At the November meeting of Ozarks Writers League, I met a kindred spirit.  Her name is Kitty Sutton.  She reviewed the first book of the Corn Cave Series.  
 
Gray Wolf by Zona Crabtree

Gray Wolf is the beginning of a saga. It opens with us getting to know Little Bear who is out one day in the forest when he witnesses a group of men who have captured a young Native girl. The girl is not of his tribe, but he helps her escape anyway. Little Bear becomes attracted to her while she lives with his family for several weeks through the hard winter. However, she must go home because her people have given her up for dead. Little Bear's older brother, Gray Wolf, is chosen to escort the girl back home along with another more experienced warrior and the possibility that they will not make it to her tribe becomes very real when a deadly chase ensues after the traveling group is observed by the original three white men. Protection comes from an unexpected source.

I liked this book very much and it will be interesting to read the other installments in the saga. In the line-up is The Travelers, White Dove, and The Return. I hope to read and review them all. Kudos for Zona Crabtree.
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Learn more about Kitty Sutton's Native American historical fiction mystery, Wheezer and the Painted Frog,  at http://www.inknbeans.com/kitty-sutton.html.

    

I have met several different authors this winter.  Many of them are local ones that I met at book signings, and many are FB friends.  It is amazing how many authors are in this area that people really don't know.  Seeing what others are writing about and the different approaches to the craft keeps life exciting. 

Next month, during Library Week, I have two speaking engagements at a library.  The first is for adults that would like to record their family history.  That is what the library people plan.  There is no way of knowing who will attend or what they will want to know.  The second session is for middle school students (or others that show on Saturday).  Both should be fun.  Young audiences are always fun.  One never knows what they will ask or say.

   There have been several book signings.  The new book is being well received, but it hasn't been out long enough to hear back from my readers.  The next book is going slow.  It is not about Indians, and I seem to still be in Indian mode.  It is hard to convince my characters from Shadow to move out of the way for the new book characters. 

I have met and worked with several local authors I had not met before.  There are so many in this area.  We are trying to get somewhat organized to set up signings and keep each other informed of events.

Shadow of the Hawk
is just out.  Read more about it on my home page.  It is not part of the Corn Cave Series, but it is still about Indians (Native Americans).  A family is traveling with their village when things start going wrong.  They have to stay behind and face problems without the help of their people. Just before they reach the safety of the winter camp, one of the family members disappears.

Several local authors are joining for a book signing in Aurora, MO, Nov. 13.  It will be in the Aurora community building at the corner of Chruch (business 60) and Washington from 10:00 until 3:00.  Come by and see us.  Several have new books.

I will be at a local authors' signing in Aurora, MO., on Nov. 13.
It will be held in the Aurora Community Center starting at 10 am.  There will be a dozen or more authors.  This is an ideal time to shop for those special Christmas gifts, or stock up on winter reading material.

 

ATTENTION, READERS.  A new book is coming the first week of Nov.  Shadow of the Hawk is not part of the series.  Shadow brings a whole new cast of characters, as well as a new setting.  Antelope and his family are traveling to the winter camp grounds with the rest of the village when events take a turn for the worst.  Seperated from their people, the family suffers one misfortune after another.  Just before they reach the winter camp one of the family disappears.

To order this new adventure book contact Zona at zonamae@windstream.net.

I think I have learned how to do this.  I just haven't learned how to fix what I did before, so the dates are mixed.
The new book is at the printers.  They will format it.  Then I will proof it again before we add the pictures and all the details.  For those of you who have read the four books of the Corn Cave series, it is not part of the series.  It is still the same type of story, but takes place farther west.  The printer is a very special friend who always does a beautiful job.  I am trusting his people with a little more of the design this time.

Hoots from the Hollow    #2
                                         
              A Tale of a Tail   A soft blanket of snow covered the hard sheet of ice spread across southwest Missouri that morning.  It took a full pickup load of hay each day to feed the beef cows that were calving.  Two year old Joe Paul stood in the seat between his dad and me and watched as the cows and calves came running to meet us.  While the herd circled the pickup, one small black spot remained by itself on the white expanse.  It wasn’t moving, and we feared the worst.  Joe stopped the pickup beside the calf, and I got out.  The little thing was cold to the touch and was stiff as I slid my hands underneath to pick it up.  Farm people don’t  give up on their animals easily, so I laid it on the floor under the heater vent in the pickup.By the time we got home the calf was stirring slightly.  Farm kitchens often serve as temporary nurseries.  The calf came to rest on an old rug in a corner beside the dryer.  There didn’t appear to be enough life in it to bother about blocking it in with chairs.  Joe Paul was fascinated by the calf and stood there watching it as I went about my work.  At least it kept him occupied for a time while the other children were at school.Later that day while working in the other part of the house I heard a commotion in the kitchen.  Rushing in, I encountered a pint sized rodeo of one two year old and a very lively black calf.  The footing on the kitchen floor was not meant for hooves, and a lot of slipping and sliding was going on.  After having a bottle the calf was transferred to the hay barn.  It was doubtful the mother cow would take the calf back even if we could locate her, and the weather was too cold to chance trying to pair them anyway.  From the time the other two children arrived from school, Blackie became a pet.  The children took on the job of feeding him, playing with him as if he were a puppy.  Blackie thrived on the attention.Spring came and Blackie was still in the hay barn even though he was weaned and eating grain.  Much of the "first love" had worn off, but the children still went out to play with him.  One day Gayle and Newt had gone out to feed the calf.  A few minutes later a horrified scream pierced the air all the way into the kitchen.  Gayle was still screaming when she slammed the back door open.  Taking a deep breath, she gasped out, "Newt pulled the baby calf’s tail off!""What?  Calm down.  How could he pull the tail off?"  I asked as I held the trembling girl."We were playing, and Newt caught hold of Blackie’s tail and pulled it off!""Where is Newt now?""He’s still in the barn, I guess."I turned off the stove and went with her to find out what had really happened.  When we got to the calf pen Newt was on his hands and knees frantically trying to bury the majority of a black calf tail in the dirt.  From his sister’s hysterical reaction he was sure he was in a great deal of trouble.  It was hard not to laugh, but the two children were so upset I tried to keep a straight face.  The calf was calmly licking the last of its feed out of the trough.  When it turned around it was missing most of its tail, but there was no blood.  When the calf had nearly frozen to death the tail must have frozen past healing.  It would have soon fallen off by itself, but one tug from a small boy speeded up the process.  Blackie continued to be a pet until he was big enough to put out to pasture.  And so ends the tale of a tail.                                                                                                                                                      

Sept. 7, 2010 

This has been a frustrating week.  I had to change internet providers.  Change is not always easy at my age.  Hopefully everything will be working soon.
Here is the first of the columns I did for the Tri-County Sentinel.

Hoots  from the Hollow      Art. # 1,       2/1/10 
                                                         
    Welcome to Owl Hollow.  For those who don’t know where the Hollow is it is about two hoots upstream from Verona Beach.  If you haven’t heard of Verona Beach you haven’t been in the area long.  Sliding into both a new year and a new decade the Ozarks has also acquired a unique source of news by and for the people.  Welcome Tri-County Sentinel!  

    When I was growing up my mother had a wringer washing machine that had always sat on the back porch.  Over the Christmas holidays one year Daddy decided to build Mother a wash house.  There was a small roof left from the old porch they had removed, and Daddy intended to use it for half of the wash house roof.  Next to where the wash house was being built was a metal water tower.  After the frame work was done on the wash house, Daddy rigged ropes and pulleys on the tower to get the piece of roof where he wanted it.  As always, Mother was helping him.  She stood on the ground taking up the slack from the rope as Daddy pulled the roof to the top of the frame.  While they were swinging the piece up, something slipped and a board hit Mother fully in the face.  The next day one whole side of her face was black and blue.  One eye was completely blackened, and she looked as if she had been beaten.  When anyone asked her what had happened she, with a straight face told them, “Richard was raising the roof on New Year’s Eve, and hit me in the head with a two-by-four.”  The statement was entirely true, but the picture formed in the hearer’s mind was far different than what really happened.

    Words represent the greatest bridge between our minds and the perceptions of others.  Even when we listen we may not translate the meaning correctly.  What each person hears is filtered through that person’s life experience.  An exchange student from Sweden was living with us one year.  She spoke and understood English well, but was not acquainted with local colloquialisms.  After asking my permission to go somewhere or do something at different times, she confronted me about my answers.  If my own children asked for permission and received the answer, “I don’t care,” they knew it was alright with me.  The exchange student took the statement to mean that I was not interested in her and did not care what she did.  I had hurt her feelings without even knowing it.

    Children often hear something we did not mean.  Our tone and body language may speak louder than our words.  Words need to be sifted carefully before flavoring our life.  Just as salt from an unscrewed lid falling into the stew, words cannot be unsaid.
May our words in this new year be flavored with just the right savor.

Zona Mae Crabtree    

PATIENCE, PLEASE

                       This is a request for patience from my readers and friends while I learn how to do this.  I have promised some people stories and updates, and will add things as I can.  Right now family, especially grandchildren, consume much time and energy.

June 13, 2010

It is hot in Southwest Missouri. Joe has the hay baled, so maybe it will rain.  Farmer's Market was good yesterday.  I sold several books and all the bread I had with me.  There are two customers that are coming for a book each week.  They are halfway through the series.