Sunday, October 8, 2017

Creature Features Issue 24

Creature Features Issue 24 will be available soon. This issue contains an excerpt from my book in progress. Working title Sleuth and Scribe by Deke . It is a mystery told from the detective's dog's point of view. Creature Features is an anthology of animal stories, poetry, and articles from world wide authors. If you would like to reserve a copy email Roubi at roubi at cytanet dot com dot cy

Friday, June 30, 2017

Maxx and Company continued

Madd Maxx, Maxi Maxx, and Big Ben were relaxing around the pond at the B&B when Madd noticed Jazz Purr covered in wet mud on the other side of the pond.
     Madd’s secretary, Lucky Strike was walking toward them, carrying a tray of drinks. “Oh no! Not again.” Madd anticipated a recipe for disaster.
     Jazz Purr had also spied her and ran toward Lucky. “Can’t you stop him?” she screamed.
     Madd hollered, “Jazz, look what I have.” He shook a box of dog treats. Jazz glanced back at him but continued running toward Lucky.
     “Looks like he’s going for a home run,” Ben said, chuckling.
     Jazz knocked Lucky and her tray to the ground. “Thank goodness those are plastic cups,” Ben observed. “Are you OK, Lucky?”
     “Why does he always shake himself off on ME?” complained Lucky.
     “Just lucky, I guess.” Maxi tried to stifle a giggle.
     “Very funny!” Lucky picked herself up and stomped back into the B&B for yet another shower and a change of clothes.
     “I don’t think Jazz likes Lucky’s perfume,” said Madd.
     “That makes two of us.” Maxi wrinkled her nose.
     “She does lay it on a little thick,” agreed Ben.
Madd threw one of Jazz’s water toys in the pond and Jazz jumped in to retrieve it.
     “I wonder if that would work with Lucky,” Maxi said, chuckling.
     “That’s the third time he’s gotten Lucky today!” Madd shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t blame her for being upset.”
     Ben said, “Strike three? I’d call that pretty unlucky for Lucky.”

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Maxx and Company part 2

Maxx and Company were about to find out that fresh country air and dairy air were not synonymous, especially when stepping in fresh cow pies.
     Jazz Purr might have warned them, but what people often find olfactorily offensive, dogs usually consider perfume. Jazz Purr applied his perfume liberally. Poor Jazz was destined for numerous baths during his stay at the Dairy Air Bed and Breakfast on the farm.
     Lucky Strike also liked perfume. Her choice was Lily of the Valley and she also applied it liberally, which made Jazz Purr sneeze. When he sneezed his head shook and the rest of his body quickly followed suit, spraying Lucky with whatever he had just rolled in. She and her clothing were also destined for numerous washings. 

Monday, June 19, 2017

Clyde Maxx Private Eye

My husband and I are writing a series of punny short stories. This is a rough draft of an introduction to some of the main characters.

Clyde Maxx Introduction
Clyde Maxx, A.K.A Madd Maxx, was a one eyed private dick. His wife’s maiden name was Maxi Factor, but she became Maxi Maxx after their hasty marriage. She wasn’t pregnant. She just didn’t want to give Madd time to change his mind.
Her friends referred to her as XX. From her nose to her toes, she was a size double X. Sadly, that didn’t apply to her brain.
They had a dog named Jazz Purr who had an unfortunate propensity for catting around.
Madd’s sidekick was Big Ben. He had a need to sound off every hour and he was only right about twice a day.
Madd’s secretary was Lucky Strike. Without bad luck, she’d have no luck at all.
Their first case was out of town so they made reservations at a Bed and Breakfast they had read about in a brochure that enticed them with a promise of fresh country air. “ Smell our dairy air at the Dairy Air B & B and farm, hosted by the Airedales.”
Jazz Purr was enthused about meeting the Airedales as he was quite a connoisseur of dairy air sniffing.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

I Am a Tree

I am a tree falling in the wilderness.
No one is around to hear me so I make no sound.

I will never make it as an author. But I will keep on writing. I’m perverse that way.

The introvert in me craves and cherishes the solitary part of being an author. I love every aspect of the act and art of writing. From the germ of an idea to the development of the plot and the riveting conclusion, I love it all. I love when my characters tell me how life should, would, and could be, according to them. I love developing an idea into poetry, an article, a short story, a novella, or a full fledged novel. I love improving my craft, the research, the writing seminars, and sharing my offerings with other writers and readers. I have even learned to love the editing and rewriting. I am awed when I see my stories or articles in various publications.

I thank God for allowing me to share a small role in creativity. I am humbled and honored.

Ideally, this article should end with the above paragraph, but life is seldom ideal and I still haven’t explained why I will never make it as an author.

I have been blessed with the words but I don’t have whatever it takes to create the audience to hear the falling tree.

That would take an extroverted personality. To say I am unimpressive as an extrovert, would be flattering myself.

Whenever I have forced myself into a social situation such as public speaking, interviews, or book signings, my body is there but my mind leaves on vacation to some remote island with no way to contact it. Actually, it would be more accurate to say I become my mind and we leave my body behind as a place marker, only to return when the body is back in a secluded safe place. I simply cannot function as an extrovert. I do not enjoy being put on display. A clear, glass, fish bowl is not a good place for an introvert.

I can handle promoting myself and my work on the internet, but the return on my investment of time is inadequate.

So I will continue to write for myself, my family, and my friends. And I will continue to praise God for allowing me to share His toys and sandbox.

Friday, February 3, 2017

The Super Bowl According to Dogs

I wrote this several years ago but thought I'd bring it back in honor of Super Bowl weekend.

The Super Bowl, According to Dogs

“What a boring football game! Lots of goodies on the coffee table. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
“I’m thinking of snatching that sausage and running for a touch down.”
“OK, go for it and I’ll block for you to stall them. “
“I’ll grab it when they least expect it.”
“Quick, they’re preoccupied right now by the Budweiser ad.”
“Oh, no, she saw you grab it. Look out, he‘s trying to tackle you. Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Head for the kitchen and save half for me.”
“Oh, was I supposed to share?”
“Brat! Next time you block.”


Mary had just put a load of laundry in the washer when she heard THE NOISE. She knew her husband, Tom was in the kitchen so she dismissed it as having come from one of his projects, which on occasion, could get quite noisy. Meanwhile, he assumed THE NOISE came from something she was doing in the basement.
That is, until they were eating lunch together and THE NOISE resumed.
“What IS that?” asked Tom. 
“I don’t know,” said Mary. I heard it earlier and thought it was you.”
“Maybe it’s the washer,” Tom suggested and he went to the basement to check it out.
“Well, I have no idea what it is. It sounded like it was coming from the washer but now it’s stopped. I have to run some errands but if you hear it again, let me know. We may have to call to have it repaired.”
Mary was relaxing with a good book when she heard THE NOISE again. With some trepidation, she descended the stairs to the basement. She stood by the wash machine for ten minutes but the washer only made its usual noises.
No sooner had she sat down to enjoy the intriguing story, when THE NOISE interrupted. Why do you always have to wait until I get to the best part? she muttered.
She removed the last load from the washer and put it in the dryer, figuring this would be the end to THE NOISE and she could enjoy reading in peace.
THE NOISE seemed to have other ideas and the banging seemed louder than ever to Mary. By now, she was not only exasperated, but somewhat frightened. She called Tom.
“It can’t be the washer. The wash is done.”
“I hope we don’t have squirrels in the basement again,” said Tom.
“Me, too.”
Flickertail, the llama was trying to snooze in the barn and was also disturbed by THE NOISE every time he started to doze off. However, he had more success in pinning down the source. He had a view of the side door of the house from his vantage point and noticed it banging against the siding as the wind blew, intermittently.
With his head, he tried to push the door closed so it would latch but the door resisted. Nosing it open, he discovered a plastic bag hanging from the inside door knob. Whatever was inside was bulky enough to keep the door from closing properly.
Mary, seeing Flickertail at the door from her kitchen window, was about to scold him for making so much noise and scaring Tom and her. As she opened the door, Flickertail showed her the bag. She opened it and discovered a wreath inside and a note from her friend, Lois.
“What a lovely and thoughtful gift,” said Mary.
Only later did she check her voice mail to find she could have saved Tom and herself several hours of needless worry.

7 year itch

Wow! That seven years went by quickly. My Flickertail and Paint book contract expires in a few days and will no longer be available on Amazon or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, all of my books will be out of print by the end of the year. I'm debating self publishing them and making them available as ebooks. Flickertail and Paint, Barnyard Sleuths is my most popular book.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Clothes Hangers and Chamber Pots

The other day, a neighbor, with a surplus of plastic hangers asked me if I could use some. I thanked her and carried them home. I chuckled as it reminded me, about 60 years ago, my mom asked me to take some hangers over to a neighbor. I did it but I objected on the grounds that it was embarrassing to walk down the street with hangers. My mom put things into perspective with a funny comment. "Well it's not like I am asking you to walk down the street with a turd in a chamber pot."
     Even 60 years ago, I couldn't think of a single person who would have wanted a turd in a chamber pot.

Door to Door

After ringing the doorbell, she stood on the stoop waiting for someone to answer. She could see someone moving inside so she tried knocking on the door. A young man finally answered. Taking in his disheveled appearance and pajamas, she said, “Oh I woke you. I’m so sorry. I’ll just leave you with this.” She took a pamphlet from her sample case. “I hope you can get back to sleep.” 
“What’s this?” he asked grumpily. “Watch Tower?”
“No, Fuller Brush.”
“Oh, my mom used to buy Fuller Brush.”
“Mine, too,” she replied.
“Really! I didn’t know it had been around that long!”
She chuckled.
He blushed and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you are old.”
Still chuckling, she said, “It is what it is. I’m supplementing my Social Security.”
He laughed and accepted the pamphlet.
She turned to leave. “Sweet Dreams.”
“Come back,” he called out.
“Sure, just call the number on the back and I’ll be happy to show you the products at your convenience.”
“No, I mean now. You remind me of my grandma,” he added impishly with a twinkle in his eye.