Tag Archives: novel writing

A Miss Morgan Sampler

Miss Morgan one

 

I told you yesterday the wonderful news about my novel, Magical Miss Morgan.  Since I am still celebrating that, I thought I would share a little peek into that competition novel.  This is chapter two, called a canto in Mickey-speak.  And though it is not the first chapter, it is the place where the largest pile of main characters are introduced.  Chapter one is full of fairies mucking about and searching for a human to help save their kind.

Cool School Blue

Canto 2 – Miss Morgan’s Class

“All right, kiddie-winkies,” said Miss Morgan, “now that we have the space for our talking circle created, we must take off our shoes and socks.  Bare feet only!”

“Why must we do that, Miss M?” asked Blueberry Bates, a cute little brown-eyed girl with a very concerned scowl.

Miss Morgan loved the Six-Twos better than any of her other classes… and that was saying something because she really loved them all.  Six-Two, however, had the most Norwall kids in it of all her classes, and Norwall kids were a little more imaginative and empathetic than the Belle City kids, or the Goodwell kids, or the Klemmens kids.  Those other little towns were charming, but not nearly so wondrous.  Besides, she had once been a Norwall kid herself.  It was a very special little Iowa farm town to Miss Morgan, and it meant more to her than all the other three towns in the rural school district combined.

“Who can tell Blueberry why we have to have bare feet for this discussion?” Miss M asked the whole group.

“Well,” said Mike Murphy, a Norwall rapscallion and a Pirate, “we’re studying the Hobbit by Tolkien.   Hobbits all go barefoot all the time.”

“Very good, Michael.  He’s right.  But why does it help for us all to be barefoot?”

“Maybe it helps us feel like the main character Bilbo,” said Billy Klatthammer, the plump son of the Klemmens, Iowa farm implement king.

“Right.  But why is it important to feel like Bilbo?”

“He’s an every-man character,” said Frosty Anderson, a Norwall farm kid.  “We have to identify with him as we travel through the world of Middle Earth.  He’s supposed to be just like us.”

“My, my… Someone was listening when I was talking about the book yesterday.  Thank you very much, Forrest.”

“And I think,” said Barbie Andersen from Belle City, “that people are more sensitive when they are barefooted.   You want us to feel what Bilbo feels and think like Bilbo thinks.”

“That’s very good, Barbie.  I hadn’t thought of that.”

“The real reason,” said Tim Kellogg, Norwall boy and most difficult child in the class, “is that you like the smell of stinky feet.”

Everyone burst out in a belly laugh, including Miss Morgan.

“Okay,” said Miss Morgan, “Now that I can smell all of your stinky feet, I need you to gather around in a circle.  As we take on each question from the study guide, we will go around the circle and get an answer or a comment from each of you.  We will talk about each question until everyone has said at least one thing and we have made an agreement on what the best answer is.”

At that moment, the first-year teacher from next door appeared in the doorway.  “Miss Morgan,” said Miss Krapplemacher, “the noise from this classroom is eroding my standards of discipline again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Abby,” said Miss Morgan, smiling and speaking through gritted teeth.  She resisted the urge to call her Miss Krabby, the way all Krabby’s science students did.  Miss Krabby insisted on a silent classroom and made students fill out worksheets all period.  “We will try to be quieter.  We are doing a discussion assignment, though.”

“Well, okay.  But stifle the laughing.  It’s hard to achieve serious learning with all the laughing going on next door.”

“We promise we will only talk about depressing things this period,” piped up Tim Kellogg.  “No more laughter this period.”

Bless the little black-hearted teacher’s kid.  Yes, Tim’s father was a teacher, one of the main reasons that Tim was difficult to handle.  Miss Morgan silently appreciated the imp with his special insight into teacher-buttons as Miss Krapplemacher made vibrating fists with both hands and stormed out.  Tim was Miss Krabby’s least favorite science student of all time.

*****

Donner n Silkie

I do promise you too that this book is a fairy tale as well as a story about being a school teacher in the United States.  I have included a Paffooney of Donner and Silkie in this post to show you what some of the main fairy characters look like.  You have to imagine them as less than three inches tall, however, because fairies are no longer big in the modern world.

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Wonderful News!

Cool School Blue

My novel, Magical Miss Morgan, in manuscript form has made it to the final round in the Chanticleer Book Reviews’ novel-writing contest called the Dante Rossetti Awards for Young Adult Novels 2015.   It is listed as one of 29 finalists that have been identified so far, and this year the competition judges are still reviewing manuscripts for possible inclusion in the field of finalists.  The judging has actually run past the announcement deadline.  So it is a large field to compete against for the actual prizes, but it is a huge honor to make it this far.

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The Finalists Authors and Titles of Works that have made it to the Short-list of the Dante Rossetti 2015 Novel Writing Contest are as of Dec. 15, 2015. (Please check back often as we are still processing the Rossetti 2015 Finalists. We will add OFFICIAL FINALIST POSTING to this post when it is complete. Thank you for your understanding.)

  • Gail Selvig for O.W.L.S. and Other Creatures of the Night
  • Luke Evans for Hex
  • Jo Swanson for The Last Rodeo in Kingdom Come
  • Lis Anna-Langston for Tupelo Honey
  • KB Shaw for Neworld Series
  • Alix Nichols for What If It’s Love
  • Glen Alan Burke for Jesse
  • Ben Hutchins for Lackawanna
  • Jesse Atkin for  The Flying Man
  • Verity Croker for May Day Mine
  • Robert Joseph for Long Ago and Far Away
  • Aiden Riley for The Red
  • Pamela Beason for Race with Danger
  • Melissa A. Craven for  Emerge: The Awakening
  • Nikki McCormack for The Girl and the Clockwork Cat
  • Patrick Hodges for Joshua’s Island
  • Michael Burnam, MD for The Last Stop
  • Kathe Maguire for The Harriet Club
  • Suzanne de Montigny for The Shadow of the Unicorn II: The Deception
  • Laurisa White Reyes for Memorable
  • Mike Hartner for I, Mary: Book 3 in the Crofter Saga
  • Olivia Wildenstein for Ghostboy, Chameleon & the Duke of Graffiti
  • Suzanne de Montigny for The Shadow of the Unicorn II: The Deception
  • Stephanie DeLuca for Pilgrims 
  • Danielle Burnette for The Spanish Club
  • Cody Wagner for Camp NO Where – A Healing Home for Gay Kids
  • Michael Beyer for Magical Miss Morgan
  • Michael Sarrow for Mistress of Marrowglen

LIST TO CONTINUE — Thank you for your patience. We are working through the Dante Rossetti entries for 2015. 

This marks the second time one of my works has gotten this far in a writing contest.  In 2013 I was able to get my novel Snow Babies on an even shorter short list of finalists, though it did not win any of the available prizes.  But Snow Babies is now soon to be a real book published by PDMI LLC publishers.  I have hopes that before too much longer, Magical Miss Morgan will be too.

class Miss Mcover

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The Current State of My World

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I am busy reinventing myself.  There are things that have to get done.  I have to raise my finances phoenix-like from the abyss I found myself in three years ago after five hospital trips in five years devastated my bank accounts and credit rating at the same time I was forced to retire from my teaching career by health problems.  I went through a debt-reduction program with the advice of a law firm in California that has helped me reconcile 35,000 dollars worth of credit card debt.  I am nearing the end of that painful belt-tightening process, which can be likened to putting a pumpkin in a vice and cranking the handle tighter than you ever believed was possible, and I did not pop the pumpkin.

Health matters are better too.  I am farther away from doom’s ultimate doorway than I was when I retired.  No longer teaching has kept me from getting the four cases of the flu yearly that I had become accustomed to when I was in the germ-filled giant Petri  dish commonly known as a public school classroom.  Lovely Aetna health insurance people decided they would no longer pay for my maintenance medications for diabetes, depression, blood pressure, and cholesterol, so I was forced to cut down and cut out medications.  Ironically, the less I take the meds, the better I feel.  Maybe… just maybe… I am not going to drop dead tomorrow.

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I am stuck indoors quite a lot, because COPD and not using an inhaler and sensitivity to every allergen in Texas makes for a less than wonderful outdoor experience.  So I have taken to reorganizing my library and various vast collections of junk.  I am rereading old and beloved books.  I am playing with my toys more than ever.  I am winning computer baseball games.  I just pitched another perfect game.

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I have been painting the house too, when the weather allows, making the outside of things look a little better too.  The football Cardinals have been winning.  And the Iowa Hawkeyes were perfect up until the narrow loss to Michigan State.  12-1 is still the best they have ever done.

I have recently been able to shave and look a little less Santa-like, though psoriasis is trying to peel my lower face away again, so I will probably be growing my author’s beard and Gandalf hair back again.  And I have completed collections and written up a storm.  My work is not yet complete on this Earth, and there needs to be a new Mickey in town to clean up this cowboy-infested heck-hole where I live my life.

I know this has been a rather goopy-goose of a post, but I am feeling good for a change, and it is hard to do humor about everything going too well.

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NaNoWriMo… Oh, No!

Well, it was bound to happen.   I am easily writing my 1,000 words plus every single day, but most of it is not going into the novel.  On top of that, it is a much bigger story than the NaNoWriMo’s 50,000 words, so I will not even be able to make last year’s excuse that I finished the novel in November.  Magical Miss Morgan comes in at 40,000 plus, but I finished the first draft last November by Mark Twain’s birthday on the 30th.  (I should wish Sam Clemens a happy 180th birthday, by the way.  He and I were born the same month.)   When the Captain Came Calling is only at 20,000 plus at the moment, but it will probably end up in the neighborhood of 70 to 80 thousand.  It is just that much bigger of a tale.

Voodoo Val cover

This is not an actual cover, just a mock-up using a colored-pencil piece that I created to illustrate the story.  Here is another picture in the series that helps create a main character…  Valerie Clarke is the girl above.  Mary Philips (based on my own sister) is the girl below.

Mary and the Captain

So, the shameful truth is, I will go bust on NaNoWriMo this month.  My November novel will not be even half way done.  Shame on me.  But you can benefit still from my laziness.  I also spent time watching some of my favorite crap on YouTube.  So I will share another bit of the cream of the crap that you really ought to see if you haven’t already.

I have finished all but December in my goal of blog posting every day of 2015.  So I can point to that accomplishment to offset the failure of NaNoWriMo.  4,114 visitors to date have viewed things 8,602 times this year.  There were also 933 comments made, although about half of those are my replies.  I am slowly gaining something I never thought I could achieve, a readership who actually does more than just look at the pictures.  I used to write for nobody.  I used to keep it in my closet and my desk drawer at school.  Now, as a published author, I have hopes that my work will outlive the bonfire that my wife will make to clean out my closet to make more room for her shoes when I am dead.  I just can’t say that this month did a lot to help that cause.

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When Teachers Write About Students

Dion City JH

As a writer of fiction, my characters have to come from somewhere.   A writer always writes best when he writes what he knows.  So, I am in a unique position for writing the stories that my body and soul ache to push out into the wide, wide world.  Most of my characters have to be little people… students, kids, and other denizens of the monkey house where I spent the majority of my real life.  (It helps to be told that the monkey house I refer to is a composite of all the middle schools I ever taught in.)  Of course, the students I taught were, over time, dancing in front of me metaphorically naked most of their days in my classes.  They told me everything about themselves in both conversations and their writing.  I know even their most embarrassing secrets.  Their identities have to be protected (not because they were innocent, Joe Friday, they were certainly never that, but because they have a sacred right to privacy).  So I rename them in my writing with fake names.  I take some of the incidents and eccentricities of their lives and splice them together with those of other kids.  And I transport them to imaginary worlds.  Some of my former students, reading my novels and other writing, actually don’t recognize themselves.  The picture above from the planet Dionysus in the 36th Century contains three of my former students.  Do you suppose they will recognize themselves if the story ever gets told?  The sauroid boy, a native Dion from the jungle world in the story, is modeled after Sparky, a boy I taught in my fourth year of teaching.  His real name was not Clay Snarkley, but that’s how I refer to him in my writing (when I talk about the real boy, not the alien dinosaur-child).  Sparky was one of those kids who lives his entire life on center stage.  He was the class clown who was always making a wisecrack any time the lesson involved a question that I asked students to answer.  And his wisecracks were actually funny.  He didn’t read well, but he was highly intelligent and creative.  He’s the one who fed re-fried beans to his three best friends before school and organized the Great Fart-Gas Attack in the middle of Sustained Silent Reading Time.  (That terroristic attack failed, of course, because with my lifetime of clogged sinuses, I had no sense of smell to offend.  I was perfectly comfortable.  It was the girls in class that were so enraged that Sparky narrowly escaped having a serious behind-ectomy and being the subject of ritual sacrificial revenge after school…with knives and fingernails.)  Sparky was one of my favorite students… of course, you probably know by now they were all my favorites, and he not only makes a good sauroid-alien, but he is a character in my on-going series of home-town novels, where he has to be transformed into an Iowa boy rather than a Texan.  It all means then, that I am writing humorous fiction for middle-school kids that is full of real people, people who are mostly still walking around out there living their real lives.  And if I draw them and write about them and use the details of their lives in my stories, they don’t have to be embarrassed by any of it.  As an artist, I transform the world as I perceive it through my artifice.  Their monkey-house secrets are safe. 20150807_135157

 

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Imaginary Worlds

I generally fall into the science fiction & fantasy category as a writer.  I like to connect my stories to the home town I grew up in.  It is a place called Rowan, a tiny farm town in North Central Iowa.  In my fiction I call it Norwall, an anagram for Rowan with two “L’s” added, one for “Love” and one for “Laughter”.  But the stories I tell about the town, or in some way connect to the town, are all about alien invasions, lycanthropy which is the disease that causes werewolves, fairies in the Kingdom of Tellosia which is located in the farms and fields north of town, and Iowegians who were real when I knew them in real life, but have been transformed by my imagination.  So, I have to believe that Norwall, like Narnia, Pellucidar, and Middle Earth, is an imaginary world.

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Imaginary worlds have a definite and important function.  In his new book, The Book of Legendary Lands, Umberto Eco puts forth the theory that imaginary worlds are basically a utopian sort of dream… the perfect place to live out the life you imagine you should be living.  (Here is a link.)  This rings fundamentally true with me.  I spent the Summer of 1976 in Middle Earth, eluding the Nazgul and helping Frodo and Sam sneak the one ring into Mordor.  Heroic tales set in an imaginary world help you to transform from the psychotically depressed youth you were with a secret so terrible (being the victim of a childhood sexual assault) that it was destroying you from the inside out, into the selfless and altruistic adult you needed to be to cope with life in a dark and frightful world.  We never truly live in the real world around us.  We live in the imaginary construct of that world that our mind creates and interprets.  I lived in other imaginary lands as well as a youth.  I visited other towns like Norwall in Winesburg, Ohio and Green Town, Illinois, k2-_dfd3bb21-60ea-4ef8-a215-7dade68464bb.v2

set in Green Town, Illinois

set in Green Town, Illinois

I roamed the stars with Ben Bova, Ursala LeGuin, and Andre Norton.  I lived on Mars with Ray Bradbury.  I found in those places the golden ideals that would become my treasure trove after a life of vicarious adventuring.  It would give my own story-telling the background and the sort of grounding in reality that only excellent examples could provide.

So here, now, is the most important thing I have to say about imaginary worlds; We live in them constantly, and probably could not live without them.  I offer this invitation now as this world grows darker two days after the Paris attacks…”Come live in my imaginary world for a time, and open up the gateways to yours so that I may also visit them.”

pellucidar.org

pellucidar.org

Middle-earth_map

erbzine.com

erbzine.com

comicvine.com

comicvine.com

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Progress Report

Friday the Thirteenth is probably a strange choice as a day to update you all (the non-Texican version of y’all) on how I am doing as a writer.  As a teacher, I would never give tests or graded assignments on Friday of Friggatriskaidekaphobia-fame because too many kids would bomb it just because the the stupid superstition still persists in our society.  But I am decidedly science-minded.  I know with absolute certainty that I am bound to fail more than I succeed, and one day in the very near future I will curl up my metaphorical toes and go metaphorically bye-bye.  So I might as well be perfectly honest about where I stand at present.

Skye lodge

As a parent, I have to to be better than all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.  I have dealt with bipolar disorder, social anxiety disorder, and severe depression in both my work as a teacher and as a parent of three.  I have to be good at putting Humpty together again.  For the time being, the eggs are all now puzzled back together.

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As a story-teller, my novel Snow Babies has now been completed and edited.  The publisher is now in the process of turning the thing into an actual book.  Not much more is standing in the way of me being the author of three published novels (and potentially two of them that are actually good).

As a blogger, I now have only 48 more days to go to reach my goal of posting every single day of 2015.  I have actually become a better writer by doing this, and these blogs are now a rich source of material for future projects, should I be lucky enough to survive for a while longer and do them.

My NaNoWriMo novel, When the Captain Came Calling, now stands at 17,000 words with 17 days left to reach the 50,000.  (Hey, I know it is not possible to actually get that far, but the competition is driving my progress forward after spinning my wheels through September and October.)

The painting above (Story-Teller of Skye Lodge) is making progress too, though you can see there is still a long way to go to complete it, especially once I layer in all the intricate designs in the dream-tale background.

So, that is my current report card.  I’m not clearly acing it, but I am also not failing.

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Remember November

tree time banner

November is a light blue month.  I suppose me saying that, and especially me believing it is true, is evidence of some further mental illness… I know there are other people like me who think things you can’t see have colors, and they are probably loony-birds too.  But I have always felt that months have colors.  August is burnt orange.  September is rose red.  October is yellow-brown.  And November is a light blue.

November is also the month that I turn 59 in 2015.  Almost 60!  I am moving into my cranky-old-coot phase of life.  That’s okay too.  It is also probably evidence of mental illness.  Old brains tend to get a bit fermented… especially when they’ve been sauteed over time in a stew of stress, pain, doubt, and old wounds that never really heal.  I enjoy getting older because now I have the excuse that I am a doddering old coot to help me get away with the creatively evil things I was always too goody-two-shoes and afraid to do when I was younger.  No worries.  I am not changing into Dracula over night.  Halloween has come and gone without me doing anything seriously bad… other than writing novels.  At least, not that I am aware of.

November is also NaNoWriMo.  This year I begin the month putting the final editing touches on Snow Babies.  Then it is time to get serious about When the Captain Came Calling.  

Voodoo Val coverMary and the Captain

WTCCC is a novel about girls re-forming an old boys gang… with boys in it, and taking on the magic of sea-stories… lies that old sailors will tell.  Captain Noah Dettbarn returns home to Iowa from the South Pacific cursed with invisibility and being pursued by magical monsters.  Mary Philips, the girl on the right, has become the new leader of the Norwall Pirates.  Valerie Clarke, on the left, is the youngest member of the club, and she is the viewpoint character filtering the sometimes scary world of adults through her imaginative young mind.  She’s also in the picture of Mary since she has been turned into a golden-furred squirrel in that picture.

This novel I am using for NaNoWriMo already stands at 41 pages and more than 14,000 words.  So I have a good head start.  A novel in a month?  50,000 words?  Easy for a crazy old coot who is retired and not busy enough by half.  As long as I can keep on kicking (the dog is watching me as I write this because she doesn’t want me kicking her) and keep on living, I can do it easily.  It is a story idea I have been working on since 1981.  And even though November is a blue month, depression is not a problem.  It is light blue, remember?  The dark blue of depression doesn’t come along until December, a month colored deep indigo blue.  And by that time there is no way fickle fate can prevent Snow Babies from being published by 2016.

(Since I am still short of 500 at this point, let me point out the favorite words I have used in this post that tickle me passionate pink; coot, fickle, loony, doddering, and indigo.  Now you can ignore this parenthetic expression.)

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The Coat of Many Colors

Denny&Tommy1I am nearing the completion of my novel Snow Babies.  The editor, Jessie Cornwell, sent it back to me with the third read-through completed.  I am now closing in on a completed final draft ready to go to print.  And I am posting this post to acknowledge that the character of the hobo with the quilted jacket for a coat is indeed me.  Well, as close to being me as a fictional character who may or may not be an angel can come.  I admit I am probably not as good as Lucky Catbird Sandman is good.

But I am a man who is basically a Walt Whitman-type poet-y sort of man in a cartoony sort of way.  That is what the Catbird really is.

ragged man

He wears a coat of many colors which is made up of many varicolored patches.  Each patch in the crazy quilt of his coat stands for a memory of the many people he has known and the problems he has solved.  He helps the main character of the story, a small-town Iowa girl named Valerie Clarke, as her little town is besieged by a terrible blizzard.  The Trailways bus is stranded near the town, and on the bus are four orphan boys, running away to nowhere and desperately needing the intervention of the angels to help them escape the lives they’ve left behind.  Catbird spins miracles out of random things and random snatches of Walt Whitman’s poetry.  He carries around a copy of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, and he quotes from it like a Bible.  So, he is a me-character because he was born in my goofy brain and represents no real person living or dead.  He is more of a literary device than a man… just like me.  And that is notable because all the other players in the story are based on real people that I have known, either in Iowa or Texas, real people who have been a significant part of my real life.

tree time banner

I believe this is why the novel is the most important thing I have ever written.  It is because, if I ever found any real worthy wisdom to spread around like jam on bread, it is to be found in this book.  It is the best thing I have ever written and published.  At least, so far.  And the mysterious stranger character, the man in the coat of many colors, Catbird… is me.  Judge for yourself if I am not like him.

Catbird Me 2

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The Sky is Red

20151005_071555Today is a this-and-that post because I am juggling so many things with at least one hand tied behind my back.  And because this morning, (as you can see in my sunrise photo) the sky is red.  You don’t believe in signs and portents, you say?  Well, neither do I.  Still, the old saying is, “red sky in morning, sailors take warning.”  Are there rough times directly ahead?  Rough seas?  Hard sailing?  I wonder.

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250021_10151185182712298_1774974703_nMy favorite sports teams, the St. Louis Baseball Cardinals and the Arizona Football Cardinals have both been the best in the business in the really-recent past.  The baseball team has won 100 games and goes into the World Series playoffs expected by many to win it all.  Yet, they ended the season on a three-game losing streak with two of their best pitchers taking losses.  The football team, along with my all-time favorite football player, Larry Fitzgerald, had been cruising along undefeated at a totally dominating pace.  Yesterday they lost by two point to the St. Louis Rams.  Both teams are still sitting pretty in enviable positions in their respective sports.  Yet there are portents of doom.

My home continues to crumble and my own personal health is up and down and super-iffy.  The city gave us notice of a program to help with repairs and maintenance, but we make too much money to qualify.  And we still don’t have any money in the bank thanks to health-related expenses.  My body aches and my head spins frequently, but I am going to have to get back up on the ladder and finish painting the house.

So, what shall I do about it all?  Grim omens scare me and slow me down, but I grit my teeth and pitch in.  I have repainted the four shutters for the back of the house and re-hung two of them yesterday.  I can still paint and do work on the house.  Amazing things can be accomplished a little bit at a time.  After all, I put up new siding on the back of the house last year at this time working with only my sons and my daughter to help.  I managed to do it all before the city’s deadline and threatened thousand-dollar fine (because it only makes sense to fine people that much when they have no money to fix the outside of the house.)  I will beat whatever new deadlines they give me too.  But it is a good sign that they want to help and haven’t hit me with any new deadlines yet.

And I will double down on writing work.  I sent Snow Babies back to the editor Saturday, and I am closing in on getting that book in print.  I am getting back to work on the prequel, When the Captain Came Calling, and I even started a new character illustration, depicting Mary Philips and the invisible sea captain.  Here is the pen and ink drawing;

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And here is the first of the color I have completed;

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So maybe portents are not always bad things.  Maybe the sky is red because it is the color of cardinals, and things are looking up for the boys wearing red.  Cardinals are the little red birds that sing sweetly and never fly away when the winter comes.  We cardinals take on all comers and maybe we will win it all for the 12th time… or the 1st time since the 1950’s… or the first time ever.  After all, the sky is red.

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