Blog – Laugh. Snark. Love.

Timing – Book Review of Dad #1, Dad # 2

Timing is everything! Last week I was in Boise for some feed and egg deliveries, so Steph and I could stay in town to see a local author do a reading at Rediscovered Books. The author is Natalie Perry, and her book is a memoir about growing up in Idaho, with all its conservative values, and having two dads, as well as how she has lived in and out of the closet throughout her life. The reading went very well, with some Q&A afterwords, and I was glad to support a local author, especially when she speaks on topics near and dear to my heart. (Also, Pho Nouveau, is handily right across the street.)

I will post again tomorrow to announce the pre-release for my latest novel in the Chickenshit series. (I think it has the best cover so far.) It is live now, if you search me in Amazon, but I will post links and reveal the cover tomorrow.

Stay cool, y’all!


Natalie Perry’s account of her childhood as a daughter with gay dads (and a mom) sheds a light into the often overlooked life of queerspawn. Children of gay parents are seldom brought up in regards to LGBTQ issues except to throw accusations at their parents. What about the children? These concerned citizens bemoan.

According to Dad #1, Dad #2, A Queerspawn View from the Closet, the children are just fine. Even though her family has struggles common to most families, one distinct issue always rises to the surface – the closet.

Natalie walks us through her experiences, from middle school to college, from her home town to foreign cities, and shows us why successful and well-adjusted people may still have to hide being LGBTQ or having family members who are in order to make it through the day without being fired (or not hired), disowned, or lectured by people who favor their own beliefs above treating others fairly. Finally, she shows some of the consequences faced when she misjudged who to trust and with what information, as well as how the closet permeates almost every aspect of life.

This memoir is entertaining. The story moves along at a steady pace without an overage of self-reflection, and there are poems included after each chapter that do not interfere with the story’s progress. Most importantly, the book offers insights for anyone wanting to understand the ways society forces individuals and families into hiding and why this needs to change.

Because You Can’t Have Just One

Chickenshit – Volume 2 Just Hatched is now available on Kindle and in Amazon paperback.
 
And because you can’t have just one …
 
Volume 1 (read the cover for inordinately long title) and my debut novel, Lookout Butte, are on Kindle for .99 cents this week only. So, for less than $5, granted only 2 cents less, you can have Volumes 1 and 2 of Chickenshit. But, I wouldn’t mind if you gave me your 2 cents, as well.      LOL
(The sale extends to the UK, as well.)
 
Note for Avid Readers:
 
Now, if you’ve stuck with me thus far, you may be curious enough to follow my logic as to why getting both books right now is such a great idea. Here goes. If you read the first two volumes now and want more, the next book will be out, not six months from now, not a year from now, but on July 1st. That’s only three months away, plenty of time for you to speculate about the characters but not so long that you will forget them. Then in three more months, plenty of time for you to think Why did I even bother? How many times will she use the word ‘presumably’? Why does the writer hate her protagonist so much? Oh, but wait, the next title looks encouraging, but I fell for that already. BAM! Volume 4 will be out. Presumably on October 1st. So, rather than binge read all four books in October, when you’re just cycling into your winter depression, you can tease them out when you are on a serotonin-induced high and finish the story before the pre-pre-holiday blues set in. Makes sense, right? Thanks for sticking with me.
 
Also, coming soon. Pre-sale for Volume 3 will begin as soon as the cover art is finished.
 https://www.amazon.com/Chickenshit-Just-Hatched-Amy-Stinnett-ebook/dp/B079K6XN7C/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Books-Amy-Stinnett/s?ie=UTF8&page=1&rh=n%3A266239%2Cp_27%3AAmy%20Stinnett

Now They’re Meat (Trigger Warning)

Three roosters sat in a box on the floor. Bud adeptly reached in and pulled one bird into a football hold, smoothed its feathers to calm it, then slid it head-first into the cone. Its head peered out the open bottom, but the bird was calm. He scooped up the other roosters in like manner and deposited them into the empty cones.  

“They crow and the neighbors don’t like it,” he explained.  

“They are pretty,” I shoved my hands down in my pockets. 

“Pretty, no pretty, all gotta go. No pain, though.” He tugged the first one’s head down a little, and a blade sliced through the bird’s neck. Blood poured down into a bucket beneath the cones. The legs tensed, but within seconds there was no movement at all. “See, no pain.” He moved on and did the other two birds exactly the same. “Now, they’re meat.” He pointed over to a giant sink-looking thing with heated water and to a metal tube with rubber on the outside. It looked like the inside of a washing machine. “Into the scalder, then the picker, then I take off the legs. ” There was a little slide through place on the stainless steel counter. “Then over to them to pull the insides, clean, chill, and package.” 

“How long does it take?” 

“Only a few minutes, times how many birds.” 

He led the way back outside, where Elliot had already pulled the crates off the truck and stacked them next to the back door. I placed my hand on a crate, felt and heard the birds shifting inside it. I did my best to clear my mind of the images of the adorable baby chicks that once sat in my hand, remembering a Native American custom to thank the animal for its life. I don’t know if that’s a real thing or something I saw in one of Dad’s movies, but it felt right, so I did it. 

– from Chickenshit Volume 2 Just Hatched


Some backstory: Billie has never had to kill anything larger than a mosquito before. Her dad ordered meat birds the year before he died, and they were sprung on her without notice. With no livestock experience, she is uncertain how to feel about this little reality of farm life.

If you didn’t grow up on a farm, how would you feel about having to do this? Would you be directly involved, get someone to do it for you and cling to denial, or try to dump the whole problem onto somebody else?

Keep in mind that in her situation, the birds were ordered before she even knew she would be living on the farm. Also, these are meat birds, which are not bred for longevity. Even if they were spared the gallows, they would likely have health issues, and Billie would be stuck with over a hundred extra birds with no use for them.

If you are new to raising chickens or other livestock, what practices help you resolve any inner conflicts?

If you’re a seasoned farmer, do you still have any qualms about it, or is just a thing you have to do? Have you done the butchering, yourself, or do you go to a commercial processor?

If you’re opposed to raising chickens or other animals for meat, you’re welcome to comment, too, but please stay on topic.

All comments must be respectful or they will be removed.


You can pre-order the Kindle version of Chickenshit Volume 2 Just Hatched ahead of its release on April 1st. I hope to have the paperback version ready by then, too. So if you’re an I only like to read real books kind of person, we should have you covered. As always, I do the $1 eBook match.

Chickenshit Volume 1 Or How a City Girl Does Country All Wrong and my first novel, Lookout Butte, can be found on my Kindle and in paperback on my Amazon author page.


 

Something’s About to Hatch

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the last month I have been scrambling (get it) to get the second volume of Chickenshit ready for publication.

The series follows a year in the life of Billie Hatcher, a college student from Seattle, as she navigates owning a farm, having a new girlfriend, and living in rural Idaho. Billie learns that farm life can be rewarding, frustrating, tragic, spiritually uplifting, isolating, and unifying. Just when she thinks she’s getting the hang of her new life, something she never thought of catches her off guard. If nothing else, she’s developing coping skills, and maybe someday the place will feel like home.

You can pre-order the Kindle version of Chickenshit Volume 2 Just Hatched ahead of its release on April 1st. I hope to have the paperback version ready by then, too. So if you’re an I only like to read real books kind of person, we should have you covered. As always, I do the $1 eBook match.

Here is a preview from Chapter 1. I hope you like it.


March 30, 2013

At the risk of sounding like a girl. I am in heaven. Jodie and I finally went on an actual date last night. We went to Boise, of course, to a movie at The Flicks, followed by a late dinner at a pho restaurant a few streets over. I don’t know how, but we never run out of things to talk about. Not only that, when we are quiet for a moment, there’s this warmth, a connection between us, that makes the silence comfortable, too.

We sat close together on the hood of my car, holding hands and gazing out over downtown from the top of the parking garage. Drunks of all types, North Enders, families, couples, and loners shuffled along on the streets below us.

“There used to be a Subway, over there.” Jodie pointed. “My family had a booth at Saturday Market one summer, back before it was so big, and I would run over and grab a sandwich. My parents always gave me shit about eating fast food when there was so much good food at the market.” She shrugged. “I was a kid. I was kind of limited. That pho was great, though. I’ve never had it, or those spring rolls.”

“It’s kind of a Seattle staple. I never had it growing up in Sacramento. Chinese was about as exotic as it got there. They do have it now, though.”

“My mom loved Chinese food. We have the place in Emmett, but she liked this restaurant here that used to be over next to the steakhouse. A few streets over that way.” She arched her arm and pointed like a bomb dropping. Billie found it endearing the way that Jodie liked to use her hands to speak.

“You don’t talk about your mom much. It must still be really hard for you.”

“Well, yes and no.” She sat, thinking it over. “She’s everywhere. And that’s both comforting and heartbreaking. Sometimes at work, I feel like she’s about to hand me a book to re-shelve, and when they call me Mrs. Miller, I want to turn around and look behind me.”

“She must have been an amazing mom; you turned out great.”

“Well, she wasn’t great when I was little. She would be the first to tell you she wasn’t perfect. She drank a lot and kind of got around, if you know what I mean. My biological father could have been one of any number of guys.”

“Russ isn’t your real dad? I mean, your biological dad? But you look alike.”

“Not really, but people always say that. We have the same smile and mannerisms. I look more like my mom, Basque, some Mexican. But I wanted to be just like Russ from five on. The way they met … Mom was actually on her way back from a “date” when her tire blew out. Dad stopped and changed her tire, made sure she got home okay. Typical Russ. The next day he went to the diner where she worked and asked her out. By the time I was six, everything had changed. Mom rarely ever drank, we had a real home, you know. Mom got a job at the library part time and eventually moved up. She only had her AA degree – she did that online mostly.”

“Oh.”

“I went through my own wild period, too. Nothing like my mom’s, but I drank and smoked pot when I moved to Boise. I dated guys and girls. I almost bombed out, one semester. It wasn’t fun, so I gave it up. I used to go to The Balcony. Back when I was trying to work through my sexuality, it was a place I could hang out with gay friends who weren’t afraid to be out with me and straight friends who didn’t care. How ‘bout you? When did you figure it out?”

“Oh, I think I always knew. Way back in kindergarten I fell in love with a girl in first grade, Lilly Jett. When her class would walk down the hallway past our door, it was like she was moving in slow motion, you know, hair blowing, her head turning towards me. I went home and asked my mom if girls could like girls. She said they could, and I took it from there. I know I’m lucky in that. I’ve heard lots of horror stories. Were your parents okay with it?”

“Well, I actually never told my mom. We didn’t talk about sex at home, and our church said it was a sin. We went to a Catholic church, Mom and I. Dad was raised Presbyterian, but he doesn’t go to church or make a big deal about it. He says your beliefs are your own, and there’s no call for trying to make others believe the way you do. Anyway, by the time I figured my sexuality out, Mom was sick and I didn’t want to upset her. Eventually, I told my dad. He wanted to know if I had a girlfriend or if I was exhibiting any risky behavior, whatever that meant. It made me laugh, on both accounts, because I am basically a hermit. But you know, my dad’s pretty sheltered. Anyway, he’s cool. He likes you.”

“Really? Does he know we’re …” I hesitated. There have been times in my past when defining a relationship in any way was the kiss of death. “Seeing each other.”

Jodie laughed at me. “He’s pretty sure we’re dating, but we haven’t talked about it. He raises an eyebrow and says ‘Again?’ when I tell him I’m headed over to your place. That’s his way of letting me know he cares without trying to tell me what to do. If he had a problem, he would have said something when I stayed over those couple of times.”

“I like your dad a lot.”

“Me, too. He has always been there for me. I wish he would date or something, but he won’t even hear of it. When he’s not working, he’s hunting or fishing. I go sometimes.”

“You hunt? Like you shoot deers?”

“Deer, yes.”

“And cut out their guts? And tie ‘em on your truck?”

“My dad’s truck bed, but yes. One deer will last us all winter. If we get a second one, we can give it to a family that needs it. And there is always a family that needs it.”

“Wow.” We had been staring at the building across the street. “What’s that mean? ‘Union Block.’ Is that about the mining unions? I heard there were a lot of conflicts over unions out here, like spies and mining ‘accidents.’”

“There were. You know, we could take a day trip up to Silver City sometime, if you want. But that building was actually named by some pro-Union people, from the Civil War. There’s more Civil War history around here, if you look for it. Most of the historical markers talk about the Oregon Trail, though.”

“Yeah, that’s mostly what I’ve seen.” I started to get cold, so I stood up to go. “Shall we?”

 

Jodie held my hand on the way back to Milepost. It was close to midnight when we got back, but even though she couldn’t stay, she came in for a few minutes and we plopped onto the couch.

“I wish you could stay.”

“I know you’re used to things moving faster, but I think we should take our time. There’s no rush.”

“I’m okay with that. I think about you all the time, though. I like being with you, no matter what we’re doing.”

“Me, too. But I don’t think I can stay over here again and not jump your bones.”

I laughed. “Jump my bones?”

“Sorry, I’m around older people a lot.” She shrugged but then leaned across me and gave me a long, soft, wet kiss. The kind of kiss that caused or ended wars. The kind of kiss that made people cross the ocean or catch red-eyes across continents. The kind of kiss that made me want to bolt the door behind us and not come out until summer.

“Gotta go.” She stood up.

“Ugh! No way.” I went to one knee.

“Hey, this hurts me more than it hurts you.”

“Gotta grab the bull by the horns.”

“What?”

“I thought we were trading random expressions.”

“Ha.” She took a deep breath and looked at me. “I gotta go.”

“I know. See you Sunday?”

“With bells on.”

I stood at the edge of the porch and watched her drive away. Despite the cold, I was still warm from being close to Jodie. I sat down on the step and looked up at the millions of stars in the sky. I found the big dipper, which pointed me to the Little Dipper and Polaris, the North Star. The star to guide your ship by. I stared at Polaris and did the ‘arc to Arcturus,’ and I would have ‘spiked to Spica, but the trees in the yard were too high. I breathed in a sigh of, what was this, happiness? Huh. So, that’s what that feels like.

 

April 1, 2013

I have been getting up early a lot lately. I usually have a couple of cups of coffee and some toast with jam. I can’t figure out if that’s European or old person style, but, either way, it kind of settles me. The strange thing is, when I first wake up, I could swear someone was smoking a pipe on the porch, but when I go out and check, there’s nobody there and no smoky smell when I open the door. It’s probably my mind playing games with me. I have been reading more of my dad’s journals and some of his notes on the farm. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to slaughter goats this fall, but one thing at a time.

I just started my second cup of coffee when my phone rang.

“Is this Billie Hatcher, Dan Hatcher’s daughter? This is Betty, down at the post office.”

“Yes, this is Billie.”

“Well, good morning, Billie. Your chicks are in.” Betty spoke with a sure voice. She could have just as easily said, “Your car’s due for a tune up.”

“My chicks?”

“Yeah, your chicks. Well, your dad’s. Sorry for your loss. We like hearing them cheep and all, but you should probably come get ‘em soon. They’ve been across the country.”

I was not comprehending, but I didn’t want to sound like an idiot. “Okay, I’ll be right over.”

I called Elliot.

“Yep, April 1st, that’s about right.”

“They ship chickens through the mail?”

“Yeah. He gets ‘em from a hatchery in Iowa.”

“But won’t they die from the cold or lack of food and water?”

“No, they overnight ship ‘em. They huddle together to stay warm and have food left over from their egg sack.”

“But we can have eggs to hatch anytime we want. Why would we buy chicks?”

“It’s the meat birds.” Now Elliot was being annoyingly certain, too.

“They’re different than the birds we have?”

“Oh, yeah. And we feed ‘em different, too. You want me to help you go get ‘em?”

I figured I could fit them in the back seat or the very back of my car. “No, I got it. But you’ll be here to help me set them up, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

 

I went into the post office, and Betty was at the front counter. “Oh, hey, honey. Look, you probably want to drive around to the back, and we can bring them out. Also, sorry I had to ask around to get your phone number.” I wonder who had it. “I guess there’s no landline out at the farm. Your dad always gave his cell phone.” She pointed to a paper on the bulletin board behind me that simply read COMPUTER HELP and had Dad’s phone number on it. “But I tried that, and I guess it’s shut off.”

“Yep. So, you knew my dad?”

“Oh, yeah. He was so funny. He ordered some turkey chicks once, I don’t know what they’re called, and they were so ugly they were adorable. He gave me one, and we could never bring ourselves to eat it. We called it Thomasina and kept it forever. It either died of old age or ran off with a group of wild turkeys. Every year he told me I’d better eat it for Thanksgiving before the coyotes do. Your daddy was a good one.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, they have your birds ready out on the loading dock.”

“Okay. What are they in, some sort of cage?”

“No, they’re in boxes.”

“Box – es?”

“Yeah, only two. I think it’s about a hundred birds. They’re about yay big.” She held her hands out about two, then three feet apart.

One hundred birds? I drove around back, and the guy handed them down to me. I tried to peek in at them, but all I saw was beaks, eyeballs, and feathers, none of it adding up to a whole chick. Rather than risk escapees, I ignored my curiosity and didn’t open either box. Also, I was afraid there might be a dead chick. There was a lot of scratching and chirping until they finally settled into a rhythmic cheeping for the short drive home.

By the time I got there, Elliot was starting to feed the chickens, but he stopped to help with the baby chicks. In the back of the meat bird pen, he uncovered two large metal tubs I had never paid any attention to. We gathered a couple of smaller feeders and waterers, a bag of feed, and a giant bag of pine shavings. He pealed back a chicken wire cover on each of the tubs and showed me how to set them up.

“So, it’s still pretty cold. Do we need a heat lamp or something?” I had seen those at the farm supply store.

“Well, your dad got rid of all his heat lamps a long time ago. I’ll show you what we do.” He went into the storage box and pulled out what looked like two grills, only the grill side faced down. There were two extension cords in the pen, and we put the heaters in one corner of each tub. “It doesn’t get hot. You can put your hand on it.” He pressed his hand against the ‘grill’ side and held it out to me. It was warm but not too hot to touch. “Just enough to keep them warm until they feather in.”

We got the chicks and set them down into the tubs one at a time. We each counted fifty-four. His chicks were light yellow with darker backs, and mine were mostly yellow all over. No deaths and eight extras! They were adorable. We set up their feeders and waterers, and Elliot said that was good enough for now, other than checking and cleaning their mess a couple of times a day. Elliot told me that meat birds eat way more feed than regular chickens. They eat so much that you have to take their food away for twelve hours a day when they get a week old. They can grow so fast that they can’t walk or their hearts give out. Dad has been doing cross breeds that grow slower but fewer die. These guys will be gone in less than three months. Another shipment will get here the first week of June. So, I guess I’m going to have to figure out how not to get attached.

How could anyone kill and eat something this cute? Anyway, I’m trying to focus on what I’m doing right now and deal with the other stuff as it comes up. Out in the field, the kids were scampering and butting heads, goading their moms into kid behavior. Elliot and I finished feeding the chickens (the grey hen’s chicks are getting big), and the vet came out and picked him up. She took a second to check Frodo’s paw, and they were off.

After they left, Frodo and I took a little walk over to Dad’s tree. I sat on a stump and had a little talk with him. Dad, that is. It was quiet except for a few tiny birds in the bushes and an occasional truck on the highway. There was no one around, but I tell you, for a second, I could smell pipe smoke again.

 


Thanks for reading! Please comment or PM me via my author page on FB. I always look forward to feedback. How do you think Billie will cope with raising animals for food? Do you think small town Idaho will be kind to the new couple? What do you think of the cover?

Moving On Means Owning It

… I felt a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned around, two lips pressed against mine, followed by a slow-probing tongue. My choice to fight or succumb to the kiss was slowed down a little by the three drinks I’d had. I’m a lightweight, I know. I put my arms up and placed them on her forearms, gently but firmly pushing her away.  
“I knew you’d be back.” She grinned. “Idaho’s creepy. I mean farms are cool and stuff, but people are all backwards there.” 
“Sure, Ton-ton.” I saw that Chloe was waiting for me, very patiently considering her prospects. “I have to go.”
 
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around. Do you want my new number? I changed phones.” 
I paused for a moment. “No, I don’t think I do. Anyway, good luck to you. No hard feelings.” 
“None for me, either. I’ll see you around.” 
I didn’t bother to correct her. Seeing her again was not in my future plans, and if I did, I would not let her catch me off guard like that again. 
– Chickenshit: Crisis #8A Big City Blues
Billie flies to Seattle for a work meeting. She sees some old friends and goes to a couple of bars, but the town has lost its luster for her. Seeing Ton-Ton helps Billie get some resolution on her feelings. Her boss puts her on notice: If she wants to keep her job, she’ll need to get back to Seattle soon. Billie gets some offers, but not the one she wants.

Chickenshit – Or: How a City Girl Does Country All Wrong is Volume I of a series. Available  now on Kindle and on Amazon paperback. The next volume will be published in Spring/Summer of 2018.


Like it or not, exes are often a concern for many of us. In my own experience, seeing a former girlfriend has been a unique form of torture that I have gone to great lengths to avoid, including moving to another state on every occasion, now that I think about it. When I was Billie’s age and going through a break up, I was dealing with such intense feelings that I didn’t want to let go. Even when there was no reason whatsoever to hang on. Even after I had “moved on” and gotten a life, hopes of reconciliation lingered. It is so hard to let go when you know that person through and through, and they know you and, at least for a short time, they accepted you for who you are until that something happened, or didn’t happen, and the relationship fell apart. No more picnics in the park or long drives singing Indigo Girls songs together, let alone the more intense moments that bonded you so closely in the first place. Time to move on. And, for us slow to learn folks, time to move on from moving on.
I am proud of Billie for having the courage to quietly stand up for herself with Ton-Ton. Sure, it would have been cathartic for Billie to blast her and take her down a peg or two, but she didn’t need that to move on. She needed only the opportunity to step away long enough to see Ton-Ton for what she was and the chance to trust herself to say no to being used again. Anything more would have erased her own responsibility for her own well-being. Sure Ton-Ton did things that hurt her, but Billie made two mistakes. 1) Trusting someone who was openly narcissistic and 2) making more of a casual relationship than was healthy. Lesson learned, I hope.

Author Day, Founding Fathers, and Chicken Feed

So, I haven’t posted for almost two weeks. After the last post where I shared the tenacity with which I am sticking to this writing thing, I came down with the worst case of … wait for it … the common cold. Okay, it really wasn’t that bad. I could breathe most of the time, and I only had a couple dozen coughing fits, and only a few of those resulted in, well, let’s just say more than a coughing fit. But here are the cool things that happened around my final cold of the year (fingers crossed).

We went on our monthly feed run to Brownsville, OR, and there were no hitches at all –  no accidents or severe weather, so hooray.

Steph has been doing some genealogical research on both of our families, and bam! she found my g13 grandmother. We’re talking all the way back to England and then Holland. It turns out, one of my great grandmothers married one of our founding fathers. Like, someone with a mansion, a statue, and stuff. This is shocking news, as I always thought the search would lead back to a poorhouse in Ireland. Also, there appears to be some communication back and forth between a relative of Steph’s and my g13 grandfather regarding the Louisiana Purchase. How cool is that?

On Friday and Saturday a week ago, I joined a group of local indie authors at the Costa Vida in Nampa to share our books with the general public. Not a super busy venue, but I did talk to a couple of interested and several interesting people.In the next few posts, I will share some of their work with you.

See you soon.

– A

Here they are in order: Merri Halma, yours truly, Bonnie Kloster, Davis J. Kelley, Chris Holloway, and J.S. Andersen.

One Thing

We ambled along the edge of the field, not going much faster than I could walk on pavement. When I asked Jodie what this was called, meaning how the horses were walking. She laughed and said, “Walking.” Then she told me about horse gaits, beating them out on the front of her saddle. Clop-clop, clop-clop. She pointed to different places around us and told me things, names of mountains, visible to us here and a little farther away, people my dad knew, and all sorts of other things.
In between we were quiet, listening to the hooves making contact with the pasture and the horses’ breathing as we went along. When we came up to a group of bushes, about 300 tiny birds began screeching and burst out and above us to the left. We stopped and focused, almost hypnotized, by the reflection of the sun on their wings, as they turned many times in mid-flight.
– Chickenshit: Crisis #7 The One Thing
Billie and Jodie spend a beautiful afternoon taking care of Sheila’s horses. Billie grows conflicted over selling the farm, even as more people show interest in buying it. The movies make it seem so easy to figure things out. Real life decisions are a little tougher for one Billie Hatcher.

Chickenshit – Or: How a City Girl Does Country All Wrong is Volume I of a series. Available  now on Kindle and on Amazon paperback. The next volume will be published in Spring/Summer of 2018.


The One Thing … Wouldn’t it be nice if life were that simple. If we could just search for that one thing, like the character, Curly (Jack Palance), talks to Mitch (Billy Crystal) about in City Slickers, that one thing that gives meaning and definition to our lives, grab it and hang on for dear life. Of course, we all can, but there are always consequences, and usually our one thing is made up of complicated parts, often at war with each other. Even when we keep the one thing in mind, life forces all sorts of compromises along the way.
With Billie’s dad, Dan, the farm became the one thing he could not live without. Unfortunately, his relationships with his family suffered because his one thing did not mesh with their lives at the time.  His one thing did bring other benefits, though, like the many friendships in the community and building a strong, loyal friendship with Elliot.
In my own life, I’ve searched for the one thing (and, yes, I cannot get the INXS song out of my head when I write about this) over decades that are now mounting into middle age, and had various answers at various times. In my teens and early twenties, it was all about finding love. I went to unbelievable lengths at times to win and keep the affection of another. In my thirties, it was about raising a child. I don’t regret one single opportunity I missed out on because of my focus on parenting. It has been (and still is) the most rewarding experience of my life. And now, in my forties, with my prior priorities still in my life, I have been struggling to focus on one of the one things I wanted to do all along (forgive the grammar) – gasp for air – write.
I just read an interview with Terri Gross, and she said that she never wants to retire, has no plans to ever do so. She’s okay that her career didn’t allow for children because she never had a burning desire to procreate. I guess, when you have that kind of certainty about something, it is your one thing, and it can take you through your whole life. Only being four years into taking this writing thing seriously, I cannot imagine ever quitting this process that both drives me and drives me crazy. Whether that will be the case a few years from now, or whether I will find a new one thing, remains to be seen.  I just know that I am enjoying the hell out of it for now, and, damn the consequences, I’m holding on for dear life. And I hope I make a few friends along the way.

Amazon Giveaway

Thank you, everyone! My book giveaways for Lookout Butte and Chickenshit Volume I have closed. Congratulations to the winners!

I hope to do another in the future. Until then, my books are available on Kindle Unlimited and are for sale at a reasonable price. I am currently working on Chickenshit Volume II. 

Later today, I will send out my weekly blog post which has a quote and chapter synopsis from Volume I.

Thanks, again!

 


 

Serenity Now. Whatever.

“Is that you?” I pointed with my fork.
“Used to be.” Elliot offered no explanation.
“Hmm. Were you in the service for a while?”
“Marines. A long time ago.”
We were quiet for a moment.
“I went to Panama. I was Recon, and I saw some awful things. I didn’t do so well when I came back. My unit took a pretty bad hit and I kind of got messed up in the head in more ways than one.”
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I’m okay. A lot of guys I knew didn’t even make it back to complain about shit, so how can I? But for a long time I was scared to leave this house. I’d get where I was dizzy and I couldn’t breathe. I even passed out once. It happened while I was driving. So I just gave up driving. I’ve been doing better for a long time. Working on the farm helps me a lot.”
I let his words sink in for a moment.
“So what would you do if I sell the farm?”

– Chickenshit: Crisis #6 Water, Water Everywhere

In Crisis #6, Elliot starts to reach out after his mother’s death. Billie and Jodie spend more time together. When the water pump that serves the animals goes out, Elliot saves the day.

Chickenshit – Or: How a City Girl Does Country All Wrong is Volume I of a series. Available  now on Kindle and on Amazon paperback. The next volume will be published in Spring/Summer of 2018.


I hope everyone survived the holidays with their dignity intact. I spent some quality time with Steph and Phil and was able to talk to a relative who is kind of hard to reach. My family and I saw a ton of movies over the last couple of weeks. We just got Movie Pass cards, and, so far, they are fantastic. I am not running an ad here, but the card works on a monthly or annual fee and you can go to go to as many movies as you want, one per day. It was a no-brainer, since it costs less per month than one full price show, and I have already made my money back. Steph and I have been making further plans to turn Chickenshit into a graphic novel, talking with illustrators and honing in on a design and format for it. If it all comes together, the book could come out later this year.
There have been a lot of stops and starts over the last week. We plan on getting to the library early, but our chores run longer than expected. We set up a meeting and have to move it because the repairman comes later in the day than expected, then has to come back because the part wasn’t right.  We plan to get an early start, but someone’s addiction to Dexter keeps us up late, which causes us to sleep later than we meant to. Tsk tsk. So much beyond our control.
I do not make New Year’s resolutions, but I hope the past few days don’t prove to be an omen for the coming year. I have so many plans. Chickenshit Volume II should be published on April 1st, and volumes III and IV later in the year. My follow-up to Lookout Butte, Whippoorwill Springs, is due out for the Christmas season, and I would like to attend a few workshops and do some community events. And I want to go to the coast.
But Ontario, OR is nowhere near the coast. I have to find serenity where I can. Like Elliot, I sometimes find solace around the farm. In the early morning hours, I watch as the sun melts the hoarfrost and the orange-striped mouser stretches, stiff-legged out of her hay bale to wrap around my leg like a garden snake. In the barn, I move a goat mountain (yeah, I said that right) off me so I can throw some hay to her sisters and to the bucks. In the four-o-clock dusk, I snatch eggs from hens who are settled down for the night. They’ve squawked and bellowed the live-long day, but now I am disturbing THEIR quiet time – the gall!
At those times the empathy rises up in me.
“Hey, I just want to write, here! Why are these people/animals/vehicles thwarting me? You and me, Red. We got each other’s backs.”
“Bock, bock.”
Yeah, whatever.