Dear Princess

Princess in her favorite white shrug

Dear Princess,

For once in my life, words have failed me.

Many people will tell you that the death of a beloved pet is sad, but "just a bad part of life." To me, it is an injustice. It is pure heartache and sorrow.

You see, you weren't just a dog to me. You were my dog. Ever since I saw you prancing on the wooden porch out in the country, that sweet white streak down your nose, I knew you were mine. I would spend hours in the garage that winter with both you and Rascal curled in my lap, watching your tiny tummies rise and fall. You were always there to greet me in the laundry basket when Mom picked me up from high school. Later, you were always out to greet me from a night out. Your stubby tail would wave from the fence, your pink tongue flapping enthusiastically.

Of course, you lived up to your name. Walks were to be tolerated solely for my benefit. If you were tired, you'd simply plop down on the pavement and demand to be taken home. You would only wear pink and rhinestone collars and expected only the best of doggie treats. During breakfast and dinner, you whined and slobbered and shivered at the window. Since I was, and still am, a sucker, I'd sneak outside to feed you parts of my dinner. You took a great delight in being pulled around in the wagon in the backyard, and wanted to be carried whenever possible.

But the thing that kills me most about your untimely death, was that you were always there for me. And I wasn't for you. When I went off to college, you were still waiting at the gate whenever I pulled in the driveway. When I got married and moved down to San Antonio, you were always lying outside the patio windows watching my old room in hopes I might emerge. When I brought the new babies up to meet you, you were gracious enough not to mention Bitty looked like a Squirrel.

However, when you needed me most, I wasn't there for you.

Of course, people will tell me that's the way of things. Kids grow up and get married. They go to school. They move on. You're just a dog, not a child or a spouse.

But, you were my dog. No matter what I did or said, you loved me. Whether I forgot to feed you or dragged you on two mile walks in the hundred degree heat, you were always ready for kisses and snuggles. Even after I moved away, you wiggled just at the sight of my hand reaching down to pet you.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair.

And I only wish I could have scratched your belly one last time.

I love you, Princess. I hope you realized I loved you as much as you loved me. I just wish I had showed it better.

Love,

Miranda

In Alaska...

In Alaska, you can ride in a tiny plane....

You can search for belugas....

and you can have a snowfight in July.

In Alaska, you can ride down a mountain in a ski lift...

You can pick bugs out of your sister's hair...

and you can grin down a bear.

But the best thing to do in Alaska, by far....

is to stick your head out the side of a train going 40 miles per hour in fifty degree weather and sing to the otters in the middle of July.

Well, it's the best thing to do if you're me.

A nibble: Missing Wings 4

Dear Invisible Friends,

I need your advice.

As requested, I'm turning Missing Wings into a book. However, I need your help deciding what kind of book:

1) A traditional book sent to a traditional publisher or possibly an agent. Timeline: 6 months plus, depending on anyone picks it up or I get noticed through one of my other books.

2) I could do a book just for you, dear Invisible Friends! And you could help. Here's my idea: I could write the book and post various chunks for you to comment/ vote on, discuss plot ideas with you, etc. It would be like a book guided by you! However, once I do this, it could never be "professionally" published. I could print it on Lulu.com (check it out) and ya'll could buy it off my Web site (when I create it). However, if I give it an ISBN, it's like Allie said. Very few publishers will pick it up. It'll be considered a self-publish piece of crap, even though I would have it edited by a professional. I'm a magazine editor--it's not like I'd put my name on something that looked like I wiped my butt on it. But in the literary world, I'd be slightly above those crazy people that write novels at Starbucks and spend years writing the Great American Novel.

But publishers haven't exactly been noticing me anyway, so who the hell cares?

And as I always say--don't fence me in!

Here's the thing, dear Friends: I write because I have to. I write because I want to. Missing Wings was supposed to be a single blog entry and is now consuming my every thought. The book will probably end up being done (rough draft form) in a few months. So one way or the other, the book will be written. Whether five people see it or five thousand, I want to share it.

So my idea is, maybe we could work this out. Maybe with ya'lls help and support, I could fufill my dream of being published. I could create my own alterna-publishing universe, even if only a hundred people ever know my name and buy my stuff.

Or I could churn out hundreds of more query letters and read rejections. I've still got to send my stuff out on my dolphin book (more on that later) so I'm sure I'll have more of those soon.

Put your eyeballs back in! I'm finished rambling! Read part 4 of Missing Wings and leave your votes below! I need your help!

Biting-my-fingers-in-anxiousness-and-twitchingly-yours,

The Blonde Duck

Missing Wings, part 4

Bryant stared at Callie's pale, drawn face. She stared behind him, her eyes growing wider. Absently, her pale fingers drew the straps of her shirt back over her shoulders, hiding the pink marks that matched his.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She whirled around. Her whisper had the ferocity of a shout and chilled him to the bone. “Run!”

Grabbing the remainder of his hamburger, Bryant bolted out of the booth. He skidded across the floor and raced toward the door, nearly crashing into the kind waitress. “Sorry,” he gasped as he rammed his shoulder into the door. Spilling out on the sidewalk, he whipped his head around and blindly picked a direction to run. Meat and cheese flopped in his fingers as he scampered towards a grove of trees peeking out from the back of a building. He heard shouts behind him and a piercing scream, but didn’t dare stop. He only prayed the scream didn’t belong to Callie.

The second his feet reached the roots of the trees, he collapsed. His muscles were shaking with exertion and fear. Clutching the remainder of his hamburger to his chest, he panted and leaned against a tree. His throat burned and he longed for his Coke back at the diner.

Orange and amber streaked across the sky as the sun slipped beyond the horizon. Tears sprung to his eyes and he shoved the rest of the hamburger in his mouth. It was stupid to cry, he told himself. You’re a baby for crying. As soon as you get your wings, you can go back home. He chewed loudly, cursing himself for not telling his mother where he was going. He should have known he couldn’t find his wings in a few hours. Now he was alone, hungry, thirsty and would have police and Roach following him. All he had was a head full of unanswered questions and a jean pocket with $15 in it.

“Pity doesn’t suit you.” Bryant shut his eyes and groaned.

“If you’re another mysterious weirdo, I don’t want to talk to you,” he snarled. “I’ve had quite enough of that, thanks.” He braced himself for a reply. None came. Cautiously, he leaned away from the tree and looked around. There was no one in sight. The trees blew in the breeze and dust swirled at his feet. There was nothing but silence and the crust of his cheeseburger.

“Great,” he muttered. “I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not going crazy,” the voice said. Bryant’s eyes flew open. A tall man with golden hair, blue eyes and a white suit was perched on a dumpster in front of him. Against the wall of the grey building, he almost glowed.

“Oh God,” Bryant blurted out. The man raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“I’m dead aren’t I?” Bryant moaned. “The hamburger meat was full of Mad Cow disease or salmonella or something like that.”

“And why would you think that?” The blond man was smiling.

“Because you’re the angel of death.” The blond man burst into laughter. Bryant’s cheeks flushed and he snarled, “This isn’t funny!”

“It is, really.” The man was laughing so hard tears streamed down his face. “If you knew what I am, to think I’m the angel of death…” He burst into giggles and kicked his white shoes against the dumpster.

“Listen, moron!” Bryant snapped. “What kind of nutjob walks around wearing a white suit and sitting on a dumpster at night? No one wears a white suit except Colonel Sanders and he’s dead.”

“A nutjob that you need to help you,” the man said, hopping off the dumpster. “Do you want to find your wings or not?”

“Duh,” Braynt said in a surly tone.

“I can see you’re going to be helpful,” the man muttered. “I can’t tell you anything until you find Callie. It’s imperative you two do this together.”

“Do what?” Bryant asked. “I barely know her. How do I know she’s not a freak or just trying to skin me?”

“She is what you are,” the man said, his blue eyes piercing Bryant’s. “It will take two to finish what one began.”

“You’re crazy,” Bryant said, turning around. He threw down the crust of his hamburger and started to stalk away.

“If you want to find your wings, this is the only way,” the man said. “Don’t you want the itching to stop? Don’t you want to know the answers to all your questions?” Bryant slowly turned on his heels. The man’s brilliant white teeth glowed in the dusk.

“Who are you?” Bryant said, looking at the man suspiciously. “Why do you look so familiar?”

The man smiled and opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted by a scream. A familiar scream that set Bryant’s back burning with a fiery pain.

The Anonymous Moose

For those of you who don't know, the Land of the Flowered Bed is a imaginary land in the Pond where several stuffed animals, insects and ducks that live in a Spa (the bathroom) have fun adventures.












The main characters are Cookies the owl, the seals, Hairy the hedgehog and Pumble the bee.








But now we have a new critter that followed me home from Alaska: the Anonymous Moose. Her tale follows below....

The Anonymous Moose


After living in the Land of the Flowered Bed for months, Hairy thought he would be used to anything that strolled through the door.

He was wrong. Nothing could have prepared him for the creature that came looping through the door late one Friday morning. A shadow stretched across the floor and the seals scurried behind him.

“What is it?” Pumble asked, squinting into the distance.

“I’m not sure,” Hairy answered. The seals trembled behind his stubby legs. “It looks like a buffalo or something.”

“It’s too tall to be a buffalo,” Pumble argued.

“Perhaps a giraffe then?” Hairy patted the seals’ heads reassuringly, but they whimpered and cowered behind his knees.

“Giraffes don’t have horns,” Pumble countered.

“Perhaps it’s a elephant!” the first duck shouted from the Spa. As usual, they had been eavesdropping shamelessly.

“Maybe it’s a ox!” the second duck shouted.

“You know, I think I saw something like that on the Discovery Channel once,” the third duck murmured as she tapped her beak with her wing. Cookies walked up with a book tucked under his wing. He looked at Hairy and Pumble peering into the distance and the seals hiding their eyes with their flippers. Raising an eyebrow, he propped his glasses on his nose and gasped.

“Good heavens!” he cried. “There’s a moose coming towards us!”

“A moose!” Pumble shouted. “That’s what it is. A moose!”

“Why is a moose here?” Hairy pondered aloud. “Isn’t it too hot for him here? Where do they normally live?”

“Up north,” Cookies replied. “Why is a moose here?” The moose stopped in its path and looked around, its brow wrinkled.

“I don’t know,” Hairy replied. “I suppose I should go talk to it.” The seals shrieked and scurried behind Cookies. Hairy took a deep breath and crept toward to the moose. The moose was chewing on its lip as it looked around, an uncertain expression on its face.

Hairy straightened his vest and adjusted his top hat that he wore to welcome all animals. “Hello,” he called in a grand voice. “I’m Hairy, the mayor of the Land of the Flowered Bed. Welcome to our glorious home!”

The moose cocked its head. “Where am I?”

“The Land of the Flowered Bed,” Hairy repeated, peering at the moose. “Are you all right?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” the moose said. She rubbed a hoof against her nose and looked at the carpet, studying the fibers as though the answers were woven there.

“What’s your name?” Hairy asked. “Where are you from?”

“I’m not sure of that either,” the moose said.

“What are you sure of?” Hairy asked. The moose stuck out her tongue and furrowed her brow. Her head tilted and she mumbled something. “I’m sorry?” Hairy said, straining to hear.

“I’m not sure,” the moose repeated. “All I know is I tend to mumble and I’m perpetually confused. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I’m not sure how one can be perpetually confused. After all, if you know you’re confused then you can’t exactly be confused can you? Of course, I suppose that knowing you’re confused is better than being oblivious and confused.” Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she continued to mumble.

“Right,” Hairy said, a smile frozen on his face. He lead the moose to the others, who were openly gaping at her. “This is…the Anonymous Moose.” The moose smiled and waved her hoof. The other animals stared at her with open mouths.

“What do you mean, anonymous?” Cookies asked. “How is she anonymous?”

“Well, she seems to be a…bit confused,” Hairy said, struggling to be discreet.

“I’m perpetually confused and mumble,” the moose said brightly.

“Is she a moron?” Cookies cocked his head and the moose looked ashamed. The seals crept out behind Cookies legs and slid toward her slowly. One offered a leaf, and the moose took it in her mouth and began to munch loudly.

“Cookies!” Hairy snapped. “She’s not a moron. She’s simply suffering from a memory failure. She doesn’t know her name, where she comes from or why she’s here. It’s like she’s got…”

“Amnesia!” Pumble bellowed, waving his biscuit in excitement. “Just like Blaze lost her memory when Stephen crashed that plane into the ocean cliffs and she thought Jack was her husband…”

“Sorry.” Cookies rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Pumble watches a lot of soap operas.”
“Maybe she’s a spy!” the first duck shouted from the Spa.

“Maybe she’s a secret agent!” the second duck shouted.

“Aren’t those the same things?” the third duck asked.

“Maybe she’s in the witness protection program,” Pumble breathed, spewing crumbs with glee as his eyes lit up. “Or maybe she’s searching for a hidden treasure. Or maybe she worked for a secret government agency and they wiped her memory. Or an alien! She could be an alien!”

“With those fuzzy horns, it looks like she could be an alien,” Cookies muttered under his breath. Hairy elbowed him in the ribs. The moose continued to munch as the seals cooed reassuringly and brought her more leaves.

“Well, the first thing we must do is give you a name,” Hairy said. “What kind of name would you like?”

“A pretty one.” The moose slurped up a flower.

“If she’s from Alaska, names from her native state include Deniiagi, Nanook, Desna, Quannik, Lakota…”

Hairy tried not to giggle at the moose’s horrified expression. “What kinds of things do you like?” he asked.

“The usual,” the moose said. “Leaves, flowers, tasty plants…”

“She’s got that in common with the GLUG,” Hairy mumbled. “We could call you Mumbles! What do you think?”

“I think we might as well call her moron,” Cookies muttered. Hairy sighed and glared at him. Tapping his chin, he began to list names off the top of his head. “Mattie, Moss, Denali, Maggie, Daisy, Rose, Lilly, Sage, Hazel….”

“Wait,” the moose interrupted. “What was that name you said earlier?”

“Which one?” Hairy asked. “Moss, Daisy, Rose, Denali…”

“Denali…” the moose said, chewing on her lower lip. “Denali! Mount McKinley!”

“What the devil is she talking about?” Pumble grumbled.

“Miss Moose McKinley,” the moose said proudly, holding her head up. “That’s my name. Miss Moose McKinley.”

Hairy broke into a grin. “All right, Miss Moose McKinley,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her into the dining area. “Are you hungry? I’m sure you’re famished. We can get you some leaves, something to drink…”

“Some air conditioning,” Miss Moose Kinley said, fanning herself with her hoof. “It must be 70 degrees in here.”

As the seals bounded after them, Pumble looked at Cookies. “You know, we still don’t know where she’s from.”

“We’d have to travel up north to learn more about her,” Cookies said. They both looked at the door, than each other. A smile spread over their faces.

I'm back!

Did you miss me?

Of course you did. I missed you too. The vacation was wonderful for my creative spirit. I've got dozens of new ideas, new plans that shall be revealed in the next day or so and an invigoration of the soul. Alaska is one of the few places left that doesn't have a McDonald's and Best Buy on every corner. Instead, there are trees and lush mountains.

But you don't want to hear about my vacation. You'd rather see it for yourself, wouldn't you? Of course you do. Everyone likes looking at other people's vacation pictures.

Thursday morning, we flew out to Alaska where my Dad met us at the airport. He works for a company out of Alaska and had been there all week. When we got there, we hit downtown Anchorage.

After popping into a few shops, we had dinner by a river and looked for salmon.





Instead, we found a log that looked suspiciously like salmon but was....a log.







*Note: Due to the Nazi-anal-retentive-nutjob-airlines, we packed very light. Therefore, my only jacket was my pink fuzzy you'll see in most of the pictures. So don't be worried--I didn't wear the same clothes three days in a row.



Friday, we did all sorts of exciting things. We flew over Anchorage in one of the small Cessna planes that are really popular down there. Most of Alaska is unreachable by road, so most of the locals own or travel by planes.





The scenery was gorgeous.



My favorite part was that one of the mountains was called "The Sleeping Woman" by locals. The legend was that during the time of Giants, the woman's lover was killed in a war while she slept. The townspeople couldn't bear to wake her. She slept for hundreds of years, being blanketed by wildflowers in the summer and snow in the winter by the people until she became part of the mountain herself. Now, she sleeps until war is gone and peace reigns.

We also went to a town called Girdwood and rode up a mountain.

(This is the only picture I've ever seen where my Dad is smiling.)

This is where I found this little fellow.




You'll learn more about him Wednesday.




After a tasty lunch, we visited the Alaska animal conservatory. I chatted with the moose, giggled at the porcupine who was dancing instead of burrowing and inquired about the black bear's eating habits.





While the black bears were more interested in digging for worms, the buffalo were happy to talk to me. They wuffled as they ate.





After that, we stopped by a little tourist center that had the world's biggest chocolate fountain. A Iditorod racer was there with his dogs, so we stopped and chatted with him for awhile. Then we went to a museum, where Dad desperately tried to inject us with culture.





It didn't work.




The next day, we hopped a train that took us to Whittier, a town about two hours a way. While most people took photos of the scenery, I hopped to the back of the train and stuck my head out like a manic dog.






At least I was happy.






Other highlights of the trip included meeting Ben's father's buddy for lunch, dancing with a bear and visiting with a moose.

The moose was rather quiet.He was a nice bear...but two left feet.

Meanwhile, back in Shreveport, the city was trembling in fear at the new dictator that had invaded town.







While we dined on fresh fish and explored a new frontier, poor Ben's parents dealt with poo-smeared kitchen floors, shredded puppy pads and a terrorized Ace. The poor dog couldn't even have lunch without Bitty snarling at him and sending Bear to bite after him.

Fear me.

And Bitty would have had it no other way.

We had a fabulous time with my parents and sister and appreciate their generosity. And we greatly appreciate Ben's parents watching the spoiled Babies. I would say we'd go again next year, but....







I don't think she will allow it. Unless she comes too.

Just to keep you entertained....

I've been a princess....

A sunflower...

and a spaz.

I've tangoed....

I've spent most of my days in a daze....

And I've been accused of living in a bubble.

But one thing is for sure....

I found someone that thinks I'm as much of a princess as I do.

20 questions

Dear Invisible Friends,

I know you miss me.

I've only been gone a day, but I know what's happened. You're clutching your computer screens, wailing and tearing your hair out. Your eyes are red, your heart is broken and you're staring at the screen in vain until I come home and grace you with my brilliant ramblings from my pen.

Well, maybe not.

But I can dream, can't I?

Anyway, here are the questions I asked. I forgot that since you are Invisible Friends that some of your questions might be Invisible! Enjoy, and I'll see you Monday or Tuesday with pictures and stories galore (unless I get captured by a moose or invited to dine at the Polar Bear King's Palace. Then it'll be Thursday.)

Enjoy!

Love,

The Blonde Duck

From Marie:

If you could live anywhere on this beautiful planet, where would it be?

Texas. Then I'd have a summer home in Colorado. I was born and raised in Austin, and to me there's no reason to ever leave Texas. You've got a forest in East Texas, desert in the West, plains in the north and Hill Country in the middle. The only way I'd leave is if Ben had to move due to work. And he'd have to find me first.

When are you getting your behind over here to England to visit me?

As soon as someone recognizes my brilliance and publishes one of my books so I can write it off as "book promotions." Stupid IRS.

Otherwise, it may be a few years. But be warned, I tend to attach to people I like. You might not get rid of me easily.

Will the babies fit in your suitcase?

The Babies fit in my purse. Their vacation home is my suitcase.

Have you always known that you wanted to be a writer?

Apparently. My mom told me when I was six and seven I used to fold computer paper and create books, with illustrations and fancy covers, and staple it for binding. My first memory of knowing for sure I wanted to be a writer is caring around a notebook my 4th grade teacher gave me and scratching stories in it. During class, I'd often ignore the lecture and scribble my stories. It stopped for awhile in high school when I turned to emoting through crappy poetry. In college, largely due to the encouragement of my husband and a favorite college professor, I began to write again. The funny thing is in 4th grade I informed people I was going to be a "writer AND illustrator," not just a writer. If I ever get bored one of these days, I may try to illustrate my own work.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Did you ever ever entertain being anything else?

Having a large imagination, I think I'm anything else about 24 hours a day. In the past 12 hours, I've been a princess, a cowgirl, a hermit, Elle Woods, a belly dancer in a secret club and a Chihuahua.

In high school, depending what day it was, I wanted to be a journalist, a lawyer, a psychologist, a marine biologist and a teacher.

I decided not to be a lawyer when I found out I couldn't argue in court all day like they did in The Practice.

I decided not to be a psychologist when I realized I'd have to get a doctorate or go to medical school to hand out drugs.

Being a marine biologist was out of the picture when I realized they wanted me to study them, not play with them.

So currently, I'm a mixture of a journalist (for the cash), princess, Elle Woods and a writer.

If I promise to bake a HUGE lemon meringue pie will you come over here sooner?

Make it apple with a crumbly topping with a side of peanut butter pie and I'll be there tomorrow.

(My dirty little secret is I'm not a big fan of lemon, orange or anything citrus.) But I do love pie!

Are you the oldest child in your family?

Yup. My sister is four years younger than me and is a junior in college. She thinks I'm crazy. I agree.

From Bunny from Bunny's Warm Oven (http://wwwbunnysovencom.blogspot.com/):

Did you have formal training in writing?

I'm so glad you think I'm that talented! I have a bachelor's degree in journalism, but no real formal training in creative writing. It just sort of all flows out of me and winds up here. Then I whine and wuffle until people tell me they like it and I'm brilliant. I've been considering taking classes, but I don't want to get led into doing something that's not 'me.'

From the GLUG (Ginormous Lime Green Unusual Gnat):

Are you the Ginormous Unusual Blonde Duck?

Sure.

Can I come with you to Alaska? I'd like to sample the tasty leaves.

No.

Why not?

You'll spend the entire airplane ride buzzing around the aisles bellowing "HELLO!" in everyone's faces and asking for leaves. I don't want to get kicked off the plane.

From the Flying Pigs:

Can we eat your tasty grass while we're gone?

Sure. If it's not burnt up by the sun by then.

From the Seals in the Land of the Flowered Bed:

Is that salmon in the fridge?

Nope, it's turkey. And that's not seaweed. It's green beans.

Can we tapdance in your freezer?

You can tapdance in the potato drawer in the fridge. Just watch out. The potatoes have eyes.

From the Babies:

Is your only purpose on this Earth to serve us?

Well, actually---

Yes. That's my sole purpose in life. To clean your poo, feed you and rub your soft pink bellies.

And inhale your hot puppy breath and rub my cheek against your silky ears.

Thanks for the questions! See you in a few days.

Six Random Things

Bunny from Bunny's Warm Oven (http://wwwbunnysovencom.blogspot.com) tagged me for the 6 Random things Meme! This is a wonderful treat to keep me occupied until we fly out for Alaska tomorrow. We just dropped off the Babies with Ben's parents (yes, I cried.) So until then, here are six random things about me!


The rules are as follows:
# Link to the person who tagged you.
# Post the rules on the blog
# Write six random things about yourself.
# Tag six people at the end of your post
# Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
# Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

1) Ever since fifth grade, I've had an obsession with ancient Egypt. I'm not quite sure what triggered it, but I know I've always dreamed about going there and exploring the ancient pyramids. Of course, I'm sure it's more interesting in my dreams since my dreams contain hidden treasures, secret mysteries and all sorts of scandals. But dreams usually are more fun in ones head, aren't they?

2) During the summer, I only wear shorts when I'm working out or cleaning the house. Otherwise, you'll find me in little ruffly skirts or sundresses. When I was little, I didn't wear pants until the fourth grade and didn't wear jeans until sixth grade. All I wore was pink, ruffly, lacy dresses. With tights and big bows. (I'll have to dig up a picture.)

3) My dad demanded I take karate in elementary through high school. I got to an instructional level, the blue belt and quit. That's the level I told my Dad I would get to. Once I got there, I was done.

4) My family demands that I tell you I had a severe licking problem when I was young. I licked the screens on our patio doors. I licked the counter at McDonalds. I licked the inside of the car door, the walls and the glass window around the skating arena.

Maybe that's why I think of the things I do.

5) In fourth grade, I ran over my thumb with a rollerskate and broke it. It was the same week of the TAAS tests and my fourth grade teacher was furious because I had to write all my essays with my left hand.

6) I have a real problem sitting still. If I don't work out/ dance/ wiggle/ take walks every day, I'm really cranky. You don't want to be around me.

I tag:

Marie from A Year At Oak Cottage
Emma Sanders
A Southren Grace


And that's it. Everyone else I know has done this already!!! :) Thanks for inviting me to play along, Bunny!

A Shining Sun

The sun was bright and hot. But he would persevere. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped the thin silver cord that secured him to his station around him.

He had dreamed of this for ages, he thought, as he climbed higher in the sky. He had dreamed on floating among the stars, dancing in the sun's rays and exploring the skies above. Ever since he had seen the bright white light beaming down at him, he knew that's what he was to do.

He had to reach the sun.

"Others have failed at this," he murmured as he scurried up the thin silver cord. "The Greeks with their wings of wax, the astronauts in their fancy space stations. But I can do this. I know I can."

His eight legs strained as he hurried up the cord. The cord was beginning to thin from the heat. He could feel sweat dripping off his brow.

"I can do this," he repeated, panting as he reached the top of the lamp. "I can be the first one to touch the sun. I can be the first spider astronaut to ever reach the sky."

His eight legs were slick with sweat and he struggled not to slip off his cord. Furrowing his brow, he swung on the silver string and jumped onto the lampshade. Cackling with glee, he scurried up the warm lampshade. His feet were burning and his head was aching from staring at the bright light, but all he felt was joy.

Beaming, he planted a foot on the top of the lampshade. "One small step for me," he whispered, overcome with happiness and fatigue. "One bright sun for all to see."

Everything is relative.

The votes are in....

....and the overwhelming decision was to turn Missing Wings into a book! Thank you all so much for voting and giving me feedback. Sorry Libby Lou--no more peeks for you! :)

I'm just kidding. Right now, I'm trying to decide how to turn this into a book. I like how ya'll were able to give me feedback and tell me what you liked and didn't like. At the same time, I tend to write a story and then rewrite it. So I'd hate to give you a story, turn around and rewrite it and be like, "Just kidding! None of that really happened!"

Right now, I'm debating between posting segments/ questions and getting ya'lls advice and publishing it on Lulu like Marie and I are doing with another project (details coming soon) and just writing it and trying to submit it to a traditional publisher.

What's your opinions? I'd hate to leave you hanging to where you lose interest, but I'd also like to give you a complete story and not jerk you around.

Let me know. Additionally, I'll have posts scheduled for you for the rest of the week. I won't physically be here, so please don't get your feelings hurt if I don't respond. I'll be in Alaska with my family frolicking with the moose and polar bears and will return Monday!

Until then, comment away! And thanks for the help!

Missing Wings 3

(Continued from 1 and 2)

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him down the cluttered aisle and shoved him into a dark closet. Cobwebs dangled from the ceiling, barely visible in the dim light. He hardly dared to breathe. There was more dust in here than under his best friend's bed. One breath could make him start sneezing--which could be the end.

They waited as the footsteps drew near and slowed. Bryant saw a pair of black shoes creep by and a faded flashlight shining on the ground. After a few moments, they heard a grunt. The man stormed up the stairs. The room fell into silence.

Exhaling deeply, the girl led him out of the closet and out of the strange building. The ally was illuminated with the bright orange rays of the sunset. Bryant jumped when something furry wrapped around his ankles and shrieked.

"K.C.!" The girl smirked and picked up the scraggly cat. "Good kitty!" She looked up at Bryan. "Are you hungry? I know a place with great burgers."

All the fear and worry that had swirled in his belly over the past few hours burst through his mouth in a violent burst.

"No!" he cried, stomping his feet and jumping up and down. "No, no, no, no!"

"Chinese then?" The cat peered up at him with the same expression as the girl.

"I'm not eating a thing until you tell me what's going on," Bryant snapped. "I want to know who you are and how you know my name."

"Did I not introduce myself?" the girl blinked. "I suppose things were a bit crazy. I'm Callidora. Call me Calli. I detest my real name."

"It's kinda weird," Bryant said without thinking.

"And I suppose Galen is better?" she challenged.

"My name is Bryant," he snarled. "That man was crazy."

"He's not crazy," the girl said, shaking her head. "He's dangerous. There's a difference. But he's correct in a way."

"What?" Bryant hissed, running his fingers through his thick dark curls. "What are you talking about?"

The girl sighed and stroked K.C.'s back. "Look, I'll tell you everything if you come to the diner with me," she said, kissing the cat's nose. "What I know, at least. But we can't stay here. It's dangerous."

"Is anything not dangerous?" Bryant's voice was sour. He was hungry, tired and confused. He didn't want to have a burger in a diner. He wanted to find his wings and go home.

"Not really," the girl said. "Come on. Quit sulking."

His face contorted in a scowl. Frowning, he followed her to the diner a few blocks away. She gently placed K.C. on the ground and instructed him to keep watch. Pushing through the red door, she threaded her way to a table without waiting for him.

"Hey Calli," an older woman called as they slid into a booth. "Your usual?"

"Sure," Calli called. "Thanks."

"What about your friend?" The woman turned to him and cocked her grey, frizzled head.

"A hamburger, fries and coke please." Bryant tried to smile and look pleasant. He leaned back against the torn plastic and folded his fingers.

"So," Calli said, twirling her red hair. "You're looking for your wings." Bryant noted it was a statement, not a question. He nodded, refusing to speak until he got an answer. She smiled and twisted her hair. "I don't know his name, I just know what he's called. I know he wants your wings, and he'll do anything to get them. Why, I don't know. And no," she shook her head at Bryant's eager expression. "I don't know what your wings look like. Nor do I know why you have them at all or why the marks on your back itch."

"What's the man's name?" Bryant asked. He smiled as the waitress placed his food on the table. Her hands had barely left the plate before he had torn a huge bite out of it.

"Roach," the girl said, taking a bite of her own burger.

"Roach?" Bryant nearly spit his food on the plate.

"Like I said, I don't know why he's called that, I just know that's what he's called." The girl took another delicate bite. Bryant narrowed his eyes and shoved the biggest amount of burger that he could in his mouth. "Some people say his name is Darius, but I don't know for sure."

"Why is everyone calling me Galen?" he asked around a glob of meat and bread.

"That's your birth name," Callie answered. "Same as mine is Astra. Dreadful name. I might as well be called Star or Wildflower like some hippie."

"What do you mean, my birth name?" Bryant said, tearing off another chunk. "My birth name is the name my mother gave me." Callie sat her hamburger on her plate and wiped her fingers on a napkin.

"Don't you wonder why you have the marks on your back?" she asked, looking at him intently with icy blue eyes. "Don't you wonder why it feels like someone is inside your skin clawing it with talons of fire? Don't you wonder why you have the urge to fly, the need to be among the clouds? Haven't you ever wondered why you know you have wings, if you've never seen them? Why wouldn't it just be a skin condition? Why are they wings?"

"How do you know all this?" His voice was hoarse. He shrank away from her, holding his burger to his lips. Callie smiled, a bitter twisted grin. She pulled the straps of her shirt down and turned her back. Bryant gasped.

There were two pink patches on her shoulder blades, no bigger than a palm. Bryant felt his chest freeze and could only gape at her. She turned, the grin fading on her face. She looked terrified.

"Callie!" a man's voice yelled. Bryant twisted around and felt his face grow pale.

"Run," she whispered.


To be continued.....


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The Babies prepare to go to Grandma K's House

For five months, the babies have had a pretty steady routine. They've left home only once, when they got neutered for a day. Otherwise, they've got the run of the house down.

Bear and his dolphin hang out.

Bitty torments Bear's dolphin. Bear wuffles and runs to me for help with the dolphin dangling in his teeth. Bored, Bitty then turns to stealing Bear's barbecue treats. The cycle repeats.

Bitty also spends much of her day wanting to be carried around like the queen she is. She's now developed the habit of placing her paw in the middle of my foot, putting all her weight on it and peering up at me with the most pitiful and demanding eyes imaginable.

When she's not prancing all over my couch.

After chewing on chew sticks, pretending they didn't piddle on my carpet and strategically placing their toys all over the house, the babies sunbathe for a few hours.

However, the Babies are excited about one thing.

They get to go to Grandma K's house! While we're in Alaska, Ben's parents have generously volunteered to look after the dogs. The Babies have already began a list of demands. They would like doggie sized peanut butter pies (no chocolate topping please--beef will do), mini macaroni and cheeses, a new large bed so they don't have to wake up anyone with their tiffs (aka screaming matches at 2 a.m.) and fillet Mignon every night. They require Ace to greet them with bells on and bow down to their role as rulers of the Koerner household.

No, they're not spoiled at all. Not a bit. And Bitty isn't demanding. She's simply....particular.

After spending five months scrubbing the carpet, buying a steam cleaner for the carpet, picking up dog poop, chasing dogs in the front yard, traipsing to the vet for shots every few weeks and Petco every other week for dog food, you think I would be glad to have a break.

But in reality, I'm going to miss the little critters. After all, I'm used to seeing little white bellies at the gate every morning. I'm used to Bear scooting across the carpet and wagging his tail for a half hour after he wakes up. I'm used to Bitty plopping on my stomach while I do sit ups and demanding I pick her up every few seconds. I'm used to having them curl up on my tummy for thirty minutes before bed.

I don't think Ben's parents know what they got themselves into.