Allan Hudson's Blog, page 46

Guest Author D G Kaye

  Welcome to this week's edition of the Scribbler. So happy to have D G Kaye join us. She is also sharing an excerpt from her latest novel. A special note is that Debby is an author's best friend. She has been most kind in introducing her readers to other authors and we are all indebted. Please see her links below.    (Copyright of this material is owned by D G Kaye. Used with permission)  Hi Allan. I’d first like to thank you very much for inviting me here today to introduce myself and share my books. I'm a nonfiction memoir writer who writes about life, matters of the heart and women's issues. I write to inspire others by sharing my stories about events I encountered, and the lessons that come along with them, hoping to inspire others.I love to laugh, and self-medicate with a daily dose of humor. I’m kind of the ‘glass half full’ sort of girl. When life is throwing curveballs or lemons, I try to look on the bright side and the goodness in everything else I am grateful for. And usually in hindsight, I can find something to laugh about a previously not so funny situation. And then most likely, I’ll be writing about it. But when I'm not writing intimate memoirs, you'll find me writing with humor in some of my other works and blog/social media posts. 
When I was a young child, I was very observant about my surroundings. Growing up in a tumultuous family life, otherwise known as a broken home, kept me on guard about the on-and-off-going status of my parents’ relationship. I often wrote notes and journaled about the dysfunction that I grew up in. By age seven I was certain I was going to grow up to be a reporter.  Well life has a funny way of taking detours. Instead, I moved away from home at eighteen with a few meager belongings and a curiosity for life. I finished university and changed careers a few times, as I worked my way up to managerial positions. I’ve worked in the fashion industry, travel industry, hotel and hospitality, managed an architectural firm, a construction company, and a real estate office. I’ve bought, renovated and sold quite a few houses too. So, all in all, I’m a Jill of many trades. But despite all my experience, I always wrote and dreamed about someday writing books. It took me a few decades to get serious about my writing, but I made it. My drive to succeed at anything I put my mind to led me to having a very colorful and eventful life, which gives me plenty of material to write about. 
Ever the optimist, that is me. I've conquered quite a few battles in life; health and otherwise, and my refusal to accept the word No, or to use the words 'I can't' have kept me on a positive path in life. I love to tell stories that have lessons in them, and hope to empower others by sharing my own experiences.
My current WIP is about aging and relationships and marriage, when one partner becomes a senior and the other isn’t quite yet there.
Once again, thank you so much for having me here today Allan. It was a pleasure to be invited here and I look forward to chatting here with some of your readers.
 
 
 
 
Excerpt – P.S. I Forgive You 

The End is Near 

My mother had been dying for years, and through those years she refused to surrender her bitterness and remained in denial of her flaws. The many times I heard she was dying reminded me of the boy who cried wolf. I almost believed she was invincible, and even though I never wanted her to suffer, she did. I thought it was just a horrible and sad way to die—holding hatred for those she had chased out of her life, living in bitter seclusion, knowing her days were numbered. Her once vibrant life had diminished into a mere existence of watching TV and complaining. She’d also given all her caregivers a difficult time, bitching at them all and letting them know how useless they were to her because of what her life had become. Nobody was exempt. I asked my brother Robby why God didn’t just take her out of her misery and pain during one of the many times she was on the brink of death. Why would he not spare her from suffering? He replied, “God has his own plans.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he was letting her suffer because she had hurt so many people in her lifetime, but in my next thought I couldn’t believe God would play those cruel games, tit for tat. I wondered what thoughts had to have been going through my mother’s head. How awful it must have been to know her time left on earth was limited. I thought about how frightened she must have felt in her lonely world, although she’d never admit it. I was sad for her, knowing that the anger and bitterness she displayed was a front for the depressed state of her pathetic life. I couldn’t fathom why she remained so obstinate in her resolve to spend what little time she had left wallowing in misery instead of embracing the end and making amends with her children. I wanted to fix her, but I didn’t know how. Her formerly grand life had diminished into a tiny existence. She no longer flaunted her beauty to all who idolized her. Her schemes to extract money from my brothers to support her gambling pleasures were no longer effective. Three of her children had already exited her life because of her verbal abuse. There was nobody left to fall prey to her demands. I hurt for her. She wasn’t much of a mother, but she was still my mother. 
    Quotes:
“Live Laugh Love . . . And Don’t Forget to Breathe!”
“For every kindness, there should be kindness in return. Wouldn’t     that just make the world right?”
 
When I’m not writing, I’m reading or quite possibly looking after some mundane thing in life. It's also possible I may be on a secret getaway trip, as traveling is  my pon.My favorite reading genres are: biographies, memoirs, bookwriting, spirituality, and natural health. I love to read stories about people who overcome adversity, victories, and redemption. I believe we have to keep learning—there is always room for improvement!
I love to cook and concoct new recipes (and I don't believe in measuring cups), travel, and play poker (although I seldom get the chance), oh, and did I mention travel?
 
 Connect with me! 
My Website:   http://www.dgkayewriter.com
Author page: http://www.amazon.com/author/dgkaye7
Goodreads:      http://www.goodreads.com/dgkaye
About me:        http://www.wiseintro.co/dgkaye7
Twitter:            http://www.twitter.com/@pokercubster (yes there’s a story)
Linkedin:          http://www.linkedin.com/in/dgkaye7
Facebook:         http://www.facebook.com/dgkaye
Google:              http://www.google.com/+DebbyDGKayeGies
Instagram:        http://www.instagram.com/dgkaye
Pinterest:          http://www.pinterest.com/dgkaye7
 
Book Links:
Conflicted Hearts
MenoWhat? A Memoir
Words We Carry
Have Bags, Will Travel
P.S. I Forgive You

   Thank you Debby for visiting the Scribbler.   And thank you reader for visiting us this week. Please leave a comment before you go.
 

Guest Author Debby Geis

  Welcome to this week's edition of the Scribbler. So happy to have Debby Geis join us. She is also sharing an excerpt from her latest novel. A special note is that Debby is an author's best friend. She has been most kind in introducing her readers to other authors and we are all indebted. Please see her links below.    (Copyright of this material is owned by Debby Geis. Used with permission)  Hi Allan. I’d first like to thank you very much for inviting me here today to introduce myself and share my books. I'm a nonfiction memoir writer who writes about life, matters of the heart and women's issues. I write to inspire others by sharing my stories about events I encountered, and the lessons that come along with them, hoping to inspire others.I love to laugh, and self-medicate with a daily dose of humor. I’m kind of the ‘glass half full’ sort of girl. When life is throwing curveballs or lemons, I try to look on the bright side and the goodness in everything else I am grateful for. And usually in hindsight, I can find something to laugh about a previously not so funny situation. And then most likely, I’ll be writing about it. But when I'm not writing intimate memoirs, you'll find me writing with humor in some of my other works and blog/social media posts. 
When I was a young child, I was very observant about my surroundings. Growing up in a tumultuous family life, otherwise known as a broken home, kept me on guard about the on-and-off-going status of my parents’ relationship. I often wrote notes and journaled about the dysfunction that I grew up in. By age seven I was certain I was going to grow up to be a reporter.  Well life has a funny way of taking detours. Instead, I moved away from home at eighteen with a few meager belongings and a curiosity for life. I finished university and changed careers a few times, as I worked my way up to managerial positions. I’ve worked in the fashion industry, travel industry, hotel and hospitality, managed an architectural firm, a construction company, and a real estate office. I’ve bought, renovated and sold quite a few houses too. So, all in all, I’m a Jill of many trades. But despite all my experience, I always wrote and dreamed about someday writing books. It took me a few decades to get serious about my writing, but I made it. My drive to succeed at anything I put my mind to led me to having a very colorful and eventful life, which gives me plenty of material to write about. 
Ever the optimist, that is me. I've conquered quite a few battles in life; health and otherwise, and my refusal to accept the word No, or to use the words 'I can't' have kept me on a positive path in life. I love to tell stories that have lessons in them, and hope to empower others by sharing my own experiences.
My current WIP is about aging and relationships and marriage, when one partner becomes a senior and the other isn’t quite yet there.
Once again, thank you so much for having me here today Allan. It was a pleasure to be invited here and I look forward to chatting here with some of your readers.
 
 
   Excerpt – P.S. I Forgive You  The End is Near  My mother had been dying for years, and through those years she refused to surrender her bitterness and remained in denial of her flaws. The many times I heard she was dying reminded me of the boy who cried wolf. I almost believed she was invincible, and even though I never wanted her to suffer, she did. I thought it was just a horrible and sad way to die—holding hatred for those she had chased out of her life, living in bitter seclusion, knowing her days were numbered. Her once vibrant life had diminished into a mere existence of watching TV and complaining. She’d also given all her caregivers a difficult time, bitching at them all and letting them know how useless they were to her because of what her life had become. Nobody was exempt. I asked my brother Robby why God didn’t just take her out of her misery and pain during one of the many times she was on the brink of death. Why would he not spare her from suffering? He replied, “God has his own plans.” I couldn’t help but wonder if he was letting her suffer because she had hurt so many people in her lifetime, but in my next thought I couldn’t believe God would play those cruel games, tit for tat. I wondered what thoughts had to have been going through my mother’s head. How awful it must have been to know her time left on earth was limited. I thought about how frightened she must have felt in her lonely world, although she’d never admit it. I was sad for her, knowing that the anger and bitterness she displayed was a front for the depressed state of her pathetic life. I couldn’t fathom why she remained so obstinate in her resolve to spend what little time she had left wallowing in misery instead of embracing the end and making amends with her children. I wanted to fix her, but I didn’t know how. Her formerly grand life had diminished into a tiny existence. She no longer flaunted her beauty to all who idolized her. Her schemes to extract money from my brothers to support her gambling pleasures were no longer effective. Three of her children had already exited her life because of her verbal abuse. There was nobody left to fall prey to her demands. I hurt for her. She wasn’t much of a mother, but she was still my mother. 
    Quotes:
“Live Laugh Love . . . And Don’t Forget to Breathe!”
“For every kindness, there should be kindness in return. Wouldn’t     that just make the world right?”
 
When I’m not writing, I’m reading or quite possibly looking after some mundane thing in life. It's also possible I may be on a secret getaway trip, as traveling is  my pon.My favorite reading genres are: biographies, memoirs, bookwriting, spirituality, and natural health. I love to read stories about people who overcome adversity, victories, and redemption. I believe we have to keep learning—there is always room for improvement!
I love to cook and concoct new recipes (and I don't believe in measuring cups), travel, and play poker (although I seldom get the chance), oh, and did I mention travel?
 
 Connect with me! 
My website:    http://www.dgkayewriter.com
Author Page:   http://www.amazon.com/author/dgkaye7
Goodreads:      http://www.goodreads.com/dgkaye
About me:        http://www.wiseintro.co/dgkaye7
Twitter:            http://www.twitter.com/@pokercubster (yes there’s a story)
Linkedin:          http://www.linkedin.com/in/dgkaye7
Facebook:         http://www.facebook.com/dgkaye
Google:              http://www.google.com/+DebbyDGKayeGies
Instagram:        http://www.instagram.com/dgkaye
Pinterest:          http://www.pinterest.com/dgkaye7
 
Book Links:
Conflicted Hearts
MenoWhat? A Memoir
Words We Carry
Have Bags, Will Travel
P.S. I Forgive You
   Thank you Debby for visiting the Scribbler.   And thank you reader for visiting us this week. Please leave a comment before you go.
 

A Teaser from the Wall of War - the next Drake Alexander novel.

                                                 




The second novel in the Drake Alexander series is almost ready for the presses.

The story begins in 1953 when an amateur rock climber makes a startling discovery while scaling a sheer rock wall in the Andes of Peru. I shared the opening pages in three previous posts. If you would like to read them please go to the  Beginning then Section 2 and then Section 3

Now you can read Chapter 1 in two parts.

(Copyright held by the author.)



2004
Chapter 1                                     November 6, Saturday                       Ollantaytambo, Peru
 
Miguel Pisconte is an affable man. Cherub cheeks and a widening waistline tell of his fondness for good food. His eyes are bright, brown and serious. His glossy black hair, which is much too long for a priest, hangs down on his forehead. Today his mane is dotted with plaster dust. His brow is beaded with sweat. Dust particles float in the air like feathers, a stale heated aroma of old wood fills the room. He is looking at the ceiling, where he has torn down much of the old plaster and laths. He has almost made his way as far as a trapdoor, which is half way across the room. He’s glad he takes after his mother’s family. Even though Jemina Pisconte is a small woman, her brothers are all solidly built men. His carpenter skills, feeble as they might be, are a trait garnished from his father, Luis. He was never able to master anything mechanical like his Dad or younger brother Alvaro, but he is handy with a hammer and saw.
He studies the water stains on the remaining stretch of ceiling, shaking his head. He fixed the roof where the water came in and now he has to repair the damage the moisture caused to the ceiling. He realizes he is tired and decides to rest a bit. He plunks down on the old wooden chair, taking off his safety glasses. He grabs an open can of Pepsi from the table and finishes off the cold beverage with one large gulp. Closing his eyes for a moment, he thinks that if he had known beforehand how much work his new parish would demand, he might not have accepted the new posting.
In reality, he knows that isn’t true. He is thrilled to be back in Peru, the land of his birth. His Quechan ancestors have been calling to him for years.
He drops the pry bar he is holding to the floor amid the broken plaster and wood. Folding his arms, he wiggles down in the chair and relaxes. His mind drifts like an unmoored boat. He’s been in Ollantaytambo for over a month now. Although he is in charge, a novice priest has been assigned to assist him in tending his flock. Befriending the young man hasn’t been an easy experience thus far. When he had met the retiring priest, Father Van Brevoort, a Dutchman, he told Miguel about the young priest’s disagreeable attitude. 
A smile slowly spreads across Miguel’s face as he remembers the parishioners’ warmth and love for the elderly priest. He hopes he can win their hearts half as much. He misses the many Mexican friends he had made while in Ciudad Valles, where he had been the novice priest at one time. He misses his family back in Canada; he misses the moody waters of the Atlantic Ocean. He recalls the first sunrise he witnessed there: his father had woken them all in darkness – his mother, his younger sister Theresa. His brother Alvaro had not been born yet. They had arrived the night before, in the late evening, and slept in their new home. He remembers the astonishment he felt when Mr. Alexander, his family’s benefactor, led him to his own room. It was unimaginable. He had previously slept with his sister on a worn out cot, in the same room as his parents. That night had been the beginning of a wonderful new life. He loves the Alexanders.  
He can still picture his father when he brought them outdoors that morning; their house was close to the road, with the waters of the Cocagne Bay opposite. They stood off to the side, by the driveway at the front of their home. Luis Pisconte huddled them all close together, his arms around his wife Jemina and his son. Theresa was yawning and leaning against him. Miguel recalls the ancient Quechan prayers his father had spoken in thanksgiving, finishing his benediction praising God’s goodness in Spanish for bringing them there. The horizon was soon defined by the faintest of light. Slowly the flat line of the earth split into roaring orange and reds above, the water below changed its hue from dark to steel blue before the rising fire glazed it also. Miguel would never forget that moment as the sun crested, the lengthy morning rays painting their bodies. He had looked up at his father. Giant tears escaped from his closed lids. He must’ve sensed Miguel watching him because he opened his eyes, looked down, squeezed his son hard and smiled. He didn’t wipe away the tears; he just continued to study the water. They remained there, embracing, thankful and hoping it to be real.
Father Miguel’s reverie is interrupted by the shouts coming from the hallway. He opens his eyes as he sits up straight. The words are not discernable yet, but they are moving in his direction. It soon becomes evident, from the shrillness in her voice, that Senora Carmona is upset. The apologetic baritone of Father Teodoro Delapaz seems insufficient to calm the tiny woman.  Father Miguel stands, wiping dust from his pants before heading to the door. He assumes they are going to his office. He kicks an errant strip of broken wood onto the pile of debris as he steps through the clutter. He opens the door just as the conversants pass by in the hallway. His abrupt move startles them, causing Father Teodoro to raise his arms almost in defence while the Senora clasps both hands to her chest shouting, “Ay! Caramba. Un Fantasma!”
Miguel’s face is white with plaster dust except around the eyes, which are dark and imposing where his safety goggles kept the dirt away.
“It’s no ghost, Senora, only me,” says Miguel, flashing his sociable grin.
“Oh, you startled me, my heart won’t slow down. You should be more diligent Father, scaring an old lady such as myself.” 
She has a small lace handkerchief in her hand, waving it to fan her wizened face. Miguel looks into her light blue eyes, admiring the seventy-year-old’s vibrant mien. She is still an attractive woman.
“How can we assist you today, Senora Carmona?”
Teodoro interrupts Miguel’s query by stating, “I was telling the Senora that it would be impossible for one of us to be at her sister’s birthday party tomorrow afternoon with such short notice. We have two weddings tomorrow, as you remember, Father Pisconte.”
Miguel responds, directing his words towards the elderly lady, “How marvellous that Senora Ramirez is celebrating another birthday. How old will she be?”
Senora Carmona changes her scowl to a more pleasant expression, her eyes twinkling when the new priest remembers her sister’s name. She turns her back to the younger priest and his unaccommodating manner.
“She will be 80 tomorrow. As you may remember, Father Pisconte, she has been widowed for many years and with no children. We are her only family. She is very devout, and one of your most faithful attendants. I think it is only appropriate that one of you could offer the blessing for our celebratory meal.”
She folds both hands about her small clutch, holding it at her waist. She steps back from the two men as if to say, “Well?”
Miguel touches the Senora lightly on her shoulder, guiding her toward his office, the second door on the right.
“Please come, Senora, and have a seat for one moment while my assistant and I discuss our schedule. At what time would the meal be presented?”
 “We intend to sup at 6 o’clock, so any time prior to that would be adequate.”
Miguel makes sure she is comfortable, suggesting he will only be a few moments. He returns to the hallway, where he sees Teodoro leaning against the wall with a look of discomfort. He looks up as Miguel approaches. He is about to say something when Miguel forestalls him by saying, “Wait, Teodoro, don’t say anything just yet. Hear me out. Come, let us step into the sanctuary for just a moment.”
He leads the younger priest through the heavy door separating the offices from the main church. He wonders why the man is so disagreeable and intolerant. When the door shuts behind them Teodoro knows what’s coming.
“Father Pisconte, there will be nothing but old women there; it will be a dull, boring encounter. Can we not find an excuse to put her off? I know it will be me that has to attend, am I correct?”
“Listen, Teodoro, the Senora’s husband’s family are our wealthiest benefactors. We don’t have the luxury of offending them. Our congregation is shrinking as it is, and it is our job to invigorate this parish and make it grow. Now, as boring as this event may be, it is without a doubt very important to her. I must remind you that the Carmonas have the most splendid vineyard in all of Peru. They will be serving some of the finest wines fermented in these valleys. Does that alone not tempt you?”
Something akin to guilt causes Teodoro’s brow to wrinkle. He is rubbing his hands, avoiding eye contact with his senior as he asks, “Why do you think the vintage of their wine would be important to me, Father?”
“Come now, Teodoro, do you think me so stupid that I don’t notice the missing wine from our own meagre stock. I think you have a fondness for the grape, yes?”
There is no use denying Father Pisconte’s allegation. Teodoro’s blushing cheeks already suggest that he is not innocent. He has been in trouble enough times in his life to know it is better to remain quiet.
“So, you do not deny it? Well, Teodoro, let me suggest to you that it is not a sin for you, or I for that matter, to indulge in the blessings that God has offered us in the way of alcoholic spirits. It is only a sin when it is abused. It is also a sin to steal. I will hear your confession on Sunday, but I will offer you your penance now. The weddings will be over by five o’clock and you will be free to attend the birthday party. So I am asking you, please be kind to the Senora. Now go to the office and make plans with her. Then change your clothes and meet me in the dressing room so we can get the ceiling torn down and the debris cleaned up this afternoon. Okay?”
The novice nods, realizing that Father Pisconte is being generous. He also relishes the idea of sampling a vintner’s private collection.
“Yes, Father, I will do as you ask.”
The two men separate, Miguel going back to the mess in the dressing area, Teodoro to soothe the Senora. As he enters the work area, Father Pisconte is thinking how little he knows of his assistant. The man doesn’t encourage familiarity. When Bishop Altamirano had welcomed him back to Peru, he had explained the young man’s need for a strong mentor. He is twenty-two years old and impetuous. The bishop explained to Miguel that the lad was familiar with money, spoiled and pampered most of his life. Why he became a priest is still a mystery to the older man. The grandest of all surprises is that Teodoro Delapaz is the son of Anacelia and Guillermo Delapaz a noted politician and a paleontologist. The bishop confided to Miguel that he had received specific instructions that the novice priest was to receive no special treatment because of his parents. It had been left at that.
Teodoro escorts Senora Carmona to the parking lot, where her driver patiently waits with the rear door of her car open. He is jotting down the address for the celebration as he leads her to the vehicle, a heavy black Rolls Royce. He tucks his notebook into the pocket of his cassock.
“Until tomorrow, then, Senora, I bid you adieu.”
“Yes, Father Delapaz. Until tomorrow then.”   To be continued Tuesday April 25th..........      Thank you for visiting the Scribbler. Please feel free to leave a comment below, we would love to hear your thoughts.

4Q Interview and an Excerpt with Guest Author Sharon Tregenza of Great Britian.

4QInterview and an excerpt from ‘The Jewelled Jaguar’.  Sharon Tregenza was born and brought up in the beautiful county of Cornwall in the UK but has lived in many places including, Cyprus, The Middle East and Wales. Her debut children’s novel, ‘TARANTULA TIDE’ won the Kelpie’s prize, and the Heart of Hawick award.‘THE SHIVER STONE’ is published by Firefly Press and her latest book “THE JEWELLED JAGUAR” will be also be published by Firefly in September. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Wales and a second Masters degree in Writing for Young People from Bath Spa University. She also teaches “Writing for Children” at the Arts Centre. Sharon lives in a lovely converted chapel near the historic city of Bath. She is currently working on several more children’s books.
 
4Q: You are an award winning author of children’s books. What attracts you to write for children, which I imagine to be quite difficult?
ST: When I lived in the Middle East I began writing children’s stories, articles and verse for a large newspaper group. I loved it and extended my work to other children’s magazines in the UK and the US. In 2008 I decided to up the ante and give books a try. I was lucky – my first attempt won two awards.I love writing for children. It suits me. I like the variety of working with different kinds of formats and different subjects - although mystery is my favourite.  
4Q: As a child I couldn’t get enough of the Hardy Boys Detective series. I’ve read that your novel – Tarantula Tide – is about young sleuths. Please tell us about this award winning book and how the idea for it came about.
ST: The idea for ‘Tarantula Tide’ came to me after I read an article about the smuggling of exotic creatures. It’s a cruel and lucrative trade that few people know much about. It seemed a good idea to bring this to light in a children’s book. The Shetland Island’s hidden coves are frequently used to land illegal tarantulas, lizards and other creatures for profit. I added a boy with a secret and a girl with a love and knowledge of animals who join forces to uncover the mastermind behind the evil industry. 
4Q: Please share a childhood anecdote or memory with our readers.
ST: I was lucky. I was born and brought up in the county of Cornwall with its beautiful beaches and countryside. Also, being part of a big family meant plenty of playmates. But, oddly although there are so many happy memories of that time, it was a tragedy that came to mind when I read your question. In 1967 an oil tanker ran aground between Lands end and the Isles of Scilly off Cornwall. Tonnes of crude oil seeped into the Atlantic. The black slick ruined our beaches. It contaminated 130 miles of Cornish coastline and decimated our tourist and fishing trades. But for me, as a kid, it was the death of the wildlife that haunted me. I was part of a party of children from a local youth club who went to make teas and coffees for the hundreds of people involved in the massive clean up campaign. I’ll never forget the boil of black waves on the shore or the stench of the oil. Over fifteen thousand birds, seals and other marine life died. I remember crying as I watched one seagull flapping desperately, trapped in the blanket of black gloop.  

4Q: What are you working on now Sharon and what else is in the future?
ST:  I have another Middle Grade mystery coming out in September with Firefly Press. It’s called ‘The Jewelled Jaguar’ and involves an Aztec sacrificial knife, sinkholes and kids trapped in underground tunnels. Great fun.I’m also writing a series of mysteries for younger children and another Middle Grade mystery (with a touch of magic) called ‘The Black Peacock’. Busy days.  An Excerpt. THE JEWELLED JAGUAR (Middle Grade mystery to be published September 2017)   1 CRASH  When a hole in the earth opened up and swallowed my mum, everything changed.We didn’t know it was going to happen. How could we?              It was Sunday. It was sunny for a change. We were weeding the flesh-eaters. ‘You do the cobra lilies, Griff. I’ll sort the monkey cups,’ mum said. ‘Then we’ll work on the Venus flytraps.’I tapped at the soft soil with my trowel. It was too hot to put in much effort. Besides, I didn’t like those plants. They ate live creatures. Mum loved them because Mum hated flies. In the house there was a can of insect spray in every corner of every room. It was like she was at war with all the flies on the planet. Her hungry meat-eaters were the first line of defence. If a fly survived them and flew into the house, it got zapped.            That night, after my shower, my skin buzzed from the day in the sun. I was tired and fell asleep quickly and deeply. # The crash was like thunder in my room. It jolted me awake, throwing me to one side of the bed. The house shook. With a crack like gunfire, the window shattered and glass flew inwards in a glittering explosion.            ‘Muuum!’My bed tilted to one side, and I clung to the headboard. I thought it must be an earthquake. My wardrobe rocked, juddered forward, and then toppled with another crash.             ‘Muuum!’ I yelled again.            In the dawn light, I saw the floor was sloped at an angle; the door flung open and twisted on its hinges.             ‘Muuum!’When everything stopped moving, there was silence except for the screaming siren of Mum’s car alarm. The headlights flashed on and off my bedroom wall in rhythm with my heartbeat. With a churning stomach, I watched in horror as my duvet curled and slithered off the bed as if it were alive.  2HOLE  I don’t know how long I clung to the headboard. When I got the courage to move, my legs shook so much I couldn’t stand. Dust swirled in through the door like smoke. I coughed and rubbed at my eyes.Crawling on hands and knees, I inched my way towards the doorway. With my back against the wall I levered the door open with my foot to squeeze my body through. There was another deep boom, and my bedside table slid across the room, thumping into my side. With a groan, I pushed it away. The dust was thicker in the hallway, and there was a stench like dirty water – like drains. It filled my nose and throat, and I heaved. Mum wasn’t in her bedroom. Sobbing with fright, I lurched through the chaos in every room, shouting for her. The floor sloped like a ship’s deck in a storm. Stuff had fallen out of cupboards and off shelves. Cans rolled across the kitchen floor. Boxes of cereal spilled off the counter tops. The kitchen table was on its side, cups and plates smashed beneath it. What was happening? Nothing made sense.        Mum wasn’t in the kitchen, lounge or bathroom. Another boom and with the following shudder pictures and photographs dropped from the walls with a crash of breaking glass. I curled up in a ball on the floor with my arms around my head. When the tremors stopped I slowly unfurled. A cold draft blew up the hallway towards me. The front door swung off its hinges, creaking like old timbers. I crawled towards it, pulled it open and stared into … nothing.         The garden was gone.The garage was gone; the lawn was gone; the trees were gone. Even the flesh-eating plants were gone.Inches from the doorstep, where the garden should have been was a massive hole. A tree twisted with a loud crack. It bowed, thrashed its leaves, and was sucked down into the seething mass of earth and rubble. The surface rippled, and more earth twisted in on itself like a dark whirlpool. Land was sliding slowly into the pit – being sucked into the void. The back end of Mum’s car stuck out of the hole. Its lights flashed; its alarm screamed.            And then I knew… my mum was down there, too.            I leapt into the swirling mass. Immediately the soil dragged at my body, trying to suck me under. I scrabbled desperately at the earth and rubble, screaming, ‘Muum!’ My mouth filled with dirt. I gagged and spat. Something above me snapped and fell, smashing into the side of my head. I didn’t feel the pain. I clawed at the earth – digging, digging, digging.Then I saw the flash of purple. Mum’s dressing gown. I clawed at the material just as arms grabbed me from above and hauled me from the churning pit.Voices shouted:‘Get him out! Get him out!’ ‘It’s still moving.’ ‘Grab him. Quick!’ I tried to fight them off, swinging my fists, wild with terror and rage. ‘My Mum’s down there! My Mum’s down there!’ But they were too strong for me, and I was dragged away still screaming, ‘Muuum!’# I was in an ambulance, and all around was noise and people and flashing lights. I shook so hard my teeth rattled. A paramedic put his arm around my shoulder and said something. He dabbed at my head. The white cloth came away bright red with blood. I couldn’t work out what he was saying. I watched his mouth move, but he didn’t make any sense.             Nothing felt real. Through the doors of the ambulance I saw everything in snapshots. A police officer waved people away, another cordoned off our home with a reel of tape. Neighbours hovered in silent groups just behind the hedge. They peered into the ambulance at me, their eyes wide with shock. If I turned towards them, they quickly looked away again. Another officer stuck his head a round the door. ‘Griffin? We think there’s been some sort of mine collapse or a sinkhole. They’re doing their best to get your mother out, son. Hang in there.’            ‘I nodded. When I lifted my arm to pull the blanket around me a pain shot like a bolt of electricity from my neck down through my back. The police officer patted my shoulder. He turned and raised his voice, ‘Is there any way we can shut off that bloody car alarm?’A man climbed in and sat beside me.  He wore dirty jeans and a ragged T-shirt covered in dust. There was a smell of oil about him. I thought he was one of the rescuers.He swept the thick blonde curls from his eyes. ‘Griffin, isn’t it? I’m a doctor. Dr Blyth Merrick. I’ve sent someone to tell Rhodri, your uncle, what’s happened. He can meet us at the hospital.’I wasn’t sure if my uncle would want to meet us - or even if I wanted him there. But, before I could say anything the doctor took my hands in his and I saw, with surprise, that my mine were covered in thick, black mud – and blood. ‘Looks like the paramedics have taken good care of you but we need to get you to the hospital to make sure there are no bones broken. There’s that cut on your head, too. They’re still trying to get to your mum.’ We avoided each other’s eyes. He lowered his head and we sat in silence.        There was a triumphant shout. ‘We’ve got her!’ followed by a sudden clamour of noise and confusion. The doctor shot up and out of the ambulance. I tried to follow. But as my feet hit the ground I felt the world spin in on me, and everything went black.   
Thank you Sharon for being the guest this week on the Scribbler. Good luck with your future endeavors.
For more information on Sharon and her stories please visit these links:
Website: www.sharontregenza.comFacebook: sharontregenzabooksTwitter: @sharontregenza  
A huge thanks to you - our visitors. Please leave a comment before you go.

Guest of the week is Nature Photographer Robert Shortall

Capturing Nature’s Beauty! 
     
The Scribbler has something different this week with Guest Robert Shortall from Richibucto Village, New Brunswick. Robert spent much of his career in the hardware and building supplies business before retirement but since then he has taken advantage of his love for the outdoors, kayaking and nature photography. He has agreed to a 4Q Interview and to talk about his hobbies and share some of his beautiful photos.  
 *All photos are by Robert. Copyright on all photos is owned by Robert Shortall. Used with permission. 
4Q: Tell us when you became serious about taking pictures and what draws you to the outdoors, early morning kayaking  and your favorite subject of the many beautiful birds in our province.
RS:  I believe an active life style brings good health. Nature photography became a big part of my life, when I took retirement, in June 2015. Finding the beauty in the world and sharing it with family and friends, is a great source of joy and a constant teacher.  Exploring nature keeps a person active. The photograph bug bit me about ten years ago when I happened to have a camera in the vehicle, when I came across an albino porcupine, near Rexton. What was a hobby, has become a passion. [image error]  
 
4Q: Please tell us about your National Geographic page and how our readers can gain access to it.
   RS:Early in January 2016, I started submitting photos to National Geographic. They have a website or photographers around the world, called Your Shot. I have seen incredible photos on there and have had people from around the world like my photos. I like that National Geographic allows photographers to keep their copy right for their photos. My chances of winning the lotto are probably better than my chances of having a photo chosen, to be published in National Geographic but I am trying anyways. 
 
4Q: Please share a childhood memory or anecdote with us.
RS: A school field trip to the Kouchibouguac National Park. Before enjoying the park, we were told that the motto of exploring nature was “Take Only Photos, Leave Only Foot Prints”. What wonderful ideals to give to people. Those words have stuck with me.
   4Q. I understand that you will be involved in a program called Lunch & Learn at the Moncton Public Library. Please tell us about the program and your experience with it.
RS: On April 19, 2017 I will do a presentation on birds and nature photography at the Moncton Public Library. They have a program called Lunch & Learn. People bring their lunch to the library and eat during the noon hour, while listening to different speakers.  I will be talking about feeding birds, watching birds at the feeders, the evolution of watching at the feeders to watching in the field and photographing them. I use a point and shoot camera, as opposed to a DSLR (professional camera), so I don’t have knowledge on those cameras.       

         Thank you Robert for taking the time to share your thoughts and your exceptional photos. If anyone have any questions for Robert, you can reach him at shortall64@hotmail.com    And a special thank you to you - The Reader - for visiting. Please leave a comment below.

Guest Author Anita Philmar of Pearland, Texas.

Erotic Tales of the Old West!



Anita Philmar likes to create stories that push the limit. A writer by day and a dreamer by night she wants her readers to see the world in a new way. Influenced by old movies, she likes to develop places where anything can happen and where special moments come to life in a great read.   This is the last book in my Naked Bluff, Texas series. It is set in 1864 when the war between the states was happening. I plan to continue writing western historical stories, but adding a paranormal element to the mix. If you want to give one of my erotic romances a try, you can download Hot Prairie Nights from Instafreebie at https://www.instafreebie.com/free/3JMW4   A Cowboy’s Passion – Release Jan. 31, 2017 Blurb: Tess Van Pelt doesn’t have time to grieve the loss of her husband, not when the wolves are already at the door.  Still, she has a lover that is willing to help save her. He introduces her to his cousin, Reece Bristol Smith. As a lawyer, Reece can keep the debtors at bay. The problem or solution is he can’t keep his hands off Tess. With her deceased husband accused of murder and the major creditor making unreasonable demands, Reece has to secure Tess’s future in the best way he knows how. Now, will Tess trust him and his cousin to keep her safe or will he need to teach her a few lessons in handing over control to him? ***A Cowboy’s Passion is a hot adult  erotic mystery that explores the passion of having multiple partners. MFM (Copyright held by the author. Used with permission.) Excerpt: “Tess, I’d like you to meet my cousin, Reece Bristol Smith.” John waved to the man, walking toward her from the far end of the room. He must have been gazing out the window that overlooked the front porch. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have missed the solid line of his shoulders in his dark blue suit or the aristocratic glint in his gaze, and most of all his uncanny resemblance to his cousin. The two could almost be twins if not for the slight touch of gray at Reece’s temples. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Van Pelt. John has told me a great deal about you.” Reece paused by the end of the couch and waited for John to step out of the way before approaching. John muttered something and left the room. Tess stared, fighting the need to stand and walk directly into this stranger’s arms. Could he offer her the same type of pleasure John did? The thought had her shifting restlessly on the couch. The image of them both making love to her at once had her squeezing her hands together. Tess drew back her shoulders and stiffened her spine. As a new widow, she had a certain decorum she needed to maintain. On the other hand, Gab had only been dead a few days. Wanting sex with a complete stranger didn’t fall on the list of acceptable activities she planned to allow herself. Hell, she’d managed to keep away from John. She should have the strength to resist his cousin. “He told me you are a lawyer.” “Yes, and John was kind enough to provide access to your deceased husband’s papers.” Reece sank onto the couch by her feet. “Well, if that’s true, then you’ve undoubtedly decided you want no part of this mess after all. Gab had a diverse array of business dealings. Some of which I’m not even sure, I’m aware of.” Her gaze ran over the hard line of his jaw and settled on his lower lip. The soft pink flesh had a wet trail from the swipe of his tongue. Need again washed through her, and she missed his reply. In fact, she must have failed to catch more than she thought when he rose and stepped to her. As if in a dream, he suddenly stood directly above her with one hand on the back of the couch, the other on the armrest. His handsome face filled her line of sight. Then he moved even closer, and her eyelids fluttered close. Naughty or Nice? Read her books and decide.   Amazon     Barnes and Nobles   Kobo   Smashwords Other Books in the  Naked Bluff, Texas series  In Deep Water   Skinny-dipping to cool off in the Trinity River couldn't cause any problems...could it?   In Too Deep   The peace of the day is shattered when her best friend steps too far into the Trinity River.  Duty's Bride   Can Sadie have a new life or will her old one rear its ugly head?  More Than Ready   Can a determined woman win her heart's desire?  A Cowboy's Pleasure   Does this cowboy want the job he's being offered?  The Country Doctor's Bride   Run from a murder or marry a doctor, which one will she choose?       Anita's Links. Website:  http://www.anitaphilmar.com/ Email: anitaphilmar@yahoo.com  Blog: http://www.anitaphilmar.blogspot.com/  FB: www.facebook.com/anita.philmar  GR: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1329767.Anita_Philmar  Twitter: https://twitter.com/anitaphilmar  Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Anita-Philmar/e/B002BMBE8C    Thank you Anita for being our guest this week on the Scribbler.  A huge thank you to you Special Readers for visiting. Please tell us what you think. Comments welcome! 

Guest Author Renee Gauthier of Ontario, Canada

 The Battle of the Book Cover  RM (Renee) Gauthier lives in Ontario, Canada and has a diploma in Film & TV Production.

She began her writing career late in life, which she has been quoted saying, "better late than never." She has five novellas published, including Christmas Miracle in July, Longing & Waiting, and her debut novel, Control, was released on November 10 2016.

She is part of many writing FB groups and helps run a group called The Indie Writers' Cooperative, which provides her plenty of joy helping other authors anyway she can. Planning Book Covers by Renee.   



The Battle of the Book Cover

Wow! Just Wow. When I first looked into self-publishing, I knew it would be a journey, but I failed to realize just how long that journey would take. It's incredible the amount of work that goes into creating your masterpiece, which eventually becomes your book.
So the writing is down, the editing is done and you have a book ready for the world to see… wrong. The manuscript is finished and your dreams of having a bound book in your hand are just beginning. There are so many decisions to be made, so many thoughts that go into the final piece, but for this post I’m going to stick with book covers.
The blank page stared back at me as I try to figure out what the heck I was going to put on the blank canvas I had opened in Photoshop. I went through thousands of pictures in my own personal arsenal and crawled the web for a photo or image that would sum up my book. The agonizing decision finally ended when I came across a friend’s photo. It was perfect for my novella and now the hard part was asking him if I could use it. Fortunately for me, he agreed and now I had the perfect image to represent my story.
But the work didn’t stop there. Now that I had the image I had to pick the perfect font for the titling. After five cover designs, three image changes, I finally decided on the perfect image with the perfect font. Things were looking good at this point. I was getting excited about the process once more until I had to figure out words to put on the back of the novella… a description was in order and at that point I didn’t have one.
Describing your book in one or two short paragraphs can be scary. What do you say about something that takes you months, perhaps even years to create in two short paragraphs? I always start with short points about my stories, such as these for my novella:
·       A childhood with little opportunities.
·       8 years in the Special Forces.
·       A family torn apart.
·       A missing sister.
·       A drug dealing, pimp boyfriend.
·       A brother on a mission.
·       One man out for revenge.
·       One man out for justice.
Once I had these points I begin joining them together in sentences:
·       While Leroy was abroad fighting for the freedom of his fellow countrymen, his sister was home losing her freedom.
·       After serving 8 years in the Special Forces fighting for freedom, Leroy returns home to find his sister has lost hers.
·       A drug dealing, pimp boyfriend. A brother on a mission. A missing sister. One man out for revenge. A family falling apart. A childhood with little opportunities. 8 years in the Special Forces.
Next part is to make short paragraphs from these sentences:
·       After discovering that his sister is missing and has been missing for months, the mission begins to find and bring her home. While oversees fighting so that his fellow countrymen could be free, Leroy’s family was falling apart. Hoping to leave his nightmares behind when he landed on American soil he realized the nightmares were just beginning. After serving in the Special Forces for 8 years, Leroy returns home to reclaim his life.
·       Discovering that his sister had been missing for months, Leroy sets out on a mission to find his sister and bring her home. Leroy returns home after serving 8 years in the Special Forces to discover his nightmare has not ended, but was only just beginning. When he finds Landon he realizes that his missing sister is only the tip of the iceberg. Longing brings together two men, one out for justice, the other pure revenge.
During all of these exercises I take my time, sometimes hours, sometimes days, to absorb all of the ideas. Then, I finally end up with something that makes me happy:
Two men come together, one out for justice, the other revenge. Leroy, returns home after serving 8 years in the Special Forces to discover his nightmare has not ended, but is just beginning.
 
After discovering that his sister has been missing for months, Leroy sets out on a mission to find and bring her home. Meeting, Landon Miller, exposes Leroy to a world of corruption he had no idea existed.
It took me about 2-3 weeks to get my cover complete and ready to publish, but I’m a crazy person who will keep changing the smallest of things until I feel it is right. I always figure if I’m not happy with the cover, than how can I expect readers to be happy with it?
The truth is we never know what makes people like one book cover over another, or one movie instead of another, the thing I feel is that if I did the absolute best work I could do, than that is all that matters because we know we can’t please everyone all of the time.
But I’m sure going to try!     Thank you Renee for this insightful article. For you Readers that would like to more info on Renee's books, please drop by her Amazon page. https://www.amazon.com/RM-Gauthier/e/...











Thank you to all you wonderful visitors ...please share a thought with us by leaving a comment below.

Guest Author Renee Gauthiierof Ontario, Canada

 The Battle of the Book Cover  RM (Renee) Gauthier lives in Ontario, Canada and has a diploma in Film & TV Production.

She began her writing career late in life, which she has been quoted saying, "better late than never." She has five novellas published, including Christmas Miracle in July, Longing & Waiting, and her debut novel, Control, was released on November 10 2016.

She is part of many writing FB groups and helps run a group called The Indie Writers' Cooperative, which provides her plenty of joy helping other authors anyway she can. Planning Book Covers by Renee.   



The Battle of the Book Cover

Wow! Just Wow. When I first looked into self-publishing, I knew it would be a journey, but I failed to realize just how long that journey would take. It's incredible the amount of work that goes into creating your masterpiece, which eventually becomes your book.
So the writing is down, the editing is done and you have a book ready for the world to see… wrong. The manuscript is finished and your dreams of having a bound book in your hand are just beginning. There are so many decisions to be made, so many thoughts that go into the final piece, but for this post I’m going to stick with book covers.
The blank page stared back at me as I try to figure out what the heck I was going to put on the blank canvas I had opened in Photoshop. I went through thousands of pictures in my own personal arsenal and crawled the web for a photo or image that would sum up my book. The agonizing decision finally ended when I came across a friend’s photo. It was perfect for my novella and now the hard part was asking him if I could use it. Fortunately for me, he agreed and now I had the perfect image to represent my story.
But the work didn’t stop there. Now that I had the image I had to pick the perfect font for the titling. After five cover designs, three image changes, I finally decided on the perfect image with the perfect font. Things were looking good at this point. I was getting excited about the process once more until I had to figure out words to put on the back of the novella… a description was in order and at that point I didn’t have one.
Describing your book in one or two short paragraphs can be scary. What do you say about something that takes you months, perhaps even years to create in two short paragraphs? I always start with short points about my stories, such as these for my novella:
·       A childhood with little opportunities.
·       8 years in the Special Forces.
·       A family torn apart.
·       A missing sister.
·       A drug dealing, pimp boyfriend.
·       A brother on a mission.
·       One man out for revenge.
·       One man out for justice.
Once I had these points I begin joining them together in sentences:
·       While Leroy was abroad fighting for the freedom of his fellow countrymen, his sister was home losing her freedom.
·       After serving 8 years in the Special Forces fighting for freedom, Leroy returns home to find his sister has lost hers.
·       A drug dealing, pimp boyfriend. A brother on a mission. A missing sister. One man out for revenge. A family falling apart. A childhood with little opportunities. 8 years in the Special Forces.
Next part is to make short paragraphs from these sentences:
·       After discovering that his sister is missing and has been missing for months, the mission begins to find and bring her home. While oversees fighting so that his fellow countrymen could be free, Leroy’s family was falling apart. Hoping to leave his nightmares behind when he landed on American soil he realized the nightmares were just beginning. After serving in the Special Forces for 8 years, Leroy returns home to reclaim his life.
·       Discovering that his sister had been missing for months, Leroy sets out on a mission to find his sister and bring her home. Leroy returns home after serving 8 years in the Special Forces to discover his nightmare has not ended, but was only just beginning. When he finds Landon he realizes that his missing sister is only the tip of the iceberg. Longing brings together two men, one out for justice, the other pure revenge.
During all of these exercises I take my time, sometimes hours, sometimes days, to absorb all of the ideas. Then, I finally end up with something that makes me happy:
Two men come together, one out for justice, the other revenge. Leroy, returns home after serving 8 years in the Special Forces to discover his nightmare has not ended, but is just beginning.
 
After discovering that his sister has been missing for months, Leroy sets out on a mission to find and bring her home. Meeting, Landon Miller, exposes Leroy to a world of corruption he had no idea existed.
It took me about 2-3 weeks to get my cover complete and ready to publish, but I’m a crazy person who will keep changing the smallest of things until I feel it is right. I always figure if I’m not happy with the cover, than how can I expect readers to be happy with it?
The truth is we never know what makes people like one book cover over another, or one movie instead of another, the thing I feel is that if I did the absolute best work I could do, than that is all that matters because we know we can’t please everyone all of the time.
But I’m sure going to try!     Thank you Renee for this insightful article. For you Readers that would like to more info on Renee's books, please drop by her Amazon page. https://www.amazon.com/RM-Gauthier/e/...











Thank you to all you wonderful visitors ...please share a thought with us by leaving a comment below.

The Love of Gaming! A 4Q Interview with Adam Hudson.

Something different on the Scribbler this week.

 A special 4Q interview with a master of the games. Gaming is one of the most popular pastimes today with hundreds of choices online and at home with complex gaming stations that require exceptional eye and hand coordination, memory and the development of game strategy.  To give you an idea of just how popular gaming is, the website – Steam – an online community, store and entertainment platform has as many as 2-3 million users online at any one time. It also has the record of over 8 million visitors at the same time. Think of the fame of Minecraftor World of Warcraft. 


Adam Hudson loves games. It started with an Atari when he was seven years old. His fascination hasn’t stopped. He has agreed to talk about gaming with us this week. 




4Q: In your own opinion, why is gaming so popular, not only for children but people of all ages and especially adults?
 AH: There is obviously an entertainment value there but I think what really captures you is the sense of achievement you get from them, whether it's beating your friends and family at pong, getting the high score in Donkey Kong or finally saving the Princess in Mario. For some, it's taking out that raid boss with your Guild Mates in World of Warcraft. For others, it's topping the leaderboard in Call of Duty. All levels of people who play games feel the same sense of elation. In my opinion, the smartest thing the gaming industry ever did was invent Achievements. Basically, its digital bragging rights so you can say, “I did this." They are incredibly addictive. 

4Q: To be a serious gamer online, what kind of equipment would a person need?

 AH: It really depends what you are into. The basics would include either a console or computer to play the games and an internet connection. Everything else is about your comfort. There are tons of add-ons for console controllers and a huge market of gaming mice and keyboards.If you don't mind me interjecting my opinion, to be a serious gamer, online or otherwise, takes commitment, a reason to want to get better. Most of all this comes from your community. As I mentioned above having people that can relate to your experiences is what drives you to take it seriously. Makes those achievements something of real tangible worth. 



4Q: As well as online gaming, you have always been fascinated with role-playing games (RPG) such as Dungeon & Dragons and war gaming such as Warhammer 40, 000 and most recently, Infinity. Hoe do these type of games differ from online games?

 AH: In one sense not much, it's still that learning the mechanics of the game and then using them to the best of your ability to get the upper hand on your opponent. It's still about that sense of overcoming a challenge with your wits, skill and sometimes a little bit of luck. A big difference is in the community you share it with. Online people have anonymity about them and some can be real jerks. That doesn't always change in real life but it's definitely something that being face to face influences. One down side is you usually need to line up a time to get people together. It's the type of thing you do one night a week with snacks and laughs. Video games have the advantage of needing much less space and equipment. On top of that, With the Internet your community is international. You can sign on and, boom, you have a whole world with thousands of people any hour of any day. 



 
4Q: I understand that RPG needs what is called a Game Master. Is this something you have done and what is the purpose of a GM?

 AH: I have or should say I've tried. The GM is your Storyteller and Judge all rolled into one. Like Tolkien, they lead you "there and back again", choose the monsters you fight and decide how you are rewarded. Just like an Author they create your world. To be a great GM you need about all the same skills’ creativity, Imagination and careful planning as well as the ability to create a scene and allow the players to partake how you see fit. Of course there is also the boring part of enforcing the rules, but it is a game and it's all about the fun in the end. 



4Q: Just to sneak another question in here, I understand that you are responsible for creating a friendly, competitive competition at a local gaming facility where you have invited players to participate in a weekly round of Infinity. How has this experience been?

AH: At the risk of sounding like I am repeating myself, I can say the hard part has been being creative, imaginative and a careful planner. The good has been the camaraderie and being amongst fellow minded friends. Like any leadership role, it's been a rollercoaster. Truth is, Infinity is a game I am passionate about and I couldn't ask for a better group to play with. We have tournaments with people coming from out of town and we're slowly working our way into another province. I'm looking forward to being a part of the community and seeing how it grows.

 
Thank you Adam for taking the time to talk to us about this popular pastime.  Happy Gaming!
 If you have any questions for Adam, you can contact him at hudsona32@gmail.com

Thank you Dear Readers for visiting the Scribbler this week. If you would like more information on gaming, try these sites.

Infinity, The War Game
http://www.infinitythegame.com/
Free games for all ageshttp://www.addictinggames.com/
http://armorgames.com/
Minecraft
http://armorgames.com/ Warhammer 40, 000
https://www.games-workshop.com/en-CA/Warhammer-40-000
Painting your models
https://www.games-workshop.com/en-CA/Painting-Modelling






Are you a Gamer? Leave us a comment below, would love to hear your thoughts!

Reaching the Pinnacle by Allan Hudson - Part 2

Jeb Davis is in for the surprise of his life!








Here's Part 2 of the story I posted last Saturday, If you missed the first part, just click HERE or you can scroll down to the end of this post.


Copyright held by the author





Reaching the Pinnacle - Part 2


Jeb begins to speculate anew of what might’ve happened to Norton when the skitter of a squirrel overhead disrupts his thoughts. He stops to look up. Standing under a large maple tree that has already shed its reddish leaves, with only a few here and there reluctant to let go, he finds it easy to watch the clever brown acrobat dart from limb to limb, chattering. Jeb soon loses sight of the critter when it darts up the trunk of a neighboring spruce tree. Turning his gaze uphill, he contemplates the sharp rise. He tugs on the straps of his pack, tightening them across his chest. Sniffing the cool air, so clear he can smell the trees, he pauses a few moments longer. Pleased with himself, he heads out to rendezvous with his granddaughter. 
*Eight hours later, Mindy and Jeb are sitting on a fallen log three meters from their tent complaining about their overworked muscles. Jeb is reminded of some he hasn’t used in years. A large fire crackles in front of them in a makeshift pit they made with odd sized rocks. The surrounding trees provide the wood. A slight breeze from the north moves the sharp smoke away from them. The pleasant aroma of burning pine seems almost therapeutic. The clear sky is black with a million pinpricks of light. It’s down to 12 degrees and both have donned heavy fleeces. The flames flicker in the dark, throwing off a welcome heat. Mindy uses a long slender sapling as a poker to prod the wood into flames. They talk about their day in gleeful rapport.  
- How Jeb had bragged about his famous salami and gouda sandwiches, which he’d made for their lunch, only to discover he’d forgotten to pack them. They’d had dry gorp and granola bars instead. - Their astonishment when they climbed above the tree line – nothing but grey, cracked stone the last two hundred meters – where they discovered the whole valley and sister mountains to the south were visible. They both loved the sensation of height and had remained silent for many moments. - The abandoned Ranger’s station at the very top of the mountain – a four-by-four square meter structure with a double-hip roof. Guy wires of thick twisted steel braced all four corners to solid rock. The fierce winds that streamed across the mountaintop at times would otherwise carry it away. Jeb scolding Mindy for trying to climb the structure – she exclaiming that the apex of the roof was actually the highest point in New Brunswick. Her slipping off the roof, and Jeb breaking her fall.- The kettle of bald eagles that coiled about the sky on hidden thermals – updrafts created by the mountain sides – and how majestically they had soared. They had left Mindy wishing she could fly. - The vivid orange and ovoid globes dotted with yellow patches: amanita flavocona – a poisonous mushroom they had found attached to red spruce the species favor at high elevations. Jeb showing off, telling Mindy the common name was “yellow warts.” Ugh! was Mindy’s response.
They shift into silent spheres on occasion, one pondering what the other has said. Jeb asks about her boyfriend. Is he taking the job out west? Is that what she wanted to tell him? No answer! So he talks about her experience testifying at court as a member of the RCMP’s Firearms and Tool Mark Identification Section; her knowledge of firearms is extensive. Jeb tells her how many of his acquaintances passed away in the last year. They argue about which team will win this year’s Stanley Cup. Even though they haven’t won a championship in her lifetime, she refuses to turn her back on the Maple Leafs. They touch briefly on the dead body she found last year. She chatted about the new Glock 19 Gen 4 handgun she purchased. Jeb told her about the marvelous young woman of 68 he had met at dance classes, and asks if Mindy minds? They both stare at the flames and become quiet. Jeb has a closed mouth smile; Mindy has a smooth brow and glad eyes. Yet they look uncannily alike.Jeb’ stomach rumbles and he breaks from his trance. “Time to eat, my dear. Open the wine if you don’t mind.”He jumps up, hastens to his pack just inside the unzipped tent to remove two heavy tin foil plates – like supermarkets sell pies in – each wrapped in a thin thermal towel. Mindy already has the wine, plastic glasses – his neon green, hers bright pink – and the cork screw. She had taken them out when she’d unpacked her sleeping bag before dinner. With a practiced hand, she slits away the top foil, twists in the corkscrew and opens up the grape.

The coals are pushed into a heap, with two pockets shaped on top, into which the heavy tin plates fit. The coals glow with heat, manifested by pink, white and red flares. A lick of blue flame erupts around the edges, where the heat finds something solid. Jeb puts on his hiking gloves to place the plates on the fire and the heat singes the loose threads on the end. The burnt nylon stinks. Once the homemade roasters are sizzling, with aromatic juices of garlic and butter scenting the air, Mindy says, “Oh, Gramps, those smell good. How long?”“Probably twenty minutes. Why?”Jeb can see her smile in the light of the flames. It couldn’t be any bigger.“I want to tell you the surprise now.”Jeb is jubilant, he’s been thinking of every possible scenario since she informed him of something she wanted to tell him earlier. “Excellent.”He grabs his neon green wine glass and tips it toward the wine, noticing she brought a bottle of Jacob’s Creek, Select. One of his favorites. “Good choice, young lady.”“Yeah, I know how much you like it.”“Must be something special.”“Definitely.”After filling their wineglasses, she touches the edge of her glass to his. Mimicking fine lead crystal, she chants, “Pa-tinnnnnng. Here’s to the best Grampy ever.” Jeb blushes and clears his throat, soaking up the comfortable vibes. “To my favorite granddaughter.”“Hah! I’m your only granddaughter.”
“Okay then, my special grandchild… and don’t tell the boys I said that. I love your brothers just as much.”Mindy winks at him and takes a sip of wine. The firelight makes the blonde highlights stand out in her short curly hair. He has a hard time seeing her as a cop. “Well?”Mindy balances her glass on the log beside her and reaches into her jeans pocket to withdraw a small bag the size of a book of matches. She holds it up so he can see it. It’s too dark to see it’s made of grey velvet and silk tassels as she tugs the puckered opening apart. Reaching in with two fingers, she withdraws an original Vera Wang engagement ring. The 1-carat marquis diamond encased in an ornate band sparkles in the glow of the fire. She slips it on her left ring finger.  “Darrick asked me to marry him.”  Jeb can see how happy she is. He can read it in her eyes, the way they widen in delight. Jeb’s good with this turn of events. After all, Darrick’s a solid man who dotes on his granddaughter.“And you said yes of course.”She concentrates on her ring for a moment, the facets teasing her eyes as she turns her hand toward the light as she happily nods her head.“That’s wonderful news, Mindy. I’m so happy for you. Congratulations!”‘Thank you, Grampy”They both stand to hug. Mindy gives him a loving squeeze. By Jeb’s reaction, she knows she’s made the right decision. He backs off and holds her at arm’s-length. “What did your mother say?”“I haven’t told her yet. I wanted you to be the first to know.”“Me?”Mindy is shy now and breaks away from her grandfather. Pointing at the roasters, she says, “I think those might be done now.”Jeb turns to eye the sizzling platters, steam escaping from the holes he made in the tin foil with a fork.“A little more will be okay; I cut those potatoes kind of thick. So, you didn’t plan this trip just to tell me that did you?”“No, there’s more. C’mon, sit down again.”She rests upon the dead tree and when Jeb sits beside her, she holds his arm close to her and leans her head on his shoulder.“I want you to walk me down the aisle.”Jeb stares at the embers as she tells him. His elation is complete, a pulsing sensation of love and happiness. The coals turn all bleary as he tries not to blink. His reaction confuses Mindy and she asks gently, “Well?”Jeb can’t talk, scared he will blubber. He offers her a gentle wave, asking her for a moment. She leans forward and sees the gleam in his eyes. She knows he will say yes.The glowing embers and tin plates fade away. In their place a little girl walks from the living room and approaches him in the kitchen. Jeb is standing with his back against the cupboard, arms crossed as he munches on an apple. Mindy stops three or four steps away. He stops chewing and looks down. She’s almost eighteen months old and only thirty-one inches tall. The face that looks up at him is a perfect oval, the eyes uncertain. Jeb can’t think of anything more dear. After a few seconds she blurts,
“Panky!”That was the first time she tried to say his name. The boys called him Gampy then because they couldn’t pronounce Grampy and that was the closest she could get. Jeb glowed with adoration, thinking nothing could make him happier. Until the same little girl grew up.Jeb untangles his arm and hugs her close.
“Thank you for this, Mindy. I guess I’m just about the happiest Grampy in the world right now. So… when’s the wedding?” 
She replies nonchalantly, “In four weeks.”   Thank you for visiting today. I hope you enjoyed reading this story.   Please share your thoughts by leaving a comment below.