Richard Stephens's Blog, page 2

A Conversation With Salty Tails

Salty Tails is a sarcastic rescue cat that lives to torment his canine roommate Cuervo.

 

 

Speaking of throwing up, I hadn’t smelled the dogs in a few minutes. I found them out on the bow of the boat, looking at the water. I knew I was probably going to regret it but I had to ask. What are we looking at?

Do you see that bunch of seagulls, Cuervo barked. The humble seagull is the bane of Cuervo’s existence, after to me.

No, Cuervo, it’s a flock, I replied.

What’s a flock?

The seagulls, it’s a flock of seagulls.

I don’t get it.

There called a flock: a flock of birds, a pack of wolves, a school of fish, a pod of whales, and a herd of horses.

Cuervo looked back and forth between me and Tawny. She said to Cuervo, Salty’s right you know?

Why isn’t it a school of seagulls and a herd of fishes?

I swear it’s like talking to a two-year-old.

It’s fish not fishes, and it’s a school of fish because I said so.

Okay, but did you see them?

See who?

The seagulls!

Yes Cuervo, I see the flock of seagulls. What about them.

You see how they’re all floating together like that? I think they’re planning something.

I was positive I was going to regret asking this next question, So, what do you think a flock of seagulls is planning there, big guy? World domination?

No! Not the world, but the marina probably. Cuervo cocked his head in thought. You know, the way dogs do that make humans go “aww, how cute. That’s got to be it, he whispered, the seagulls…and probably the squirrels in the park are planning to take over the marina, and probably the fish will help, but they can’t do much seeing how they’re under the water an all.

Tawny’s jaw dropped. She looked at Cuervo before turning to me, He means well – doesn’t he?

Have fun with that mystery, sweetheart. I’ve given up trying to figure him out.

In an attempt to keep what remaining brain cells I had, I quickly retreated back to the more intelligent life forms and the food.

Read more of Salty Tails (a rescue cat) in his three humorous, Cozy Mystery books.
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First Snow

   Old man winter sure came in with a fury last night, and weren’t we all some glad to be put away in our stalls with fresh hay. All warm and protected from the cold wind’s bite. Why, even that young whippersnapper, Scamper, who don’t have the sense of a June bug, somehow sensed the impendin’ storm, and trotted right into his stall for a change.
   Now personally, I don’t mind the snow so much, even after all these years, but I could darn sure live without all that cold wind blowin’ down on me. Why even with my winter coat, it just seems to blow right through these tired old bones. But as for the snow? No sir, that I don’t mind so much. Just as long as Amy, that’s Molly, the stable owner’s daughter, keeps it from building up under my hooves.
   As for Molly, she’s the big boss around here, well, like me, she musta known something was comin’, cause she had everyone rushing around all afternoon, tryin’ to get things all buttoned up. After feeding an’ making sure we was all secure, she and Amy high tailed it into their cozy little house across the way.
   It was pretty early the next morning when I heard the sound of Molly’s ol’ boots, echoing down the barn isle, stoppin’ at each stall to check on us, just like she had all last night. Fortunately, a frosty sunshine reflected brightly through the barn windows, and I couldn’t wait to get out and romp through the fresh white blanket of snow that I knew now covered our pasture.
   To me, it kinda sounded like Jet, the little black colt in the stall next to me with his mama, Jasmine, musta been feelin’ the same way. Why, he’d been bouncing and kicking like he’d been tied up for a year. You see, this’ll be the first time Jet gets to see snow, and me and all the other horses in the stable were all anxious to watch his reaction.
   I remember being a spry young colt myself, and seeing my first snow, but that was nearly twenty-three years ago. On that occasion, we didn’t get a big storm like we did last night. No sir. You see, the way I recall it, it was more of a long drawn out affair. Lasted nearly three days, but as you know, to a young colt cooped up inside, it sure felt like a lifetime. You think Jet was anxious, you should have seen me, darn near kicked the barn wall through. Why my mama was havin’ fits tryin’ to keep me from hurtin’ myself. So you see, I can understand how frisky young Jet was feelin’.
   Now by the time Molly and Amy had poured out our morning grain, the atmosphere in the barn was becoming mighty electric. Why I believe each and every one of us, young and old was up and rearin’ to get out and play in the new fallin’ snow, just like little Jet was.
   Molly must have been feelin’ it too, cause she didn’t waste no time getting’ us all walked out of the barn an out to the snow covered pasture, startin’ with me. There I was with my head held high, prancing like a young buck out through the wide-open barn door next to Amy, and smack dab into an incredible white winter wonderland. Yah know, I guess sometimes it ain’t so bad, bein’ the old man of the barn.
   Following right out after me in my newly laid hoof tracks, came Molly, leadin’ a grumbling Old Red, out to join me in our pasture. Ours is the one nearest the barn. Now Old Red, he’s a retired rental horse that Molly rescued a few years back and is nearly as old as I am, an’ considerably more ornery. It seems no matter how hard we all try to make something special, like this first snow fall, he always has something nasty to say about it.
   Well, before long, just about all the other members of our menagerie had been led out of the barn, and let loose, to enjoy our new white world, and every one of them was runnin’ back and forth in their pastures, or rolling around, leavin’ big butterfly silhouettes in the clean white snow. Why even Old Red, got down and gave his shaggy rust colored coat a good roll, before wanderin’ over to join me, an’ bellyache about anything and everything.
   Finally, Molly and Amy was ready to bring little Jet, an’ his Mama, Jasmine, outdoors to join the rest of us, and we all promptly sided up to the nearest fence post to watch the pending show. You know, it weren’t too long before we could see their shadows at the barn’s door, Amy leading the little black colt, an’ Molly right behind her with his mama, Jasmine.
   At first, Jet was prancing around, tugging at Amy with his lead, and testing her resolve like most young-un’s tend to do at that age, that is until he got a good look outside. Suddenly it dawned on him; his world had change, and changed big time, and without any warning mind you. With his skinny legs and bony knees splayed out in alarm, he brought Amy up to a stop at the door.
   Standing there frozen in place, a mere inches from the snowy scene spread out before him, Jet snorted in utter disbelief. Why overnight, just like I remember happenin’ to me all those years ago, the world as he had known it was gone, and had been replaced with a gazillion white crystals, all sparklin’ back at him from the morning sun. While Amy carefully guided the bewildered black colt out the protective walls of the barn and into the new and mysterious white world, Jasmine, his mama, gentle nosed him from behind.
   We all watched with great amusement, as Jet finally tipped toed out the barn door, and onto the soft snow, his shiny black coat contrastin’ against the pure white background like a shadow-box cutout I’d once seen. Yes sir, for the rest of the mornin’ I stood at that fence post, just watchin’ that young colt, jumpin an’ runnin’ around his Mama, and enjoin’ his new surroundin’s. As I did, I was reminded fondly of another little black colt, twenty three years ago, and the spectacle of my first snow.
The end
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Writing with Cats

Cats don’t have masters, they have slaves. They don’t come when called, and when they decide they want your attention, nothing you do will change their mind.
  I live with three black cats. I find it simply amazing how my biggest cat, Fiona, always knows the absolute worst time to interrupt when I am writing. And she doesn’t just walk up and say, “Hey, can you pet me?” Nope, she jumps on my desk, and paces back and forth over my computer. And if that doesn’t work she’ll sprawl across the keyboard and purr until I stop and pet her, as if it were her royal right. How long does this required fawning last? Until she decided she’s had enough of me and hops down, leaving me a layer of fur to clean up.
  On the upside I always feel a little better after our forced bonding sessions. I’ve found that the simple act of petting a cat, or dog, or any pet for that matter, can remove even the deepest anxiety’s of life if I let it. Even if I’m really not in the mood for it.
  So the next time your cat, dog, or any other pet wants your attention don’t just push them away. Take a minute and give them some love. I guarantee they’ll give it back tenfold.

 

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Set Sail With Salty The Cat

A little Mystery, A little Romance, A lot of Laughs…
Only 0.99 through Dec. 22nd
  Salty Tails is a sarcastic, dog-hating cat, who thinks humans are here for two things and two things only; to feed and entertain him. To that end, Salty lives with his human partner, the emotional scarred, Thomas ‘Stormy’ McGuire, on a houseboat in Marina del Rey. While Salty and Stormy are investigating a string of stolen boats, a friend is found dead in the water. It’s up to Stormy and Salty to find the connection. As if Stormy didn’t have enough to deal with, he suddenly finds himself the target of two women. One he thinks he’s in love with, the second claims only to be a friend. Can Stormy’s wounded heart survive? Set sail with Salty Tails as he shares this bi-coastal tale of love and intrigue.

Shop Amazon Now Pirate Tales: The First Salty Tails Mystery

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Words Are Powerful

The written word is the most powerful tool, and weapon, known to man…

Can you imagine a world without the written word? I can’t. Unlike the spoken word, which can quickly fade away, even with today’s technology, the written word has unlimited reach and staying power. The written word can move you to action or emotion. Laws are written, History is written, recipes are written, religious books are written, fantastic tales are written. While each has a very different style and purpose, each moves us in a very different way.

I am a writer by trade and passion, but I am also an avid reader. I have read literally hundreds of books of all types and genre’s, yet I’m am still moved to tear, or laughter, or fear when reading a well written story. When the story was written has no bearing on this. A new action adventure or an old mystery, the power of the written word knows no boundary.

As a reader we should not have boundary’s either. While we all have our favorite genre and writers, we should allow ourselves to explore. Maybe pick one book a month outside your normal list and give it a try. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a new favorite, or even possibly learn something(shocking I know). At the very least you will have broadened your mental horizon for short while.

Happy reading.

PS: This will probably be my last post on wordpress.com. I am merging this with my wordpress.org site sometime this week. If all goes as planned I will bring all my current followers with me. If you get lost please accept my apologies. Here is the link to the new site ~ http://www.richardstephens.me/

Filed under: Maine Author, Richard Stephens Tagged: Books, good advice, Novel writing, Read, reader, Writer

Rusty Nails (Cat Detective)

Author’s Note: While I don’t condone giving alcohol to cats, the occasional sniff of catnip is considered quite acceptable.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard her heels clack across the tile floor. The outer door opened and closed. Suddenly, blinding light flooded the room. I squinted at her through eyes as mucky as a Maine mud season. Arms crossed Cookie O’Brian, our leggy redheaded secretary, scanned the room. Her eyes stopped on me.
“Have you been letting Rusty Nails drink again?” I’m an orange tabby named after Murph’s medication of choice, which I suppose is better than a Fuzzy Navel.
Patrick ‘Murph’ Murphy lifted his head from his desk; a yellow sticky note with a phone number was stuck to his temple.
Shielding his eyes from the light, he said, “You know I hate to drink alone.”
“Just because you want to drown your life in booze is no reason to drag your cat down with you.”
Women, always on you about something, I growled. Leaving the light on, she turned and went to her desk. I rolled over and covered my eyes with a paw, knocking an empty Styrofoam cup on the floor.



Notice:
No animals were harmed during the writing of this book
Download “Walters Folly” on Amazon for only 0.99

Filed under: Cat-Detective, Maine Author Tagged: Cat, Cat sleuth, Feline Noir, Humor, Maine, Mystery, Noir, Richard Stephens, Short Story

Delusions of Grandeur

Warily, the heavyweight prizefighter limps slowly through the shards of broken shadows, those cast softly upon his alley from the dirty street lamps beyond his privileged domain

Shrouded by hair as black as the moonless night, he patiently moves with a lifetime of practice, doggedly stocking his near silent and illusive prey – solely to fulfill his primal needs

Like body armor, his thick scabby feline coat bears the scars of a soldier of fortune, hiding the lean muscular body of the warrior within

Anticipating the unexpected in each step his dark piercing eyes scan the arena with relentless resolve, searching out the slightest breath of movement

Lifting his perceptive nose to the sky he sniffs the still night air

Suddenly! His sharp eye catches the nearly imperceptible movement of an unfortunate victim and with lightning speed darts from the gloom of the filthy dumpster

Through a paper-thin crack in the broken brick wall he follows his agile quarry as it leads him to its point of final stand

With ice water running through his veins, he attacks his prey with abandoned fury impeding its every attempt to escape with a slash of his razor sharp claws

With a final cry of defeat, his victim ultimately succumbs to his attacker’s advance and exhales its final last breath

Cautiously guarding against the ever-present interloper, he eagerly devours his prize, satiating his voracious hunger, at least temporarily

With his conquest complete, he carefully preens himself. Licking the remaining scraps of triumph from his powerful paws, he savors the spoils of victory

Displaying delusions of grandeur, he perches atop the gritty green dumpster as if though it were his throne and watches suspiciously over his realm

His alley! His kingdom!

As the lone sentry of this imposing kingdom, he guards against all intruders. Because in this harsh shadowy battle for life, the majestic alley cat cannot afford the luxury of friends

Filed under: Poem Tagged: Bad Cat, Cat, Maine Author, Poetry, Richard Stephens

Writers Block

8am ~ I open my current manuscript to where I left off and stare at the screen.

8:02 ~ Oops, I forgot to check my email

8:05 ~ Followed link to a friends blog post

8:15 ~ Click open my manuscript again

8:17 ~ Refill my coffee cup and sit back down at my computer

8:22 ~ Got to go to the bathroom…

I find it simply incredible how many ways I can avoid writing, especially when I’m working on a longer project like a novel. This morning I took a few minutes to meditate on this phenomenon. (Yes I should have been writing). What I’m beginning to realize is that I might be afraid. Sure, I’ve written and published three novels before, all with good sales and reviews. But that was over two years ago, a long time for me. I wonder, will the characters still speak to me? Will the story fuel my imagination with vivid scenes and quirky dialogue? Can I really do it again?

I’m not alone in this disease. Just look up writers block on google, like I did(instead of writing). Why it even has a wikipedea page. And it seems everyone and her mother has the solution. Page after page of helpful hints and ideas.

I suppose the only way for me to truly find out if I still have this wonderful gift is to ~

Stop procrastinating and start writing.

500 words today, 800 tomorrow, maybe 1200 the next day. Who know, maybe by next spring you’ll be reading our latest Salty Tails release ~ Lobster Tales.

Filed under: Maine Author Tagged: Novel writing, procrastination, Richard Stephens, Salty Tails

Do You Ever Miss Her?

“Do you ever miss her?” Emily asked.

“Emily,” Dawn said signaling toward Monica, who simply smiled her understanding.

“I do still miss her sometimes,” Stormy said.

“Really?” Emily asked.

“Of course, sometimes when I look at one of you. I see your mom in both of you. And sometimes it’s just a flash of memory.”

“But you love Monica now.”

“That’s true – more than anything except the two of you.” He gave Monica a wink. “You see Em, it’s perfectly okay to be in love, like I am with Monica, and still love someone that’s no longer with us, like your mom.”

Emily thought about this for a moment. “So that means that even though I still love my real mom, it’s okay to love Monica and call her Mom.” Emily looked around her crowded cabin, “Why’s everybody crying?”

Monica gave her a squeeze, “Because we love you, sweetie.”

Stormy wiped his eyes, “Okay, no more stories, it’s slumber time for all little girls and their never-ending questions.” Stormy gave Emily a goodnight tickle and a kiss.

Excerpt from Vanished Tales: our third Salty Tails: A Romantic Cozy Mystery

Eight-year-old Emily is dealing with the loss of her mother and the love she is developing for her new parents; Stormy McGuire and his fiance Monica.

Filed under: Maine Author Tagged: Adoption, Amazon, Bad Cat, Cozy Mystery, family, Humor, Kindle, Romance, Romantic Comedy

Give The gift Of Imagination

When I wrote Brandon And The red Backpack, I pictured my granddaughter sitting on my lap as I read it to her. And while I tried to keep the writing simple, I believed, and still do, that a good story should be fun for both the young and the young at heart.

“Join Brandon, his sister Squeak, and their best friend Rolly as they search for the new bird feeder at the edge of the woods. But make sure you keep a good look out for Big-Flo the Hawk.”

This fun adventure tale is perfect for ages 9-14, or as a read-to bedtime story for younger ones.

I’d like to give a big shout out to Audrey Cutrer for her fun and imaginative illustrations.
Guess what? I’ve just lowered the kindle price to only $1.99 and print to $9.95
So what are you waiting for?
Get your copy or give a gift today on Amazon
Brandon and the Red Backpack (Volume 1)

 

Filed under: Brandon and the Red Backpack Tagged: Adventure, Children's book, Children's picture book, Read along, Squirrels