Poking Around the Self-Publishing World

While my manuscript is cooling in the slush pile of the latest e-publisher – I'm poking around the world of self-publishing, wondering if 'Going Kindle' would be a good idea.

(Sorry, Caribou Barbie's book came out and I can't help taking a poke at her. I haven't taken a poke at any of my favorite political figures lately – too busy with farm life, for one thing, and unable to say anything sufficiently scathing witty is another.)

Would Kindle-izing my novel be of any help to me at all? Or would it just become another time suck? Even at $1.99 a pop – it would be a paying time suck. I could go the Create Space – POD, I'd be hooked into Amazon and so forth.

There is the major disadvantage of the 'self-publishing stigma' even today it's a red flag against being picked up by a 'real' publishing company.

So I'm looking and wondering if I should take that plunge – or not.

Meanwhile – my WIP is 46k. I didn't not try NANOwrimo this year.

Thanksgiving Blog

Odd, how we have set aside one day to be Thankful in a country where most people have an over-active feeling of entitlement. Americans are nuts, aren't we?

Life has it's ups and downs, and it also tends to throw you some curves.This year has had a few - but only a few. I have a lot to be grateful for, as usual, people, places and things - stuff that I have no control over, but that works out in spite of me. 

I saw that, you flinched - getting ready for a sappy list eh? Relax, it's not that kind of post.

As someone who usually ends up working weekends and holidays - I'm actually home for a change. Losing my job has proved to be more of a blessing than a curse. So I'm here, getting ready for the big dinner, and taking a minute or two to blog.

Martha Stewart isn't coming to our house this year, so I'm not going to kill myself getting ready. There is such a thing as 'enough' which is a hell of a lot easier to achieve than 'perfection.' If I could find that Martha Stewart email, I would post it here. It always makes me laugh.

Because I have the opportunity, I'm going to truly ROAST the turkey - on the grill. That's my 'Experiment' in cooking for the year. Yeah, it will have a pan, with a lid and all that. But I'm going to need my counter space, so the oven is going to be used for other things.

This should be interesting.

Wish me luck. I may need it.

Happy Thanksgiving! From Jordan's Croft.

Hollowing out the Middle – a book review

The entire country is becoming more and more polarized to the seacoasts and the big cities. This is not the figment of our collective imagination. "Hollowing out the Middle" is a book that explores the plight of the small towns in America's Heartland.

Written by Patrick J. Carr and Maria J. Kefalas, "Hollowing out the Middle" discusses a phenomenon called 'Rural Brain Drain' where the Achievers, the best and brightest of a given class, are groomed by their teachers to leave home, never to return. The others are Stayers and Seekers. Stayers are mostly ignored, though the future of the small town actually rests with them. The Seekers are self-motivated to flee the crushing grip of small town sameness, many of them join the Military. (There is a class of 'Returners', but most of them are Achievers who don't make it in the big world.)

What I liked about this book is their honest assessment that this sorting process plays out in high school. That validation should make many of us sigh with relief. We weren't hallucinating, high school WAS rigged! The whole community operates in the favor of the 'Achiever' class, grooming them to leave home. As these people do leave and never return, they take all those resources with them, weakening the community left behind.

For a town like Ashtabula the result is clear – the Achievers leave – the Stayers stay – completely unprepared to handle the problems of their home town. So things get worse because the people who stay behind are brainwashed into believing 'they will never amount to anything.' They are not educated to take on the roles most needed in their communities. There are no 'Stayer' doctors, lawyers, dentists, engineers or politicians. The Stayer students are left to rot – the compost heap that provides the next generation of High School students.

I wish this book would be useful to solve the problems of Ashtabula. It may not be possible for that beleaguered city to turn around. Main Street is a ghost town, with weeds growing in the cracks of the road. Like the rest of the country – the Brain Drain coupled with the weak economy has put many a small town or city on death row.

It appears that Ashtabula did one thing right – they rebuilt the school system. It was an effort to attract a big manufacturing plant that would put the unskilled Stayers to work. Unfortunately 'elephant hunting' as the authors call it, is not the answer.

Most towns and small cities are content with trying to attract the 'Returners,' those who miss their small town safety net. The real solution is twofold. First to encourage immigration – which means a small town would have to open itself up to strangers. Not likely to happen without a fight. The second is to cultivate what is already there – the Stayers are the town's most precious resource.

Even if the sorting process stopped tomorrow (not very likely since this has been going on for 20 years) there is little left of the middle class anywhere in rural America, let alone in Ashtabula. The poor (for the most part single mothers and their children) are well and truly damned by the dysfunctional system that offers no hope from cradle to grave.

This means, EVERY town needs implement alternative education in order to survive and thrive. Get the people who missed out on education the first time an opportunity to upgrade their education to a skilled trade. That means GEDs for the dropouts and then true education can take place. Not a second sorting meant to send others off into the world, a chance for people to become who the town needs them to be – the parents of the next generation AND the leaders and developers of the local economy.

Education is the answer – though Schools are the source of the problem.

Ironic, isn't it?   

New Digital Publishing Company

I submitted my manuscript to a new digital publishing company: Carina Press. They are an imprint with Harlequin as the parent company. They are looking for Romances that don't fit into the standard categories.

This is the link: Carina Press

Since they are only a week or so old - I thought that this would be a good time to submit to them. Thanks to the folks at Forward Motion for the link.Carina is 100% digital, publishes no paper copies, pays no advances - the advantage of writing for them is that they are connected with Harlequin - who does pay very nice advances. It's the old 'foot in the door' idea. Once published, the second book is easier to sell.

I've worried since I haven't heard back from the other publishing company. I even sent them a follow up note. However, I can see from their facebook page that they are busy with other projects. We all know that 'no news' is a rejection. After 5 months - I figure I've been rejected.

I've also been listening to podcasts from Litopia.com, this website has it's base in England, though they make it sound like the business is so small that they are covering American Markets just as well. Maybe it is that small. I know that I find it both interesting and dismaying to listen to what they say.

I've got to go - phone is ringing.

Scary Things in the World

Am I the only person who finds certain uber conservatives terrifying? Like zombies, they are trying to eat everyone's brains and they just won't die.

'They' were in office for 8 years, made themselves exempt from all the 'rules' of a civilizied nation by torturing hundreds, if not thousands, of human beings. The worst of the bunch have not slunk off to hide. When I see the sneering face of that trigger happy nut case Chaney, I want to scream. He needs to go up on charges for war crimes. He belongs in some big nasty prison with Bubba, Jose and Big Daddy – if you know what I mean. He should find out what water-boarding really feels like.

Rush Limbaugh is the scariest of the bunch. I mean it, wasn't he arrested for buying drugs over the internet and doctor shopping? Then he's touted as the head of the Republican Party. (Wrong orifice if you ask me.) But real people in Congress and the Senate appear to be taking orders from this creep. Why is anybody listening to this idiot? He's just another drug addict. He should have gone to jail. At the very least he should drop into satellite radio obscurity like the greasy guy who did all the strippers in NYC, then dropped from the ceiling on an awards show as 'Fart Man.'

Fox News is another thing that scares me. They are the evil right-wing extremist propaganda machine. How do those talking heads sleep at night? We all know that it sucks to be a wage slave. Thank God I'm not one of them. I wouldn't be able to look in the mirror.

This is the big night, Halloween – when the dead are supposed to walk the earth. Maybe some restless spirits should visit Chaney and Limbaugh, a private 'Nightmare on Elm Street.' That would even up the scales a bit.

With that happy thought, I shall sign off.

Happy Halloween – or Samhain if you prefer.

It's a Guy Thing

This is the link to a weird little video of a guy 'running the Dragon' on a kid's HotWheel Tricycle. It's the kind of thing that makes a woman shake her head and hope the duffus's mother never sees the video.

I think it is a good illustration that men don't think like women do. And that young men - well - they just don't think. All that testosterone and nothing better to do on a Saturday night.

Another way to run the Dragon

Healthcare – Now We’re Getting Somewhere

I've been silent on the issue of healthcare, though I've been listening avidly for signs of progress. We are finally seeing some forward motion. Even though the 'Party of No' is dragging their butts like a spoiled puppy, leashed for the first time.

I have only written one letter to my Senator, back when he insulted Judge Sotomayor during the confirmation hearings; I went from TV to PC and expressed my outrage at his rudeness. I also told him that healthcare needed to include a public option – God knows Kentucky needs one.

Half the people I know are going to the free clinic because they can't afford to pay $150 up front to a doctor. I couldn't afford that back in 1994 when I was working and had insurance. I went without healthcare for several years until I got deathly sick, a savvy friend took me to the mini-ER here in town. They fixed me up with prescriptions and I was back on my feet in 3 days.

I'm looking forward to the day when 'Medicare part E' covers people in itty bitty businesses. I think our economy will explode with one and two person businesses. I can't tell you how often I've heard "I'd quit this rotten job if I didn't need the health insurance. I could ____ full time and make more money than this."

That's my point for the day. If so many people weren't chained to their desks by health insurance there would be more small businesses, hundreds of thousands of small businesses. Even in God-forsaken places like Ashtabula (one of the most depressed places in America) every Italian restaurant would be able to offer health insurance. (Of course there they would have to find a doctor who wasn't chemically impaired, or incompetent. Who knows, if there were enough people complaining maybe the quacks would get run out on a rail. Tar and feathering would be more effective than suing the idiots.)

This president is pretty darn smart – the poor man is going gray already – he's had so much crap dumped on his head. But maybe, just maybe, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it's not the train.

Set back for Smudge and Patty

Smudge and Peppermint Patty

Sometimes with farm animals, it's one darn thing after another.

I had Patty settled with Smudge. The two of them in the flock with the rest of the poultry, everything appeared okay. But two days ago Smudge was attacked by something, perhaps an over-amorous drake, that laid her back open.

We treated the wound. (Vet's don't see chickens under any circumstances. Which pisses me off.) Put her and poor bewildered Patty in a nice, safe, clean cage. They are doing very well on a diet of chick starter, scratch and kitchen scraps.

One of the things that frustrates me about farm life is that animals seem to get stressed, then something worse happens to them. Stays tuned on this one. I'm looking into options for keeping Smudge and Patty safe. These plans include taking the drake in question to the flea market.

Duck Hatched Chick - Update

While we were off playing on the motorcycle the duck and chicken stayed in a pen by themselves. Monday while I was catching up on my barn work, I let them out. I could tell right away that things weren’t going well. Panda the duck was off with the other ducks, not paying any attention to the chick.

Since the yard was full of poultry I didn’t get excited about it, the barn cats have learned to stay away from little babies, because moms are quick to attack. After a couple of hours I could hear the chick peeping outside while Panda was in the barn eating. I went out, chased the little black chick into the mint patch. She came out with a name – Peppermint Patty.

Then I put Patty in with Panda and the others. She milled around, still peeping loudly. I debated if I should let her be, or chase her down to put her in the brooder. While I was working on the chores she seemed fine. So I let her be, wondering if she would attach herself to another bird, or stay with Panda.

By the time I put the horses to bed, there was no sign of Patty, but Panda was strutting around with the drakes. I got out the flashlight, looked in the usual bedding places, but couldn’t find her, and couldn’t hear her. I was afraid she’d gotten eaten by something.

This afternoon, the weather is raw and wet. I’m out with the dogs when I heard Patty peeping her loud distressed call again. Sure enough, she was following a disconcerted duck. I chased her around the pens, not able to catch her until she darted under Cookie the barn cat. Cookie looked embarrassed, her feline dignity compromised by this little scampering fluffy ball she couldn’t swat. I scooped the struggling Patty up, she was cold and shivering. Not a good thing for a two week old chick.

So Patty went into the brooder, under the big warm light bulb, while I finished letting the horses out. When I returned to the tack room, there was silence. Patty was under the light, quiet for the first time since she’d left the nest.

I checked her an hour later; she was making happy chicken noises, pecking away at the food.

I’m not a poultry expert. Therefore I’m calling off the experiment. I don’t think that Patty was happy as a duckling. She was constantly making unhappy peeping while she was with Panda. Now she’s warm and making happy chirps. That’s good enough for me.

Patty will stay in the brooder until she’s big enough to survive in the big pen, or until Smudge hatches her brood. Panda is not a good enough mother for this little bird.

10/07/09
Odd things happen - like Smudge's entire nest of eggs has vanished. They were all marked with green food coloring, which has made the mystery even wierder. However, setting 'new' eggs would mean Smudge spending another month with little food.

So, I've taken the opportunity to give Patty to Smudge. Yep, took the old eggs and slipped Patty under the clucking hen. This should work out for both of them. I noticed that Patty wasn't happy at first. She kicked up a fuss. I finally turned off the lights and stuffed Patty back under Smudge's wing. That shut her up.

Poor little chick is confused already.

The Dragon of Deal III

Pinstripe Day

We had breakfast at "Our Daily Bread" again. The place was packed with bikers, and of course, Carl. Talking to him is half the fun of breakfast. He's been to California, freely admits that he got homesick and came back 'home' after nearly 40 years of kicking around.

Robinsville is very small. It's built in a valley, surrounded by mountains. I'd guess the year-round population is under 20k.

This is not a good day to go riding; it is cold and overcast with occasional showers. So today we are back at Deal's Gap with the PT Cruiser. Dennis is going to pinstripe it. I was able to get the cash to do 2 colors. He is going to use blue and red on my silver Cruiser.

He asked me if I was going to let him go crazy. I asked what he was going to do, and he walked around the car saying 'I'm going to put something here, here, here and here.' I could only nod my head because I couldn't speak. My car is never going to be the same. This is going to be FUN! I'm so excited!

We've got the video camera and the digital, as well as this laptop, so I'm going to document the process. I'm having a hard time behaving. I want to follow him around like an overexcited Pomeranian puppy – yap, yap, yap, yap. Instead I walked to the restaurant where I'm going to stay for a few more minutes.

This is the finished flourish for the back of the PT Cruiser. As you can see it turned out very nice. There are more pictures, but I'll have to do a complete workup later.

I love this. He must have put 14 separate flourishes on the car.

Bob left to run the Dragon again.

This was supposed to be my day to shop for goodies. However, it doesn't get any better than these beautiful flourishes. Every time I look at the car I will remember where I got these.

The Dragon of Deal’s Gap II

Hubby was up by 4 am – damn the military!

I got up around 8 am. He has been gathering ideas – mounting the movie camera on the bike – and generally behaving like a hyperactive child on chocolate. The mountains are misty and it's COLD! I've got long johns and other cold weather gear. I'm cozy for the moment, the room is warm. I hear voices, better get a move on.

We went into Robinsville for breakfast. There is a little house tucked off the main road called "Our Daily Bread". They have wonderful breakfasts, good coffee and occasionally serve Squirrel Gravy. (No, we didn't taste it, though it was highly recommended.) We got to chat with Carl about local life.

Then it was back to the motel to suit up. The mist has burned off to a light haze and the roads are dry. Hubby's chomping at the bit to get going.

Our first destination is Fountana Dam – the second largest dam in the USA at 500 feet tall. We climbed to the top, its amazing. The water off the other side is a deep dark blue. There is a line where the water line has fallen, that looks 10 feet high. This is a TVA dam, one in a string of lakes that follow the mountain curves like dark blue/green jewels.

In places the juxtaposition of road and water make it look like the water is running uphill. The trees have yet to turn, so we don't have the glorious autumn painting the mountains. But the sky is that autumn shade of blue that backgrounds the green trees and the dappling of sunlight on leaf, trunk and road.

The air is still chilly so the heavy leathers I wear over turtle-neck and sweater are welcome. So are the long johns that I'm hiding under my jeans. We meander beside the river or lake depending on which side of the many dams we're on at the moment. Soaring up and down the dips and switchbacks that lead us back to the Dragon we duck in and out of shadows. We stop again for lunch at the Restaurant – Gas Station. This time I've got sense enough to say no to the Onion Rings that kept me up half the night. The pulled pork is fabulous again.

Okay, I lied about the onion rings – I finished off Hubby's. (Which is why I'm still up writing.)

I bought a dragon patch for my jacket, a stuffed toy for my sister and two stickers for the car. When I get the patch sewed on I discover that Dennis does pin-striping. I watch him paint for a while. He's good, the designs are 'old school' he says. I admire and start asking prices. Hubby's not interested, but I want to make my PT Cruiser look just a bit prettier. He says he'd love to get his hands on a PT Cruiser. We talk about colors. When the patch is finished Hubby and I depart, with a 'hmmm' in the back of my mind.

We suite up, ass-up and take off up the mountain into the maw of the Dragon. The M109 has a deep-throated growl that is far different that the whine of the sportbikes or the patented blasting rhythms of the Harleys. This huge machine has more to give than we care to take on this swelling series of swoops and dives that is the Dragon. He's careful on this ride, I don't have to tell him to slow down, so I can kick back and enjoy myself.

We recorded the day on Video – but it's a format that needs to be translated and edited before I can upload it anywhere. I briefly miss the Def Leopard sound track that I was listening to yesterday. Only briefly, this kind of driving doesn't need a soundtrack. The wind makes it's own music through the trees, the muted echo of motorcycle engines and car engines, the static noise of streams. The experience is richer than the most decidant cheesecake!

The air smells of Fall – chilly, with undertones of river, occasional snorts of diesal or bike exhaust. There is no scent of old fish or molding anything today, the air is scrubbed clean and waiting for lungs to breathe it. The mountains are breathtaking, the dappled road snakes before us. Occasionally some young buck passes us on a curve or a big pickup crosses the yellow line. There a plenty of young bloods wanting to break the speed record of the Dragon. (Nine minutes to travel 11 miles and 319 curves.)

We take a break at the lake side gas station. Nice folks here, too. Then we suit up for the return over the Dragon then onward back to the motel. It's been a great day. We're looking forward to Saturday since tomorrow is supposed to be cloudy. I get my email and fuss around d/ling video before I settle in for the night. Hubby crashes out, while I start typing all this up. Since the car is likely to get a custom pin-striping the laptop got the stickers, it looks nice.

I'm yawning – tomorrow is another day.

We

The Dragon of Deal’s Gap

Bikers dream of twisty roads that go for miles up and down mountains, like Highway 129 in Tennessee. It is known as the Tail of the Dragon – 319 curves in 11 miles. That’s right, 11 miles of twists, turns and a few switchbacks. Fate throws in the occasional Semi-truck just to get the old ticker running real fast.

It’s a blast in my PT Cruiser – I can’t wait to see how it feels on Hubby’s Bike.

Let me tell you what we’re up to this time. It’s our anniversary – 8 years of marriage is a milestone for most couples. For us – well, it is a shock and a surprise that a horsewoman and a – arm – motorcycle enthusiast have made it this long.

We started with the M109 on the trailer, but as soon as we got into Dragon territory Hubby unloaded the M109. Temps were in the mid-60’s so he refused to wait to put on jeans and a leather – he grabbed gloves and helmet then assed-up (that’s biker talk for putting rump to saddle) to take the Dragon on – dressed in thin shorts and a t-shirt. I snickered then followed in the car.

We weren’t 20 minutes down the road when he pulled over. Guess why? It was too damn cold to ride without proper gear! Gotta love those ‘I told you so’ moments, they are better than cheap jewelry any day!

So we rode the dragon in separate vehicles. I was talking the curves at a good clip, until I was run off the road by a semi-truck. What a buzz kill. Luckily I’ve still got a full set of reflexes – not bad for darn-near 50. The semi missed both car and trailer, so I continued on.

Hubby was waiting at a nice stopping place. Don’t recall the name; the nerves were a bit stretched. We arrived at our base-camp after about 6 hours of travel.

We are spending this weekend literally in biker heaven. NO – not a strip joint! It’s an ingenious little place called “The Two Wheel Inn” where the average biker can have a cute little room AND a garage for that all-important motorcycle, at an affordable price. The same key opens the room and the tightly locked garage that keeps the bike safe from straying.

Bless her heart – the manager left us an anniversary card. 

Maternal Instinct Wins Again

That's right - take a close look. That is a duck who has hatched a chicken egg. Mom is still sitting on a few eggs. I can't tell how many because she'll bite the heck out of me.

Still, I saw this and had to take pictures.

September 22, 2009

There are now two chicks in the nest!

Love is the Drug - Dark Harbor

The Iroquois Club

He stands on the stage at the Iroquois Club - belting out a Doors cover with all the sass and sex appeal he's got. He's got a lot. He's lean, wide shouldered and slim of hip, with dark, tousled, rock-star hair, blue eyes and a young man's chiseled features.

The young woman across from me is all but drooling. She wouldn't get a second glance from him, in spite of the bright blond hair, she's got 'mouse' written all over her. She sips her Morgan and Coke, talking softly during the break, but her eyes never leave him.

"His name is Teddy; he just got back from three years in Iraq." She sighs, her name is Kaylynn. She was National Guard and served with Teddy. "He swore up and down he wasn't coming back here, but - you see where he is."

He moves to the bar, flirting with every female in range and downs some shots. I wonder how much booze he can take before he can't sing standing up. It looks like he's pushing his luck. Teddy has an easy smile as well as a roving eye. He is well liked, I can tell by the indulgent way the bartender is pouring shots.

His band mates don't look happy with the way he's knocking back shots. The lead guitarist makes a cut off gesture that Teddy ignores.

"I work down the street, day shift at the restaurant," Kaylynn smiles. "He comes in at noon for breakfast."

"We are friends, during the day. At night, he's like this, I hardly know him." She bites her lip. "He was my best friend in Iraq. I don't understand why he's like this now."

"He wanted to go active duty, make a career out of the Army or go into the Air Force. But he's wasting his life drinking and drugging, playing rock star and screwing everything that walks."

What she isn't saying is pretty clear - she's in love with him.

There is a collective pause, and heads turn. The woman walking into the bar is a stunner. Black hair to her hips, scantily dressed in a red leather mini-skirt, she's either some biker's wet dream or a dominatrix escaped from a brothel.

My money is on the brothel. She's not a young woman and she's got a hard look to her that should send any smart man running for home.

"Destiny," the name is said with distain. "Well, we know who Teddy's going home with tonight. He sings that song to her, you know."

Teddy plants a lip-lock on Destiny that makes my companion's eyes fill with tears. The break is over; he is hip-to-hip with the woman as they walk to the stage. He mounts the stage giving her smoldering looks that should have caught the ceiling on fire.

Destiny wanders over to the pillar next to us, leaning on it as Teddy wails out a Roxy Music cover 'Love is the Drug' as if she is the only woman in the crowded room. This close to her, I get a look at the tattoo on her shoulder, an upside-down pentagram. There are a couple more tattoos, roses, thorns and bleeding hearts. Her earrings are dragons. She's thin, always has been, being thin is a good thing when you're a cougar - hunting after young bloods.

Destiny is mighty attractive for a woman pushing fifty. Yeah, I know her age, as well as what she did to keep her figure. The signs of aging are muted at night; I wonder what she looks like in the harsh light of day. A lifetime of taking speed and snorting coke can be covered by makeup and hair-color, but to really look young takes more drastic measures. You've got to sell your soul, either to a plastic surgeon or to Satan himself.

Destiny doesn't have money for a plastic surgeon.

"That song is posted on Create Space," Kaylynn dries her eyes. "People are downloading it like crazy. They are getting a lot of attention, and good reviews. Enough to where they are putting together an album."

"Cory and Tony are working really hard on the album, but Teddy blows them off. He won't lay down the vocal tracks." Kaylynn shakes her head. "I don't know what's wrong with Teddy. He won't make up his mind to do anything. Not the Air Force, not the album, he's just partying with her and her creepy friends."

"You know who I'm talking about." Kaylynn takes her eyes off Teddy to look at me for the first time. "That creepy artist - Van Man Go. Teddy is over there all the time." She shudders. "What a skank! But Teddy acts like Van and him are best friends - all the time he's screwing her, and she's been with Van for years."

I have to smother a laugh. Van Man Go’s name has popped up once again. I give the girl some encouragement before I get up to leave. As I walk passed Destiny we make eye contact.

“Kitty, how’s it going?”

“Good band, hot singer.” I smile at her, raising my eyebrows. “Cindy’s son, isn’t he?” We partied with Cindy, before Cindy departed to places unknown. She came back with Teddy, stories of a groupie’s life and AIDS; without money for healthcare, Cindy lasted only a few years. Nobody knows who Teddy’s father is.

Destiny doesn’t like to be reminded of the fact that we go back many years, that I know the age she carefully denies. Her eyes sweep over me, I’ve been on the straight and narrow for more than 20 years; that knowledge bugs her, too. She takes a drag off her cigarette and blows the smoke at me. I smile and walk away.

There is a couple sitting in the corner, a long lean man in a sport bike leather jacket and a slim woman with long dark hair, Eric and June. As Teddy announces “Lights” by Journey, Eric takes June’s hand, inviting her to dance.

They take over the dance floor. Teddy’s voice is pure and soulful as Eric gathers June to him with a tenderness that glows in the smoky light.

Destiny rolls her eyes in disgust. What is between those two is very real, and she can’t stand being in the same room with that kind of love. She brushes passed me. Teddy’s watching the couple dancing. There is a longing in his eyes that comes out through his voice.

Kaylynn has her eyes closed, pretending that Teddy is singing to her, no doubt.

I take that image with me – thick smoke, neon lights – a singer silhouetted in red and blue crooning to a couple, slow dancing their way to falling in love; in a bar, in the Harbor, in Ashtabula.

Yeah.

==========================
Barnes & Noble: 'Swallow the Moon


Smashwords: 'Swallow the Moon'


Amazon US: Amazon US: Swallow the Moon - Dark Harbor

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Amazon DE: http://www.amazon.co.de/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Amazon FR: http://www.amazon.co.fr/Swallow-Moon-Dark-Harbor-ebook/dp/B005CX8OKS

Horsing Around with a Manure Spreader

Cleaning stalls is a dirty job - for the core muscles and as an upper body workout - there is nothing like it. (rolling eyes) However, I've got three horses and limited energy. Then there is the lovely issue of where all that bedding goes. Nobody really likes to have a manure pile, even though it's fabulous fertilizer, in the back yard. (Besides the chickens, rooster Sony is King of the Manure Pile.)

We solved it all last week - bought a 'newer' spreader - as in manure spreader, here is the link. If you have horses or any animal that requires bedding with daily/weekly changes - check this gizmo out.

It grinds up the manure and bedding, spits it on the grass in a thin coating, that looks like it will dry up and rot immediately. Its only been a couple of weeks, so I can't claim that manure is the miracle fertilizer that we needed to get rid of ragweed or any of the dead spots. Nor does the thin layer fill in the holes that make mowing a nightmare.

This manure spreader wasn't cheap at $900 - though the nearest thing I've seen locally cost $2.5k. The construction and assembly is in line with the price - I'm impressed so far. It's handy, I can move it empty to the stall, clean up, move it by hand to the next stall. Hook it to the mower and go spread the wealth. (G)

In fact, it chewed up the chicken bedding, a mix of straw, shredded paper, feathers and manure, as well as all the old manure pile, easily. I spent three days filling and spreading just to see if there was something that would clog it up. So far, I haven't found anything.

What impresses me the most - everything my animals eat and all the bedding has become fertilizer. The manure pile that was a dozen feet long and three feet high is a thing of the past. I bought a bag of grass seed to sprinkle on each load.

Disney didn't visit my pasture, darnnit, no overnight 'shazam' but hey, it's not a two or three hour chore any more. I don't have to trundle huge heavy loads of soiled bedding to the pile and wrestle them to the top, then dump the mess.

In my mind, the wheel barrow emptying was always the hardest part. Try it in 6 inches of mud, where the mud sucks your boots off. We'll see if my lawn mower can slog the winter-time mud any better.


Honestly, I can't imagine winter without a sprained back or pulled leg muscles from cleaning stalls. I've spent the greater part of the last ten winters nursing my back and despairing while the stalls become a horrendous nightmare.This winter, when Ned broke my toe, I was laid up four weeks. Can you imagine the mess?

Will I be able to clean stalls, fertilize and seed the pasture all winter without getting hurt? I don't know. Will I have time to find out? Oh yeah.

Misty Morning Musings

A chill September morning, the sun isn't up. The mist is thick, a gray veil of chilled air that starts at the fence line and muffles the sight. The horses are mere shapes by the gate. They must be sleeping because they don't look up as I come out to feed the cats.

The chickens are already up, of course, with the rooster crowing his darn fool head off. A few ducklings are pipping 'where are you' as they follow the drakes out of the barn. They must be late sleepers because the momma ducks have already headed up the hill where the grass (and ragweed) is still high.

I've been working outside, since the weather cooled. Mowing and weeding, stall cleaning and spreading, planting trees and flowers until I can't move another inch. There are forsythia cuttings in pots, herbs drying, flowers still blooming and the porch needs to be uncluttered.

I trimmed the Japanese maple, though I wonder if it will ever be a tree again. A cold snap two years ago killed the slender branches, so now it looks like a sheared shrub. 

Last year's oak tree is a pitiful mess. It looks worse than the maple. Four feet tall and leaning despite all my efforts to straighten it. At least the redbud trees shot up this year. They were pitiful one foot tall twigs for years. They steadfastly refused to grow an inch. Maybe there is hope for the oak?

All the trees will be fed well this fall. We'll see if they decide to grow come spring. I've always heard that the roots grow first, then the tree grows into the roots. Also 'the first year it sleeps, the second it creeps, the third year it leaps.'

As I look at the horses, grazing in the round pen, I realize that I've got only two major projects left. One is turning the round pen into my primary garden, but before I do that - I have a horse to train.

I'm going back to my yard work today.

Top Ten Reasons why I won’t read Vampire Books

10. You think last year's shoes are out of date – this guy’s clothes are 200 year old!

9.   Men over fifty are male chauvinists – this guy was born when?

8.   Blood breath! Are you really going to kiss me with that stinky mouth?

7.   French kissing a corpse – with that breath? A carload of Tic Tacs won’t be enough.

6.   Tell me what is sexy about spending all day in a coffin, buried in a graveyard.

5.   Men with pale skin and burning red eyes – sexy? No, that’s the reason I stopped dating musicians and drug addicts.

4.   I can barely stand to shake a cold clammy living hand – I’m supposed find a cold, clammy embrace sexy?

3.   Road kill smells bad after 24 hours, HOW long has this guy been dead? And you can’t SMELL
that?

2.   Necrophilia (wanting to have sex with a corpse) is a mental illness – I don’t have it.

1.   Live men have erectile dysfunction – you expect me to believe that a corpse can get it up?

Baby Ducks on the Move

Fuzzy and ever so cute – the baby ducks twitter as they spread out in the grass. Hard to believe they are insect assassins, snapping up every last bug in their paths. Forty of them, spread out at six-inch intervals, combing the grass, picking out every fly, grasshopper and beetle.

I come out to the barn and they twitter louder, excited because my appearance means they get their fill of grain. They follow me, little feet patting, twittering, into the barn. They avoid the hens, watch the cats warily. The cats affect dignity and ignore the stream of fluff.

I toss some grain to the hens, keeping them away while the ducklings come right to my feet. Brownit spars with the chickens until Sony the rooster comes to his harem's defense. I swat him with a bamboo cane to put him in his place. This is duckling time.

Brownie stole the hatchlings of two other females to get this huge brood. I wonder if the ducklings aren't imprinted more on each other. They move about in fits and starts, more like a school of fish than birds.

They're a restless, twittering stream of hungry brown and gold fluff; eating from my hand, shoving and scarfing as much grain as they can hold. I can trail my fingers over their backs; they're so absorbed in eating. Once full they plop in the dirt, little bodies top-heavy.

Forty hungry little ducklings make short work of a pound of grain. They stream over to the water, drink, twitter some more as if discussing the weather then patter outside. A couple who are left behind chirp the signal that says: "where are you?" Soon they are all back for another meal of grain.

The hens chase the ducklings off eventually. The duckling flow outside, to nap in the grass. The rooster Sony, sulking from the swat, calls his hens back to the manure pile they are diligently turning into compost.

He's still king of the compost heap.

PT Cruiser - It's Really Love

I love my car, from the sleek round front end, the push-button doors that never snap off my fingernails, to the hatch back rear with it's shelf. It looks retro - but is completely modern inside. So comfortable that we can drive it to Albany, New York or Miami, Florida without hurting our old backs.

Heavy enough to never skid on icy roads, high enough to be easy to get in and out of for my senior citizen parents - my little four-door buzz buggy suits my family to the proverbial "T."

I hear that Chrysler is discontinuing the PT Cruiser. I think that's a crying shame. There aren't many cute SUV's out there. There aren't many that get 22 miles per gallon in the city.

I was in the market for a Cobalt when I first saw my car. (I secretly wanted a Mustang, not a good idea when I've got a serious lead foot.) The Cobalt was too low to the ground. It hurt my back to get in it and the seats weren't comfortable.

I wanted to drive a PT Cruiser, just out of curiosity. It was so cute outside - and SO comfortable inside. Once I felt the smooth ride and sports-car handling I was hooked. No Mustang for me - I've got a cute little silver bullet.

This summer my husband bought the ultimate accessory - a hitch so we can tow his motorcycle, or my little Snowbear trailer.

I just got back from Madrid - where I picked up to fence panels, one of them 16 feet long. We strapped them to my 8 foot trailer and I brought the rattling caravan home without a problem.

Try that with a Cobalt.

Motorcycle Ride

It is a cool day - feels more like autumn than late summer.

We set out on Rt. 920 a twisting back road that leads generally south. My husband's Suzuki purrs like a contented cat at 60 M.P.H. as we twist and turn.

The sky is cloudy - the breeze is cool. I suppose we can thank the Alaskan volcano for this cool, sweet summer.

We had a biker's picnic planned - but it fell through. Maybe one weekend yet we can get the guys together - get their families down to North Fork and let the kids romp while the adults relax.

Until then I'm looking forward to the return trip home.