Barbed Wire

The Stone Barn. I love those weathered clothespins!

If you have been reading The Chorus of the Crows on a regular basis, you are aware that this is a creative writing blog. Anything goes. I've written about human leftovers, cat poop crimes, feathered floozies, martians (according to Jack Torrence) and a thrift sale of other odd and ends. 

But this blog is also a platform for my future novel. You know...The Chorus of the Crows. Visit my Flying Monkeys post for a big fat blurb and character lowdown. I also created the thorny image below. I like how it portrays the rural side of the story, but also conveys something more sinister and dark. Something that might cut you if you are not careful. You know you're a good ole country gal, when you have numerous memories of traversing fields and forests, and coming to an impasse, then wheedling your way through barbed wire to get where you want to go. I guess that's a perfect analogy for trying to get a book published. There are road blocks set up to stop you.

 Barbed wire is perfectly twisted in its simplicity. 

But back to the real world...

Now, if you're a follower of my blog Sharon's Paws Create you couldn't possibly have missed the fact that my favorite Midwest road trip is to The Stone Barn pizza joint in Nelson, Wisconsin. If it looks familiar, that's because I used the above black and white shot of the pizza place for my header. The Stone Barn is a beloved rural, backwoods and yes, even wood burning pizza place. A novel idea in my book. We were just there. 

In addition to eating pizza, we witnessed a good old boy chewing tobacco and spitting the juice on the gravel floor of the restaurant. Sigh. I wanted to sucker punch that particular character. There were groups of happy Harley riders also sporting dubious table manners. There was an Asian family wearing hanker chiefs over their mouths, playing a ball game on the lawn. They were either recreating a weird bank robbery scene from their favorite Western or worried about all the gross fresh air. And among all the pizza noshers, a group of hungry locals arrived....on horse back. We even overheard another table talking about how last year, a helicopter landed on the lawn to pick up some take out. Only at the Stone Barn!  The pizza is worth it.

My novel is also set on a bucolic, real life farm. Unfortunately, the farm that houses my fictional family burned down years ago.  Luckily, it is still vivid and all too real in my mind's eye. I might be able to dig up actual photos of it for a future post. When I move the antiquated slide projector, I see a stately white washed house with perfectly painted black shutters; sad and wispy trees weeping down willowy vines; corn as high as the 4th of July; rhubarb patches on steroids and a fading red barn as you enter the long gravel driveway. Hopefully, someday, you'll read all about it.

But for now, there's just pizza.

I'm so high I could eat a star...

"That was some strong ass catnip dude"  Hana / naughty cat, calico advocate, blog personality, soft food activist

1) "I'm so high I could eat a star" Author Unknown

2) "If you substitute marijuana for catnip, tobacco and alcohol, you'll add 8 to 24 years to your life." Jack Herer /Author, Hemp and catnip Activist

3) I think catnip and pot should be legal. I don't smoke it, but I like the smell of it." Andy Warhol /Artist

4)  “Homer, I am getting really worried you are going overboard with this. We are out of clothespins, there are half-eaten cupcakes all around the house, and the curtains smell like doob.” – Marge Simpson / The Simpsons

5)  Of course I know how to roll a catnip joint.” –Martha Stewart / TV Personality, Writer, Business Woman

I took a few hemp colored, italic liberties with the above quotes. Ironically, even though Hana looks higher than a kite in the above photo, catnip really doesn't affect her at all. Nothing. Na-da. When given the chance to inhale, our cat Akua rolls around in ecstasy, while Hana is just plain cat-atonic. In the above photo, she was just accidentally taking a cat nap in front of my husband's i-phone. Don't you just love it when cats fall asleep with their tongue sticking out? Oh, the simple joys of cat stewardship. 

Cats are so laid back and cool. And just like human stoners, they get the munchies for crunchies.  I thought quote # 2 and # 3 were purr-fect for a cat. After all, they do have 9 lives. And purr-fer to get their high through a simple intoxicating sniff. 

>^..^<

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The Five Deadly Sins of Blogging

Sin # 3  Too many duck photos!

It made me sad when I caught myself pretending that everybody out there in cyberspace cared about what I thought, when really nobody gives a shit. And when I multiplied that sad feeling by all the millions of people in their lonely little rooms, furiously writing and posting to their lonely little pages that nobody has time to read because they're all so busy writing and posting, it kind of broke my heart.    Naoko Yasutani on blogging from:

 A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth L. Ozeki

So far, I'm absolutely enchanted by Ruth's book. The character Naoko describes her grandmother as someone worthy of being a time being. Because Nao's grandmother is special. She holds time sacred and has even published her words and stories, therefore, making her mark on time. As an aspiring writer, and a time being myself, after all, everyone is, I want to leave my written words in the undulating folds of time. I mean, wouldn't it be wonderful to write a book that would be grabbed off the shelf of an antique store, and read, by a future resident of time? 

But for now, time barely hiccups while I publish yet another tepidly received blog post. Ha!

That's why I started this post off with a quote from Ruth's book. It really describes my love/hate relationship with blogging. I've visited so many blogs that are worthy of time. Bravo to those folks. But there are so many others, that just mindlessly hook up to links, without producing any interesting content. We all know a few blogging offenders on our virtual rounds. Don't we? Of course, what makes good content is personal and subjective to each of us. But here's what I perceive to be a negative example: 

I used to be visited by a blogger I deemed, the duck lady. Apparently, she never left her farm, but blogged passionately and religiously. And her farm was frequented by ducks. Many, many, many ducks. Each week she would photograph these ducks and post every redundant blurry duck photo, whether it was good or not. Each week I would dutifully return her comments, and wonder, what in the heck am I going to say about her latest duck photo? I'm creative. But not that creative.

Uff da Lutefisk. I was at a complete loss. Eventually, she stopped visiting my blog. 

Here are 5 blogging sins from the unofficial book of Sharon...

1) Publishing 1 marginal photograph each post, just so you can hook up to one of the numerous weekly memes/links. If it is marginal, please include at least one cute kitten or puppy. Then, it's O.K.

2) Leaving 100's of comments on blogs all over the world, just to attract visitors to your own blog.  That part is O.K., but usually, these offenders don't even read the blogs they're commenting on. They just want return visits. Well, who doesn't?

3) Duck photos. Enough said. (except when I post a duck photo, which of course is O.K. in the unofficial book of Sharon)  

4) Redundant photos. See above. Please people. Filter out the repetitive duds.

5) O.K. This one always gets my goat. You visit a blog and they don't visit you. But that's not the worst part. They leave a return comment for you...wait for it...on their own gall darn blog. Ga! I hate that!

Now, to see some beautiful Panama birds, with nary a duck in sight, stop by Sharon's Paws Create!

Spring Chickens

If you read my recent Flying Monkeys post, then you know I had a phone consultation with David Henry Sterry. He's on call over at The Book Doctors  He and his agent wife wrote the book, The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published. Now, they also do webinars, clever pitchapoolza contests and anything and everything to help aspiring writers. I won a free consultation with David. What a character! Afterwards, David asked if I would read his book Chicken. I took it on as an intriguing writing assignment. What an innocent barnyard title his book possessed. I told him I'd read it and cluck all about it on Amazon. Gasp. Here's my review of his experience in the poultry industry...

In writing, it all comes down to a clever positioning of words. And David Henry Sterry arranges his like a mad scientist, cleverly peppering his scenes with naughty spice. Asphyxiation by Vagina? It's in there bubbling with the rest of the chicken soup. It turns out, that in the Hollywood farmyard, chickens, are not merely egg producers or corn guzzlers. To put it bluntly, they're male prostitutes. David entered a seedy world and lived to tell the tale. We know that, from his moving acknowledgment of his wife Arielle Eckstut at the end of the book. We're glad, as readers, that we are only voyeurs of Hollywood's sexy beasts, colorful pimps and the wanted and unwanted of the streets. He tells his tale with a sympathetic slant for some of his clients, a reflective eye on his past and an unflinching perspective of himself. Chicken soup. Slurp it down and enjoy.

Ha! 

I bet you didn't expect that. Neither did I. But it was a good book.

Now, head over to Springtime in Magnolia for my harrowing book review of Behind the Beautiful Forevers...

The Book of Crow

Ha!

The crow really does look like he is stalking the cat, ready to deliver an unsolicited sermon. Meanwhile, the cat looks ready to snarl, "Beat it crow. And yes, I mean literally. Beat your winged ass outta here." And don't get me started on Edgar Allen Poe being the crow's savior. Who thought of that? Good one mystery internet person. That actually makes complete sense. Even with the misspelling shown above, I still love it!

Sometimes, I wonder what I'm going to write about here on The Chorus of the Crows every week. But, usually, inspiration strikes in timely ways. Like last week when I ran across this image on facebook. Hopefully, I won't get in trouble for re-posting it here. I just couldn't resist.  As some of you know, my blog title is more than just a name, it's the top candidate for my future book title. And no, my book isn't about an avian choir group. 

We've all been there. You are slouching on your sofa, eating a bowl of cookie crisp cereal and out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of seer sucker. You try to use your cloaking device, but Scotty just screamed at you in a disarming dialect, that it's not working! Ga! It's too late. A few feverish seconds later, the door bell rings and you feel compelled to answer. The guy in the suit probably saw you through the window, you rationalize with a growl. Casually, and irritably, you go to the door. You already know that whatever they're selling, you're not buying. And then you slowly open the door...

Ugh!

 I've been thinking a lot about religions that send out door to door solicitors lately. Mormons do it. And, our beloved Prince did it too. RIP Prince. He was a Jehovah's Witness. Although I am indeed religious, I don't go to church. Sorry Mom. But, I do remember how missionaries were revered in the Methodist church of my youth. I always thought though, how unwelcome most of their honorable efforts must be. It's weird to try and foist your religion on someone else. 

Especially if you're a crow!

Miss Nina Johnson

I bet we all have a dear friend like Nina. She sent me an urgent message last week. She needed assistance. Poor thing. Nina is in a jam. Or, is it scam? 

I just had a thought bubble. Wouldn't it be funny if I could actually send Nina a can of spam? (a glutenous ham product) I could tell her the check is on the way, arousing thoughts of vacation homes on the French Rivera in her duplicitous mind, and then... send spam. Just a can of spam. To a scammer that ends up in the virtual spammer. Or spam folder. I'll let Nina do most of the writing this week... 


Dearest One,
 
Good day to you, I hope my mail meets you in good health. Please do not be surprise to receive this letter. I am coming to you in good faith with believe that you will not let me down in this unpleasant situation. I will be thankful to you if you could understand my plight and touch your heart to help me out. 
 
I am Miss Nina Johnson the only child of Late Chief & Mrs Johnson Nado  of Cote d'Ivoire. My father was a wealthy businessman who deals on  Cocoa and Diamond. My father was killed last year November because he is not in support of our president
I am contacting you because of the sum of US$8.9M (Eight Million Nine Hundred Thousand United States Dollars) which my late father deposited in a bank here in my country with my name as the next of kin.


I will be glad to give you 20% of the money for your assistance after the transfer, and furthermore you will have share in the profit of the investments.
I am honorably seeking your assistance in the
following ways:
 
(1) I will use it for investment purpose such as Music industries or hotel management .
(2) To provide a bank account into which this money would be transferred to.
(3) To serve as a guardian of this fund since I am only 18 years.
(4) To make arrangement for me to come over to your country to further my education and to secure a resident permit in your country.
 
Please it is important you contact me immediately for more clarification on the next step on this transaction.


Awaiting your immediate response 
 
Yours Sincerely 


Nina didn't even sign off. Sniff. And her exotic lineage was my favorite part. If I was Nina, I would sign every thing...

Miss Nina Johnson the only child of Late Chief & Mrs Johnson Nado  of Cote d'Ivoire. 

Ooh la la. That sounds so official. Except for the familiar Nina Johnson part. 

Maybe mine could be...

Mrs Sharon Wagner the only child of the late family chief Sidney Gearing & Mrs Gearing Alma of the drift-less region of the Wisconsin wilderness

I guess she (or he) didn't want to put her John Henry on a curious and poorly written plea for help. I wouldn't either.

I do have a sense of deja vu upon reading it. Her foreign plight sounds all too familiar. Check your folders people. Nina might be your dearest one too!

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The Crime of the Cat Food

Was it Hana?

Or, was it Akua. 

We had a little incident a couple weeks ago. Well, two incidents really. And then, finally, enlightenment. I've covered this topic before. So, after dragging my blogging audience through the mud with Funny Felines and The Colon of the Crows, do I dare ruffle more whiskers with another brown post? I guess so.

I'll start in the middle of the story. My husband retrieved his athletic bag from the basement and pulled out one of his inline skates to check out the status of its spin. That's when he noticed a smudge. A stinky smudge. A stinky smudge of poop on the skate. What in the world?

We proceeded to head to the lake for a roll and a walk. He rolls while I walk. As soon as we get there, my husband takes out his roller-athletic bag from the car, removes his shoes and attempts to put on his skates. Holy S$#&! There's a coil of poop inside the bag. And more smudges and smears. Gah! All I know is that it wasn't me. The writer.

Well, we laughed. Or, at least I laughed. And we just couldn't imagine why one of our beloved fur babies would leave us this... gift. My old cat baby left me a piece of poop in my kleenex box once. And of course there was the sink incident I mentioned in Funny Felines, but this was even weirder.

It just so happens that Akua wasn't eating all of his food at the same time as skate gate. We weren't sure if he was having tummy problems or was just sick of his dried up old pellets. So, of course, the first thing we did was rush out to buy an even more expensive bag of cat food. The priciest yet. Forty-five buckaroos. I told my husband, "My parents would turn over in their grave if they knew we just spent approximately 5 dollars a pound on cat food." Good grief!

Well, also at the same time, we had a little incident in the basement. The washer hose sprayed water all over the carpet. My husband put a fan underneath the carpet to dry it out. We left it on overnight and well into the next day. Then, our cat sized brains finally figured out the whole stinky mess. There was a fan monster blocking the way to the litter box! Akua wasn't being finicky. And he wasn't having tummy troubles either. He had to go number 2. Really bad. And there was a fan monster in-between him and the bathroom. Poor Akua. I guess the athletic bag was the only thing open and available. Hana seems to have traipsed the monster fan minefield without incident. She's one easy going kitty.

Poor us ($45 dollar cat food)

Poor Akua

So, just how many random poop incidents have there been? 5. For Random 5 Friday

1) Kleenex box gate. I figure baby was jumping from the headboard to the mantel of the fireplace, over an innocent box of Kleenex. If you're a cat owner, you know how they race if they have something sticky stuck back there. They don't have the luxury of T.P.

2) The corner of the studio by the window gate. (unsolved)

3) Bathtub gate (I think both cats were locked in there because we had men going in and out of the house)

4) Bathroom sink gate (Hana locked herself in there)

5) Roller bag gate

Hopefully that's...

The End!

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