Tumbleweed Skies: If you ever wondered...

Copy of a letter to a classroom of students, whose letters made my day last spring!

(Condensed from the original)

What an awesome surprise it was to find your letters waiting in my mailbox today!  Ever so much better than bills and sales flyers, which (sadly enough) make up most of the mail I receive.  I read each of your letters carefully, and with great delight.  Thank you all for the compliments and kind words – they meant more to me than you can imagine!

I hope you won’t mind that I am writing one letter in response to all of you.  I would love to write to each of you individually, but I'm afraid I'm not very fast at letter-writing, and I don’t want you to have to wait that long for an answer.  You might all be finished high school by the time you hear from me!  So, I’ve decided to answer all of your questions and discuss the things that interested you here in one long letter.  But I am also sending signed postcards for each of you, which I hope you’ll like.

I’m thrilled that you enjoyed reading Tumbleweed Skies.  It was my first book for your age group and I loved writing it.   

Some of you wrote about your personal responses and thoughts on the book, which I appreciated very much.  It means a lot to know that you made emotional connections with Ellie and her experiences the summer she spent at Grandma’s house.  Some of you have had your own struggles, like illness or family problems.  We all face difficult things at some time, and I would like you to remember that there are two valuable and important things you can find inside yourselves when you are going through hard times.  Those things are hope and courage.  Keep going because change could be just ahead.

A lot of you wondered if there was going to be a sequel and a few of you even offered suggestions of things you would like to see happen in it.  (Thanks!)  Although I haven’t made any specific plans to write a sequel, I'm open to the idea if the right story should present itself to me.  For that reason, I can’t say for certain, one way or the other, if there may be a sequel someday. 

However, if you enjoyed Tumbleweed Skies, you may also like The Glory Wind.  The narrator of that story is a boy named Luke, and it also takes place on the prairies, in a similar time in history.

Now on to your questions.

What inspired me to write this story?  That’s hard to answer.  It began with an idea – and just grew on its own.  I guess you could say that it came to me out of thin air – it’s not based on anything real.

Marcy.  Many of you had strong feelings about Marcy.  I don’t blame you – she was bossy and annoying a lot of the time.  Did you wonder at all what made her that way?  I think there are clues in the story to help you see why Marcy behaved as she did.  Anyway, she wasn’t a very charming young lady, was she?  The way Marcy wanted things her way every time made her a bully, I would say.  But did you notice that she brought out some good things in Grandma and Ellie?  Grandma took Ellie’s side over the truck incident, and Ellie discovered how important Uncle Roger was to her when Marcy insulted him.

A few of you were disappointed that the truck didn’t run over Marcy.  You must have really disliked her a lot!  Did you wonder how the story would be different if that had happened?   I think our feelings toward Marcy may have changed from dislike to pity – and also, the scene that happened later would never have taken place.  No – I think it was best for Marcy to stick around.  Hopefully, as she grows up, she’ll discover that acting the way she does makes her hard to like, and she’ll learn to be nicer to others.

Why was Grandma so mean to Ellie?  Grandma was carrying around a lot of hurt, which came out as anger.  Anger is very often caused by hurt, and Grandma is one of those people who finds it very hard to let go.  Even so, there are signs that Grandma is beginning to soften up a little, and I think, by the end of the story, we can see that there is some real hope for this family to heal from the past and love each other.

What happened to Sammy the magpie?  Sammy flew away – healed and free.  Did you see anything similar in the situations Sammy and Ellie were in?

And a few questions that weren’t related to the story, but which I'm happy to answer:

Do I like math?  I like some kinds of math – it’s very useful when you’re shopping and you want to figure out which purchases are best, or when you’re planning to make something and you have to find out how  much material to buy and all kinds of other uses.  So, I would say that I like practical math just fine, but some of the more complicated kinds of math are difficult for me and I had to study very hard to learn them when I was in school.  Luckily, if you don’t give up, you can usually understand it at some point. 

Thank you once again for your wonderful letters!  I want to encourage all of you to keep reading – it’s more important than you might realize at this time in your lives.  And those of you who are interested in writing – good luck to you – I will hope to read one of your books someday!

Lastly, I want to thank your teacher for her commitment.  I can see that you all really matter to her, and I hope you know how blessed you are to have a teacher like that.

I send my very best wishes to each and every one of you! 

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!

An interview with Oscar and I can be viewed here, as he talks about his earlier adventures in There's a COW Under My Bed!:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_hGC2R5EZ4

Oscar and I hope you'll enjoy it.

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.
 
If you'd like to hear a short interview with Oscar and I, please visit our Youtube here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U_hGC2R5EZ4

We had a lot of fun doing this (and thanks to David for putting it all together!) and hope you'll enjoy watching it.  You might need to turn up the volume on your computer.

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.

Stuffy's Terrible Ordeal

Many years have passed since a desperado committed the egregious act I'm about to share. It's taken me this long to be ready to talk about what happened back then. All I can do to prepare you is to say that what follows is the tale of what may well be the most egregious -- wait, I already used that word -- let's try fiendish -- smiley-napping in the history of stuffed toy abductions.

To the world, he was just another yellow thing full of beanies. To me, he was Stuffy, and he'd been a family member ever since ... I got him. No, I don't know the exact date, or even year, it's a stuffed smiley thing for goodness' sakes. What am I, a kook? You think I should be holding birthday parties or something?

Anyway...

Stuffy lived, for some time, in my car. I'd tucked his little yellow behind in the junk-holder that sits at the head of the console, and there he sat, in relative safety (except for a few sharp turns) for a very long time.

Stuffy's presence in the car was a happy thing. Anytime I looked at him I had to smile. It was only polite since he was smiling at me. Truly, his cheery face was, well, cheering.

But then came the dreadful day when I suddenly realized Stuffy was no longer in his usual place. A quick search of the vehicle confirmed the worst. Stuffy was gone! He'd been snatched! Taken! And Liam Neeson was nowhere in sight.

I barely got my eight hours sleep in that night. (Oh, those days before insomnia -- but that's another, and in many ways sadder, story.) Struggling through the next day I thought of the poor little fellow every time I got into my car and he wasn't there. What could have happened to him??

I knew one thing for sure. He hadn't fallen out. Not unless gravity had taken a few minutes off. No, Stuffy had become a statistic, a victim of foul play. And yet, somehow, I just knew that, wherever he was, he was smiling bravely through his ordeal. That's the kind of guy Stuff is.

A day or two passed while all I could do was hope things were okay for the little guy--that whoever had taken him was treating him with kindness. I was reasonably certain he wasn't hungry or afraid--but that was just a hunch.

And then it came. The letter, cryptically penciled on a sheet of paper, along with a Polaroid snapshot, proof that the message was legit and Stuffy was indeed at the mercy of whomever had written it.

The photo made my blood run cold. There he was, poor innocent Stuffy captured in the cruel steel of a handcuff. I could easily tell he was completely and utterly unable to move.

At least he wasn't being starved. The abductor had provided Stuffy with a Ritz cracker, which, nutritional needs aside, I suppose was better than nothing. I convinced myself he'd been allowed to keep it even after the photo was taken. Which, I will point out, Stuffy smiled for as bravely as he'd ever smiled before.

The letter was written, I believe, in a deliberate attempt to throw me off track. Someone had taken care to make it look as though I was dealing with an elementary student, but I wasn't convinced. How many kids in those grades own their own handcuffs? Nope, I wasn't falling for it.

The message read: "IF U coPrate it'd be sum better fer yer frend IF U do what I tell U."

Sure I'd "coPrate" to get my "frend" back. But what did this nefarious napper want? There was no ransom demand, no directive to go somewhere specific and wait for instructions. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being toyed with for some crueler purpose.

Days passed. I fretted and waited, wondering if I'd ever see my beloved Stuffy again. Well, besides in the photo. I thought of all the things we'd done together that we may never get a chance to do again. To be honest, there weren't that many, but still... I knew if only I got another chance, I'd spend more time with him, treat him with greater consideration, smile back at him more often!

More days passed. Until, just as hope was fading; just as I'd begun to think I may never learn anything more of his fate, a second message came. And a second photo, even darker than the first.

So. There he was, in a compromising position with some floozy -- not that I believed for a minute he'd crawled under the covers with her on his own. Stuffy had always been a gentleman. Clearly, the dame had enticed him, drawn him in with wiles he'd never had to deal with before.

MY opinion of my 'frend' Stuffy was untarnished. But what of his reputation? The new message made it clear the heartless villain who'd framed him was only too capable of spreading this character-destroying story if these demands were not met.

All the while, I had my suspicions as to who had committed this dark deed. But I had no proof. Nothing I could take to the proper authorities.

I was between the proverbial rock and hard place. If I paid up, I'd be putting myself at the mercy of a blackmailer. If I refused to shell over the $$s, who knew?

As I struggled with this terrible dilemma, some smidgen of conscience must have been at play in the monster's cold heart. If that was true, I like to think Stuffy's trusting smile played a role. Or perhaps their nerve had begun to fail. All I know for certain is that, as suddenly as he'd disappeared, Stuffy was back. The nightmare had ended.

And yet we are left with so many questions, and so many terrifying thoughts of "what if?"

It may never be truly over. 

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.