Create

What’s in a Name?

I love naming characters. LOVE it. A name tells so much about a person: where they are from, where their ancestors are from, the time they live in, the values of their parents, perhaps even religion or spiritual beliefs. The sound of the name as another character speaks it aloud can add so much melody to the story.

(You, as the reader, are audiating one character speak another character’s name aloud, by the way… Apologizies – I’m kicking into music teacher mode as another school year begins.)

Audiation: The comprehension and internal realization of music by an individual in the absence of any physical sound.

You can even audiate passages in the voice of a specific person. Please allow these two gentleman to help you audiate passages from “The Ripple of Stones.”

The harmony or dissonance of the name beside another character’s name lends itself to the story. Take “The Ripple of Stones” for instance. Brigid and Gabe sound different in your mind than Brigid and Gabriel. And yet, the name meaning of Gabriel is “Hero” or “God is my strength.” Depending on your background, you may also think of the archangel Gabriel, whose story tracks with our Gabe Sherland.

I love the name Benjamin. It’s one of my favorite names. However, Brigid and Ben don’t work as well because said together, they have a “ba-da-da-DA” sound coming off the tongue. The short vowels and crisp ending consonants in each name gives their combination finality. Practicality. Brusqueness. Not qualities you want in star-crossed lovers. Brigid and Benny sound like A. a ripoff of “In the Heights” or B. a Disney Junior sitcom.

Brigid and Lynn do not blend or flow. You have to make completely different shapes inside and outside of your mouth and stop your vocalization entirely to get from the end of the name “Brigid” to the beginning of the name “Lynn.” But they do have the exact same internal vowel sounds. This was intentional.

(Also, the name Lynn comes from the Welsh and means “lake.” If Lynn were a surname, it would be of Old English or Gaelic origin, meaning family who lived near a body of water. This was also intentional.)

In the Prequel, I currently have nine main characters. My characters begin in a fictionalized version of an area in Quebec and migrate to Michigan. They are of English/Scottish/Irish/Welsh ancestry. The women’s names should harken back to Celtic Godesses. (See: Brigid) Finally, I am basing some of the plot on the life events of my great-great grandmother, so family names need to be represented. Given this criteria, you may imagine that my pool of name choices was more of a puddle.

False. (Did you audiate that in the voice of Dwight Schrute?? I bet you did.) I researched more than forty names for my nine characters. Thank you to my Facebook readers who helped!!

Do you know, I sat down to write a blog post about mapping out a plot, but considering that I spent two weeks figuring out character names, I believe this part of writing a novel deserves its own post. So… here’s a worksheet for you as you begin to name your characters:

Write down some names you just LIKE.

2. Circle any that do not belong to anyone you know.

3. Where is the setting of your novel? Do you want the character’s names to reflect that setting? (Writing about a guy named Patrick O’Flannagan in a novel set in Buenos Aires would have implications)

4. Research names having to do with the setting and time period. Look up social security records for ideas (Thank you, Corynn for that suggestion!)

5. Begin making lists. Do you like the way the name looks in writing? Typed out?

6. Read the names aloud. How do they sound? How do they sound together?

7. Once you’ve settled on some, begin researching name meanings – that is where the real fun begins!! Do you have a dark and brooding guy? Perhaps the name Cole would do. How about the guy-next-door type who loves dogs? Try Connor.

8. Decide on some. Leave it for a few days.

9. Come back and rethink. Do you like this name enough to write it for like… years?? If you’re doing anything overly dramatic to your character which you will because #plot, can you take that seriously with the name you chose? (Love scenes, death scenes, pain scenes… if you’ve named a character going through this drama after your grandmother to whom you were incredibly close, are you going to be able to write honestly? Think long and hard. Your grandmother’s name. In a love scene…)

10. Just with baby names, once you’ve decided on the best name for your character, do NOT ask the opinions of others. They are your characters, it’s your book, you’re going to have to bring these names to life, and no one else needs to get in your head about your choices.

11. Unlike baby names, you can change it if you want as you write the story. : )

Good luck and feel free to reach out if you need some ideas or assistance!

P.S. – the image at the beginning was taken at the Dune Climb, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. Now, there are a myriad of reasons behind this actual place name, but the whole landscape would not seem as sweet if it were called The Achilles-Killer at U.S.A.’s Mound of Sand. My apologizes to Billy Shakespeare…

Book Signing Week!

It’s Book Signing Week, it’s Book Signing Week!!!! I’m so excited to have two signing events in the same week! Have I ever had a better excuse to go Up North? I think not. (Does anyone ever need an excuse to go Up North? I think not…)

Last year at this time, I was sitting by the lake struggling to finish the final Final FINAL draft of “The Ripple of Stones.” (P.S. – it wasn’t the final draft…) I knew I needed an editor, didn’t know how to find one, and felt the pandemic wrapping its dark, icy arms around me. School was starting soon and we had no idea what that would look like. The kids were stressed, I was stressed, it felt like every part of life was pulling at me, interrupting me, refusing to let me finish my novel. And also, what right did I have trying to do this anyway? I had a job I loved, I had kids, and no one gave me permission to call myself an author. Would I ever get this done? Would anyone ever stop talking to me long enough for me to think? Would I get COVID and have a cardiac complications without ever holding my published book? Would I get COVID and lay dying thinking about how I yelled at my loved ones to stop interrupting me while I worked on my book which I didn’t even manage to get published? Winter was coming and the question was – would I keep spinning worries and excuses until my time was up and I had failed?

We lost my grandfather after the New Year, 2020. As January 2021 dawned, I thought of the man who taught me the names of the trees, the man who taught me to sail, the man who quietly read poetry in an armchair while I sat at his feet and built cottages out of Lincoln Logs. He would never read my novel.

Another birthday passed. Thirty-seven years on this Earth and what had I done for the thirteen-year-old girl who dreamed big dreams? Did hard work count if you never held the results in your hand? A lyric from Hamilton wove through the air: “Legacy, what is a legacy?/It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see.” It’s a beautiful idea, and it always makes me cry when I hear it in the song. I think of this lyric every year I send a group of fifth graders off into the world, hoping that something we did in Music Class will stay with them.

But with my book?

I wanted to smell the damn flowers.

One of my favorite parts of these book signing events is meeting people who love Up North as much as I do. Up North is not so much of a place as an idea. Everyone’s Up North is different, and everyone’s is infused with magic. I almost don’t want to describe it because it would trivialize your experience. You know what “your” place smells like when you walk in after the long drive and weary work week. You know the particular sparkle of “your” lake. You know where you go for a donut, a good book, an ice cream, a meal, a drink. You know what the fields smell like in the spring as you drive down the country roads with the windows open.

Allow me to share a bit of my Up North with you this week. And please come say hi – even if you’ve already bought a book or if I’ve already signed it. Let’s take a moment to remember that we’re still here under the late summer sunshine, and there’s still time to dream our dreams.

Book Signing, Word Love Goods

Wednesday, August 11th, 6:00 – 9:00 pm

Part of the Evening on River Street Series

As you are strolling down River St enjoying live music, local cuisine, and the soft Lake Michigan breeze, come down to Word Love Goods, the sweetest little book and home goods shop in adorable Elk Rapids, MI! I will be outside signing books – bring your copy or buy one today. Our gorgeous Word Love Goods store owner decorated her doorway with succulents and moss so you just know this store is one you can’t miss!

Book Signing, Yard & Lake

Friday, August 13th, 2021

11:00 am – 12:30 pm

From the proprietors of Enjoy Michigan and Porcupine Cabin, the best new outdoor store in Leelanau County is coming in hot in early August! I’m so thrilled that the owner has asked me to be a part of the store’s opening events! Y’all, I have been eagerly watching all of her marketing on Instagram and there is SAILBOAT merch!! You can pop by for a book and head on down for some fresh produce and local goods from the Farmers Market!

Yard & Lake

215 N. Mill St @ W. Third St.

Northport, MI 49670

I can’t wait to see you Up North. Tell me about yours.

Part One: The Dream

“Let’s start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. When you read, you begin with A B C. When you sing, you begin with Do Re Mi…”

Somebody called Julie sang that once, and I think she made a solid point. The beginning of writing a novel is an idea. A question. A picture in your head that just won’t leave. When I began writing “The Ripple of Stones” I couldn’t get this question out of my head: who would we be if we could let go of who we were “supposed” to be? As the idea developed, other questions gnawed at me:

“How can a series of misunderstandings lead to heartbreak?”

“Why is it easier to put up barriers than be truthful?”

“What would star-crossed-lovers look like in modern times? How do we legitimize that trope and allow them to overcome?”

“Where does the obsession come from for Michigan beach stones? Is there something more there? Something deeper? What would that look like?”

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of sitting in my parents’ living room chatting with them about “The Ripple of Stones” and my Dad was telling me all of his favorite parts and quotes. Spoiler alert, the love scenes were not my father’s favorite parts of my book…

He began to nudge me about the sequel. More magic, he said. More of the sitting on the dock and stretching the sunlight. Less heartwarming schlock. Definitely less kissing. Maybe next time, he suggested, there could be a troll under the bridge, or a dragon flying down from the Upper Peninsula. “These are excellent ideas,” I said, laughing. “Feel free to write your book: ‘The Dragon of the UP’ sounds fantastic.”

Now that “The Ripple of Stones” is sold in stores throughout Michigan as well as online, I am beginning a new novel. The second. The Prequel. I invite you to join me as we walk through the process of writing a novel together. You will need a notebook or notepad, a writing utensil, your voice-to-notes app on your phone, and an unfettered imagination.

In my process, I can’t begin anything until I begin to meet and create my main character. So, let’s meet yours as well. As you begin, answer the following questions. (My main character will identify as female. Please feel free to adjust your pronouns as needed:

*What is her name?

*Why is that her name?

*What culture is that from?

*Why?

*What does the name mean?

*What is the etymology of the name?

*Where does she live when we first meet her?

*What does it look like, smell like?

*What does the air feel like when it brushes her skin?

See my sketch below:

Next, close your eyes and let your mind wander. (Give the dog a bone, give the spouse the remote, give the kids a screen, go lock yourself in your car… whatever it takes to get some quiet in your brain so you can imagine….) Make some notes. Write down every idea. Don’t question and definitely don’t judge. Just scribble.

(Below, I’m going to show you some of my scribbles. I trust you. I like you. I know you’re not going to lift any of these ideas verbatim because I know you have your own even more brilliant and interesting ones! Thank you for helping me create an environment of honesty and respect as we share and work on our ideas together!)

I might use some of these ideas, I might use none of them. But if I don’t write them down, I’ll forget them. For “The Ripple of Stones,” I wrote down “what’s that thing people do with rocks in a tower – a cairn I think?” I intended it to be a unique but miniscule feature of the cottage driveway; it ended up being a centerpiece of the entire plot.

…Glad I wrote it down.

Ah… and speaking of PLOT! Did you know books need a plot? When I was writing “The Ripple of Stones,” I knew this in theory, but not in practice. I wrote five pages of musing that I was convinced were brilliant. As I was writing, I thought to myself, “Katy, you have written the next ‘The Goldfinch.” Perhaps the next ‘Jane Eyre.’ This is tragic. It’s heartbreaking. It shows the true core of your character’s heart and soul.” I read these five pages back and guess what? They were absolutely terrible. Do you know why? No plot. No action. And therefore, no story. Jane Eyre has a plot: orphaned, angst, bad job, meet-cute with dark and brooding dude, crazy wife locked in the attic, house on fire, running away in the rain, nearly dying of being wet and cold, almost marrying the wrong guy, more fire, blindness, and finally, marriage. A plot.

According to the experts, there are 7 to 9 basic plots. Here are some of the articles I read when I was researching:

Wikipedia (I know, I know, but I like that it gives concrete examples and concise explanations)

How-to-Write-a-Book-Now

Reedsy Blog (more jargony, but you’re smart; you can handle it. Plus, it’s why I put this one 3rd.)

If you hit on one you like, start doing an image search. “Overcoming the Monster Plot Structure” or “Three Act Plot Structure” or “A Hero’s Journey Plot Structure” I love the image searches!

For the Prequel, I picked “A Hero’s Journey.” Because I cannot retain a scrap of information without writing it down, I copied a few different charts.

I did begin writing “The Ripple of Stones” using A Hero’s Journey Plot Structure, but ultimately changed to Three Act Plot Structure. Always allow yourself room to make changes as the story develops.

So there you go! If you’ve got some initial ideas written down, and have learned about and chosen an initial plot structure, you are well on your way!! (Pro tip – the title comes waaaaaaaaay later, after you figure out what you are actually writing about.)

“But Katy,” you say, “What if I have more ideas later? What if I’m at my day job or driving the car or helping my kids or feeding my hedgehog or mid-nap and I can’t get to my Precious Writer’s Notebook???” That is where the voice-to-text comes in! I know you have your phone on you. It’s right there. Don’t play. Give that thought to Siri! Right now!

“Hey Siri, make a Note.” Then say whatever you have to say. When your colleagues/passengers/kids/hedgehog/dream dragon of the upper peninsula look at you askance, shrug and say,

“Hey. I’m writing my book.”

Now Available! “The Ripple of Stones”

CLICK HERE TO BUY NOW!!

I am so thrilled to announce that my debut novel, “The Ripple of Stones” is available now in eBook and paperback from Amazon*! I’ve wanted to write a book since I read Little Women at age nine and wanted to be Jo (and also Meg and sort of Amy but secretly feared I might be Beth…). I started my first book when I was thirteen and it was pretty terrible. I started this one in 2018 after moving back home to Michigan. Three years later, I have a professional editor in Aimé Merizon, made friends with a professional Canadian artist (and fellow #teachermama) Nicole Warrington who created the cover art, and received immeasurable support and help from the tribe around me. I hope you love reading this novel as much as loved creating it.

5 star-rated on Amazon! Read reviews here!

“The Ripple of Stones is a perfect book to reminisce about summers gone by and life to come, with a twist of mystery and magic. Explores the complications of relationships and dreams. The author brings you on the journey with such mastery that you can feel yourself in the scenes with the emotions of each character. Truly a treasure – don’t miss out!”

“The perfect book to kick off my summer reading! The story line is a bit of mystery and romance meets the ever relatable family drama. It’s got just the right twist in the plot to set itself apart from other books in its genre. The authors detail made me completely envision the Up North charm and painted a complete picture of the quaint family cottage where the story takes place. Anyone who loves a good read while sitting on a dock sipping a drink in the sun will love this book.”

Read the summary here:

With roots in magical realism and romance with a dose of family drama, this book will connect with readers across genres. The mystery revolving around lake stones and the Society that venerates nature is both timeless and trendy, and will connect to any reader interested in preserving the earth.

If you love “The Notebook,” you will love this book.

If you are tired of the confines of life’s mundanities, you will love watching Brigid struggle with and overcome hers.

If you have a sneaking (or bold) interest in the mystical properties of stones, you will love this book.

If you are curious about (or practice) Earth-based spirituality, you will love this book.

If you like mysteries minus murder and death and gore, you will love this book.

If you have a family member or friend with whom you seem to be in constant conflict, you will love this book.

If you are a native Michigander who knows the joy of finding the perfect Petoskey stone on a sandy beach and can just feel the softness of an Up North summer breeze on your cheek, you will love this book.

If you long for that place, that home, that spot among the trees that seems to be lost to the past, you will love this book.

“The Ripple of Stones” is a story of self-discovery, love, and what could be if we only were brave enough to open up our hearts.

CLICK HERE FOR YOUR NEW FAVORITE SUMMER READ!

*Expanded distribution to Apple Books, Nook, and other fine retailers coming soon! Enter your email for these and further updates! I solemnly swear not to spam you or sell your email!

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Launch Date: The Ripple of Stones

I cannot believe I am typing this. BUT…

WE HAVE A LAUNCH DATE FOR MY DEBUT NOVEL!!!

The Ripple of Stones will be available in paperback and eBook on Amazon on May 18th, 2021!

Teacher Brigid dares to break the estrangement between her mother and grandfather and stay at tranquil Cairn Cottage for the summer. A sailboat is delivered to a neighboring cottage and a man named Gabe walks into her life, making her feel something she has never felt before. As Brigid and Gabe quickly fall for each other incurring the inexplicable wrath of Brigid’s mother, Brigid discovers that things at Cairn Cottage are not what they seem… She begins to uncover the secret mystical Stone Society and her role in it, all of which threaten the life she knows… or open the doors to the life she was always meant to live.

With roots in magical realism and romance with a dose of family drama, this book will connect with readers across genres. The mystery revolving around lake stones and the Society venerating nature is both timeless and trendy, and will connect to any reader interested in preserving the earth.

If you love “The Notebook,” you will love this book.

If you are tired of the confines of life’s mundanities, you will love watching Brigid struggle with and overcome hers.

If you have a sneaking (or bold) interest in the mystical properties of stones, you will love this book.

If you are curious about (or practice) Earth-based spirituality, you will love this book.

If you like mysteries minus murder and death and gore, you will love this book.

If you have a family member or friend with whom you seem to be in constant conflict, you will love this book.

If you long for that place, that home, that spot among the trees that seems to be lost to the past, you will love this book.

“The Ripple of Stones” is a story of self-discovery, love, and what could be if we only were brave enough to open up our hearts.

I hope you love it.

(By the way, that cover art is amazing, huh? Go check out Nicole Warrington. She’s a Canadian artist (and mom) who is out there being a professional artist, teacher, and creator. I’ve been buying her smaller pieces for years, and I worked up the courage to see if she would be interested in collaborating on this work. She said yes and working with her has been incredible.)

Ursula Gets Her Wish

A green haze drifted up from the murky bottom of the ocean, carrying the scent of inadequacy.

“One wish,” the voice croaked out.

“But I rubbed the lamp! I should get three!” The eel stroked the brass with her decimated forehead.

“You have scared too many children.” The voice shook with fury. “And so have I. The rules were bent for those such as us.”

The eel slithered to the bottom, sending up a cloud of silt.

“Make your wish,” the voice bellowed with as much power as a waft of smoke could produce. “Choose wisely, oh shamed one, for a well-spoken wish could change…” The lamp rattled and the eel thought she could hear a parrot squawk.

“QUIET, YOU!”

The eel shrank away.

“MAKE YOUR WISH, YOU SLIMY PEON!”

The eel took a deep breath. “I just want to go back to before.” She sighed. “But with a better voice.”

“Very well.”

“Night fell, but at the bottom of the ocean, who could really tell?”

Read On

R.S.V.P.

Dear Jake and Jenny,

I’m writing to inform you that I will be attending the Thanksgiving dinner. The invitation you sent to the computer was very bright. I also received it quite late. I assumed that tradition dictated my attendance, but I know how you young people like to change things up.

Nevertheless, I was pleased to receive my invitation (if that’s what you call a dancing cartoon sent to a computer…). I have decided against texting as you suggest. I trust that the United States Postal Service will deliver my R.S.V.P., as they have been delivering mail to all American citizens since 1775.

Whilst I was looking at the “invitation,” on the computer, I took the opportunity to peruse the Facebooks. Your Facebook, Jenny, is quite radical. I see you’ve put up many articles about giving things up. Downsizing. Wanting “experiences.”

I, myself, am an experience. And I’ve had experience! Let me tell you, the situations I’ve been thrown into in my lifetime have given me fortitude. Strength. Longevity. I’ve been in a stew (quite a few!). I’ve been canned. Some people have caused me to be sweet as pie, while others left me sour as vinegar. Of course, the best times were with a jigger of bourbon!

And yes, I’ve been known to be tart a time or two. But that’s just who I am. I don’t apologize for that. In my opinion, people need a little tartness these days. A little truth. Swallow the tart with the sweet, that’s what I say! The sweet and tart together; that’s what makes a true life experience.

If the other guests don’t “prefer” me,” that’s just tough. Thanksgiving dinner wouldn’t be the same without me. Sure, another addition might be more “modern,” more “healthy,” more “trendy.” But you know as well as I do that I have to be there.

I’m tradition.

Regards,

The Cranberry Sauce

Ruffled Feathers

Joslyn’s hand flew to her mouth. The pictures on the placecards. It was so blantant. Her lips screwed up into a pout as she gnawed on her thumbnail.

Arnold heard the familar sound of tooth on nail. Tapping a meaty finger on his wife’s shoulder, he leaned in. “Take it easy, Josey.”

Joslyn lifted each placecard to peer at the pictures before slamming each one back onto the table. Her hands shook. Arnold glanced around the wide hall. Other people were beginning to stare.

“It’s that g.d. dog,” hissed Joslyn.

“Don’t swear at a wedding,” Arnold hissed back. Joslyn wheeled around to face her husband. “I didn’t! That’s why I said g.d.!”

Arnold wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. He hadn’t worn them in a year and they were squeezing his midsection. “Ok, honey,” he said, louder than necessary. “Looks like we’re at Table 13. Let’s take a seat.”

“Table 13. The crap table,” muttered Joslyn as her husband led her away.

The reception hall was beautiful. Vases of flowers towered over the tables. A band played old-fashioned swing music as smiling servers passed trays of bacon-wrapped shrimp. The floral arrangements were inflaming Arnold’s allergies, but he hoped they might distract his wife. “Look at these star-flower thingies, Josey! They got them all: the orange ones, the yellow ones, the white ones – “

“What in the heck are you talking about?” Joslyn scratched at her polyester lace sleeve.

“The flowers with the spikes sticking out of the middle!”

“Those are lilies.”

“Lilies,” echoed Arnold, ignoring his wife’s sneer. “Pretty.”

“That stupid dog.” Joslyn ground her teeth.

The bride and groom entered in a haze of pomp and pop music. Aleeseya rode on her new husband’s shoulders, all bleached teeth and jutting collarbones. The crumb-coat cake was cut to thunderous applause, and soon the nubile newlyweds fell into each other’s arms for the first dance.

At Table 13, Joslyn was fuming. “They could’ve acknowledged her. On the invitations. Her name, or a picture even. I just can’t believe they didn’t send anything. Not a sympathy card, not a payment, not anything. Not even an ‘I’m sorry’ text! I mean, how hard is a text?”

“What happened, Joslyn?” Arnold’s eyes widened. Cheryl was a neighbor of the bride’s parents. He didn’t want it getting back to them that Joslyn was making a big deal of the situation at the wedding. He looked askance at the young couple circling the tables. Surely they would arrive at Table 13 soon. Aleeseya could take the opportunity to say something, offer an apology. Heck, he thought. Maybe it could be part of the toast.

The salad course was served. When Joslyn took note of the sliced boiled eggs and tears sprung to her eyes. Cheryl simpered at her. “Weddings make me emotional too.” She dug around in her purse and handed Joslyn a tissue. “All the love.”

“All the hate, you mean,” Joslyn spat. “All the hate that has to be in a person’s heart to not acknowledge a person’s pain. And my beautiful, beautiful Pearl.”

“Oh no, who was Pearl?” Arnold looked daggers at Cheryl, willing her to stop this line of questioning.

“Her coloring was as golden as the May sunshine,” Joslyn dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Truly, you’ve never seen anything like it. No one has.” Cheryl nodded sympathetically and took a sip of her drink. Joslyn poured the remainder of her drink down her throat. “They took her from me. They took her.” Joslyn lifted her glass again, surprised to find it empty. “I’m gonna get a refill.”

Arnold heaved himself up. “I’ll get it.”

Cheryl batted her eyes at him. “What a gentleman!”

The father of the bride raised an eyebrow as Arnold rumbled across the hall, two glasses in hand.

“Did we really need to invite them?” Gus asked his wife.

“She’s my cousin,” Beth said gently. “Besides, they’d cause a bigger fuss if they hadn’t been invited.”

Gus rolled his eyes. “Look at her. I can hear her from here. If I can hear her, I’m sure everyone else can too.”

“Not an apology, not anything!!” Joslyn yelped. Beth winced. Joslyn was getting awfully loud. “And they killed her! My baby!!”

Cheryl gasped. She reached an hand out to steady Joslyn’s glass.

“Uncle Arnold!” Aleeseya flashed a brilliant smile as she approached the Table 13 with her new husband. Arnold raised his head from his hands.

Joslyn lurched forward and grabbed a fistful of silk. Aleeseya stumbled as Joslyn yanked on the wedding dress. “You! You will pay for what that beast did to my baby! You let it out without a leash and it mauled my Pearl!”

The entire room was staring now. “That’s it.” Gus stood up and slammed his chair on the floor. He marched over to Table 13.

“The entrée is served!” The amplied voice of the head chef rang out over the room. Two immaculately-clad servers brought forth an enormous silver platter.

“My baby,” wailed Joslyn, sinking to her knees. Arnold stumbled out of his chair and put a meaty hand under her arm. He pulled with all his strength, but he couldn’t haul her up.

“We wanted to apologize for Xander’s little mistake,” Aleeseya said brightly. She motioned to the bandleader, who brought the microphone. She took it in her manicured hand and turned to the crowd. “Our little fluffer-pup, Xander, was a naughty little dude last month. Aunt Jos and Uncle Arnie had us over for dinner to give us their gift. We couldn’t leave Xander at home. I mean, look at how cute this baby is!” Aleesya reached over the prone Joslyn and snatched up a placecard. “Isn’t he the cutest?” A collective sigh washed over the room as the guests gazed at photos of the dog on their own placecards. Aleesya’s laugh was amplified in the air.

“Anyway, Xander made an oopsie. He got out and…” She leaned her blushing cheek on her husband’s broad shoulder. “He maybe ate…” That smile again. So arresting. So sweet. Tears of nostalgia graced the corners of Cheryl’s eyes to see it.

“He ate Aunt Joslyn’s chicken.” Gentle laughter broke out among the guests. “He’s a dog, you know?” Aleeseya brushed a curl from her brow. “He can’t help his instincts and it’s really not our job to control him.” The guests murmurred in agreement. “But hey, we were really sorry about it. And, we wanted to give Aunt Joslyn credit! It was a really good chicken.” She gestured to the servers still holding the tray aloft. “As a special treat, a little bite of Aunt Joslyn’s prize chicken is on each of your plates!”

Applause broke out across the big hall. Arnold looked at his wife in horror. There was no way he was going to be able to drag her out of the room. The ruffled polyester dress was so slippery that he couldn’t get a good grip.

Joslyn lifted her tear-stained face, black eyeliner and mascara tracing rivulets down her cheeks. Her mouth fell open and she yanked her arm from her husband’s grip. Arnold covered his ears.

The guests were beginning to stand. Joslyn gazed around. The applause thundered in her ears. Mouths stretched into wide grins as the guests began to tower over her. Joslyn could think of nothing else to do. Pushing against the hard floor, she heaved herself up. The servers were now standing next to her, and the smell of chicken chevre Florentine wafted through the air. Joslyn grabbed the napkin from the chair and swiped at her eyes. Everyone really was standing up. Every last person. On their feet, applauding. For Pearl.

For her.

Joslyn burst into a grin. She raised her arms, clasping her hands together like a winning prizefighter. People continued to clap. With a flourish, Joslyn grasped the edges of her skirt and took a bow. She turned to one of the servers who stumbled at the sight of her make-up smeared face. Surveying the plated entrees, her eyes rested on one with gravy swirled in the shape of miniature hearts. This plate was obviously for the bride. Joslyn saw the tiny bit of chicken speared by an artisanal toothpick. Before the server could stop her, she seized it up and popped it into her mouth.

Grabbing the microphone from Aleeseya, she beamed at the crowd. Swallowing hard, she said,

“Delicious.”

“The Wives of Sunset” Chapter 2: Urban Chickens

A rooster crow blared through the sound of early morning traffic. Marissa smiled and stretched underneath her organic cotton duvet. Beside her, Dane’s muscular, tattooed arm draped over their son. Oliver had crawled into their bed last night with his peach blankie and stuffed sloth, a victim of another nightmare. Dane was so good with him. And he was a model father. As a session musician, he was able to stay home most days with Oliver, writing his own music in his basement studio. It made her proud.

The rooster crowed again, insisting that Marissa put her feet to the floor. She loved this house. They bought ten years ago for an amazing deal. The sellers, poor folks, had gotten in way over their heads financially and sunk further when the Recession hit. They were saved from bankruptcy when Marissa and Dane bought the house. Over the years, Marissa had finished it Earth-conscious materials. Sustainable wood flooring, solar panels on the roof. Even the paint was non-toxic. Last summer, they had gotten the chickens. Dane had built the hen house himself.

You can’t control women.

Read On

The Wives of Sunset – The Pie

The Pie

Her bare foot made contact with the yellow plastic blade. Grasping for the railing, she watched the toy bulldozer escape the crush of her toes and tumble down the stairs. The cherry pie wobbled in her palm. She executed a clumsy jump over the last few steps in an attempt to keep herself upright, but her head slammed into the drop ceiling. A screeching pain brought her to her knees.

The pie flew through the air. Jessie watched it land upside down on the tile floor of the basement, ruby-colored juice flowing over scattered bits of dog hair and dust.

“Damnit.”

Jessie rubbed her head, feeling the gunk of three-days worth of dry shampoo in her red hair.

“Mama!!!” Two little voices floated down the stairs. Why were they awake this early? She sighed as she heaved herself up off the floor. Four black paws came scrambling down the stairs, canine eyes popping at the sight of a free dessert. Jessie rolled her eyes to stop the tears as she watched the dog lap up the twenty-dollar pie. Serves me right for buying it, she thought. If I were better at this, I would’ve made one.

The calls from the living room were becoming more insistent. Shoulders slumped, Jessie made her way up from the basement to get the paper towels and the dish soap. God, she was sick of cleaning.

The children were curled up in the corner of the couch, faces shining the early morning sunrise. Despite the pie, she smiled. The kids were so cute. They had sat like this since they were toddlers, never touching, but right beside each other.

“Mama! Mom!” It was always a demand.

Jessie forced her voice to be soft. “What’s up, loves?”

“Can you hand me the remote? Please.”

“It’s my turn!” Benny’s little voice piped in indignation. “She’s been watching Mermaid Millie forever and I woke up first!” Jessie lifted the remote from the coffee table she had refinished last summer. The trendy ebony paint was chipping along the sides and there was a line of Sharpie across the carefully refinished top. She covered the Sharpie mark with a coaster.

“Avonlea, how many have you watched?” she asked, longing for this negotiation to end so she could pour a cup of coffee.

“What??” her daughter protested. “He just got here and I was watching it!”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jessie said, holding the remote close to her chest.

“She’s watched one million of them and the whale guy is scary!” Benny whined.

“Avonlea.” Warning lay in Jessie’s tone.

“It’s not fair.” Nine-year-old Avonlea glared at her brother with the venom of a teenager.

“Life isn’t fair,” Jessie said through clenched teeth. “Here Benny.” Jessie proffered the remote. “Avonlea, he can watch a show, and then you can watch another Mermaid show. But I need your help after that.”

“But MOM!!” The little frenemies united in protest.
“Enough! I can’t take it!” Her tone startled them both and the look in their eyes piled onto her guilt. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just dropped that pie we bought and I need to go clean it up. And I guess figure out something for dessert…”

“It’s okay,” Benny said soothingly. “We don’t like pie.”

“Sorry Mama,” said Avonlea. “Maybe we can have Oreos.”

“We can’t bring Oreos to the block party,” Jessie muttered. She heard the neighbor’s rooster crow and sighed. She could strangle that stupid bird. It wasn’t even eight a.m. and she had already failed.