The ducks I raised from day-old ducklings have inspired many stories, and I finally completed the first! In this colorful read-aloud children’s book, you’ll learn a few things about ducks . . . and sing along with the “Fuzzy Little Duckling” song!
As a bonus, when you email me (laurel@strackpress.com) to let me know you’ve ordered your copy, I will send you my latest love story poem “Laila and Leo” . . . AND . . . my new short story “Muscleheads in the Mirrors”!
dreSample page from my book!
QUACK is the first in what I hope to be a 3-book series! I’ve done all of the illustrations myself, and the song is one I sang to my “girls” every day!
This story will leave you smiling!
Would you please share this notice with everyone with young readers?
And order NOW for yourself and the wee ones in your life!!! Thank you! (the Kindle version is best viewed on an iPad for full color!)
“Irish Town” is set in the town of Ashton high in the Rocky Mountains. Ashton has seen its struggles and faces many challenges particularly from its wealthy and powerful rival, Cherry Ridge located across Powder Valley.
The novel’s protagonist, and first-person narrator, Jeremiah Connelly, tells us the story of his high school peers who hope to save Ashton from becoming a modern-day ghost town. The story deals with social issues, family problems, environmental challenges, and much more. The novel concludes with a high-stakes competition between the two towns.
Readers have enjoyed “Irish Town.” One saying, “This book is phenomenal. Very well written. Many characters that will blow your mind. You’ll love it.” Another said, “Irish Town engages the reader with a compelling setting and thought-provoking conflicts. The ideal book for independent-minded young adults looking for a cool plot and complex, relatable character.”
Visit with us here!
Listen to my interview with Matt and hear his writing tips!
Show Notes with Links:
Matthew Meagher gives us his “elevator pitch” for Irish Town!
We discuss inspiring individuals and Matt tells us about how his 5th grade teacher, Ms. Shoemaker, recognized his ability to write.
I ask him some personal questions about his teaching career . . . such a funny embarrassing moment!
How does he find inspiration for his characters?
So many wonderful awards!
He talks about rivalries and alliances and his opinion about if these things are inevitable.
He reads a passage from “Irish Town” and then talks about adding the “countdown” element.
Why does Matt mention The Great Gatsby more than once in his novel?
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
He explains what applied anthropology means and how anthropologists exist in many fields of study. Applied anthropologists are solutions oriented and collaborative within diverse societies.
He mentions the podcasts Hidden Brain and Invisibilia (both wonderful scientific podcasts!).
We discuss how science fiction is sometimes predictive and I ask about his Chronicles of the Great Migration series (what might be predictive).
Michael teaches us about “polytopia” (as his series is not dystopian).
We discuss the current and past pandemics and how they might foster societal change.
With Michael and other authors discussing worldbuilding at Denver Pop Culture Con
Michael performs his spoken word poem It’s All Relative, which will be in his latest publication of art and poetry. Pre-order this sure-to-be stunning book soon! I’ll have a link to it soon.
We talk about mindreading, ESP, the senses (far more than 5!) and “Supernatural Agency.”
We discuss artificial intelligence and I ask when we might lose the “A” in “AI.” Listen to his wonderful response!
Michael talks about the troubles with communication today, and how not getting along with someone doesn’t mean you should actively hate them.
Find Michael Kilman and info about his eclectic creations on his website at loridianslaboratory.com.
Michael’s TEDx talk “Anthropology, Our Imagination, and How to Understand the Difference”
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
Linda gives listeners her “elevator pitch” for the series, a brief and compelling sales pitch.
Her series won the CAL 1st place for science fiction!
She tells us how the idea of writing a sci-fi novel about Sasquatches captured her Muse and why she set the story in Salida, CO.
She talks about how the Sasquatch community she envisions (authors of fiction get to make their own decisions about this) differs from how most people might view them.
Linda at the 2021 FANEXPO Denver Halloween weekend! Everyone loved her banner!
Linda introduces us to her main characters and talks about how she was inspired to include them.
Her delightful settings are sometimes influenced by her world travels and adventures with her husband.
She talks about cultural differences one might find in a Sasquatch community, and how when an author is worldbuilding, there are many more things to consider and plan.
Will she continue after book 4? Listen/watch and hear her answer!
She talks about the importance of reading a lot, and highly recommends Steel Guardian by Cameron Coral.
Linda is working on a new sci-fi, and she will pitch it at this year’s RMFW Conference.
We talk about Andy Weir‘s work and how he crafts his novels. We would welcome Andy to visit our writing group in Salida!
She offers some wonderful advice to budding and established authors!
She also has a short story published in this year’s competitive RMFW Anthology! That and all of her books are/will be available on Amazon here: L.V. Ditchkus
Here’s Linda’s website, where you can sign up for updates!
If you’re in Salida, stop by Salida Books on F Street to find Linda’s books!
Read it! You’ll love it!
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
CCWE Vice-President Cam Torrens and I present Henry Dodson with his award!
Visit with us on YouTube and hear Henry read his winning entry!
Audio-only version of my visit with Henry Dodson
Show Notes with Links:
Henry Dodson took 1st place in CCWE‘s inaugural Young Authors Fiction Contest!
In addition to his cash prize and my book, I had the pleasure of interviewing Henry and having him read his winning entry (read his story “The Trees” below).
Henry talks about his motivation to enter the contest, and credits his creative writing teacher, Taylor Drusch, at Chaffee County High School with encouraging him to participate.
Henry’s favorite authors are Stephen King and Dean Koontz, and Koontz’s novel Lightning is a particular inspiration.
Henry used the main character as a Vietnam Veteran to honor his grandfather, a veteran.
Henry reads his psychological thriller “The Trees.”
Henry’s artwork of the vision of the stalking tree
He discusses his choice of Spruce trees.
He’s a “pantser,” not a “planner.”
He talks about how he ended his story, and when he discovered he was a good writer, and then gives us a hint about the first book he plans to write.
We talk about keeping track of ideas, and Henry gives advice to young writers.
“The Trees” by Henry Dodson
I awoke violently once again. The whispering which had taunted me constantly was becoming louder and louder, almost too loud to bear. I sat up and grabbed my rifle, loading it through the top, pulling the bolt, and aiming it at the door. Every single night since building my Cabin deep in the Appalachian woods, something has haunted me, following me, driving me insane. I moved into these woods after my discharge from the Army to try to escape the constant horrors that had plagued me since the ambush, but it seems that my demons are chasing me and won’t relent until they’ve gotten what they wanted, whatever that may be. I tense my finger on the trigger of my rifle. Whatever is chasing me doesn’t just want me dead, it wants me suffering. Both I and It know that it is more than capable of ending my life, but I haven’t the slightest clue why it’s waiting so long to put me out of my misery.
It wasn’t long after my injury in Vietnam that it first appeared. I initially thought I was just experiencing PTSD, or shock, as any person exploded by an RPG would. The doctors could explain away what I was seeing and experiencing and would say it was just a result of the attack on my psyche. When I told the doctors about the whispers, they explained to me that “my brain’s just rattled,” and that it would subside before long. They told me the creature outside my window was an effect of losing my eye, and that my brain was attempting to “fill in the gaps.” I should never have believed them.
I blindly searched the floor next to my cot for my prosthetic leg. Dawn had broken and I was safe, at least safer than I was before the sun had appeared. The whispers of the trees had returned back to a tolerable murmur, however they never stopped. I attached the peg, which was carved out of Red Spruce, to the stump just beyond my knee and departed my cabin to carry out my daily dues. During the days I would hunt animals and gather berries and mushrooms for food,picking up firewood along the way. Most of these trips would go without much incident, aside from the odd rustle among the leaves or distant scream from the forest that seems to be common around these parts. Today’s hunt was different. The areas of the woods I had familiarized myself with had now felt wrong, as if they weren’t the same woods. I was no more than fifty feet into the wood before my skin began to crawl and the trees began to whisper again, whispering like last night. I turned around on my heels and began to sprint back to my cabin; I knew that my time was coming soon, but I sought to prolong the inevitable.
As I tore through the unrelenting forest the whispering of the trees turned into yelling, then into deafening screams. No matter how hard I looked or how fast I ran, the woods continued. I knew how far I was, I knew which direction my cabin was, I had been into this section of the woods every single day. Something was wrong, I had moved miles away from where I began. I had no chance, it had caught up to me. The only thing I could do at this point was pray that my death would involve minimal suffering. I dropped to my knees and began sobbing as the trees fell silent. I heard the sound of massive amounts of earth and lumber moving, rushing towards me like a river of mud and stone. As the sound of snapping roots and flowing earth approached, it fell silent before me. As I held my head in my hands, sobbing, I heard a solitary whisper, frail and like sandpaper against my ears.
“Look to me…” It beckoned. I was trembling with fear. It was the creature that had been pursuing me since the ambush. I lifted my head from my hands and looked up to meet its gaze.. In front of me was a gargantuan spruce tree, hundreds upon hundreds of feet high. In its trunk were the withered bodies of hundreds of tortured men, whispering, screaming, begging. The bodies of these men, their skin fused into the bark of the trees, were all faces I vaguely recognized. Trapped within this tree was the soul of every person I had killed in the war. The tree’s voice, rough like it’s bark, called again.
“Look upon me, look upon the souls you’ve damned.” I continued to weep as I watched the tortured souls of the Vietnamese Army grab and claw at me, begging for mercy. “You were responsible for the loss of these men, freedom fighters for their homeland,” The tree’s voice tore against my ears. “The gunshots, explosions and fires that led to their deaths all came from you. You are responsible. You did this. You are the monster, not I.” The voice of the tree had become too much to bear, the pain of what it had told me became too much to deal with. I continue to sob as I look upon the tree of souls. I feel its roots wrap around my prosthesis and drag it into the earth, and then I am urged by the tree into a deep sleep.
I awake outside my cabin, my clothes torn and dirty. As I attempt to pull myself off of the ground I fall. My leg is gone, but so too is the whispering of the trees.
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
“Let’s go tent camping,” he said. “It’ll be fun!” I said.
I frequently forget that I’m half-past 63, and the last time we tent camped was at White Sands, New Mexico in 2011 for the Bataan Death March Marathon. I completed the run, but the camping experience was a disaster, with winds strong enough to snap our tent poles and leave us fearing an airborne transport to the next county.
Still, on Friday the 13th, Mike and I loaded up the truck with an unopened tent we purchased before COVID-19, our mountain bikes, his kayak and my paddleboard, and enough sunscreen and snacks for an entire campground. We hugged our son Jake goodbye and headed to Fruita, Colorado.
Our plans for Friday included setting up camp, getting onto the water, going out to eat, and then letting the sounds and smells of nature lull us to sleep as we snuggled under our comforter. We’d hike on Saturday, bike on Sunday, and then head home feeling refreshed.
“You can have the shooting mat, I’ll use the Army sleeping pad.” Mike was generous in giving me the larger of the two mats, though I vaguely recalled it had no loft to it.
My memory was correct, but hey, I could sleep on anything for two nights. The tent was great, and I covered our mats with one of those soft, fuzzy fleece blankets. I removed what I thought was a filled comforter from its plastic bag—it had been years since we’d used it in a trailer we once had—and realized it was just a spread. So much for my memory.
But hey, it was really hot out, and the tent was great. We’d be fine.
We were surprised that our tent site was designated as a handicapped location but were delighted at how convenient it was to the parking lot. Mike told me it was the only site available in the whole campground—Lucky us! He failed to tell me another thing he discovered in small print when he rechecked our reservation, but I’ll get to that.
By the time we unloaded and set up our site, it was later than we’d anticipated.
“How about we walk to the Mexican food place and then just come back and chill,” I suggested. “We have all weekend to get on the water.” It wasn’t hard to convince Mike, and we did our best to hear ourselves speaking over the raucous diners who shared the patio space with us. Covid restrictions have atrophied our noisy-crowd-tolerance muscles.
“Let’s walk around the lake,” Mike suggested when we’d finished our chicken mole enchiladas. It was a lovely evening, and it looked to be about a one-mile trail around the lake.
One mile turned into several, which was good because Mike was feeling queasy, and I felt like I’d swallowed the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Evidently, Covid has weakened our dining-out digestive systems too.
“Oh, I didn’t know there was a train nearby.” I smirked at the memory of past camping experiences when train whistles had startled us awake throughout the night.
“Of course there would be.” Mike shook his head and belched.
“Ewww.” It’s pretty bad when you can taste someone else’s burp.
Ah! Nature!
A fabulous tent!
I win the scary face contest!
It was still hot in our tent when we turned off our reading lights, so we kept one end opened. Although one of Mike’s superpowers is the ability to fall asleep the moment his head hits the pillow, his gut kept him awake for the next few hours. I knew this because I kept myself awake giggling as I tried in vain to get comfortable on my bumpy, fleece-covered “shooting” mat. I have found over the years that it is better to giggle than to weep over discomfort, knowing that—generally—it will pass.
We were quick to realize that our convenient tent site was also convenient for all of the sites beyond ours. Hordes and herds of rowdy campers shuffled by our tent throughout the night, shining flashlights into our tent and occasionally even bumping into it as they passed. The convenient cement pathway meant for handicapped accessibility to our site was easier for them than the gravel pathway they should have taken to theirs.
“Hey! Get the chairs from the back seat!” A man who’d passed yelled over our tent to his son in the parking lot.
“Both of them?” Son yelled back.
“Get both of them.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, both of them!”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, get—I’ll be right there!”
Oh . . . my . . . God. Mike was about to yell something inappropriate. I giggled.
At some point, Mike fell asleep. At another point, the temperature dropped precipitously. I pulled on my sweatpants and did my best to conserve my body heat, pulling the loose edge of the fleece blanket up and over half of my body and curling into the fetal position under the flimsy spread. And at yet another point, the shiver-sweating started. As snuggly and soft as fleece typically is, it was no comfort to me that night.
As exhausted as I was, between the Jake Brakes on the nearby highway and the sporadic train whistle piercing the night, there was a slim chance I’d sleep at all. Still, I smiled. Ah! The sounds of nature! And . . . what was that smell?
The small print on the website which Mike failed to share with me notified campers there could be occasional wafts from a nearby decommissioned sewer treatment facility. Yup. Ah! The smells of nature!
Remarkably, I must have succumbed to sleep sometime before sunrise, for I woke from a nightmare to the sound of birds . . . and brakes . . . and train whistles . . . and barking . . . and—
“Coffee?” Mike had made it through the night without barfing and had the Jetboil bubbling.
“Yes, please!” My entire body ached as I unfurled it from its flimsy blanket cocoon. The morning was bright and beautiful, and we sat in camp chairs on the cement walkway, sipping our brew and daring any would-be encroachers to schlep their gear through our site.
Shiver-sweating!
An invigorating 10K hike!
“Are you up for a hike?” Mike knew I’d barely slept, but there was no way we were going to hang around the campground. “We can get on the water after, and then . . . what do you think about going home?”
I was glad it was his suggestion, and happy to comply.
Our 10K hike took us along gorgeous trails punctuated by wildflowers, and we chatted with a local gal who asked where we were from.
A desert bouquet!
Pretty Prickly!
Popping Pinks!
Come here, bees!
Soft yellows!
“You live in Salida? What are you doing here?” she asked, exactly what we’d been thinking when we awoke. Mike and I looked at one another and grinned.
Back at the campground, Mike glanced at the kayak and hesitated.
“We don’t have to go to the lake,” I said. “We have all summer for that.” It was all the persuasion he needed, and we made short work of breaking camp and packing up. I texted Jake our change of plans and we made the trek home, laughing about the silliness of what we’d experienced and happy to return to the sights and sounds and smells of the nature surrounding our serene home.
“You know I live to give you something to write about,” Mike said, smirking.
“I know. And thank you! What a Friday the 13th!”
Devil made us do it!
We’re done!
But wait. There’s more. While offloading our gear at home, I noticed a new toilet tank supply hose on the kitchen counter.
“Jake? What happened?”
Here’s where I will tell you how much damage a split $8 toilet supply hose can do to hardwood floors upstairs . . . and carpeting downstairs . . . and the walls in between.
Lots.
If Jake hadn’t been home to hear the unusual noise upstairs, I can only imagine the devastation we would have discovered upon our return. Oh, and while we were driving home, my trip to North Carolina for our other son’s engagement party was cancelled due to a Covid outbreak. As I write this looking out onto our newly snow-laden landscape, I’m happy that I’d at least resisted the urge to plant all of my vegetable beds before going camping. I’m finding it difficult, however, to laugh over the piercing noise of the heating pads, blowers, and dehumidifiers strategically placed to blow and suck out all of the water from our once-peaceful home.
Blowers and suckers and so . . . much . . . noise!
And while I know that this “disturbance” will pass in a week, or two, or five, I always thought Friday the 13th was supposed to be just one shitty day.
But okay. I can still giggle.
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
and we’re not quite “over the rainbow,” either! Dorothy had a spectacular dream–something I very much relate to–after being struck on the head during a “twister,” but the crazy winds we’ve been experiencing lately are real(ly irritating)!
Steinbeck wrote of drought, dust storms, and the resultant hardships on humankind. The Dust Bowl of the ’30s should be a reminder to us all that Ma Nature doesn’t really care about us and that–yes–our misuse/misunderstanding of the land can exacerbate natural climate patterns. But this newsletter isn’t intended to remedy anything. Rather, it’s a reminder that we generally get to choose how we will respond to inconvenient circumstances.
Will we allow the wind to make us cranky, keep us indoors, and remain incessantly vocal about how really irritating it is? Or will we consider WWSD (What Would Stoics Do)? While I’m not espousing the “keep it all bottled up inside” advice some may suggest, after we allow our natural inclinations to vent, we might then remember A Stoic Response to Complaining, and then readjust our response!
Catwalk at Bishop Castle (go ahead and experience how it sways in the wind…I dare you!)
As spring slides into summer, let’s stay aware of local conditions as a way of preventing unnecessary disasters. Dry winds (and personal negligence) cause horrific fires, and it looks like we’ll have many “red flag days” in our future. Let’s do what we can to spare our first responders this year . . . while still finding ways to enjoy the great outdoors.
Stay well, my friends, and take breaks from news and social media (except my newsletters!) every once in a while! Nothing stops the mighty Bagel from enjoying his hikes! :)
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
… has nothing to do with basketball, at least in my world. The Googles define madness as “the state of being mentally ill, especially severely . . . extremely foolish behavior . . . a state of frenzied or chaotic activity.”
And don’t those characteristics define the month of March perfectly? When days alternately bring blizzards or brilliance, when our bodies have to adjust to the theft of a precious hour (maybe it’s time to move to Arizona or Hawaii?), when sleepy towns are held hostage by spring breakers shouting “YOLO,” when friends and Marie Kondo challenge you to a spring cleaning contest, when you hope the corned beef brisket you just bought for your annual St. Patrick’s Day cabbage fest isn’t all fat and gristle, when everyone’s telling you to BEWARE this ides of March (Caesar didn’t, and look how that turned out), and when you know Mr. IRS is waiting . . . well, what more madness must one person endure?
And so I make a point every day now to take a little break in the afternoon–I call it my carpet nap, though I don’t really sleep–with my feet up on the ottoman, and I do my best to endure my new buddy, who’s a pro at this nap thing. We all could learn a few things from Bagel. After all, he ain’t crazy. He’s my granddog.
Our son and his dog, Bagel, are with us now, and Bagel is a snuggle-hound!
May the rest of this month bring more brilliance than blizzards, and may you find time each day to unplug from the madness.
Wishing you all a Happy St. Patrick’s Day! I’ll be cooking up the mandatory corned beef/cabbage/carrots/turnips/potatoes/onions on Thursday. Call it tradition, call it crazy, call someone you haven’t spoken with since Hector was a pup!
Stay well, my friends, and take breaks from news and social media (except my newsletters and blog!) every once in a while!
:)
Laurel Stuff:
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new science fiction series AND a children’s picture book AND recently published my first coloring book for the Waterwight series! (Photo Credit: Elise Sunday)
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
Nadine Collier and I (and photographer Sarah Collier!) at the Van Gogh Alive exhibit in Denver, August 2021
By now we all should understand that the novel coronavirus and its persistent variants will be with us for the foreseeable–and unforeseeable– future. When Nadine and I created our award-winning book Peace by Piece: 10 Lessons from a Jigsaw Puzzle!, we did not anticipate the political strife the pandemic would create. We did not assign the virus responses to tribes: Red vs. Blue.
Peace by Piece: 10 Lessons from a Jigsaw Puzzle!
We did, however, intend to help those struggling with every kind of “normal” challenge life throws at us, and our book is as relevant today as it was when we launched it into the uncertain world.
We are honored by The Colorado Sun’s SunLit Interview about how we came together to create our inspirational and humorous book, and we hope you might find reasons in it to be encouraged about our shared future despite the ongoing and often changing reality of this troubling pandemic.
Let’s remain hopeful and do what we can to return to living life in a sensible and less stressful way while remaining vigilant against the virus and protecting those most vulnerable.
Our book is available everywhere in paperback and ebook versions. Hope you’ll consider taking a gander!
Please subscribe to Alligator Preserves on iTunes, Stitcher, or wherever you get your podcasts, and tell your friends about it! I’d love it if you “liked” the episodes you listen to, and I’d love it even more if you’d post a quick comment!
