. He'd also become the runt of the litter after growing at a normal rate for the first five weeks. As he fell behind, the others tended to crowd him out -- he clearly wasn't getting his share of milk, and then Mommy decided that it was time to begin weaning.

To top that off, Thragg took sick, not once but a couple of times. By week six and in spite of our interventions, he was thin and fragile, while the others bounded about, their chubby bodies landing on him as they played. He headed for cover, seeking us out, wanting to be held and protected. And all the while, he got thinner and thinner. His eyes lost expression, his walk became a listless stagger.

It was quite apparent to us that we were losing the little guy. A milk substitute, complete with a pet nurser didn't tempt him. Private sessions we'd been orchestrating with Mommy were no longer working -- she refused to oblige. For several days we rose each morning suffused in dread. Each time, he made his way weakly along and sat at our feet in the most pathetic manner.

As our worry grew, we decided to take him to the local SPCA (from whence Lily had come) for a prognosis. Dreading the worst, Brent could hardly believe his ears when Cindy checked him over and declared, "Nothing wrong with this kitten! He's just a runt." She offered instructions on making gruel for him and showed us how to use the pet nurser more effectively.

It was a turning point. He began to pick up right away, and now, as he nears eight weeks, the tiny creature is rounding out and making gains steadily. Still less than half the size of two of his siblings (as you can see in the photo) the spark is back in his eyes and he's even engaging in a little play.

You'd almost think this would be reason to keep him - maybe only him - but not the others. You'd be wrong. Believing we were losing Thragg showed us how precious each of these tiny creatures really are to us. We love each and every one of them.

And this is why they're staying.

That, and cat scratch fever.

Miss Lily Takes Over

Well, it's official. The cat stays.

I guess I knew, probably from the first second I picked her up and she rubbed her face against my cheek, that this wasn't going to be a short-term "foster care" deal. She was already sizing me up, figuring out my weaknesses, measuring my resolve... No wonder her little cat smile was so serene.

The big question that still remains is: what about the kittens. Brent (who is entirely smitten with Miss Lily) made a crack last week about keeping all of them. At least, I think it was a crack. There was a kind of weak laugh that went along with it but now that I think back, he couldn't quite meet my eye.

The babies, by the way, are hidden away at the moment. When they were two days old, I discovered that one of them was missing from the box we'd lined with blankets for the newborns and Mom. Searching frantically, I was relieved to be guided by its pathetic mewing and finally found it in a large drawer in the centre of our couch.

I took the poor thing back to Lily and gave her a stern talking-to about keeping the babies together etc. Half an hour later, she'd transferred a second kitten there. Another rescue, another lecture.

Brent took time out from his amusement to suggest that she might know what she was about and maybe I should let her do as she liked. So, I lined the drawer with a soft towel and backed off.

In short order, she'd moved her little brood to the drawer, where they remain in spite of the fact that their incredibly rapid growth has resulted in rather cramped living quarters. We are now allowed to see them and even touch them, but I've learned to leave the living arrangements up to Lily, and have not attempted to move them again. We have, however, created no less than four alternate places for them, for when she decides it's time.

As cute as the kittens are, and as likely as it is that they won't all be leaving here for new homes, it's really Lily who's won our hearts. Both affectionate and peculiar, she fits right in.

One of the odd things about her! I first noticed that she was, uh, not exactly sure-footed, the first time she stumbled all over my desk. Further evidence that she lacks the usual grace and balance found in cats has presented itself to us on a daily basis. She trips and slips and has even bonked her head on furniture.

But her lack of agility is only the beginning. However, I shall save more for another day. Perhaps with a picture of her with her babies.

For now, I have to go. There's a cat on my keyboard.