Worldwide Release set for What the River Knows

WhattheRiverKnows_w9244_medAll systems are go for launch of What the River Knows on October 14. Validation of a dream I’ve cherished since I was 14 years old. For more information beyond what I have on this site, go to http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/ for the e-book or What the River Knows-paperback for the paperback. The e-book will download on October 14 and the print book will ship soon after. Here’s also a QR code for those of you who know how to use such things. You can also find it on Amazon and other sites

.What the River Knows

If you read the book and like it, please do me and the publisher a huge favor and leave a review. A lot of folks buy books based on what total strangers think of it. I know I buy them based on recommendations from friends or “buzz” I’ve hear.

Thanks to all of you who have supported and encouraged me on this journey. The next books starring Detective Scott Aylward is in planning stages right now. The working title is A Little Shame, such as when your mother used to admonish you when you had done something that probably embarrassed her (I’m using imagination here; I never did anything like that!) “A little shame is a good thing.”

Writing as a Job

Being a writer is a great job. Even when we are not BICHOK (Butt in Chair, Hands on Keyboard), we are writing. No experience is ever wasted on a writer. Bussing tables, driving cattle, building skyscrapers, working in an office, driving a truck: writers can draw on any of these experiences to write to the heart of the matter.

When people call, writers have an automatic “get out of jail free” card. “I can’t go to the tea with Great Aunt Grenadine. I’m writing.” Writing also serves as an automatic door opener. “Of course, I need to talk to the President. I’m a writer.” The problem with this world-changing power is that it is so invisible and subtle that almost no one recognizes it.

Friends call up. “Whatchadoin’?”
“I’m writing.”
“No, you’re not. You’re mowing your lawn.”
“I’m working out plot twists while calming my mind with physical activity.”
“Oh. You wanna work out more plot twists and mow my lawn?”
“No.”

Or a neighbor walks by as you are sitting on your porch steps watching birds and trees.
“Hey, neighbor. Whatchadoin’?”
Why is that always just one word? “I’m writing.”
“No, you’re not. You’re goofing off sitting on your porch.”
“No, really, I’m observing birds in flight. It’s research for my current work in progress.”
“Oh, what’s it about?”
Think fast. “Kinda like Jonathan Livingston Seagull meets Dirty Harry.”
“Hmph.” He starts to wander off. “Sounds . . . interesting.”
“Yeah.” Guess I won’t count on him as a beta reader.

Or the boss calls. “What are you doing?” Why are they never casual?
“Writing.”
“No, you’re not. You’re on the beach in Fort Lauderdale with your family.”
“Research. Locales.”
“On the beach?”
“Yeah. Observing the interactions of various species of shorebirds.”
“Shorebirds?”
“Yeah, gulls and terns. And how the white gulls sneak into the back of a flock of dark gulls.”
“Gulls?”
“Yeah. And I just spent twenty minutes observing the rhythm of the waves.”
“Waves?”
“Yeah. They try to suck you out into the ocean. Very hypnotic.” Truly inspired, I share some of the fruit of my inspiration. “When the waves break over the shallow part of the beach, they make me think of a herd of school kids all trying to get through the door to the playground at the same time, each one of them wanting to be the first to get there.” Lost in my art, I don’t notice the long silence on the other end.
“I think you need another week. Don’t rush back to work.”

See? Being a writer is a great job.

Not so Wimpy?

The Wimpy Dog takes me places I would not go otherwise. On my own, I would not visit the Boston terrier across the open field. Nor would I venture around the lilac thicket that once surrounded a home in our city park. Now it is home to who knows what creatures that have made obvious paths and bedding places within it. I would not have discovered that the clumps of cedar in our park would be secure places to shelter in snow and wind. Of course, his travels to these places often make me nervous we’ll encounter wild kitties somewhat different from the ones we feed on the porch—those black and white striped ones! But so far, Bart’s all-seeking nose has not brought us into danger.

Further, after a recent walk outside our usual routes, downtown to pay bills, I suspect Wimpy Dog might not be so wimpy if danger did confront us. Though he crosses streets as if all cars want to be his best friend, when we came to an alley, he paused, sniffed and glanced around the corner of the building before crossing. Then his nose led him to a door at the bank. He went right up to the door, as if waiting for it to open. How did he know that my daughter-in-law went to work through that door two days before? Further down the street, he followed the same trail I had when I visited her that day. Yet he didn’t go up to any other doors as we traveled on down the street. The only door he showed interest in was a garage door that workers had apparently used that day. He ignored the restaurants and shops that had to be full of delightful scents.

It occurred to me that, as much as I make fun of how he wants to be babied, maybe he is not as wimpy as I think. Whether he would protect me from intruders I don’t know, but I do know that his deep loud bark and his huge size could make someone believe he would defend me. And that’s enough to earn his dog biscuits. Enjoy your snooze, buddy.

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Wimpy Dog in Action!

 

Sonrise Does Not Appear Imminent

Easter morning the alarm yanked me from a comfortable sleep far too early. Deep darkness still pressed against all my windows. “Sunrise does not appear imminent,” I thought, as I stumbled across the room to shut off the insistent alarm. Sunrise had to be further away than an hour. The odd thought repeated itself in my head, like a chorus — Sunrise does not appear imminent. Why didn’t my mind simply say, “It’s still dark?”

I yawned and swayed between staying up and resetting the alarm. Trust in wisdom beyond mine (the wisdom of the pastors who had set the time for the sunrise service after consulting solar-lunar tables) held me up, and I set about waking my daughter and her friend, who had agreed to attend with me. We made coffee, and even stopped for cappuccino on the way to the island in the center of our county lake. Still, even though pale light now surrounded us, the thought came back — Sunrise does not appear imminent.

The service had already begun as we walked along the low causeway that allowed access to the island. Other people followed us. We joined the crowd, huddled close for both fellowship and warmth. I glanced at the treeline as the congregation, combined Methodists and Friends, sang and worshiped. A great blue heron rose majestically from the lake, while a trio of ducks dipped and rolled in an acrobatic show above us. A chorus of wildlife joined our hymn. Sunrise does not appear imminent.

As my pastor stepped to the podium to begin his sermon, rays of light broke through the low cloud bank that hovered just above the treeline. Like a fanfare of trumpets, these rays heralded the coming of the true dawn. Within seconds, as Don spoke of the risen Lord, a radiant sun, too bright to behold directly, rose to shine its light upon us.

Sonrise does not appear imminent! Suddenly, the message was as clear to me as the brilliant day. Sonrise does not appear imminent. As we go about our daily lives, absorbed in the many details of modern life, how many of us notice the heralds of the dawn? I know that most mornings I arise in the dark, then realize that while I went about my business, daylight has come without my taking note of it.

Will we treat the Christ the same way? Sonrise does not appear imminent. Do we listen for the trumpets? Do we watch for the heralds? Do we heed the wisdom of those who read the signs? Or do we arise in the dark, thinking, Sonrise does not appear imminent? Will we be suddenly faced with the presence of the radiant majesty of God, too bright to behold directly, and realize that a new day has come?

Sonrise does not appear imminent, but it may be closer than we think. Will we be ready?