Okapi

Love the zebra legs and the big ears. I need to try to draw a picture of this creature.

poetry

the words spin and dance inside my head
my brain fizzles and pops
whistles and frizzles
looping and swooping
eyelids drooping
you'd think i'd learn by now
take a deep breath
put the book down
enjoy a moment with a rose

Finding Obstacles in Writing

The problem about art is not finding more freedom, it's about finding obstacles.
--Richard Rogers

As a family, we are doing these drawing lessons where each lesson forces you to put a limitation on yourself to learn something new about drawing. Last week, we had to draw cats with our paper on pillows. If we were trying too hard to be perfect, we were supposed to draw left-handed. Today the lesson was to draw giraffes while looking at pictures of giraffes.

Not all that hard, huh?

Except you couldn't look at your own drawing.

After drawing, we decorated, but we actually looked at our pictures for that. Mike and TJ were good sports about the project and even gave me permission to share with you. First is from my husband TJ--The Clydesdale Giraffe; second is from our friend Mike who came over for dinner and got dragged into our project.






In writing, it is the same thing. Challenge yourself with limitations: write a love scene without cliches, describe a scene from the viewpoint of someone who has been blind from birth, experience life through the eyes of someone with autism, create dialog without tags. By doing such, you learn something new.

Over on goodreads.com, I'm a member of the group On Fiction Writing. We have monthly challenges just like this. Come check us out!

Freedom

I have had this song in my head these last few weeks. It's the story of two friends. One plays the game of success. The other doesn't see the game worth playing. Thus the friends part ways, each taking a different road.

I'm the kind of person who doesn't see the game worth playing. My ambitions have nothing to do with someone patting me on the head and telling me I've done a good job. Climbing the corporate or political ladder will only lead to the death of my soul.

And that's what my story Symbiote from the YA anthology Unlocked is about. A cyborg slave girl gazes at the stars with longing. If she gets caught, it would mean her death.

Download the free eBook today at UnlockedProject.com

Malia's Journal

5:30 a.m. – I may be 16 now but haven’t changed much from the 8-year-old girl who chased frogs and climbed trees. The only difference is that now I’ve got my notebooks, field guides, and camera stashed in the backpack I carry everywhere I go. Today, we’re supposed to be leaving, and Mom will want me to help pack. An endlessly boring chore and near impossible because everything we brought never seems to fit back in the packs they came in.

But yesterday, I saw a dragon. A real-to-goodness dragon!

No way am I leaving without cataloguing it in my journal!

So before sunrise, I snuck out of camp, a panther slinking in the darkness, and found a tree to hide in, camera around my neck, notebook clutched against my chest. Goosebumps tiptoeing over my skin, I shiver in the mountain air.

The sun creeps above the mountains, a rosy shade against the dark spikes blocking the view.

And a green scaly nose peers out from the vines hanging down over the hole in the riverbank.

6:15 a.m. – The dragon disappeared below the surface of the water, and I waited. And waited. I had been thinking about the granola bar in my pack when the dragon returned. Perching on a rock in the middle of the river, her long tail held high, she slashed a claw through the water. With a swish and a splash, she caught a fish and slurped it down—raw and wiggling and slimy as algae.

I wasn’t really hungry anymore.

While she stood on the rock, I could see her green underside. No male genitalia could be seen.

(Note to self: Research male and female organs in known species of reptile.)

6:35 a.m. – The dragon caught two more fish and carried them back to her den. I thought I heard mewling noises, but then maybe that was wishful thinking.

7:03 a.m. – The dragon crept out of her hole with a little brown fuzz ball. Compared to her, it was so tiny! No crests on its head and instead of scales, it had feathers. Feathers!

Mother dragon floated on her back in the water, baby dragon on her belly. Baby clung to her, and when the water lapped against its feet, it mewled like a kitten. Mommy dragon licked it with her tongue. It seemed to calm but still hated the water.

8:23 a.m. – B.D. (baby dragon) actually swam a few feet. M.D. (mother dragon) made a yipping sound much like a fox bark. I think she was laughing.

But then there was the sound of raucous laughter and feet stomping. M.D and B.D. disappeared under the water’s surface, only to appear next to their den a few minutes later.

Just in time to climb inside before five hunters stepped out onto the pond’s bank, orange caps, camouflage coats, rifles and a six pack in each hand.

“So where did you see this thing again, Bob? Sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing?”

“It was right here. At least six feet long.”

In Which Three Girls Find a Knucker in the Woods

The quiet hum of wildlife—birds singing, crickets chirping, squirrels chattering, gurgling streams—pervades Malia’s dark corner of the forest. The hammock swings as she stretches her sore , tired limbs. The family camping trip had been full of long days hiking, crawling through caves, and exploring the forest.

Mmm, the smell of cooking bacon over the crackling fire! Malia yawns and sits up. “I hope you’re making some for me, Mom.”

“And good morning to you too.”

“Can we hike up the stream after breakfast?”

“Take your sisters with you. I don’t want anybody underfoot while I pack up for our trip home tomorrow.” Mom dumps a pile of bacon and eggs and buttered toast onto Malia’s metal camping plate.

Nothing like a filling breakfast to wake up the senses! Somehow the fresh air, the smell of pine trees and musty earth, made everything taste like nectar from the gods. At home, she might have had half as much, but here, she gobbled every bite and still wanted more. “Can I have some more eggs, Mom?”

“No, you’re only hungry because you are missing some fruit. Grab some dried fruit from my pack.” Busy scrubbing the skillet in the river, humming as she works, Mom doesn’t even look at her.

Malia smiles. If she had it her way, they would live out here forever. They could build a cabin for winter; Dad could hunt; Mom could grow a garden. Maybe Malia could make a bow and arrow. They could live like Native Americans, enjoying the fat of the land…

“Are we going yet?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

Malia sets out with her sisters, Rosie and Katie. With a camera and her favorite field guide tucked into her backpack, she hikes along the stream—her feet sloshing in the water, cold as it soaked through her shoes—until they come to a bundle of logs and a pond. The heads of two beavers move along the pond’s surface, bobbing up and down; the water ripples behind them.

Katie leans over the bank and peers into the water. “Think we can catch some fish for supper?”

“Look down there. It’s a hole.” Rosie points to hole in the bank above the water line.

“That’s strange. Too big for a rodent or a snake and beavers don’t dig. They make a den out of logs in the middle of the pond.” Malia chews her lip, her mind racing through all the animals she has studied. Nothing she knows would do this.

“Big enough to hold a bear! You don’t think the bear will eat us, do you?” Rosie asks.

Just then, Malia hears a fox bark and some bushes rustling further down the embankment. “Shh, a fox is up there a ways.”

“No, you know Mom won’t let you keep a fox.”

“Shh, I just want to get a picture.”

Crouching, Malia creeps through the woods; each step pads as soft as a cat, avoiding leaves and twigs so as not to alert the fox. She ducks under a branch and then lies on her belly to crawl along the muddy ground. It squishes beneath her as she slides forward, pushing with her toes. She hears the bark again. She’ll get the best close-up snapshot anyone has ever gotten of a fox! It’s just on the other side of the branches blocking her view.

Raising the camera, she pushes the branches aside and snaps the picture before the fox can run.

But it isn’t a fox!

It’s blue and green and scaly and stands about as tall as her dad! In its knobby hand, a fish wiggles.

Screaming, she stands and runs right into Rosie. They tumble to the ground.

“Come on. Hurry!” Malia pushes her sister up, and then grabbing Katie’s arm, she races up the stream, her feet slipping on the slick rocks. Soaked up to her knees, she doesn’t stop until they are back to their camp, falling in the grass, panting to catch her breath. Looking down, she sees mud covering every inch of her.

Lips twitching, eyes sparkling with laughter, Mom stands over her with her hands on her hips. “What happened to you?”

“I think I saw a dragon.”