Give Thanks...Getting To Know A Few Authors

 Friday, the family checked out an estate sale a mile or so from our house. They hired a company to hold the sale. That was a little different than the usual estate sales held around here. Let's just say we were not prepared for what we experienced when we walked through the door.

I've seen Deseret Industries with less stuff to sell.

They had...everything. Appliances, DVDs, clothes, collectable dolls, dishes, at least seven fax machines (that I counted...), food storage, and books. Lots and lots of books. I noticed one right off the bat, Robison Well's The Counterfeit. I've read a couple of Robison's books. Never heard of that one. I had to get it.

I've been doing this author thing for about a decade. In that time I've met many authors. I know some better than others. Robison and his brother Dan are local favorites. It's strange that I didn't know these people a decade ago and now the authors I've met are some of my favorite people.

Something that surprised me from the start is, at least the authors I've met, is how nice and genuine they are. Almost all of them want you to succeed, to finish those WIPs, to be bold in the words you produce. I'm thankful for those friendships. I'm thankful for the help they've given not only me, but so many others. I'm thankful that when I enter a home with literally hundreds of books from both big and small, I found one written by someone I've met and done panels with and who I can call a fellow Utah author.

It's a cool feeling.

Give Thanks...Felt Like Old Times

 Eleven years ago, a small publisher chose one of my stories to include in an anthology. Unlike almost all the authors I know, I did NOT know from childhood that I wanted to be a writer. Oh, I had dabbled, but I never thought I was smart enough or good enough to actually produce something anyone would want to read.

I went back to school, earned my masters in English, and started writing.

I was almost forty-five years old.

My story, a steampunk re-telling of H.C. Christensen's The Little Match Girl, was published through Xchyler Publishing and in the summer of 2013, a Steampunk Convention was held about ten miles from my house a few months later. I was asked to be on a writing panel about the book, steampunk, and writing in general. I was on Cloud 9. The first story I ever submitted was actually published.

For the next few years, I had a few other stories published, then a collection of my short stories, then a novel. And I kept going to book signings. Those first few were so exciting. My name on books...it felt sort of surreal. People actually buying my books was icing on the cake.

Then, when I didn't generate new material, I'd sit with friends and no one would buy anything from me. I still loved being around other authors, but things had changed. Eventually (and covid didn't help...), I stopped doing signings. 

Our little town has a summer reading kickoff party, in fact, it's called the Summer Reading Kickoff Party. This year's even took place last Friday and I asked if I could participate. They said yes, and I had a blast. I was proud of my little books, proud again of what I've written. That pride sort of dissipated over the years. I talked to everyone who showed up at my table, and as I packed up to go home, I had sold four books.

It's been a long time since I sold that many books at one signing. 

Maybe it's because I have two books written waiting to find a home. Maybe it's because it's been so long since I did a book signing. I don't know, but I do know I'm thankful for the opportunity, the chance to talk to people who love to read. I'm thankful for those who have supported my little hobby for the past ten-plus years and hopefully, for years to come. 

Last Friday...well, it felt like old times.

This Year's Writing Cantina Conference Will Have Some Amazing Panelists...And I'll Be There, Too

In little over a month, I'm going to do something I haven't done in a long time...

Be a panelist at a writing conference.

I've missed it.

Back in 2013 I started my panelist journey, and when I look back on it, it's still hard to believe. In a matter of months, I went from never having participated on a panel, to being part of the state's largest conferences and conventions. 

It was a rush!

I was sitting with best-selling authors, artists, filmmakers. I had a blast and made several life-long friends. Over the next couple of years I was able to remain on panels, but then something happened...I sort of stopped getting asked, and I didn't want to be one of those "needy" authors basically begging to participate. If anyone's to blame, it would be me. I stopped producing, stopped creating content. And when you do that as a writer, you sort of run out of things to sell...ah, I mean, say.

Last month, I re-committed myself to the craft, and I've gotten a lot done since then. This year's Writers Cantina writing conference takes place June 28-29 in West Valley City, Utah. I will be on a screenwriting panel with Blake Casselman, a good friend who I credit with helping me become a panelist way back when.

If you'd like information on the event, click: HERE for details. I'd love to see you there. I can't wait to just back in.

Another Year For The Retreat To The House On The Hill...

 Spring...many look forward to the season to witness new life in nature, to feel the sun on their face, to shed the winter clothes and venture forth in t-shirts, shorts, and sandals.

There's another reason, of course, but it's a bit obscure. If you listen carefully, you'll hear the siren's song, when writers pack up their laptops and head for the hills...or one hill, to be exact.

For the first time in many years I found myself able to take time off from work and attend the writing retreat in person. I've missed the past couple of years due to "life," but this year, things were looking up. The first day or two of the week we had planned to so some much-needed work around the house, then when I was planning to leave, I got hit with a cough. It wasn't so bad that I couldn't function, but bad enough I didn't want to be hold up (yes, hold up...) in a house with several other authors trying to turn blood, sweat, and tears into art. 

I stayed home.

All is not lost. Those who put together the writing retreat each year encourage everyone to create no matter where they are, be they at the hill house, or in their own house. 

This year, instead of pounding out words for stories yet un-written, I worked on two stories that need editing. Then, I did something I haven't done in almost a decade...I submitted part of a manuscript to see of the publisher is interested. 

Submitted a story is like pushing the button to launch a bomb. It's scary, exciting, maddening, nerve-racking, but at times, needs to be done. I've submitted several stories in the past--mostly short stories--but the feeling is the same and hasn't stopped conjuring those emotions. Maybe that will change in the future...

Maybe not.

Even though I did not write 43k or 45k words as some at the retreat did (unbelievable...), I feel it was a success. I've needed to kick those stories out of the nest for years. 

I'm again making it a goal to attend in person next year. I came closer this year than I did the past couple. I suppose that's what the retreat is really all about...setting goals to improve, to create, to push yourself for the benefit of mankind. 

Must be spring.

Day One Of The Writing Retreat...Editing

 About a hundred miles to the south of me, many of my friends have gathered at a famous house on the hill. They've spent the day writing, editing, eating, sharing jokes, and tonight after dinner, they may be playing an epic board game.

It's a writing retreat.

I'm participating, but remotely, at least for the first couple of days. I hope to join the group hopefully later. Today was supposed to be a day of yard work, but cold wet weather kept me mostly inside. Did I get much writing done? Nope. Today was a day for editing.

I've got two stories that need to see the light of day. One, I'm going to self-publish. The other, well...it could catch the eye of a publisher. That would be fun.

It's been years since I read the first eight chapters of the story. When you write a book you read and re-read your words so often, you can get sick of them. Having not read those chapters for such a long time, I found I enjoyed reading it, even finding myself surprised at some of the words, the sentences. 

I hope others feel the same.

Tomorrow is Day 2 (actually, Day 3 if you count Sunday night...) of the retreat. We may get to the yard tomorrow and I know we have other errands to run, but I hope to continue editing the same story.

We'll see what happens.

Lots Of Moons Out There...

 Fascinating...

I had an idea for a book. Well, several books, actually. It's in the early stages...just some basics. I have a lot of story ideas like that...a lot. This one, it has promise. That's the problem--I think they all have promise.

Moons.

It was moons that added the "wow" element.

The topic of moons came up this morning when the TV show we were watching talked about how many moons orbit the gas planet Uranus (yes, the jokes write themselves...). I had no idea there were twenty-eight moons associated with that planet. Of course, astronomy is not something I think about often, but I found that nugget of information fascinating.

I did a little research. Still amazed that with a click of a few keystrokes the world's information is available (instead of driving down to the local library and hanging out in the research section...). I found a cool site: HERE. The planet with the most moons is Jupiter. Makes sense...it's the largest planet. Most surprising fact: Pluto has two moons, it being smaller than our own moon. It would be weird to see our moon with two smaller moons orbiting it.

Then again, being on any other planet and seeing all the different moons would would be weird. All those moons. I wonder if humans could land and set up settlements on them, like they're working toward for our moons and Mars. I suppose anything is possible. 

It's the possibilities that make for good fiction, and non-fiction when you think about it. Will this story ever get written? 

That's the biggest unknown of all.

Writers Cantina...Registration Is Now Open!

 As sure as winter turns to spring and those who live in colder climes venture out from their hibernated states, a writer's mind turns to other things...creative things. It's perfect then, that we're about to enter the season of gatherings. Or, in other words...

Writing conventions.

Last year a group of friends and colleagues decided there ought to be yet another destination for those who want to improve their craft, and so the Writers Cantina Writers Conference was born. The newborn entity took its first steps last summer. This summer, we're seeing if it'll speak.

What will those first words be, I wonder.

If you're in the area June 28 - 29, 2024, check us out. For more information, check out the website by clicking: HERE. You can also register to let us know you're coming.

Writers Cantina focuses on providing practical and useful knowledge to both the novice and experienced writer. What I love about smaller conferences is the access you have to some incredible talent. There's something for everyone--those with the knowledge and experience helping those looking for help. 

Last year, was great. We're working to make this year even better.

Julie Frost's "Cry Havoc" Drops Today...Check It Out

 Back when there seemed to be a writing convention every other month and I was fortunate enough to attend a writing convention every other month, there was always a book being released, or several. I got to know many authors and have tried to help them out by reading their stuff, or helping promote their stuff, or both.

Today, Julie Frost's Cry Havoc is available on Amazon. From the book's website is the following information:

Nate Cassin, the alpha werewolf of Missoula, Montana, finds his little city has a big wolf problem when shredded bodies start showing up all over town. Faced with a hostile press and even more hostile hunters, he tries to protect his innocent pack of eight at the same time they try to track down two elusive killers in an area of 35 square miles with a plethora of hiding places.

He's seen this before. And the hunters always, always go overboard and decide the only good werewolf is a dead one, no matter who's actually responsible. His pack will be collateral damage unless he can find the enemy wolves—and stop their broken alpha—before they turn his hometown into a human buffet.

Part of what I love about being part of the local writing community is getting to know everyone. Writers are an interesting breed. They're as individual as what they write...no cookie-cutter personalities. The above blurb screams Julie. If you're ever lucky enough to meet and have a conversation with her, it's a moment not easily forgotten. She's a wonderful writer and person.

Since the book just came out today, I have not read it. But, I do know that Julie is so passionate about her writing...and pretty much other interests as well.

If you like the genre, or even if you don't and you'd like to give Cry Havoc a chance, click: HERE for the Amazon link. After all, I'm guessing many of you are in the mood for a good werewolf yarn right about now.

New Year...New Conventions - Time To Prepare For Writers Cantina Symposium

 We had such a great time last year, we decided to go it again.

It's a time to look forward, to events and gatherings the upcoming twelve months. In our pre-covid life, there seemed to be so many writing conferences, writing conventions, writing symposiums. Every other month, we could attend an event where authors and artists met and exchanged ideas, jokes (both good, and terrible...), and most of all, good times. 

We were definitely spoiled.

But, to quote the incomparable Ian Malcom, "Life...finds a way." Slowly, steadily, the cons are returning, starting small, but having passion, the passion needed to start something wonderful and important and fun.

Get ready for The Writers Cantina writing event, returning to Utah June 28 - 29, 2024. Yes, we've doubled the days, doubled the fun.

We're in the beginning stages, dusting off the "How to Run an Extremely Successful Writing Symposium" pamphlet to organize another high-quality experience for both the attendees and the presenters. 

If you're interested, check the Writers Cantina website by clicking: HERE. There will be more information about this year's event as time goes on. Of course, the best time to prepare is now. Spread the word, save the date, don't let your kids (or you...) get married on that particular weekend because there's a kick-butt writing conference you should consider.

See you there.

It's Rare...But Sometimes You See The Whole Story

 Many times, more than I can count, an idea will strike me in the middle of the night. I know I'm not alone in this. Ask any writer and they'll tell you it happens. Some attempt to write down their ideas, something I even tried once. It was unsuccessful. The point is, inspiration strikes at any time, any where, whether you're ready for it or not.

Such is life.

But, something happened the other night, something that's pretty rare, at least for me.

I saw the entire story, from the beginning scene, to the end credits...it was all there.

And I couldn't fall back to sleep for a couple of hours.

Truth be told, I've had the bones of the story in my head for some time. The main character, the main conflict, the pivotal scene, the resolution, but it's the details that trip me up, the small things that can be huge stumbling blocks when it comes time to write it all down.

I'm sure the time of the night helped heighten my enthusiasm for my story. In addition to ideas hitting me in the middle of the night, I think those ideas are brilliant. Something about the middle of the night makes ideas sound better than they are. Perhaps that's why so many bad decisions are made when we're supposed to be sleeping.

It had been so long since I opened Final Draft, that I had to re-install it, but I'm determined to write this sucker. This time, I can't use my often-used excuse, "I don't have the whole story figured out."

Nope, not this time.

"Haunted Yuletide" Is On Sale...Pick Up Your Own Copy Today!

 It's true. Haunted Yuletide is no sale for a limited time and you can get your own copy on Amazon. 

The book's been out for a couple of years, and if I'm not mistaken, it's the last story I've had published. Of course, that's not the reason you should buy it--you should buy it for mine and all the other stories. 

As with other anthologies with whom I've been associated, this time I've been fortunate enough to be included with authors who I also consider friends. The editors for Haunted Yuletide, Jay and Julie Barnson, I've known for the past decade. They're amazing authors and even better people. 

You can access the book's website by clicking: HERE. I know my story was fun to write and I'm glad it was included among so many other fun stories.

Make Christmas spooky again! Haunted Yuletide is a great place to do exactly that.

Started A New Story...It's About Time (Even Though It's Not About "Time")

 I've had this story kicking around my brain for years. It began like almost all the others...a seed sprouts and begins to grow. Sometimes--most times--I open my computer and write the beginning down. I usually crank out a page, or two. On occasion, I may complete an entire chapter...

Then, I usually stop.

It's my style.

And not a good style.

Most of my short stories ended up that way. The great thing about a short story is I'm usually dedicated enough to see the story through. It's when the story requires an additional eighty-five thousand words where I run into trouble.

This latest story's different. It's a children's book. Some of my first writings were picture books (sans illustrations...). I even sent them to publishers, back when you printed copies and mailed a physical copy of your work to publishers. Those were the days. In many ways, it's a superior system than what we have today because it forces the author to actually do more than just type a story.

In the photo, you see I've only written 372 words. The good news is, that's about ten percent of the entire thing. I had fun writing those words. I can see even now how much editing it will take. The fewer the words, the more important each word is. I'm also going to need an illustrator. I have a couple in mind. I'm waiting to see how it turns ou,t to see how confident I am in the finished product, before I consider inquiring about an artist. 

This story is the kind of project I need to think about, to roll around in my mind. I know (or I think I know...) how I want the story to feel when it's done. All I have to do now, is write it.

Yes, it's another "just begun" tale. Let's hope it doesn't end up like so many others.

I'll keep you posted.

"The Befallen"...By Cambria Williams

 Release day.

There's something about the day when it's really official, when the book that's inundated your life for days, weeks, months, years is unleashed upon the world. Someone somewhere has the stats...there's probably hundreds--even perhaps thousands--of books were released today, including Cambria Williams's The Befallen.

This is Williams's first book. If you ask me, it lacks a "first time" feel. The protagonist, Sloane faces a cruel world in search for justice. Williams's talent is evident as the reader and Sloane discover the fascinating world in which she ventures. Her village gone, her family dead...when others see Sloane they see weakness. We see more because we see the struggles, the danger, the triumphs and the failures.

Years ago I read a lot of fantasy, but not anymore. Maybe because of that, the story was fresh, the world created believable and tangible. If you're a fan of fantasy with a hero unlike so many others, give The Befallen a try. You can order it by clicking: HERE.

Release days are exciting. Even though it's not my book, I can still feel that spark, the feeling of seeing the reviews come in, finding out what people think of your words. There's nothing else like it. Check out The Befallen. It's a great read.

Beautiful Writing Advice...

 Back when I didn't know how to use Twitter/X (and, many times I don't know if I've ever truly learned how to use it...), I started following writers. Not every writer, mind you, but those I found interesting, those who looked like they'd be a fun follow. I'll most likely never meet most of them in person, but if you're an aspiring writer, following writers on TwitterX is a good way to insert yourself into the writing community.

When you follow writers, you're bound to see a lot of writing advice...some good, some terrible...

And some beautiful.

The other day I came across some writing advice on Twitter/X that was precisely that...beautiful. 

I included the screenshot because I'm not 100% sure who to credit, but you can see who posted the tweet/X I saw. What captured my attention was the way the flow was broken down, how the reader is presented information that flows. The writer said it best, "The writing sings."

I've been tinkering with this writing thing for about fifteen years. I've met some incredible writers in that time and read some of the most amazing stories from those writers. A lot of good writing--in my opinion--is cerebral, from the sub-conscience...unfortunately, something that cannot be taught. I don't believe that last one completely, but actually, yes I do.

Every writer can improve their craft and some are true masters. Such is life, might as well accept it and do your best. Read the above passage again.

Write music.

After Everyone Left...

 The door creaked and the faint smell of dust and sweat hit Jason as he entered the empty room, a room where only two hours before was filled with screaming fans and tired athletes.

...also, shattered dreams.

Oh, what could have been...a million little things.

Jason shuffled through the doorway and scanned the room for the only thing that meant enough to the seventeen-year old for him to face the location of his short life's cruelest battle. After a moment, his eyes fixed upon the leather sphere, the weapon, the artillery, the bullet, the dagger that might as well have been still lodged in Jason's heart.

Just get my basketball and get out of here, he thought, a small feeling of solace after a night of humiliation. Exactly four hours earlier, Jason sat excited, his legs bouncing up and down waiting for the introductions of him and his teammates. He'd waited all year to play his cross-town rivals, a team that beat them last year. Now, unlike last time, the game would be played in his gym, at Jason's house. 

Time for revenge.

Exactly two hours ago, the buzzer sounded as Jason and a thousand others watched Jason's lucky basketball sail through the air as time expired, only the game of Jason's dreams turned out to be a nightmare. After the shot, Jason put on a brave face, congratulated the other team while consoling his teammates, friends, fellow soldiers. The upbeat mood was part act, part sincere. As far back as he could remember, Jason followed the admonition of his father, "A true champion is neither a sore winner or loser. If you can't be both, don't even bother playing."

Jason and his team left the court, showered, dressed, laughed at lame jokes (the jokes were always better after a win...), and left with everyone else. He walked home, living only three doors down from the school. It wasn't until he started his already-ignored homework that he remembered the basketball. 

Better go get it, he thought.

He'd walked the walk hundreds, even thousands of times, to and from school, to and from practice. Tonight as he walked Jason replayed the game over and over in his mind, focusing mostly on the last ten seconds. Had the shot he took with 7.4 seconds left gone in, they win the game. Had he or any of his teammates rebounded the ball, they win the game. Neither happened and the other team's worst shooter got lucky at the other end. It stung. It will sting for a while.

Jason picked up the ball, the leather sheen once covering the no longer new ball already starting to wear. He twisted it in his hands, once, twice, three times. He bounded the ball, once, twice, three times. He looked at the other end of the court where it all came down to a million little things, the slightest pressure as it left his hands, jumping increasingly higher as he jumped...so many things.

He thought about walking to the exact spot where he took the shot and trying one more time to see if this time, the ball would go in.

He then changed his mind.

Nah, he thought. There'll be time to practice that shot again later. He had a paper to write...better get home.

Join Us...Won't You?

 At 9am tomorrow morning, a group of hardy authors will gather at a convention hall in West Valley City, Utah.

You should join us.

To be honest, I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. It's new for everyone...for the organizers, for the panelists, for the attendees. I do know, however (because I know most of the people involved...) that it's going to be a lot of fun.

I mean, how could it not be?

There will be intellectuals, gamers, nerds, science fiction enthusiasts, fantasy enthusiasts, and others. They'll be under one roof for one day, the first and only day of the Writers Cantina Writing Conference. I will be there to help facilitate the activities and hopefully help others have an amazing time. 

The event is relatively cheap--since pre-registration has come and gone, it's only $20 for people 13 and older, $5 for anyone 12 and under. That's a steal--don't let anyone tell you differently. We'll have best-selling authors, gamers, video game creators, but mostly writers who can't wait to share the "tricks of the trade."

The location: The Utah Cultural Celebration Center, or UCCC. It's at: 1355 W 3100 S, West Valley City, UT 84119. Registration and check-in are from 9am to 9:50am. Then, the fun really begins.

You can learn more by clicking: HERE. I'd love to see you there. 

"Project Salamander"...One Chapter, Is Mine

 The people who are putting on a new writing conference next week in Utah got together and wrote a book. The plan was for each author to write a chapter until the entire novel is complete. I was on the e-mail list with other authors. Every couple of weeks, a writer would say his/her chapter was done and it was time to pass it off to the next creative artist.

Initially, I did not sign up for the project, but as the chapters kept adding up, I thought it might be fun to help out. So, when another author proclaimed their assignment, "Finished," I said I'd like a turn.

And so I did.

A little hint, if your author friends are writing a novel and each is writing a chapter, my advice is - volunteer early. Why? Because when you write early in the process, you don't have a lot of story to build upon. No, it's pretty much a blank slate. 

If you are one of the later writers, well...you have to first, read (and understand...) what others have written, then you must adapt a chapter to not only match what's come before, but enhance and expound on the other's great words.

Such was my assignment.

And it was a blast.

The story had split into several side-stories. I chose one and continued the story. I'm not going to go into detail about the chapter other than to say I liked it. Once finished, I submitted it and a few weeks later, a new novel appeared. It's titled, Project Salamander. Love the title.

Here's the subtitle (which I also love...).

Don't Trust Anyone, Especially the Face in the Mirror

If you'd like to know more about the book, or better yet, BUY the book, you can get a copy by clicking: HERE. Even without knowing the ending, I recommend it.

Project Salamander, pick it up, support a great cause. One of the chapters is mine.

Utah's Newest Writer's Conference...Writers Cantina...Is Almost Here

 It's getting closer...can you feel it?

In exactly ten days, writers will assemble, gather, join each other to swap stories, tell jokes, brag (sometimes to the point of lying...), and have a great time. It's something, if you're considering coming, you should do.

The conference is on July 8th at the Utah Cultural Celebration Center, or UCCC for short. It's in West Valley City, Utah. Click: HERE for information on the center. The cost is $15 if you register early, and a little bit more (but not much...) day of the event.

One good thing about attending the inaugural event is you can make history by just being there. You'll be able to tell your kids/grandkids/random strangers that you were there when the doors opened for the first time, when the awesomeness that flowed throughout the conference washed over you and changed your life forever.

But seriously, it you're in town and would like to spend a Saturday among some amazing writers and invited guests and presenters, click: HERE and check out the conference. We'd love to see you there.

It's getting closer...can you feel it?

"Don't Mess With The Seagulls"...An Old Man Foster Story

 "Let me tell you something, sonny," the old man said, his frail finger shaking as he wagged it in our young faces. "You don't mess with the seagulls."

My friend Steve snickered, almost making me bust up, too. But, I kept it together. The five of us straddled our bikes. I still don't know why we stopped at Old Man Foster's house, a broken-down structure marking the point where the paved road ended and the dirt road began. 

But we stopped for some reason and Old Man Foster came out to shout at us...again.

"I'm serious, man," he said, a drop of spittle rolling down his unshaven face. "You boys think you're smart chasing the seagulls on your little bikes, but let me tell you--you'll be sorry if you do."

I looked at my friends, their twelve-year old faces looked back at me, as if they wanted me to be the group's spokesman. I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea what to say.

"Mr. Foster, we weren't chasing any seagulls. I mean, they can fly--there's no way we'd catch them." I thought my answer was a good one. It made sense to me.

"That's the problem with you damn kids," Old Man Foster said swatting his hand as if dismissing us with a simple wave. "I saw you riding--I see you everyday riding your bikes up and down this street like you own the place. I've even seen you ride across my yard."

I looked at everyone to see if that was true because I knew I had never done that. They all shook their heads. When I turned back around Old Man Foster's eyes blazed fire and hate.

"Oooohhh yes--I seen you, and I know it was you. You chasing all the animals, cats, dogs, squirrels, all of them. You don't think anyone sees you doing it, but I do. I see everything."

I didn't know if we should just hop on our bikes and peddle away, but I wanted to know why he was yelling at us and why this man who must have been close to ninety-years old was worried about seagulls.

"Mr. Foster," I said. Thinking back I tried to be sincere. "We weren't trying to catch or mess with the seagulls, really." Old Man Foster didn't seem impressed. Then I got a little snippy. "And even if we did, why is messing with a couple of birds such a big deal anyway?"

Foster sighed and shook his head. He then stared us down with a look that sent a jolt up my spine. "You mess with the seagulls, you'll be sorry. No joke. When you see a flock of them birds flying, you don't follow them, you don't even look at them. If you do, there's nothing but bad luck--and I'm talking evil--things are about to happen. I've lived on this earth long enough to know what I'm talking about. You listen to me and listen good--you don't mess with the seagulls."

He stood before us on those frail legs, slightly swaying left and right. He looked at each of us to as if daring us to betray his authority. None of us spoke. I looked at my friends. Steve rolled his eyes, but I knew he was all talk.

"Okay, Mr. Foster. We'll turn around and stop messing with the birds. Thank you for telling us about them. I...we didn't know what would happen. Thank you."

We turned our bikes from his house and started peddling away.

"Man, that old fart don't know anything," Steve said. I agreed, but something in the back of my mind gnawed at me. What if he was right? I thought it was stupid to mess with birds...we never could get close enough to do anything to them...

But, what if he was right?

I didn't say anything to Steve, didn't say anything to any of them. We just all went home. I didn't find out until later that Steve left his house after the streetlights came on and rode past Old Man Foster's house on his bike. I can only imagine he was flipping off Old Man Foster the bird as he passed. 

They found Steve's bike the next day, but they never found Steve. He disappeared. The police asked each of us if we thought we knew where he was...we didn't know. They even asked Old Man Foster, or so we were told. To this day, that look on Steve's face when he rolled his eyes haunts me. 

Years ago, I moved away from my home town, but every few years I'd return to visit my parents and friends. The dirt road is paved and lined with homes. Old Man Foster's shack was demolished a year or two after he shook his boney finger at us and warned us of the flying evil that awaited us if we messed with the seagulls.

It's something I never did again in my life.

Give Thanks...For Second Chances

 May 2023 has been a crazy month. We're preparing for a wedding in just under three weeks, and that has taken so much of our time and brain-power. Earlier in the month I wrote two short stories and submitted them for anthologies. Haven't heard back on either of them. I have no illusions as to my chances, but I had a blast writing them.

I saw another call for stories. This time, it's dogs and science fiction/fantasy. I didn't have a story written, or even thought of one, but I wrote a novel about a dog in space...maybe I could do something with that. I opened a browser page with the submission information on it and then...

Forgot about it.

I opened the browser page on a Monday. The contest ended the Friday before. I missed it. Bummer. Then, as if a very specific prayer was answered, the submission contest opened again.

Score!

I'm a few thousand words into what should be a 4-5k story. I've set up the beginning and introduced the story's major conflict. The contest ends Tuesday, the 30th. I've got two days (minus a family party tomorrow...) to get it done.

I'm grateful for the second chance. As with the other stories, I have no idea my chances, assuming I finish the story in time. I'm grateful for opportunities that are out there. I'm grateful for people who are taking chances with art and allowing others to participate. I'll let you all know how it goes.