Kate E. Thompson's Blog: An Author's Whatnots, a blog of days gone by, page 3

When your Imaginary Dogs Drool

When your Imaginary Dogs Drool "Hey Girl nudged Astra in the hip and Good Boy woofed. Astra sighed and she and Matthew looked down at the dogs. Theyd gone for their leashes. They held them in their mouths. Their big friendly eyes, drool." The Asteroids Daughter and the Serpent Handlers Son Hey Girl and Good Boy are Sheriff Astra Billings best friends. Together they tip the scale at 300 pounds. They are Newfoundland dogs, Newfies for short, and they live with Astra in my novella, The Asteroid...

Psychobiography? Another way of looking at history...

I read Inside the Mind of Joseph Smith as part of my research for my forthcoming novel A Family of Forgetters.  Inside the Mind of Joseph Smith: Psychobiography and the Book of Mormon by Robert D. Anderson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

The author offers a fascinating look into the mind of Joseph Smith, the founding prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, through a psychobiographical study. Using science and academic history, Anderson hypothesizes that the Book of Mormon can be understood as Joseph’s autobiography and offers a diagnosis of Smith’s mental state. The perspective he presents is thought-provoking, one based on his study of Joseph’s early years, his family and neighbors, his homes, his health, state of mind and the state of the nation including politics of the day, the revivalist and spiritualist movements, folklore, poverty and economics. Whether he’s right or not, Anderson’s psychobiographical study is what’s interesting, for he attempts to give a whole picture of Joseph through what historical evidence remains and includes mental health in that picture. The book is presented in a way I understood, and is a good read, save for repetition which became laboring – I skimmed bits of it - but understandable for a case study. I recommend.

View all my reviews Be my friend on Goodreads...
Kate E Thompson is a Seattle author, a 2008 Hedgebrook alumna, book artist and graphic designer and has been a freelance journalist, editor, event planner, and bookstore owner. Kate is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie - Jan 21, 2015, The Asteroid’s Daughter and the Serpent Handler’s Son with Other Curious Stories - Fall 2015, a contributing author of New Halem Tales, and is currently working on her next novel, A Family of Forgetters - Spring 2016. www.kateethompson.com 

A Book Review: I Couldn't Put it Down

Inamorata by Megan Chance
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Inamorata by Megan Chance was an amazing book. I couldn't put it down and now after finishing it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Told from the perspectives of four main characters, the conflict is revealed bit by bit, just enough to keep me wondering and wanting more. The story is dark, suspenseful, and the characters well defined. So well, I could see them and feel what they felt. I cared about them, even the antagonist. The fantastical aspect was a surprise and had I known, I may not have selected the book, but by the time I realized, I was hooked. The book was a complex and very satisfying read. I recommend.

Review by Kate E Thompson, Goodread's Author
Kate E Thompson is a Seattle author, a 2008 Hedgebrook alumna, book artist, and has been a freelance journalist, editor, graphic designer, event planner, and bookstore owner. Kate is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie, The Asteroid’s Daughter and the Serpent Handler’s Son with Other Curious Stories, a contributing author in New Halem Tales, and is currently working on her next novel, A Family of Forgetters. www.kateethompson.com

Digital and Print, No One Can Have Too Many Books

by Kate E Thompson

I take my library to bed. I never leave home without it. Seven hundred books aren’t heavy. They fit in my purse. I started reading e-books the end of 2010. I was resistant in the beginning. I had a paper-book library big enough to wander through and after working on the computer all day, I wanted to pluck books off my shelves and thumb through the pages, not click or swipe on a reading device. 

My reading life changed the day I received notice that a book I put on hold months before was ready for pickup. I dropped whatever I was doing and headed to the library.

I went to bed early that night. I fluffed the pillows and opened the book. I squinted. I brought it closer to my face. I shined the lamp on it. I couldn't read it. The library had sent me a “tiny-print” version! I didn't know they even made tiny-print books, large-print for old people, yes, but who would read this, a flea? 

I showed my husband. “What?” he asked. I pointed out the obvious and he read a paragraph out loud without moving off his side of the bed. I scowled and he shrugged and suggested checking out the large-print version. 

I bought a Kindle instead. When it arrived, I went online to buy ‘the’ book that brought me into the e-book world and it wasn't available. That’s right. I bought a 150 dollar Kindle and the 10 dollar book I wanted to read on it wasn't an e-book. However disappointing, it wasn't long before it became one and I learned the e-book world was far bigger than font size. 

But what would a life be without paperbacks and hardcovers? What would a town be without a library? What would a night out be without a bookstore? We don’t have to choose. We can have it all. Paper books or digital, no one can have too many. 

Originally published in the 5 NW Authors Blog. 03/05/2013

Kate Thompson, a Seattle writer, is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie. January 21, 2015. Kate lives with her husband, 2 daughters, a cat Mitzi, a Goldendoodle dog Ali and Georgie, a Boston-Beagle. ©2012

Who Cooks for You?

Oak Cabin at Hedgebrook. K. Thompson ©2008 a true adventure by Kate E Thompson

He flew on silent wings; one swoop and his talons grazed the top of her head. She didn't see him coming. She was walking down the forest path to her cabin after a hearty meal at the farmhouse. It was twilight, drizzly, and she was alone. Before she thought to run, he went in for a second swipe. This time, she left sprinting and even though her cabin was closer, she ran back to the farmhouse to warn us. This was my first night as a writer-in-residence at Hedgebrook, a retreat for women writers located on Whidbey Island, WA. The writers' cottages are tucked away in the forest amongst cedars and furs, pines and hemlocks and vine maples. In owl territory, it seemed. Funny, the packet I received when I was awarded the Hedgebrook residency, mentioned deer and bunnies, not attack owls.

The victim, bearing minor scratches, burst into the farmhouse dining room and told us her story. We’d just finished dinner. Now we had to walk down the owl path to our respective cabins. We strategized. We had numbers; there were five of us and one owl. He was 2 pounds, we were 600. But wait, an owl perched in the tallest cedar can spot a tree frog at night and he can hear a pinecone drop a mile away.
We needed an edge. A shield, breastplate and matching helmet would give us one. We settled for coats. We buttoned up to our necks, tucked in loose hairs and most important, covered our heads.

There are many ways to protect a head. Flip up a hood, don a wide brimmed hat, tie on a red blinking light, or put tomorrow’s lunch in your pocket and wear the Red-Riding-Hood basket it came in, on your head, the handle like a bow. I put on my basket after I finished tying my hood. 

We turned on our windup flashlights and marched shoulder to shoulder into the woods. We walked a fast clip. And the owl, wherever he was, allowed us to pass.

He woke me before my alarm. I rushed downstairs and opened the window. First light winked through the branches. I wanted to get a look at that owl. It was a frosty morning and I shivered. The fire I made the night before was ash. I wrapped in a blanket and waited.

It wasn't long before I heard him hooting again. “Hoo-hoo hoo hoo. Hoo-hoo hoo hoo hoo,” he called. Was this the crazy owl from last night? While he hooted, I peered into the branches. He was nearby, I knew it. But where? 

I opened my Pacific NW Guidebook and turned to the owl section. I learned that a Barn Owl screamed and clicked, the Burrowing Owl cooed. I read on. The Barred Owl’s hoot was unique. If he hooted words they’d be, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”

Who cooks for you? I substituted ‘hoo’ for each word. I hooted out loud a few times. Yes, I found my owl! I studied the picture. He or she, the book wasn't that detailed, was about two feet tall, had a four foot wingspan and friendly eyebrows. He looked cuddly, not crazed.

The owl had been quiet for a while. The sun was up; and yellow and red leaves glistened. I shut the window. I’d have to go out there later, in the dark, and walk to the farmhouse.

I saw my lunch-basket hat on the table. The sandwich I left in my pocket was still cold, as if it’d been in the fridge all night. I thought of dinner the night before. An epicurean feast and the first meal I hadn't cooked in ages. Hedgebrook had a chef, a real chef who made mouth-watering dinners and lunches to go. The type of meals I would never prepare at home because, well, who has time for fancy stuff, when you had kids and jobs and messes to clean? I ate the sandwich for breakfast, roast beef, not bologna. Who cooks for you? I chuckled. I had almost two weeks left at Hedgebrook to write whenever I wanted and without interruption or obligation.

That night after dinner, we walked back to our cabins together. I kept the picture of the owl in mind. I thought of his big brown eyes; I thought of his stripes. We had our hats on! One of the women wore a floppy one and I wore the hardhat I found in my cabin. I looked like a construction worker. Problem was, someone with a bigger head had worn it last and I hadn't thought to adjust it. As I walked, it slid down over my eyes, off the back of my head, to one side, the other.

We arrived at the giant elm, the spot where we would split up. Two of us left the path and headed to our cabins. Not a peep out of that owl. Strange, I felt disappointed.

We’d only walked a few feet when the owl swooped in and landed on a branch. We had high power flashlights this time, not the wimpy windups. We shined our lights on him. 

He didn't look as friendly as he did in the picture.  Still, I felt a little giddy. Who cooks for you? I smiled. The chef made chocolate chip cookies for dessert. A rare treat; I never baked at home. She gave me extra on my way out. They were in my pockets.

The owl blocked our way and he wasn’t budging. Then, with no warning, my companion marched up to that bird and started telling him off. I watched her wave her arms, whoop and holler. I’d never seen anything like it. The owl cocked his head. Apparently, he hadn't either. Finally, she put her hand on her hip and turned. “He’s not scared at all.” She sounded surprised and held her flashlight steady.

His eyes slid over to me. I thought of the cuddly owl. I saw a hunter. I remembered the bunnies I’d seen on the path earlier. I tried not to scare them, but a twig snapped underfoot and they scurried into the bushes. I turned off my flashlight. This was not a crazed owl. We were tramping through her territory during prime hunting hours and scaring her dinner away. She was probably a mom and had mouths to feed.

The owl took flight. She made no sound; the branch didn't move. She glided. She flew in my direction. Several feet away she broke course. Whoosh! She soared up, up and over my head. I whirled around to see where she’d gone, but my hard hat slid over my eyes and fell to the ground. 

I looked up. A moonless night, the sky inky-black and the only sound was rustling leaves.

Re-posted from January 2014.

Kate Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie. January 21, 2015. A Seattle author and Hedgebrook Writers in Residence aluma, Kate lives with her husband, 2 daughters, a cat Mitzi, a GoldenDoodle dog Ali and Georgie, a Boston-Beagle. ©2012

Where Fictional Cats Come From

Miss Fluffy Pants. K. Thompson ©2012. by Kate Thompson
Mitzi leaps onto my desk when I least expect it. She head butts me and lies on her back under my desk, her paws curled, the pose that makes me pause and say 'aw'.

Mitzi isn't the only cat in my life. Don't tell her. I have another who is rather surly. I doubt Mitzi would like him. His name is Bartholomew. He lives in my novella "The Asteroid's Daughter and the Serpent Handler's Son" Whether she likes it or not, Mitzi did serve as inspiration. She is a cat, after all.

Mitzi is a Norwegian Forest Cat. Well, we think she is. We rescued her from a shelter in Seattle, WA eight years ago. She was adorable, that's all we knew then. The giant paws, hairy toes and ear tufts, we learned, are typical of the Norwegian Forest Cat. If climbing the Christmas tree is proof, she is one.

We like to call her Miss Fluffy Pants. All that thick curly fur, you can imagine. A cold-weather cat, yet, she's never set a paw in snow. Her ancestors may have served as mousers on Viking Ships sailing for Norway. Mitzi has never seen a mouse, but I'm pretty sure she dreams about chasing them.


Miss Fluffy Pants was originally published in the 5 NW Authors Blog. Kate Thompson is a Seattle author. She lives with her husband, 2 daughters, and Mitzi - a Norwegian Forest cat, Ali - a Golden-Doodle, and Georgie - a Boston-Beagle. ©2012

I Couldn't Put the Book Down

Inamorata by Megan Chance
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Inamorata by Megan Chance was an amazing book. I couldn't put it down and now after finishing it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Told from the perspectives of four main characters, the conflict is revealed bit by bit, just enough to keep me wondering and wanting more. The story is dark, suspenseful, and the characters well defined. So well, I could see them and feel what they felt. I cared about them, even the antagonist. The fantastical aspect was a surprise and had I known, I may not have selected the book, but by the time I realized, I was hooked. The book was a complex and very satisfying read. I recommend.

Review by Kate E Thompson, Goodread's Author
Kate E Thompson is a Seattle author, a 2008 Hedgebrook alumna, book artist, and has been a freelance journalist, editor, graphic designer, event planner, and bookstore owner. Kate is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie, The Asteroid’s Daughter and the Serpent Handler’s Son and Other Curious Stories, a contributing author to New Halem Tales, and is currently working on her next novel, A Family of Forgetters. www.kateethompson.com

Take your Library to Bed

Library Books by CCAC North Library Digital or Print?  by Kate Thompson
I take my library to bed. I never leave home without it. Seven hundred books aren’t heavy. They fit in my purse. I started reading e-books the end of 2010. I was resistant in the beginning. I had a paper-book library big enough to wander through and after working on the computer all day, I wanted to pluck books off my shelves and thumb through the pages, not click or swipe on a reading device.
My reading life changed the day I received notice that a book I put on hold months before was ready for pickup. I dropped whatever I was doing and headed to the library.

I went to bed early that night. I fluffed the pillows and opened the book. I squinted. I brought it closer to my face. I shined the lamp on it. I couldn't read it. The library had sent me a “tiny-print” version! I didn't know they even made tiny-print books, large-print for old people, yes, but who would read this, a flea? 

I showed my husband. “What?” he asked. I pointed out the obvious and he read a paragraph out loud without moving off his side of the bed. I scowled and he shrugged and suggested checking out the large-print version. 

I bought a Kindle instead. When it arrived, I went online to buy ‘the’ book that brought me into the e-book world and it wasn't available. That’s right. I bought a 150 dollar Kindle and the 10 dollar book I wanted to read on it wasn't an e-book. However disappointing, it wasn't long before it became one and I learned the e-book world was far bigger than font size. 

Digital publishing is an evolving and growing industry. It has opened the doors for indie authors. New voices are being heard all over the world. Voices from the past are a download away. At Project Gutenberg, 3 million books are downloaded each month.     

But what would a life be without paperbacks and hardcovers? What would a town be without a library? What would a night out be without a bookstore? We don’t have to choose. We can have it all. Paper books or digital, no one can have too many. 

Originally published: Digital or Paper? 5 NW Authors Blog. 03/05/2013

Kate Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie. Spring 2014. A Seattle author and Hedgebrook Writers in Residence aluma, Kate lives in the Seattle area with her husband, cat Mitzi and Goldendoodle dog Ali. ©2012
©2012

Photo: Library Books. Uploaded by CCAC North Library on November 24, 2009
Some rights reserved.

Who Cooks for You?

OWL by K. Thompson ©2008 a true adventure by Kate Thompson

He flew on silent wings; one swoop and his talons grazed the top of her head. She didn't see him coming. She was walking down the forest path to her cabin after a hearty meal at the farmhouse. It was twilight, drizzly and she was alone. Before she thought to run, he went in for a second swipe. This time, she left sprinting and even though her cabin was closer, she ran back to the farmhouse to warn us.
This was my first night as a writer-in-residence at Hedgebrook, a retreat for women writers located on Whidbey Island, WA. The writers' cottages are tucked away in the forest amongst cedars and furs, pines and hemlocks and vine maples. In owl territory, it seemed. Funny, the packet I received when I was awarded the Hedgebrook residency, mentioned deer and bunnies, not crazed owls.

The victim, bearing minor scratches, burst into the farmhouse dining room and told us her story. We’d just finished dinner. Now we had to walk down the owl path to our respective cabins. We strategized. We had numbers; there were five of us and one owl. He was 2 pounds, we were 600. But wait, couldn't an owl perched in the tallest cedar spot a tree frog at night? Couldn't he hear a pinecone drop a mile away?

We needed an edge. A shield, breastplate and matching helmet would give us one. We settled for coats. We buttoned up to our necks, tucked in loose hairs and most important, covered our heads.

There are many ways to protect a head. Flip up a hood, don a wide brimmed hat, tie on a red blinking light, or put tomorrow’s lunch in your pocket and wear the Red-Riding-Hood basket it came in, on your head, the handle like a bow. I put on my basket after I finished tying my hood. 

We turned on our windup flashlights and marched shoulder to shoulder into the woods. We walked a fast clip. And the owl, wherever he was, allowed us to pass.

He woke me before my alarm. I rushed downstairs and opened the window. First light winked through the branches. I wanted to get a look at that owl. It was a frosty morning and I shivered. The fire I made the night before was ash. I wrapped in a blanket and waited.

It wasn't long before I heard him hooting. “Hoo-hoo hoo hoo. Hoo-hoo hoo hoo hoo,” he called. Was this the crazed owl? While he hooted, I peered into the branches. He was nearby, I knew it. But where? 

I opened my Pacific NW Guidebook and turned to the owl section. I learned that a Barn Owl screamed and clicked, the Burrowing Owl cooed. I read on. The Barred Owl’s hoot was unique. If he hooted words they’d be, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”

Who cooks for you? I substituted ‘hoo’ for each word. I hooted out loud a few times. Yes, I found my owl! I studied the picture. He or she, the book wasn't that detailed, was about two feet tall, had a four foot wingspan and friendly eyebrows. He looked cuddly, not crazed.

The owl had been quiet for a while. The sun was up; and yellow and red leaves glistened. I shut the window. I’d have to go out there later, in the dark, and walk to the farmhouse.

I saw my lunch-basket hat on the table. The sandwich I left in my pocket was still cold, as if it’d been in the fridge all night. I thought of dinner the night before. An epicurean feast and the first meal I hadn't cooked in ages. Hedgebrook had a chef, a real chef who made mouth-watering dinners and lunches to go. The type of meals I would never prepare at home because, well, who had time for fancy stuff, when you had kids and jobs and messes to clean? I ate the sandwich for breakfast, roast beef, not bologna. Who cooks for you? I chuckled. I had almost two weeks left at Hedgebrook to write whenever I wanted and without interruption or obligation.

That night after dinner, we walked back to our cabins together. I kept the picture of the owl in mind. I thought of his big brown eyes; I thought of his stripes. We had our hats on! One of the women wore a floppy one and I wore the hardhat I found in my cabin. I looked like a construction worker. Problem was, someone with a bigger head had worn it last and I hadn't thought to adjust it. As I walked, it slid down over my eyes, off the back of my head, to one side, the other.

We arrived at the giant elm, the spot where we would split up. Two of us left the path and headed to our cabins. Not a peep out of that owl. Strange, I felt disappointed.

We’d only walked a few feet when the owl swooped in and landed on a branch. We had high power flashlights this time, not the wimpy windups. We shined our lights on him. 

He didn't look as friendly as he did in the picture.  Still, I felt a little giddy. Who cooks for you? I smiled. The chef made chocolate chip cookies for dessert. A rare treat; I never baked much at home. She gave me extra on my way out. They were in my pockets.

The owl blocked our way and he wasn’t budging. Then, with no warning, my companion marched up to that bird and started telling him off. I watched her wave her arms, whoop and holler. I’d never seen anything like it. The owl cocked his head. Apparently, he hadn't either. Finally, she put her hand on her hip and turned. “He’s not scared at all.” She sounded surprised and held her flashlight steady.

His eyes slid over to me. I thought of the cuddly owl. I saw a hunter. I remembered the bunnies I’d seen on the path earlier. I tried not to scare them, but a twig snapped underfoot and they scurried into the bushes. I turned off my flashlight. This was not a crazed owl. We were tramping through his territory during prime hunting hours and scaring his dinner away. He was only taking care of himself. Maybe he had mouths to feed.

The owl took flight. He made no sound; the branch didn't move. He glided. He flew in my direction. Several feet away he broke course. Whoosh! He soared up, up and over my head. I whirled around to see where he’d gone, but my hard hat slid over my eyes and fell to the ground. 

I looked up. A moonless night, the sky inky-black and the only sound was rustling leaves.

Kate Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie. Spring 2014. A Seattle author and Hedgebrook Writers in Residence aluma, Kate lives in the Seattle area with her husband, cat Mitzi and Goldendoodle dog Ali. ©2012

Where Fiction Cats Come From

Miss Fluffy Pants by K. Thompson ©2012 an author's inspiration by Kate Thompson

Where fiction cats come from....
Mitzi leaps onto my desk when I least expect it. She head butts me and lays on her back under my desk, her paws curled, the pose that makes me pause and say 'aw'.

Mitzi isn't the only cat in my life. Don't tell her. I have another who is rather surly. I doubt Mitzi would like him. His name is Bartholomew. He lives in my story, "The Asteroid's Daughter and the Serpent Handler's Son" Whether she likes it or not, Mitzi did serve as inspiration. She is a cat, after all.
Mitzi is a Norwegian Forest Cat. Well, we think she is. We rescued her from a shelter in Seattle, WA six years ago. She was adorable, that's all we knew then. The giant paws, hairy toes and ear tufts, we learned, are typical of the Norwegian Forest Cat. If climbing the Christmas tree is proof, she is one.

We like to call her Miss Fluffy Pants. All that thick curly fur, you can imagine. A cold-weather cat, yet, she's never set a paw in snow. Her ancestors may have served as mousers on Viking Ships sailing for Norway. Mitzi has never seen a mouse, but I'm pretty sure she dreams about chasing them.

Miss Fluffy Pants was originally published in 5 NW Authors Blog at 5nwauthors.com
Kate Thompson is the author of Bigfoot Hunters Never Lie. Spring 2014. A Seattle author and Hedgebrook Writers in Residence aluma, Kate lives in the Seattle area with her husband, cat Mitzi and Goldendoodle dog Ali. ©2012