“Is it just for the moment we live . . .,” Come on, everyone, sing it with me! Burt Bacharach’s song “Alfie” takes me way back to a time before I realized life was something I’d someday have to figure out!
My hero in Waterwight finds herself (yes, herself! I will not diminish Celeste by calling her a heroine) in that awkward age between childhood and not-even-close-to-adulthood, but she’s driven by the desire to find out what it’s all about. I’ve been spamming the Interwebs with excitement over my new Leap Day novel launch, so I figured I should probably tell you what it’s all about. Here’s the blurb you’ll read on the back cover when you buy my novel (wink-wink-hint), and I’ll credit my friend, Author Carol Bellhouse (Carol’s books) with the summary:
In a post-cataclysmic world threatened by stinking ooze, a brave girl searches for her missing parents with the help of talking animals and evolving powers. When a mountain spirit challenges her to save the planet, she and a flying frog must overcome a malicious castle of sand and a shapeshifter who wants her dead.
But wait! There’s so much more!
My story continues to be inspired by my wild-ass dreams and the wonderful people I meet nearly every day. And, of course, by my surroundings. I can see the mountain spirit, Old Man Massive, from my back yard, and the hot springs that inspired “the big water,” or the “ooze” as it’s called on “the other side,” are right down the road from Leadville.
What started as a story I knew preteens and teens would like has turned into a novel that surprises even me, and I can’t wait to see what book 2 brings! So go ahead, take a chance. See if you can figure out what’s in the water!
Waterwight scene, Celeste is lured into fun rooms in the sand castle
Here’s more about Waterwight from people who’ve already read it!
Advance Praise for Waterwight ~ ~ ~
“I’ve tried reading fantasy before, but lost interest quickly. This is the first fantasy book I’ve ever finished. The mystery hooked me from page one and I completed 70% of it before realizing I needed to sleep. I finished it while snowshoeing the next day. I could see this being the next Harry Potter series.” ~ Tonya Hance, Professional Photographer and author of It’s a God Thing! “It’s a God Thing!”
“This is a great book for all ages. Highly imaginative and creative, readers will soon be swept up into this great adventure story.” ~ Jude Hill, age 11
“I really enjoyed the story and the characters. I was carried away in the fantasy! I love stories where I can escape the real world for a while.” ~ Tanya Gray, age 53
“Breathtaking, uplifting, plays well with the imagination and entertains immensely. Reads well for adults with a theme of the subtleties of inner powers.” ~ Ed Solder, B&B Owner
“Waterwight is full of enchanting, youthful human and delightful animal characters who care for and trust each other. It is heartening to watch them work together in the frightening, mysterious situation in which they find themselves. A love for the characters drew me into the story and a desire to have the mysteries solved kept me reading on. This is a story well suited for its intended audience, and it is also one that adults will enjoy.” ~ Judy W. Cole; Retired Teacher and Aspiring Poet
Waterwight scene, Celeste is lured into fun rooms in the sand castle
Waterwight scene with Celeste, Old Man Massive, and Ranger
See what some are already saying!
Advance Praise for Waterwight ~ ~ ~
“I was up all night reading this book! The characters were very original and lifelike, and the story’s twists and turns leave you wanting more. For anyone who likes fantasy and adventure, this book is a must read! I can’t wait until the next book comes out!” ~ Natalia Brizuela-Wahlin, age 12
“I just finished Waterwight, Book One, and found myself in that perfect place of having enjoyed the adventure and yet wanting more. I can’t wait for book two to find out what happens next, yet I feel that the quality of writing and the depth of story were certainly worth my investment in time. Readers of all ages will enjoy the story and the writing.” ~ Dr. James Y. Taylor, Vice President | Colorado Mountain College
“I was whisked away on a phantasmagorical adventure!” ~ Nadine Collier, Professional Counselor
“Waterwight is a truly fantastic read. A fresh take on a post-apocalyptic world, blended with child-like fantasy and supernatural powers, with an ending that leaves you hungry for more. Can’t wait to find out what happens next!” ~ Cindy Jewkes, book reviewer and freelance editor at Cindy’s Treasury of Good Tales Cindy’s site
“A vividly descriptive, imaginative, and thought-provoking novel!” ~ Jennifer Donovan, Environmental Planner
Waterwight scene with Celeste, Old Man Massive, and Ranger,
One of the many necessary things aspiring authors must do to build name recognition is to grow an audience of people who enjoy their craft. Sure, we write for ourselves, but I can’t imagine any author with books available for sale who doesn’t have an inner desire for validation from more than friends and family.
Expectations are high in our social-media-saturated world. We are expected to have rich “author platforms” with websites and Facebook pages and newsletters and Twitter accounts and YouTube videos and the list goes on-and-on-and-on. But it’s not enough simply to have those platforms, we’re also expected to be available to our (hopefully growing) audience 24/7. Some authors refuse to play this game called marketing. They argue that they’d rather be writing and working on their next release than interacting with the sometimes unwashed masses.
Yes, we all have different goals as authors, and my goal is to reach as many people as I can with my stories. I want to make them laugh and cry and engage in discussions. I want them to anticipate my next book.
And so, much to my mother’s chagrin, I have been quite open over the years with accepting friend requests willy-nilly. Every new friend is a potential new reader, and except for that 8-month sabbatical I took from the FB world a while back, I’ve never felt the need to “unfriend” anyone. At least not until yesterday.
I clicked “accept friend request” from someone who looked like he could be a West Point classmate and within moments I got a personal message:
hello thank you so much to make me your friend and i like to keep more of you
as good friends so are you in the USA? have nice day..
I read it a couple of times and couldn’t help hearing Borat’s voice. So I wrote back:
Yes, but please tell me why you sent me a friend request?
My immediate concern was that he wanted “to keep more of” me, and although I was pretty sure he didn’t mean it in a “Silence of the Lambs” kind of way, I nevertheless checked out his page. No mutual friends. Just as I was about to delete him, this sad tale popped up:
Thank you so much to make me your friend and i like to keep more of you as
good friends so i m from Kansas is in the South, in the North of the United
States, i m 58 and wife die in child birth.i have daughter and one gran son,i m
widowed for 23 year ago.i live alone in my home, i m working as I’m a Civil
Engineer of oil pipelines,I work for myself as a private contractor.I travel with
my work alot. so tell me more about your self? How old are you? Are you
single? Do you have kids? what do you do for a living? I hope to read back
from you soon
I couldn’t make that up if I tried, and it’s really not as sad when you read it aloud with a Borat accent (my son did this brilliantly and added my new potential “friend” was probably from Kansastan), but within seconds I did what I never thought I’d do to a potential new follower: Unfriend.
Guess I’ll do a bit more snooping before accepting any more silly-willy-nilly friend requests. Pretty sure this one wouldn’t have enjoyed my writing anyway.
I’m still figuring out how to use MailChimp, and I’m pretty sure I know very little about all the applications, but I just sent out my 2nd Leadville Laurel Newsletter! I’d love to have more subscribers to it. I promise no spam. The purpose of it is to inform writers of upcoming events, to offer tips and writing prompts for the month, and to make you chuckle. You might even want to order all the books I plan to write this year.
If you’d like to receive them on or around the Ides of each month, please send me your email (send to laurel.mchargue@gmail.com) and I’ll add you to my list. I know how to do that!
We do birthday celebrations all wrong. Instead of paying tribute to the birthday girl or boy, the praise should go to the parents. They gift us with life, and for those of us fortunate enough to have had parents who love(d) us, they give us their strength and guidance and an occasional firm nudge in the right direction. They’re our first, and in my case best role models.
And they (mostly) tolerate us.
But for today—which marks my 57th year on this great planet—I will gratefully accept the praise and well-wishes and congratulations for surviving another year. I’ll openly enjoy our trip to the hot springs followed by sushi later this evening. Thank you all. And I especially thank my Mum.
Dawn breaks over the snow-tipped clearing above tree line on Weston Pass.
10/19/15
Once again we chose to ignore my hunting tip #8 and arrived at our pull-off below Weston Pass even earlier than on Day 2. As it was pitch black and I was uncertain of my footing, Mike carried my rifle in his pack for the steepest section of our approach until dawn broke and it was time to chamber a round. He’s the awesomest husband I know.
Dawn breaks over the snow-tipped clearing above tree line on Weston Pass.
KIND bars have been our snack of choice for a few years now, and although Mike has never been an early morning breakfast eater (I must eat in the morning or I become an ogre), he snarfed a couple down before our ascent. The resultant gastric consequences provided hilarity soon thereafter.
“Did you hear something?” he whispered to me with a big smile halfway up the hill. “It sounded like bugling!”
I rolled my eyes as I did numerous times over the next hour while the nutritious bars wreaked havoc with his digestion. So much bugling. But I don’t blame him for scaring away our potential dinner.
I blamed the monkey crow. I wish I’d thought to tap “record” on my iPhone when we heard him. Snow flurries were soft in the tree line, and because my ankle was feeling pretty good, I decided to stay with Mike as he traversed the higher grounds rather than loll about in the meadow where our elk really should have been.
We know the elk are hiding behind the trees, chuckling at our persistence, sneaking away when I pull out my camera-phone.
The crow’s laughter was an even closer imitation of monkey chatter than Mike can make, and we stopped to enjoy the merriment for a moment before continuing our stealthy trudge through and over thick and downed pines. Soft little Christmas trees with snow-sprinkled new growth sprouted where the old had fallen long ago, and well into our ascent, Mike stopped for a break. He’s always thinking of me, but I could tell he was also beginning to get discouraged.
Within moments of hitting the trail again, I paused for a familiar routine. I knew he’d spotted a sign. Sure enough, there it was. Fudge-brownie-fresh poop.
Fudge-brownie-fresh elk poop! A sure sign that elk are no longer in the area ;)
We had already traversed too far for my comfort. My ankle was beginning to ache (I’ve been telling myself that hunting is good physical therapy after surgery, but at that point I was questioning myself) and I started praying to Diana, Artemis, Orion, all of the hunting deities, to hide the poopers.
Because “they” listened to me, we hiked and hiked, and hiked and hiked, until we came to another huge clearing far beyond and above the meadow I suddenly wished I had stayed in.
“Look. Classic elk terrain,” Mike whispered. “This is where it says they should be.” We’ve repeated this same message to one another in several locations already. It’s become a joke.
“I know, but elk don’t read,” I whispered back.
“Racist,” he replied. Muffled giggling ensued.
Rambo Mike, in a place where our elk “should have been”!
We crept around the enormous open space and I realized that not only were there no signs of elk anymore, but my ankle was seriously unhappy. And we were seriously far and high above where we’d parked. And we’d been out for hours and hours and I was ready to become a pescatarian. I like to fish. I like to eat fish. Fishing is easy. I can sit down while I fish. Fishing rods aren’t that heavy. I can drive really close to where I want to fish.
“You stay here and rest. I’m going back into the trees over there and if I don’t see anything, we’ll head back.”
Last smile during elk hunting day 3 before our wicked descent from Weston Pass.
I was all about the heading back, but also truly concerned about the terrain. From where I stood, I couldn’t see over the edge of the field. I had no idea how steep our descent would be. So after having him take the last photo in which I could smile that day, I leaned against a downed tree with my feet uphill and did my best to remain optimistic. And that’s when I had a most unexpected visitor.
An elk? Not a chance. But at the spot where I landed in the acres and acres of terrain we’d covered that day was one little ladybug. For the next half hour as Mike searched for our elusive prey, she and I visited. I marveled at her resolve to stay with me, figuring it was because my body was far warmer than anything in that wind-whipped field. She made me smile, and by the time I had to set her free, I had steeled my mind for the final trudge.
Ladybug ladybug, fly away home . . . and take me with you!
Without going into great detail, suffice it to say that my husband once again was my hero. He took my weapon from me and found a hiking stick to assist with the worst downhill journey of my life so far. I had to do several sections on my butt, so instead of crying (which I almost did several times), I gave thanks for the up-and-downstairs-butt-technique I had mastered in our house while on crutches just weeks before. (see crutches)
Mike found a stick to assist with my mile-long 60ish-degree downward slope back to the 4-Runner.
The descent was grueling, but the day was filled with beauty. And I had spent it with my man. We had no elk for all our efforts, but we were still together, still able to smile at the beauty of our surroundings, and still confident that . . . Day 4 would be “the day.”
We heard that Weston Pass was the place to go to find our wily elk for sure. So instead of heeding my tip #8 for Day 1 prep (See tip 8), we drove up to a spot on the road below Weston Pass way before the sun rose.
The hike up to where we knew the elk would be was arduous (for someone like me with a gimpy ankle), but we made good time and got to enjoy the sight of dawn breaking over the cold Rocky Mountains. After a while, we hunkered down in some pine trees. We’d wait a while and watch the herds pass by. We’d have our pick of tasty future meals.
Dawn in the Rocky Mountains, hunting day 2 up Weston Pass.
After about ½ hour, Mike decided to move farther up the hill. I stayed below. We’d have different vantage points of the same open area through which the elk would meander…at any minute. I drilled myself on the gutless method of removing the tenderloins. Dinner.
Suddenly I saw wild gesticulations from above, and when I followed Mike’s pointed finger, THERE THEY WERE! Although difficult to see from my position, a cow, two calves and a spike were walking through a small clearing between thick pines on the far, far side of the meadow. Mike gestured for me to come up to where he was already in a firing position, but I think we both knew that the tiny window of opportunity and the distance were too challenging to overcome in the split second between seeing them and watching them disappear.
“I should’ve taken the shot,” he said, “but by the time I had the elevation adjusted, it was too late.”
“You did the right thing. You want a clean shot.” I told him what he already knew.
“You stay here. I’m going over to see if I can pick up the trail.”
Meadow grass up Weston Pass, hunting day 2.
For the next 90 minutes, Mike hiked and I lay prone in the meadow grass by a large, dead tree trunk. Maybe he’d scare them out and I’d get my shot. Instead, I waited and lounged and peered through the grass, remembering my 5th grade teacher at Archie T. Morrison Elementary School in Braintree who had us do something quite similar during our poetry unit, but without rifles. I think she might have been the one who sparked my interest in writing.
Hunting glamour shot. Weston Pass. Waiting and waiting for Mike.
While Mike hiked, I shot photos, something my friends tell me I should be doing rather than shooting “poor innocent animals.” I took my hunting glamour shot and visited for a while with a nosy lark bunting. I really do like shooting photos, but I’d like to know I could feed myself during the zombie apocalypse too.
By the time Mike returned, he was beat and I was ready to head home.
“There are tons of signs over there. It’s like an elk highway. We’ll come back tomorrow, okay?”
I would have agreed to anything at that point. We were silent as we drove home, tired and hungry, and our reward for our efforts on Day 2 was a glorious rainbow embracing our little Leadville.
Mike scopes for movement on Mt. Zion, Day 1, season 2 rifle hunting
Here are some tips on what to do before charging out on Day 1 of your hunting season:
Read last year’s hunting blog and laugh about how inexperienced you were.
Tell yourself, “This will be the year!”
Review videos on the gutless method of harvesting your kill, preferably while you’re eating something. This is my favorite one: Gutless method
Tell yourself, “I can do that in 10 minutes, 15 minutes max.”
Don’t worry about losing sleep the night before Day 1. You won’t have any trouble sleeping after 8 hours of moving, sweating, waiting, and shivering.
Assure your non-hunting friends you do realize you’re stopping a beating heart when you shoot an animal.
Practice whispering with your hunting partner. Start with little messages like, “They’re waiting for us.”
Ask everyone where they bagged their elk. When they tell you, go somewhere else.
Mike and I started our Day 1 hunt before sunrise on Mt. Zion because we heard that’s
Hunting day 1, morning break. Still feeling pumped!
where our next meal would be hanging out. Despite my initial dread of spending a day beating the brush after re-reading my post from last year’s hunting adventures (Hunting with my Hubby), I geared up and we got to our parking spot before sunrise. Mike knew my mobility was limited since I just ditched the crutches a week ago from ankle surgery six weeks prior and convinced me we’d move at my speed.
It didn’t take long before we found our hunting rhythm, which truly illustrated “a snail’s pace.” Although we saw some signs (signs=poop) of elk having been there, we were not convinced they were still hanging
Pee break. “Stack… arms!” (that’s an Army command)
around. I don’t know what it is about constantly scanning the ground and surroundings for signs and movement, and perhaps it’s just our own constant movement at high altitudes, but the need to pee is far more frequent while hunting. I’ve said if before and I’ll say it again: There’s nothing quite like peeing in the wild. Anyway, after many hours and much hiking (and peeing) and discovering beautiful places where they “should have been,” we returned home at midday. We knew when we went back out that evening, we’d find them.
Driving back to a different starting spot on the mountain, still full of adrenaline and eager to fill our tags on Day 1, we discussed what would happen if we came across a “twofer.” Mike has a cow tag and I have a bull tag, same season, so the idea of walking into a pasture and catching a little bull-on-cow action was just too funny not to consider.
“They SHOULD be here!”
Alas, our anticipation adrenaline wore off as the sun set, and we returned home again home again, jiggity-jig, to a dinner of mac&cheese and early to bed. Clearly, Day 2 would be “the day.”
Here’s a link to my hunting epilogue from 2014 and there are several other daily posts before it. Just search “hunting” for more:
