Sharon Wagner's Blog

Sanctions and Restrictions for Animal Consumption of Processed Cheese Snacks

These are real Christmas ornaments. I made them for a book contest and won. Plus, who doesn't love cheese puffs? Santa would gobble them up. Now, follow the rules...

~ Do not handfeed Gorillas. They prefer to eat cheesy potato chips with one hand while choking you with the other. If this is what you want, proceed with care.

~ Ditto small monkeys. They are too excitable to handle extreme deliciousness. Therefore, processed cheese will instigate fits of screaming.

~ All poultry should eat their cheese puff sideways, forming a T shape with their tiny noggin. If done correctly, the cheese puff should explode around the beak in a rain of salty particles. The chicken is then allowed to peck up debris in a fastidious fashion.

~ Presenting a certified poodle breed with a lowbrow snack is unseemly. However, If you must, the edible should be a cheesy fish or orange-colored cracker. The wafer is then placed directly on the canine tongue. Finally, after mastication is complete, the poodle should be verbally showered with abundant praise.

~ Lamas should be handfed cheese crackers while standing perpendicular and at arm’s length from the animal subject. This technique allows for an unimpeded stream of camelid spit projection.

~ Raccoons should not be handfed. Instead, they prefer to steal their snacks. You may allow the raccoon to rummage through neighborhood garbage cans and public picnic areas. After the raccoon hits paydirt or cheesy gold, a wicked, toothy smile should erupt across its masked face. This cheery-creepy mask does not always manifest. Without the expression, proceed directly to the final step. Lastly—and very important—the raccoon should eat standing on two feet as if playing a harmonica or scarfing a cob of corn. Crumb loss is inevitable. So, abandoning a whole bag of snacks for raccoons is recommended.

~ Lions must be handfed, one nacho cheese triangle at a time. (Triangle snacks are considered by most cool cats at the top of the junk food chain, especially by the Kings and Queens of Jungle Savanna) The royals must have many human subjects, as hands and fingers are sometimes accidental appetizers. This unplanned nourishment is a culinary privilege and should not be considered a poor reflection on the feeder.

~ Cheese puffs can clog an Ant-Eaters snout, like hair in a shower drain. Proceed with caution.

~ You must hand-feed Elephants one cheese puff at a time while humming a tune. But humming a circus tune is offensive.

~ Small cats should be handfed cheese balls while wearing feathered costumes with bells and jingly sparkles. Otherwise, there is an inherent risk of feline boredom. Proceed at your own risk.

~ Do not feed kangaroos. They will collect enormous amounts of processed edibles in their pouch. Often, they will punch the feeder in the face.

~ Ditto squirrels. They will cache snacks everywhere. It is a waste of delicious cheese as it will just rot and melt like fertilizer.

~ Shorebirds and hawks will be allowed to regurgitate their fish-shaped cheese crackers on a rotating basis.

~ Foxes prefer to sniff out their snacks and abscond back to the privacy of their den. Humans don’t understand their snacking habits. It’s weird but true.

~ Skunks are to be left alone. You may assemble many types of snacks in the forest or field, in all sizes and shapes, in a long row, and allow skunks to discover them. They will scamper down the crunchy trail, choosing one or two flavors. This feeding technique may not make sense, but creativity breeds disaster.

~ Eagles should not be fed cheese snacks of any kind. It may seem like the quintessential American thing to do. But the constitution has a little-known clause: No eagles should ever eat processed cheese. Amen.

On Friday, December 5th, discover me at the T.A.L.E.S. Reader Appreciation Event on Facebook. I'm giving away more books on Thanksgiving with another event at the Tattered Page Book Club. I have a Goodreads KDP giveaway underway, and best of all, an upcoming event at Books on Third in Naples, Florida. Spread the word! (See below) Plus, an author posted a YouTube video about me and my book. You can find it here. Whew, that's a lot. Thanks for reading. 

Did I write this goofy post because I was born in Wisconsin and I'm still a cheesehead? Perhaps. :) Happy Thanksgiving! And remember: "Cheese is milk's leap toward immortality." Clifton Fadiman

Books, conversation, freebies, and fun. I hope to see you at Books On Third in Naples, Florida!

Books On Third

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Read The Levitation Game!

 

"There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife." ~ Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

 

I heard footsteps somewhere outside, and a kerfuffle in the bushes. My eyes blinked open, peering around the edges of my tent, imagining what lay beyond the flimsy tarp, with only stitches, zippers, and plastic as the barrier between me and whatever was out there.

A stick snapped, and I imagined giant paws trampling upon me and a death grip clamped around my throat. I bolted upright, sitting as still as a corpse, my ears tuned to all sagging corners. The air felt crisp. It was predawn dark through my window flap, with only a faint hint of light thinning the inky blackness of the woods. I leaned to peek through the screen. No bears pillaged around my picnic table, and no deer nipped at the moonlit ferns and grass around my campsite. A distant but eerie howl initiated goosebumps, but nothing rustled near my tent. Whatever had passed through my surroundings must have slunk away into the night.

I snuggled deep into my sleeping bag, resisting the nagging urge to look at my phone. Minutes of delicious silence passed. My heart slowed. I flipped onto my side, and peace washed over me until more feet scampered in a sloppy circle around my tent. What was out there?

With a racing heart, I slithered from my sleeping bag, lit my phone’s flashlight, and crawled to the opening of my tent, zipping it down. I lurched from my tent, pointing my phone around me. There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife. I screamed, and so did the intruder, holding their arms up and dropping an armful of fiddlehead ferns, along with a glittering steel knife that stuck up from the ground like an exclamation point. I gulped and shone my light into the middle-aged face of a woman with wide, glassy eyes. 

“I was just collecting ferns,” she said, stepping backward.

“At night?”

“No. Well, before daylight, when the shoots emerge,” the woman said, chirpy, as if this kind of terrifying foraging were normal.

The woman grabbed her ferns, sheathed her knife, and tiptoed away.

I frowned, but wondered what a fiddlehead fern must taste like.

I returned to my tent.

Happy Halloween! 

Dreamsphere Books returned my edit and work has begun on Chorus of Crows, which is set to launch in early 2026! Plus, I had a blast with my all day takeover at Tattered Page Book Club last Friday. I'm giving away 5 print copies to the winners, and ebooks to everyone that entered. 

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Read The Levitation Game!

"This world is but a canvas to our imagination." ~ Henry David Thoreau

 

"The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls." ~ Pablo Picasso 

Creativity is the cornerstone of my being, much like the rustic old support beams crisscrossing the ceiling of the granary on my childhood farm in rural Wisconsin. It’s my foundation. It’s who I am. Who would I be without it?

As a child, I daydreamed. But mostly, I drew, erasing straight through my paper, trying to get what I saw in my head reflected perfectly on the page. I utilized acrylic, oil, pastel, and watercolor, and my artwork soon accumulated in drawers and tablets. Eventually, I graduated from UW Stout with a degree in Graphic Design. More painting ensued. I sold a few pieces at summer art fairs, but mostly accumulated my art like a chipmunk caching nuts.

I joined the SCBWI and began illustrating children’s books, including Maya Monkey, Mary Rode to Bethlehem on Me, and Mrs. Jones’ Tea Party, along with other collaborations with the Children’s Book Illustrator’s Guild. My walls filled like cars at a traffic light. My basement overflowed. I began to wonder if I could write my own children’s book, and I did—a cute rhyming story that kept my neurons firing at all hours of the night.

One day, out of the blue, I ditched everything I’d worked for my entire life and began writing novels. Was I nuts?

No. I chose to paint with words instead. I’d been creating scenes on canvas my whole life, so how hard could writing novels be? Okay, it’s been challenging from day one, and I’m still learning by reading and studying a wide range of books. However, writing a vivid setting or location and including all the senses is just like painting a pretty picture.

While on a retreat with bestselling author Jess Lourey, I received a book-in-a-bag kit—a color-coded set of small cards designed to help authors outline their books. Outlining is a highly recommended task, but somehow, composing scenes on paper for fifty-odd years enabled me to juggle literary scenes inside my head without using cards. Plus, writing by the seat of my pants is more fun.

Does a scene I’m wrestling need a dialogue break? Yes, I can visualize that if I’m paying attention. If I’ve run on with exposition for too long, I can see that the scene needs to jump back to the present. And as long as I keep focusing on the movement of my characters, and where they are in the scene, they don't fall off the page.

Jess Lourey created the acronym ARISE, stating that each scene should incorporate at least three of the following elements: action, romance, information, suspense, and emotion. Similarly, every painting requires a foreground, a background, and a focal point. The foreground is the most essential element in a painting, and the background often dissolves into a blur. However, it’s still important, just like it’s necessary to make your secondary characters pop like a literary highlight.

Sometimes scenes just clash on a canvas, but that’s what I like about writing: conflict is finally good!

It turns out that art reflects my writing life, and perhaps yours as well. These days, I’m not doing much painting beyond cover art, but you can still find my art at https://sharonwagnerillustration.blogspot.com/

I have good news: A new bookstore in Naples, Florida, Books on Third, will be stocking my book and will host a future author event with me! Yay!

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Read The Levitation Game!

Field Work

 

My husband and dad out for a walk in the fields.

When I was a kid, field work meant “walking the beans” under an unforgiving sun to pluck errant corn stalks, which sprouted from leftover corn seed into the current year’s bean crop. Sigh. I hated that job.

Mind and feet.

But now, field work simply means thinking and walking. It means losing myself while walking and immersing my mind and feet in nature so deeply that thoughts percolate to the surface unbidden. Why the change? As a writer, I find that walking helps with my writing. And it’s not just me; it’s a well-known remedy for writer’s block.

Walking increases blood flow to the brain, helping you enter a flow state or heightened mental clarity. It also leads to new connections between brain cells. But don’t ask me to list my sources, since this is a newsletter, and not a book report!

For years, after I began my writing odyssey, creativity followed me, no matter where or when I walked. Walking has been my primary form of exercise since I took my first beach walk as a kid, when endorphins soaked my brain, gathered from the combination of seashell treasure, sun, fun, and barefoot exercise. To this day, my longest walks navigated the mangroves behind Lover’s Key State Park, where I could walk alone with just the Gumbo Limbo trees and my book bag for company. One time, while reading on a bench mere inches from the water, I heard a snuffling and looked up in time to see a stray dolphin arc before me, so close I could have touched it. But I lost this joy when my feet became afflicted with hallux rigidus arthritis.

Walking became about pain management, and creative thoughts withered.

This month, I had surgery to fix my right foot, with screws, a surgeon, and a prayer. Next up will be my left. It hurts like hell. I feel antsy. I have plenty of time to write, but I want to walk. Wish me luck!

“Goals transform a random walk into a chase.” ~ Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

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Literary Deplorables

Since my book launch, pages have turned, sales have simmered, and bookbindings have remained stuck. Nothing horrible or unexpected has happened. Andyet, there are still many deplorables in my book publishing and marketingbasket—the worst part is gaining email subscribers for my newsletter. I’vefound the job akin to herding cats inside a David Lynch movie produced bypersnickety sudoku enthusiasts. Why is it so hard?

I decided to seek advice from David Lynch himself, surreal filmmakerextraordinaire. David’s film credits include Blue Velvet and Twin Peaks. He hassince passed. RIP Mr. Lynch. But you didn’t think I was serious, anyway, right?

Here’s what he had to say: 😊

“Sharon, if you take away nothing else from our imaginary Zoomcorrespondence, remember, when in doubt, talk backward.”

 “esaelP, lliw uoy ebircsbus ot ym liame tsil?” I repeat very slowlyto Mr. Lynch.

“No thanks,” he says. “But here’s another tip: When you send yournewsletter, include an insane soundtrack to keep potential subscribers on edge.You know, unstable even.”

“I’m not sure if that will help me. But I can try Nirvana or Metallica,and maybe include a link for spotify in my next newsletter.”

“Great. Sarah, that’s your name, right? People like a good mystery. Tellpeople they may be signing up for a Sears credit card or your email list, butthey won’t know which one—keep it cagey.”

“Okay, Mr. Lynch.”

“Sharon, here’s another gem: when you ask for new subscribers, make yourquestioning extremely difficult to follow. Keep potential subscribers on theirtoes. Make the tone weird, bizarre even. You know, switch it up. I like to usethe word “discomforting” to describe my approach; maybe this feeling can helpyou, too. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mr. Lynch. I already feel slightly uncomfortable.”

“Good. Hey, Simone, I’ve got to go. I’m having lunch with an elephant anda coal miner. Goodbye.”

“This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”

knahT uoy rof gnidaer!

In other words,

THANK YOU FOR READING!

My August newsletter hits inboxes next week! 

"I discovered that if one looks a little closer at this beautiful world, there are always red ants underneath." ~ David Lynch

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The Gate

It must be raining on Earth, because I sit with my front paws curled beneath me, waiting at the gate, just like yesterday and the day before. Many strange animals pass through the bright light and golden bars that resemble skinny aspen trees, and my whiskers twitch with wonder. Some beasts lick and groom me as they pass, and the act gives me a wave of euphoria, just like a good puddle of sun still warms my heart.

I keep watch, barely blinking, for the arrival of my parents.

Time is irrelevant now that mornings don’t begin with a frenzied rush to my mother’s bedroom and by meals that arrive in a bowl that clinks on the floor. Oddly, I feel loved and safe even though my Earth family isn’t here. My mother whispered in my ear to wait by the gate, and loyalty is my mantra. But when will she come? The sun is warm, and I fear I’ll fall asleep and miss her.

“Akua, come here,” two voices call from behind my tail, the sound intermingling as if coming from a synchronized choir, almost singsong, like birds.

I whip my head and cock my ears toward the sound. I don’t recognize their voices, but the humans look and smell familiar to me. They approach, and the woman stoops to pick me up. I don’t struggle within her arms, and she holds me close. “We’re here to take you home,” she says with a smile.

I press my paws against the woman’s chest. “What home? I’m waiting for my mom and dad. I can’t leave!” I plead, unsure if they’ll understand me.

“It’s okay, Akua,” the woman says, scratching my cheeks and chin just the way I like it. “They're not coming yet, but we’re your grandparents, and we’ve come to take you to a place of contentment, where every breath is like a silent purr. It’s heaven, Akua, and in the blink of a cat’s eye, you’ll be running into both of your parents’ arms. You’ll see,” she said, placing me back on the loamy ground.

“Follow us," said the man beside her, beckoning with his hand.

I could barely see the man's face because it was backlit by a bright light. But I trusted him.

I glanced at the gate before I followed them with my tail held high. 

>^..^<

RIP, beloved Akua: extreme cuddler, gentle spirit, berserk cheek and tummy rub warrior, frenzied bedroom burster, and lover of bins, baskets, and bags. 2008-2025.

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I Lost My Marbles...

Re-treat Yourself: The Jess Lourey and Erica Ruth Neubauer Writing Retreat

I arrived at the Franciscan retreat center in Colorado Springs, expecting to meet writers, but I met shaggy grazing deer instead. The center is the former home of a Tuberculosis Sanitorium, and numerous stone buildings sprawl under the Colorado Rockies at an elevation of around 7,000 feet. When I walked down the sidewalk, I announced my passing to the feeding deer, and it worked; they didn’t trample me. A few writers walked the grounds and fed in the cafeteria. The food was hearty but good!

The day started with yoga, and after breakfast, workshops frazzled my mind until noon. Then, we had free time to sightsee, write, or even nap. After dinner, we had group writing prompts and meditation. Snacks rained down like beads during Mardi Gras. My favorite memories include walking the courtyard labyrinth with a new friend, reading in the peace garden with a stunning mountain view, and visiting the nearby Garden of the Gods for a hike with fellow writers.

My favorite swag was a perfect glass marble intended as an offering for the writing fairies. (If the mischievous literary goblins whisper good intel in your ear, you can repay them with a marble left in a fairy hotspot of your choosing)

I learned many things, but the acronym that stuck was ARISE. You must include at least three of these in each scene:

Action

Romance, humor, or friendship

Information

Suspense

Emotion

The retreat concluded with sparkling wine and a wand ceremony, where each writer blessed a pen before handing it to the recipient. My blessing from each writer proved profound and life-changing. I'll never forget the warm fuzzies, and it still feels like a warm hug.

My lesson for you: Even if you aren’t a writer, don’t forget to re-treat yourself!

Look to your inbox for my next newsletter on July 21. You can read my writing articles Read like You're Standing in a Buffet of Steaming Hot Books and Be Like Samwise and Frodo and Help a Writer Out at Orange Blossom Publishing and Orange Hat Publishing this month. Plus, I have another Goodreads Giveaway in motion until June 30. 3,274 readers have signed up so far!

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“Nowhere can man find a quieter or more untroubled retreat than in his own soul.” ~ Marcus Aurelius

 

Have you ever gone to a retreat? I bet you have, and maybe itinspired you. My first experience with one happened in High School, and it wasmemorable, but not in a good way. My mother decided I should attend a retreatwith a youth group from our small-town church. I wasn’t in the group, and sinceI hated church, I wanted no part of the deal.

The groupraised money for the retreat by washing cars. I reluctantly helped, even thoughI had no plans to attend the event. But my mom thought otherwise. Then,something tragic and horrible happened. I was a teenager, so everything thatwasn’t wonderful felt tragic and horrible. Every kid from my church opted outof the weekend except for one boy much younger than me. I still had togo—alone. I hitched a ride with some teens from another church located in a bigcity. They intimidated me immediately with cool talk of happenings beyond mypay grade, and they befouled me with their stinky cigarette contraband. Evenso, I would have been happy to bunk with any one of them. But that didn’thappen.

My assignedroom left me utterly alone without the welcome presence of crickets chirping.My room sat mutely inside an expansive dormitory floor with dim hallwaysreminiscent of midnight in a lonely hospital. I had no roommate nor adultsupervision, and no one else checked in to my floor. Yes, you heard mecorrectly. I remained alone on the whole bleeping floorunless you count spiders. It was a nightmare! It was also eerie, as if a zombieapocalypse had scrubbed every living soul from the wing of rooms. At least Ihad privacy in the communal showers.

The first thingI did upon arrival was find the big city girls on another floor that bustledwith laughter and voices. But they spurned me and my lonely predicament. Ireturned to my private wing. Needless to say, I’m only halfheartedly ashamed to say Iditched the scheduled events and spent all my time at a nearby mall. I didn’teven eat at the cafeteria, instead opting for pizza at Rocky Rococos. I'm suremy mother never heard the end of it.

I’m on a writing retreat in Colorado with Ted Talking and award-winning authorJess Lourey! What will happen this time? I’ll keep you posted.

 

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“A squirrel is just a rat with a cuter outfit!” ~ Sarah Jessica Parker

My April Book Pick. Ha!

We could learn something from the rattiest city in the world: New York. A team of creatives didn’t just turn lemons into lemonade or spoiled milk into a savory sharp cheddar; they turned a rat problem into an opportunity by creating hilarious, tiny ads distributed on rat-height, 13-inch sidewalk billboards, with a rat wearing a bandaid like a blindfold to solve the creature’s nocturnal sleep problem. Or the skateboarding rat that was shredding more than cheese.

This rat-centric ingenuity made me wonder what kind of rat creativity I could develop. A group of rats is called a mischief, and that’s what I’m up to in today’s post.

Me: Do you like my book?

Rat: Your book’s plot is so convoluted I could turn it into a rat maze for my inbred relatives who think inbred means their head is sticking through a loaf of wonder bread. Holy, Cheez Whiz, Ratman.

Me: Is my book as good as Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux?

Rat: Some things are better left in the dark. Roscuro wouldn’t leave his dungeon to read your tail. I mean tale.

Me: Will readers buy my book?

Rat: Some readers acquire new books like pack rats, but I don't consider pack rats (woodrats) to be a real rat. What was your question again?

Me: Rats often live with and near humans, so will any of your friends read my book? I keep some copies in my T.V. console for your relatives that may be hiding in my walls.

Rat: Rats have a keen sense of smell. So the answer is no, because your book stinks.

Me: Rats are easy to train, so can I train you to leave reviews on Amazon or Goodreads for my book? There are a lot of rats out there, and I could get millions of new reviews; I’m just saying.

Rat: No training bleephole. But we also carry disease, so would you like me and my friends to visit the people who left a bad review for your book, The Levitation Game?

Me: YES! Thank you, Mr. Rat! (Me with a fiendish grin, rubbing my hands together and cackling as if choking on a cheese curd)

The end!

I finally posted my first book marketng reel on instagram, and I hit 30, 000 words with my new WIP. My short story, A Yard Fit for a Princess debuted in the Women Who Write literary journal Goldfinch. Plus, click here to read my writing article at Orange Hat Publishing, inspired by The Lord of the Rings. 

“I have a rat inside my skull that runs on a treadmill - pitta-patta pitta-patta pitta-patta. I enjoy the company of other people who experience that pitta-patta in their skulls.” ~ Richard Lederer

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“I wish to be cremated. One-tenth of my ashes shall be given to my agent, as written in our contract.” ~ Groucho Marx

“If you dream of becoming an eagle, you follow your dreams and not the words of a bunch of chickens.” ~ Penny Johnson Jerald

I signed with Dreamsphere Books! My second novel, Chorus of Crows, will launch sometime in 2026. Here's a preview...

When retired farmer Oren Walton receives an offer for a romantic hook-up in his rusty R.V., he embarks on a summer-long relationship and respite from loneliness and heartache—the death of his wife and son, Parkinson’s disease. Finally, Oren feels happy. But there’s a problem: Oren’s daughter, Sedona, thinks he hallucinated the whole affair.

Soon, strange happenings percolate on the farm. Oren battles trickster crows and sleepwalks into deadly farm machinery mishaps. Strange visitors arrive with mud cleaved to their boots, and a miracle of birth occurs on the porch, both foul and fabulously freaky. Sedona doesn’t see a darn thing except she hears unusual wailing in the barn at night but figures it’s only a litter of undiscovered kittens nestled outside. Besides, life on the farm has always been weirder than a lutefisk supper since her mother’s unexpected death and the sad day her brother died in the hidden spot behind the barn.

As summer rolls forward, Sedona discovers her dead mother’s diaries. She finds comfort in her mother’s words, but they don’t insulate her from the dangers of living with her dad’s increasingly malevolent delusions. Lavinia, Oren’s annoyingly real lady friend, thinks Oren is off his rocker. And Jeb—Sedona’s summer romance—is sure of it. Only one thing is certain: no one will survive the pestilence at the farm unless an answer from the stars can solve the mystery of the spot.

~

I have a new lead magnet freebie with Water Street Design on Etsy. Every new subscriber receives a free, downloadable and adorable greeting card from the WSD star seller Etsy shop. If any current subscribers want a free card, just let me know! Look to your inbox for my next newsletter on Monday, April 21.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

“I'm a dreamer. I have to dream and reach for the stars, and if I miss a star then I grab a handful of clouds.” ~ Mike Tyson

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