Dragon Snot

This week's Friday Fictioneer's story is dedicated to PaPa Jim and Logan

Dragon Snot

“PaPa!” Logan shouted.  “He’s sick.”

“Who, Logan?”

“Snapple.”

Rather perplexed, PaPa Jim scratched his head.

“Who’s Snapple?”

“My dragon.”

“Oh,” PaPa said trying to hide his smile.  “I didn’t know you had a dragon.  Where does he live?

“In the woods.  We have to bring him gumdrops. He has a cold.”

Now, PaPa Jim loved Logan with all his heart so he decided to play along.  Side-by-side they walked into woods, a bag of gumdrops clutched firmly in Logan’s little hand.  But, alas, no Snapple.

“Maybe he’s sleeping,” PaPa said. “Let’s leave the candy by this tree and he can get it when he wakes up.  Do you think that would be ok?”

Disappointed, Logan sighed. “Ok.”

On the way to the house PaPa  asked, “Logan, how do you know Snapple has a cold?”

Logan walked  over to a rock and pointed at a gooey, icky glob.  “Yuck, what’s that?” PaPa asked.

“Dragon snot.”

Oh, of course.  Dragon snot.  He should’ve known.

Old Dog Learns New Tricks

I am a writer.

My dream of writing and getting a book published finally came true. Soldiers From the Mist (http://www.tinyurl.com/cd77w8b)  was released in March 2011 from the High Hill Press AND my second book, The Rook and The Raven (http://www.tinyurl.com/CSS92ud) was released from The Wild Rose Press February 2012.  Not only that, but I’m working on two more best sellers, The Legend of Dixie Dandelion and The Church of the Howling Moon.

The Rook and The Raven

Soldiers FromThe Mist

I was under the delusion that once I got a book published, I’d have it made in the shade.  Those royalty checks would roll in like the tide.  Movie producers would trample themselves getting to my front door.  I do lunch with Oprah and Ellen. I’d quit my day job.

Wrong!

I found out that writing a book is the easiest part of the writing game.  It’s what comes after “The End” that makes an author stark, raving loony tunes—Promotion! 

Big signing parties thrown by New York publishers are a thing of the past.  If you want to sell books and get everyone buzzing, you have to promote.  And where do you promote?  The Internet of course. 

Social media is fast becoming a four-letter word for me.  Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter, oh my!  Blogs, tweets, and posts, oh my! This old dog has to learn new tricks. 

OH MY!!!!!

It’s not that I’m a stupid dog, quite the contrary, I’m fairly intelligent.  I can rollover and sit up with the best of em’,  And speak? My bark demands respect. Nope, brains aren’t the problem.  So what’s wrong?  Why can’t I figure out how to add an author page to Facebook? Why do words such as link and pin cause cold sweat to run down the back of my neck?  Just what the car fur is wrong??????????????

Do you think it could possibly be my attitude that is causing this aversion to conquering the land of the Internet? 

Ok.  I can learn this social media crap. Just watch me. I’ll tweet with the birds and post with the . . .  the . . . well, whoever you post with.  I can do it.  I honestly can.  But first, I have to trot down to the store.

  I need a new box of milk bones!

Ode to the Hamburger

I wanted something good for lunch.  Something simple.  Something tasty.  But what?   

Left-over spaghetti?  No. Not in the mood. 

Turkey? Yuck.  

 Apples? Watermelon?  Not filling enough.

Hamburger?  Perfect.

Wikipedia describes the classic hamburger as a sandwich of cooked (of course) ground beef patty placed inside a sliced bread roll. Everyone knows that.  Who first came up with this wonder sandwich?  Some say Fletcher Davis sold them at his café in Texas in the 1880’s and sold them at the 1904 St Louis World Fair.  Others claim different.  Who cares?

What restaurant has the best?  Delmonico’s in New York offered the burger on its menu in 1826.  McDonalds? Burger King?  Dairy Queen? Sonic?  My vote is for the one grilled in the backyard on an old charcoal grill.  No propane. 

My brother grew-up on hamburgers.  He ate 15 at one sitting when the Burger Broil first opened in Fayetteville, Arkansas.  Fifthteen cents a burger. What a deal.  He later sat the Fayetteville High Vocational School record, eating 20 at one time.

It isn’t important to me who invented the burger, where or when it was sold.  The main point is nothing is better than a grilled hamburger complete with cheese, lettuce, pickle, onion, and tomato.  Nothing.

Except bologna and cheese.

The Secret Magic of Creation

 Get Crow!

Harry Potter once said, “I love magic.”   Amen, Harry, so do I. 

Webster defines magic as: “as extraordinary power or influence seemingly from a supernatural force.”  This definition makes one think  magic is something mysterious, spooky, and unnatural.  Quite the contrary.  Magic is the most natural element in the universe.  More importantly, it doesn’t take a magician, wizard, or sorceress to conjure up the power.  If one is aware, observant, and open, magic comes in many, many ways.

 This morning, magic came to me in the form of a crow feather.

I love crows.  These black-winged, loud-mouthed, characters are intriguing, smart, and beautiful. Crow feathers are black as sin, often with hints of deep blue and purple.  Black is the color of night—and of creation. The black night gives birth to the new day.  I’m a writer, a creator of stories.  Is it any wonder why I have a kinship with the crow?

Crows share their family tree with the raven.  Ravens have great mysticism and mythology about them.  Hmm . . .  interesting.  Is it any wonder I wrote The Rook and The Raven?  (http://www.tinyurl.com/CSS92ud)

I’m fortunate to live in a country setting where crows are thick.  Every morning they greet me with their “caw-caw” hello.  They are saying, “pay attention.”  They cry out to watch for the magic of the day.  

I have one crow that is larger than the rest.  I named him Ichabod.  Ichabod flys to my porch rail, hops to the floor, and eats the cat food I leave out for the stray cat.  (which explains why he’s fatter than all the other crows) I never tire of watching him.  I love that he picked my porch to land on.  It gives me a contented, happy feeling. I’d leave cat food out even if there were no strays just so I could see Ichabod in the mornings.

I have a birdbath bowl on the ground in my backyard.  I always make sure to keep it filled because many animals, not only birds, seek the relief of water. This kind act didn’t go unnoticed to Ichabod.  This morning when I went to fill the birdbath, I noticed something black as coal on the ground—a crow feather.  A gift of gratitude for the water, the food, and my love for nature.   

.

A gift of magic.

Animal-Speak by Ted Andrews says this about the crow: “Wherever crows are there is magic. They are symbols of creation and spiritual strength. They are messengers calling to us about the creation and magic that is alive within our world everyday and available to us.”

  Got crow?

WHAT THE CAT FUR?

1.             WHERE ARE THE BEANS?

O.K.  What’s the deal?  What happened to Campbell’s Pork and Beans?

After working my usual 8-5 insanity, I stop at WalMart on the way home to pick up a few things.  I should know better.  A few things at WalMart is next to impossible.  First of all, the minute I hit the front door, I forget what few items I want.  Thus I walk around the store throwing “little” things into my basket.  Second, the crying kids, the rude adults with their baskets in the middle of the isle, and the two checkers on duty is the same at 5:30 as it is at noon.

I’m going to a cookout this weekend.  I want to bring baked beans.  I make mean baked beans.  As you can guess, the main ingredient to baked beans is the bean.  Campbell’s Pork and Beans are the best.  I grew up with Campbell’s Pork and Beans.  It’s sacrilegious to use anything but Campbell’s Pork and Beans.  But guess what?  No damn Campbell’s Pork and Beans!!!

What happened?

There’s a gob of Campbell Soups.  But no beans.

There are: Bush’s beans, Van Camp beans, Giant Value beans, beans with molasses, beans with maple, beans with onions, beans with brown sugar, but no Campbell’s Pork and Beans.

AGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!

Tooth paste is almost as bad.  Plain ol’ Crest toothpaste is the best.  They have Crest with mouthwash, Crest with whitening, Mint Crest, Mint Crest Gel, Spearmint Crest, Spearmint Crest Gel, Crest for sensitive teeth, Crest Pro-Health, but regular Crest with nothing?  Hard to find.

AGGGGGGGGGGGGG !!!!!!

My few items cost a small fortune. I have to settle for something other than

Campbell’s beans.  And, damn it!  I forgot the toothpaste

AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!

Lions, Tigers, Fooey, and Daisy Camo

Logan James Burkett

Lions, Tigers, Fooey and Daisy Camo

Yeah, yeah, I know.  I haven’t blogged in ages.  So sue me. I offer no excuses.  Life is what it is and ya have to do whatcha’ gotta’ do even if some things get put on the back burner—like blogging.

Last December you may recall I blogged about going to see the Christmas lights and Petco with my four-year old great nephew, Logan.  Last week-end Logan and I went on another adventure to the Tulsa Zoo.  We let PaPa and mom come with us too.

I sat in the back alongside Logan in his car seat.  PaPa and mom sat in front.  PaPa had to drive, but mom gets car sick, so she gets to ride shotgun.  Logan provided the entertainment signing at the very tip-top of his lungs to the songs on his IPod.  Oh, yes, even though the kid is only four, he has an IPod and what’s even more astonishing, he knows how to work the damn thing.  I don’t even know how to turn my cell phone to mute. 

Between the 50^th or maybe the 55^th time of asking, “are we there yet?” Logan told me the first thing he wanted to do at the zoo was ride the Camo.  Hmm . . .  a Camo?

“Logan,” I asked.  “What is a Camo?”

“You know,” he answered in that little kid tone of voice used when adults are just so annoying.  “It’s that thing that doesn’t spit on you.”

“Oh, you mean a Camel.”  (I didn’t tell him those things spit like cornered cats.)

Ten minutes through the zoo gate and Logan spied the Camos.  Of course, I loved the idea of Logan riding a camel.  PaPa never has.  Aunt Ruth never has.  But Logan did.  Five dollars to ride a smelly, hairy animal named Daisy around a small circle one time did seem like a lot to pay, but I forked the money over anyway because, gee, riding a Camo is a once-in-a-life time experience.

After the Camo ride, it was off to the reptiles.  Oh yippee!  The boa, the diamond-back rattler, and I guess a rat-snake all had the same names according to Logan—Fooey.  Why Logan calls all snakes by this name is a child-mystery, but I love it. 

We ate ice-cream, talked to the parrots, and rode the train.  Logan loves trains.  So does PaPa.  The day grew hot, but the Tulsa Zoo has plenty of shade and it wasn’t unbearable, however, my feet were killing me!  I wanted to crawl inside Logan’s stroller and have PaPa push me around, but my butt is too fat and PaPa would’ve gotten a hernia, so I sucked it up and kept on truckin’.  Logan, on the other hand, ran everywhere.  But, hey, that’s what kids do at the zoo.

When I got home, I crashed on the couch and didn’t get up until it was time to go to bed.  Before falling asleep, however, I thanked God for the day.  I thanked Him for PaPa, mom, and me being able to walk so we could take Logan to the zoo.  I thanked Him for love of family.  I thanked Him for a beautiful day full of memories that will last lifetime.

And I thanked Him for Fooey the Snake, and Daisy the Camo.

  

Church of the Howling Moon

It seems like years sense I've had a blog entry.  Madison Woods Friday Fictoneers picture is just too good to let pass and it fits so well with my new story, The Church of the Howling Moon:

A Howling Moon

"Your daddy came to me one hot, sultry summer night. Took my hand and led me into the bayou where the wind blew cool off the water, and the smell of honeysuckle and jasmine hung heavy like a line of wet sheets in the air.

And there in that swamp, surrounded by cypress trees draped in yards of lacy Spanish moss and the sounds of crickets, frog, and all creatures of the night, he pointed to the inky sky. The moon hung full and round like an orange fireball ready to bust apart at the seams.

"That be a howling moon," he said.  "A moon so beautiful that one look turns your blood to a river of black fire racing through your veins. A moon so powerful it can drive you insane unless you yield to its pull and run and howl into the wild."