deadwoodIf I close my eyes I can see it as it was before that night; quaint little buildings with lit up signs, craft and antique shops filled with assorted treasures. I used to love walking up and down the street late at night after the rest of town went to bed. It was the only solitude I found back then in a town full of busybodies. If only I could turn back time and bask in their attention.

They said the river, fifty feet below Wood Town, was too far to be a flood problem. I guess they were right. It wasn’t the river that caused its destruction. Six inches of rain fell that Saturday evening just before dinner.  A torrent of water rushed down the hills above town, sweeping everything with it. Cars and people were tossed like sand in the waves. Two hundred year old stonework ripped from foundations. Chunks of sidewalk joined the churning rubble as it raced to the river.

Now all that remains is darkness and debris. Everyone is gone, all of them, young and old. Crumbled bricks lay scattered amidst gutted out buildings that once held thriving businesses and homes.

I have plenty of solitude now as I complete my nightly walk. No one is here to pester me with questions or babble about the latest gossip. I wish they were. My feet feel heavy, like waterlogged wood, but they leave no marks in the silt filled street. The dead leave no prints.

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“Let him have it,” said Alice. “He’s almost got it contained.”

“One more minute,” said Jim as he and Alice watched Mr. Turner corral the foam into a neat circle.

There was always a little scum floating at the water’s edge this time of year, but this morning the entire lake had been coated with a mysterious layer of fluffy white cream. Mr. Turner was sent out to clean the mess before his coffee and had been grumbling the entire time.

Just as Turner finished, Jim pointed his finger. “Tempest.”

A whirling gust ripped across the lake, sending the foam flying. Turner threw his ball cap into the boat and shouted curses. His stomping rocked the craft, nearly tossing him into the water.

“I bet he never hassles another barista about low foam on his latte again,” said Alice, between bouts of laughter.

Jim felt heat flush his face just thinking about yesterday’s fiasco. Turner had called him a lazy inept kid who wouldn’t amount to anything. Being dressed down in front of the entire coffee shop and then fired wasn’t half as bad as the way everyone laughed.

Only Alice had stood by him. She always did. More than a best friend, she was the only one who knew about his magic.

“I still think you should have zapped some cinnamon on top,” said Alice. “You know that’s how he always takes his coffee.”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Jim said, shaking his head.

“But it sure would feel good.”


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20150129_133654Everywhere that Snowball looked he saw sad faces and drooped shoulders. Sally at the salon pat his head and gave a halfhearted smile. Even Happy Harold from the hardware store looked dejected.

All the gloomy faces made Snowball’s big brown eyes feel as blue as the clear sky. Snow Town hadn’t had any precipitation in months. Now it looked like there wouldn’t be a white Christmas. Tourists didn’t want to visit a snowless Snow Town. Some had already turned around to head for damper locations, making the town’s future look dim.

Snowball shivered, but not from the biting cold or the wind that whipped his fur up into a demented pom-pom. Five years ago he’d been a frightened, scrawny, half-starved pup. The people of Snow Town rescued him and gave him a loving new forever home. Now it was his turn to help them. If only he could make it snow.

The smell of Peta’s meat pie from the pizza place made Snowball’s mouth water. He had to stop and shake the delicious smell from his mind so he could focus on finding snow. Pizza couldn’t help. Or could it? Snowball jumped onto the counter and grabbed a jar of parmesan. With bounding leaps he spread the stuff around town, covering it with a layer of delicious white cheese. It didn’t take long for his people to understand his plan and join in the sprinkling. A few Facebook posts later, tourists flocked to see the best smelling ‘snowdrifts’ ever.

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I’m delighted to announce that I just signed a contract for my first novel with Intrigue Publishing. The projected release date for STARTOUCHED is November 1, 2017.

Keep an eye out for more information.


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Voices jabber around me like crows, spitting harsh, cold words. They battle over differences, snubbing those who are not the same.

Invisible, I walk among them, whispering brotherhood. Lift one up, steady another. Silent, unseen, I plant compassion

A spark of truth births understanding. Only to be beaten down by those who refuse to accept. Even the flame of truth can’t survive a tsunami of ignorance and hate.

I take a deep breath, then move through them again. I cannot cease. I will not, until the squalls and misunderstandings are resolved. Until all the world sings together.

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A Little Something For Cat Lovers

Back when I submitted my story, Mark of the Goddess, for In A Cat’s Eye, the publisher asked for my favorite cat story. I remember wracking my brains trying to think of any stories I had read about cats and coming up blank. I’m more of a dog lover and wolf fanatic. Cats, well, I like them just fine – in other people’s houses.

the-boy-who-drew-catsAfter several days of hitting my head on the desk because all I’d come up with was The Cat In The Hat, I finally remembered  The Boy Who Drew Cats.
The book I have was rewritten by Arthur A. Levine and illustrated by Frédéric Clément. It’s based on an ancient Japanese legend that was translated in the late 1800’s.







Go ahead and check it out. And don’t forget to get a copy of In A Cat’s Eye for yourself or your favorite cat lover.



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20161115_083910E Pluribus Unum

Out Of Many, One

Embrace America’s Diversity

End The Hate

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