Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Redid my kitchen, mostly done

Had to find a way to mop down the walls for allergens, but their paint was shat... so I had to use paper... Whatdya think?

Monday, October 27, 2014


It's almost Halloween. After which comes on Nov 16th (drumroll please)
24 years sober!!!!! Also a couple days after that is my birthday! (meh) I've not been on in a bit and I must apologize... taking down the brickstore was a real bummer but more than that we have a terminally ill family member and my husband is not taking that well at all! Who could blame him?

At any rate, I won't be on a lot because I'm getting the books together for next year, Kind of boring stuff for grown-up, but there are soooooo many kids here that are home=schooled now that parents are paying upwards of $120 a text book! Ergo, kids on different levels are sharing just that one... so nobody's learning anything. I'm trying to combat that by writing activity and text books for kids, keep them cheap and give them at least 3 levels for each but in every subject. Hopefully I can make a difference in kid's lives.

Problem is as any kind of teacher here I am sort of gone extinct as History, World Cultures, Civics and Forms of Govt. Just aren't taught here anymore.
We no longer teach grammar, spelling, cursive... it's deplorable! Well I'm doing my best to contribute. I pray it helps!

That's my side of it,

Friday, October 24, 2014


Free books!

Tomorrow kicks off the last weekend of brick store being open.
I have a zillion give-aways and sales this weekend, then we close until next year I believe. So get there.... Free Christmas stocking with toys is available if you buy a full-price children's book! Also you get a gently-used book free with every purchase this weekend only... in celebration of literacy!
Be there!!!! Last chance this year!

That's my side of it,

PS Special thanks to HEB


a ginormous welcome to our new intern....

Drumroll please!

Rebecca Farrell

Welcome to the Cheshire Team... we're honored!

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Very sorry

We must apologize. We have no idea why the printers did not release all our books. Sarah is attempting to rectify it now. If you were looking for something in particular please try again later tonight. Thanks.

Sunday, October 19, 2014


is today. I am angry and heartbroken. The thief that broke in a while back stole my Medicine Bag and my fetish (stone or silver carving representing my strength and name... my silver wolf) Rev Laughing Bear Jones got me that, so they stole a part of him from me too. I could cry, but I am going to Powwow just the same. You can steal from me... but you'll never break my spirit!

Saturday, October 18, 2014

Halloween BOO!

From the new book Gravely Terrible Puns! Get yours today on Amazon... or if you want absolute terror perhaps this is more your speed:

available in print at Lulu or wherever e-books are sold!
Happy Haunting, Ghouls and Boils!


The store on Eisenhower will be open today, but closed tomorrow for Powwow!

Thursday, October 16, 2014

Show & updates!

I believe the radio show returns tomorrow, barring any tech explosions!
Also we will be open Saturday but Sunday is Powwow!
I  am also working on a series of children's books for next year. each will have a lessons in the back including health, IE how does my ear work etc. I find it terrifying that in this country we don't teach health any more. How will kids be able to ask doctors any informed questions? How silly is that?

That's my side of it,

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

unedited version Snapshots From Home last story

Future Earth

My name is Jenna and I go to Future Earth.... just a fancy name for a tech school for those of us kids who are labeled, “unrehabilatable,” For real my parents sent me here. And for real it bites. The whole staff acts like it's not a reform school because they teach computers, graphic art and web design. The student body is not quite so ignorant. We know we are the throw-aways. And me, probably more than most. That's because my own personal sin.... pregnancy.

I hate my parents right now and I hate this school. My last high school seemed so awesome. I used to attend East Way Middle. Before Seamus was born I never knew how shallow all of my party friends were. I'm standing in the hallway one day and they just snubbed me! I followed them and they informed me that their parents told them they couldn't hang out with me any more. When I asked them why Karyn said it's because I'm a bad influence! Can you even friggin' believe that? She set me up with Thomas! And how am I the bad influence when the whole school knew that she certainly wasn't complaining when she was under half the basket ball team!

I never understood how retarded my parents were either. They sent me here! They threw me away... because the one time I used my birth control pills for actual birth control instead of regulating my periods, they failed. For that... my parents sent me here. “To learn a trade,” they said. What kind of stupid excuse is that any way?

I guess they had no choice. The school wouldn't let me attend dances any more because they thought it was sending the wrong message. I couldn't try out for the cheer-leading squad... for very obvious reasons. And then there was Mr. Jones, my history teacher... he called me “easy” in front of the entire class. For real he did. Then he asked me to stay after... but he was looking at me in such a creepy way that I bolted as soon as the bell rang. For real it happened. Epic perv!

So I go to my first class which is group therapy. They don't call it that. They call it Future Counseling. And they actually think we are so stupid that we don't know the difference. I sit myself in the circle of chairs as far away from the gang-banger and meth head as I can get. I am shifting in the chair as the gang-banger makes dirty innuendos towards me in Spanish. I ignore him. I want to call home and see if Seamus is okay, but I can't because he isn't there. He's at the school daycare.

My parents informed me right away that they weren't raising another child. For real they told me that I got myself into it all alone and I can deal with it the same way. Can you even believe that they said that to me? So I had to put him in the school daycare, but I hate that too. I don't know those people. I don't know if they'll hurt my son. I can never know. And for real I am in tears at the thought.

So of course the idiot teacher calls on me. He wants to know what's on my mind. When I say “a pony tail,” the other kids laugh but his rule is that until I share nobody else can... and if that happens the whole class loses the day's credit. So I open my mouth,

“Before Seamus was born, I didn't have a clue. For real, I thought a prom dress would be a priority. I thought that going to parties and football games was the only thing on earth. Then one day I am listening to my friends asking me about the latest boy band or if their heels match their dress or something so random like that. I didn't fit. All I could think about was how to pay for the diapers and formula for the day. And I know that it's completely arrogant, but for real they seemed so meaningless... I actually felt that I was above them.” I shake my head as the tears come.

The serial-suicide-attempt that's sitting next to me playing with the scars on his wrist says, “No. You weren't above them. You were just real. If I was real, like really real I wouldn't have these scars.”

The gang-banger chimes in, “Hey berto, you plastic or somethin'?”

Suicide Attempt shuts his mouth until the teacher signals that now he must talk. I swear dude, I think this teacher gets a power high from controlling the conversation. When suicide-attempt opens his mouth he says:

Hey guys, I'm Sam and I hear what she's saying completely. See cuz I'm bipolar type 1.and this is a good day because I'm on a manic. When the depression hits.... well. (He shows his wrists) if I was real all the time.... you know like her... instead of in one mind and then the other this shit wouldn't happen. But I can't get right. My parent's church says I can't take medication. It's like some kind of sin. So I learned really early to just not trust God at all.

Any way so I get this like noisy thing in my head and I stop sleeping. I start throwing things because not sleeping really pisses me off. Then I get in a fight, hit somebody or something. Then a few days later I feel really guilty and start understanding that God doesn't trust me either. Then this happens.

“Yeah berto I feel ya!” the gang-banger shouts. “But I got my posse to trust in. My boys! My brothers! The Rojo Diablos we are! Thicker then a mother's love or a father's blood!”

Suddenly the stoner in the corner (because she refuses to sit in a circle) yells, “What the hell is so real about shooting people you don't even know? That ain't brave.”

Gang-banger is on his feet in a minute... “Whatcha know about it Punta?”

“I know I started drinking because of assholes like you. That's what I know! And if your idiot friends would give up anything for you, then how come they ain't in here with you? Looks like they left you... PUNTA!” stoner girl snaps.

Gang-banger tries to charge her and there is a lull in the class as security hauls him off to solitary again. He lives in the dorms here. I'm really glad I don't. Mr. Patterson restores order after a long while and he picks up exactly where we left off as if nothing happened. He points to stoner girl and he says, “Jane you're up. But tomorrow you'll sit in the circle or you can join Juan in isolation.”

Jane stomps in her weak, wobbly way into the circle and slams herself into the plastic chair. Says simply, “Can't talk. I'm jonesin' Can't...” she sniffs loudly and wipes her nose repeatedly.

“That's your choice, but I think the rest of the class might get upset if they don't receive credit today because you're having withdrawals,” Mr. Patterson snaps and a huge moan goes through the room.

“For real?” I snap, “I am six credits away from being outta here!” I am feeling rage now. The girl sniffs loudly and wipes her nose again.

“Jonesin'” she responds and I yell, “Well dammit! Why don't you try jonesin' and talkin at the same time?” A cheer resounds but I am not hearing it. I am ready to snap this hippee-wanna-be in half. I want Seamus out of here and in my arms. I can't think of anything else right now. For real, I am boiling mad!

“Jonesin,' she says and I see her hands shaking. “Yeah man, spiders all over me all the time and I can't get right. It's my fifth detox and I can't get right. In my head...”

Her voice trails off and I am tasting rage now, “What's not right in your head? Besides the fact that it's taken me a month longer to graduate because you won't talk?” She sniffs loudly and wipes her nose but then she says the saddest thing I ever heard. She says:

“I watched it. I saw them. These guys they just drove up and started shooting. And there's my baby brother.... he was two years old. Two... I couldn't do nothin man. Nothin. Tried to hold the blood in with my hands. He said the only word he knew. He said Mama. He died. I couldn't save him. I was supposed to protect him. And now I'm sittin here with you scum, just cuz I'm jonesin.” Her nose starts to bleed and everyone is quiet.

The teacher calls the nurse and we all just wait, nobody says anything. All we hear over and over is “Jonesin jonesin jonesin.” And then we suddenly watch her slump in the chair and fall to the floor. We wait as the ambulance is called. Suicide attempt whispers that she snorted some kind of powdered soap from the janitor's closet before class. We all just sit like stone as the ambulance pulls up outside. The wail of sirens makes it all feel too final.

After the gurney carries her out... the teacher tries to start the class again. He acts as if nothing happened. As if we didn't just watch a girl maybe die. For real he starts the class again just like it was nothing. I want so much to vomit on him. I shit you not!

I am gasping. I am shaking my head. I am screaming at the teacher, “I don't care okay? I don't care about this crap we say next. Some girl maybe just died. Isn't that important?”

Anorexia says, “Jesus said Come with me and let the dead bury their own dead! Let's face it. We are all just corpses. Future earth? What a damn joke! We ain't got no future! We're already dead. Right here,” she points to her heart.

“Horse shit! If you want to be dead then you be dead okay? I got a kid! I am so alive you wouldn't even know if I told you. My social life might be dead, but I got a kid to live for!” I scream. Anorexia replies,”What if you're not? I mean I ain't sayin it to be nasty to you. The world sees us as dead already. Tells us every day how we don't stand a snowball's chance in hell of having a normal life. Face it, we are all damaged goods! My mother tells me so every day!”

Suicide attempt says, “Okay maybe she is... but what if her kid isn't? Huh? What about that? What if the kid still has a chance. And what if we do? What if we still have a chance?”

Anorexia snaps, “The whole world thinks we are garbage! That's why we're in here dumb ass!”

Suicide Attempt smashes his hands across his jeans. He yells,” What if the world is wrong? The whole world thought the earth was flat. Church even said it was. They were wrong then. Why can't they be wrong now? And any way if you want to quote the Bible Gwen, it says in there Greater is He that is in me then he who is in the world! So stop with the Bible verses okay? I hear enough of that shit at home!”

Mr Patterson calls us to order and then he congratulates us on how productive we are today. I wonder how any of this is productive.

“If you know so much Gwen and you are oh so empowered then why the hell are you a skeleton with skin?” asks Suicide Attempt.

“You wish you were this thin!” Anorexia replies, “I'm not even trying to answer you because you're a jackass!”

“No!” I snap, “You wanted the spotlight and for real you got it so tell us Gwen. Tell us what the hell you want to look like that for?”

“You mean too fat?” Anorexia says in a shaky voice, she looks like she will cry, but she continues. I am trying hard to listen but she has said the word, “fat” I don't get it. She is like 70 pounds or something.

“I do it because of my period okay?. I do it because if I binge and purge I sometimes won't have my period. I don't want to. I don't want to grow-up when I'm already so fat. I have my good years as my Mom calls them. I get huge sometimes. Sometimes even over one hundred pounds. But then I hate myself. And when I have a bad year my Mom hates me. I want to be a model... in France and have my picture took on the Eiffel Tower. That's how it all started... beauty pageants. I wanted to enter them all but I would look in the mirror and see how obese I was. I couldn't handle it. So I went on the web and found this site with lots of great tips. And so I started losing weight.”

“When did you decide you never wanted to stop losing weight? Because you look really gross that thin,” says the boy on the opposite side of the circle. This guy has been so quiet I never noticed him before. I wonder if he's new and if he just materialized there.

“Matt, it's you're turn,” says Mr. Patterson and the whole class turns to this kid that for real appeared from nowhere.

“Yeah I'm Matt. I got nothin to say really. I'm just observing,” he smiles and shrinks back into his chair.

“Everybody welcome Matt, because if he doesn't tell his story... I will. Do you prefer that Matt?” asks Mr. Patterson, and I notice that for real he looks a lot older then he did when class started.

“Hi. I'm Matt and I'm a bonafied registered sex offender. Thanks Mr. Patterson. I feel much better,” Matt says as all the kids start trying to play musical chairs just to avoid him.

'You sick bastard!” proclaims Suicide Attempt. And everyone just stares at him. My skin is crawling now too, because gross images are flashing through my mind of Matt chasing little boys. For real I want to puke.

“Thanks Mr. Patterson. I feel much better I think I'm cured now! Do you see the way they're looking at me? Like I'm some sick freak?”

“Hello,” yells Anorexia, “You are!”

“I am not!” Matt is screaming. “I just sexted my girlfriend and since we're both underage that counts as child porn! Do you know my mother turned me in so I would have to go to counseling because she thinks I'm a deviant. Really? Just cuz I wanted to see some hottie's boobs!”

Suicide Attempt moves and sits next to him. He puts his arm around him and confides in us all, “Dude boobs are nice! I like them big. You?”

“No I like them in the middle.”

I am angry but the whole class is laughing. “We can't talk about boobs in here!” I instruct.

“Why not? It's more fun then all the crap we were talking about before!” Suicide Attempt says. As I nod all the kids laugh. Then God is very merciful to me and the bell rings.

As I walk to web design I pass the daycare. You aren't allowed to go in until your classes are done and each teacher signs your paper to prove it. For real they are that strict! The cool thing about the nursery is... the walls are glass. I can see Seamus is being given a bottle by the only lady in there that I trust. She reminds me of the mom I wish I had. I like her because she looks just like the lady on the pancake commercials... only dressed nice. She always wears a suit. I like the nursery lady but at the same time I hate her a little, because she gets to feed Seamus now and I don't. At least it's her doing it and not the one who reminds me of a meth head. I wave at my son but he is sleeping. I wish I was sleeping too. Ever since he was born... I just don't sleep.

He cries because he's hungry. He cries because he's wet. I have to go out at three in the morning sometimes to get him diapers IF there happens to be enough spare change in the couch. Otherwise, I just have to put a towel on him. Seems like I'm always tired, always hungry and always awake now. After school I work. That's the only time that my Mom will watch him. As much as she hates kids I can't even believe she had me. She says that all of this is tough love. For real I think that tough love is another word for abandonment.

In the end though I have him. Seamus is cool even if he cries too much. I think about that for a while.

I think of my last class too. I think of Matt and I know he has to live x-amount of miles from a school for the rest of his life. I think of Suicide Attempt and his bracelets of scars. I think that he is going to have to deal with that forever. I think of gang-banger so lonely and desperate that he would willingly become a killer... just to feel loved. I think of Stoner and I know some how that she won't make it through the night. And for real... at least I'm breathing. Then I think of Anorexia and wonder if she was right?

Is there no future for us? Are we all dead where we stand? And then I think... no. Because you know what? I feel for every one of them. For real I want to help them all out of their misery. I feel like by telling me what they went through they are trying to create their own Future Earth. And they are trying to help me too I think. Because they bothered to tell, because they bothered to remind me that they all feel disposable sometimes too.

So then I think, maybe everyone feels that way. Like maybe everyone goes through everything. I can tell I felt just as lost when I got pregnant as Suicide Attempt feels now. I felt just as unloved as gang-banger when my parents threw me out. I felt just as hopeless as they did... as they all did. I just felt it in a different situation. But for real I still felt it.

So then it just pops in my head... loneliness, isolation, hopelessness and feelings of being misunderstood, isn't just my problem. That's everyone's problem. Isn't it? And if that's true then every one of us has a fighting chance. I think that every single one of us does have a future, somewhere here on earth.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Techno Blog

A World On Technology...

The typo in my title is purposely done. I have a huge bone to pick with the auto-correct on my PC. I try writing things to my editor, striking moving stories... about let's say a girl trying marijuana for the first time. My auto-check has no reading or reasoning capability what-so-ever and as a result my sentences in my story ends up with words that are substituted with the auto-check's best guest. Now my sentence turns into something like, “So I smoked a jaguar and herded off to school.” Further, knowing full-well that I do my best proof-reading after I send an e-mail I am quite convinced my editor thinks that I am the kind of idiot so severely damaged that I spend all of my free time sitting in the corner drooling on myself and poking myself in the eye repeatedly.

Another thing I wish to address is the fact that my wi-fi box only seems to have a melt-down when I am in the middle of an important discussion or a hugely owed apology.... leaving potentially life-long friends thinking, “Dude! She's not only a snob, she's creepy. Last week she invited me to go out for a cup of coffins.”

Technology for all of the luxury it affords becomes a problem for me and has my whole life. I recall my Pappaw fussing at me many years ago with, “When I was your age we had to walk across the room to change the channel.” Okay that being said I spend most of the time I could use being productive walking from one end of my house to the other randomly trashing and frantically pulling off couch cushions looking for the remotes.

Now we come to the microwave oven, something that in my daily life I usually can't live without. But of course on nights when I throw a huge dinner party it doesn't fully heat things. Admittedly it has never heated things evenly. But to pull out an important side dish that is singed to the point of being nuclear waste on the edges yet frozen in the middle just tends to spoil my party-girl rep! I am epically proud also when my guest are leaving and the “fare-well receiving line” compliments me with things such as, “Wow Angel everything was great! I especially liked the french-cut green bean popsicles!”

A very useful thing these days is the gated community gate opener. What those are are controllers for those little wooden rail-road crossing gate thingys that drop down preventing you from entering a neighborhood until you've either pressed the big, red button on your gate-controller or punched your gate-code into some digital system thus lifting the gate and letting you through. I can see how this is useful in many ways. Some criminal evading police in a high-speed chase will have to mind his manners and rather then crash through a colorful piece of wood stop to punch in a secret code! The most utilized tools it provides is that when your remote battery dies the people stuck in traffic behind you get the golden opportunity to practice their road-rage skills and figure out what their horn sounds like. If you have an overly complicated code that is too long to remember, that just amplifies the fun! This leaves you with the lovely choice of picking up an old plastic phone and randomly dialing neighbor after neighbor to ask them to let you in... and each will remind you what crystal punch bowl, designer dress or lawn-mower you forgot to return the week before. So yes, incredibly helpful!!! Thanks gate-controller! Now I can run from the lynch mob behind me resting comfortably in the knowledge that I forgot to send the check to the office for my rent before I died!

That's my side of it,



had to close today, meds aren't working at all. Next week we may go to powwow Sunday. I'm sad to miss my little store but I can't even move today.

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Spooky Haunted House I made

made for our store. Come and see it, let the kids play for a while and browse our awesome books!

We also are putting up our Christmas display, this being the holiday weekend. Come buy a stocking, fill it and add a book. Kids'll love you for it.
See you there

Eisenhauer Market

3903 Eisenhauer Rd
San Antonio, TX 78218

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Radio Show

I believe my radio show is on tomorrow. It was not aired last week due to tech difficulties.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Cry of the Mock Turtle excerpt

Cry of the Mock Turtle

Rev. Little Turtle
Book Of Shadows -Journal
July 31, 20-

I listen to the train off in the distance, behind the whir of traffic and I wish that I could hop an old, rusty rail car and find my way home. I want this only because car horns loud and brash will never match the howls of Old Man Coyote up in the hills. It isn't just the automobiles that insult the ears either. It's the people … crowds and droves during the day. Milla told me it'd be good for business, a good place to hang out my spiritual shingle as it were. “Might meet somebody interesting to pray with,” she said. If interesting don't mean crazy, I'm guessin' she was wrong.

A lady came in today with her mother insisting I heal her. It was obvious that the woman was suffering great duress … well, both of 'em actually. The older lady was howling in pain and the daughter was blind in one eye. When I asked the daughter what the older woman's trouble was she got all snotty and asked why I didn't know. I told her I'm a shaman, not a doctor.

She snapped that her mother had cancer and told me to make a spell. I told her the only magic that had a chance of curing her mother was called chemo. She got real angry and called me a fraud. Told me that her mother was in stage 4. I asked why the older woman wasn't in hospice, on morphine. She got even angrier and slapped my face and ordered me again to make a spell. She tried to leave in a huff, but I had already called the ambulance. I had excused myself to “make a spell” because that's what the blind girl told me to do. I didn't know there was a spell to cure cancer, but I knew a magic place … Sunset Methodist.

I don't think I'm going to take to city-folk right nice. Time for prayers.

Old Man***

“So OMG! Greta,” Traci is wagging, swaying. I have to hold her up just to keep her from falling down the steps. She is drunk beyond reason, probably stoned too … knowing the high-school crap she hangs out with. She's queen of the scene at school. Me? Hell, I'm just a stupid nobody. She has no clue that I exist until she wants something. Tonight she wants to party. Same thing she wants every night, but tonight, she's out of cash. She remembers my name magically when she needs a fix or money. By the time homeroom bell rings in the morning I will be reduced back to “Hand job and Gretel” or just plain “Geeky Gretel.”

It doesn't matter. Tonight I got to go to 'the” party. This time they even let me come in since most of the kids had gone home. I was only allowed inside long enough to help Jeanie dress Traci who had lost her blouse somewhere in the vicinity of the keg. Then I was banished back to the land wherein my entire job is to make sure the head-cheerleader doesn't go partying again unchaperoned. The rest of her clique pays me for this. The understanding is that I take her bar-hopping until last call or her credit card is maxed-out, whichever comes first. They don't pay me in money, but as long as I do this they don't beat me up as much. I hope they never figure it out … that I never do take her bar-hopping. I hope they never find out where we really go. They'd pummel me for sure. Jocks are like that. I guess brains do beat brawn after all.***

“Oh! I just joined a yoga class and I'm all signed up for cross-fit,” the old lady chatters as she leans her head back so I can wash out hair-dye. She's been yabbering in English this entire hour. She never stops to think that my English is not-so-much good. She didn't even listen when I tell to her this, “This make your hair not blonde. Your hair too dark, Mrs.”

Like usual she don't hear me. She keeps her lips wagging, “You'll see, Kimberly! When a man dies you don't waste time crying! You cut loose! You see that life is too short and you let your hair down! Am I right or am I right?” she squawks like a Fairy Pitta bird I saw once in the tree-tops in Korea. I just say, “Yes, Mrs.” Then I don't say no more because I am mad. She calls me Kimberly but my name is Ming Kim … my father wanted much a boy.

I pull her chair up and I use dryer that she sits under because I don't want to hear her voice. I turn the dryer on but she is still barking like an old cur. I can't hear her. I walk behind the counter to watch her hair turn pink and I smile as I say, “Yes, Mrs.” She keeps talking like I can hear her until another lady walks in. I ask her what she wants me make her hair look good because the chairs are full and I need her not to leave. I need the money.

She smiles at me and asks for a haircut so I put her name down. She says, “You know Meejha, I'm learning to use chopsticks!” Then she smiles at me and I am confused. This maybe is an American custom? The TV in my little apartment gets only channel about cooking. Maybe cuz there is much food in America I make talk about this?

I nod and say, “I like tacos.” She gets big angry, calls me names and a racist. She leaves and five women follow her. There goes heating bill.

I walk to where old woman is and turn off the dryer. She screams when she sees pink hair. I tell to her that I tell her that before. She is screaming, crying now because she not listen. She yells, “You bitch! You've ruined my beautiful head of hair!” I hear door jingle. I look at Parlor. Empty like a dragon's belly. Old lady leaves without paying. There goes grocery bill.***

Chapter 2

Rev. Little Turtle
Book Of Shadows -Journal
August 5, 20-

You won't believe what these city folk think of me. Here's what happened this afternoon:

I need you to make me young again. I need you to mix me a potion,” this woman about sixty told me. She sat on my couch with this terrible dye-job. Her hair was as pink as a Saturday morning cartoon. It matched the rouge and too red lipstick. If I hadn't know better I'd think she was trying terribly hard to become a Christmas ornament.

If you wanna think young …” I start to tell her but she interrupts me with, “No! You don't get it! It doesn't matter how I think! It matters how I look! I want … YOU...” and she points at me, “TO” and she holds her fingers in the position for the number two, kinda like a peace sign, “MAKE” she rubs her belly, “ME” and she points to herself, “LOOK” and she puts her peace sign fingers at her eyes, “YOUNG!” I guess at this point she runs out of her ideas for sign-language because her over-acted arm motions stop. She sits there lost in thought, so I tell her, “I like charades too, but you ain't gotta yell ... age hasn't taken my ears just yet.”

Well... mix me a potion! Make me beautiful again!” she snaps. I just shrug and say, “You are beautiful in the eyes of the Creator. What else matters?” She stomps her foot and yelps, “I don't want memes. I want to look young again. If a god sees me that way, doesn't matter. I want men to see me that way! I can't marry an ideal, now can I? Am I right or am I right?”

I dunno, lady, seems to me like you need an ideal. Seeings how gods are bigger than men. And anyways I reckon my sign says Shaman and not Plastic surgeon.” I answered but she got angry and started screaming that she paid the 30 bucks and if I don't make a potion, she's calling the cops.

So I just charge her more and tell her to come back tomorrow, which she agrees to. Seems to me she'd pay anything for her magic potion. And after she leaves I walk to the store in town and purchase a tube of anti-aging cream.

City folk don't see the truth clear as the stars I watched from the roof-top tonight. They put less on their elders I guess, than we do. I wonder if any of them ever looked up at the beauty of Grandfather Moon and saw that value, or if they only see each other's faces in some harsh judgment and then maybe decide that there's nothing inside you, unless you got blue-eyes or something. I dunno.

I miss my home so much as I stare up at Grandfather Moon and the smog that hides his face. I wish I could make them see what I see so clear. Only I don't reckon that's possible. They got their own sorta smog hiding what's valuable and what ain't. That's why they can't see their own beauty, I reckon. Ain't no magic potion that can cure dumb. Ain't no magic spell gonna transport me back to the sound of the katydids either. Maybe I’ll hop that magic carpet they call Greyhound as soon as I save the money. Go back to where things made sense. Time to pray.


Old Man***

Monday, October 6, 2014

Coming out soon... cheesy monster jokes with even cheesier illustrations.. 

Bad puns... you're welcome!
From weird old me!

Sunday, October 5, 2014

No sales at the store this week. I want to go in, but I'm not certain that I can. I've been up since 3 sick again. As far as the job search no luck at all. Not really sure how snag-a-job sees me try for tutor and sends me openings for astronaut.  
At any rate, I'm working on a workbook and the joke book isn't out yet... My cover is too small, but we'll see what can be done and maybe have it out before Halloween after all. I'll be signing books on Broadway on Halloween and I hope to see you there! 
That's my side of it,

Saturday, October 4, 2014

Hatter’s novels always have a way of speaking truth into the confusion of daily life. While most readers pick up a novel in order to escape from the chaos of living and find solace in stock characters and a linear storyline, readers of Hatter’s work are drawn to her precisely for the absurd realism that she is able to capture. Life is not neat and tidy, and neither is this work. Within the pages of Cry of the Mock Turtle, you will see yourself, not as you wish to be, but as you really are. Told by the characters themselves, the most endearing thing about the book is its cast of characters and the truth they expose both about the darkness of human nature and the redemptive quality of the human spirit. I fear that a great many people will miss this novel - not “dismiss” it, mind you, because once you’ve begun to read Cry of the Mock Turtle, you can hardly dismiss it. People will miss it because it isn’t easily categorized, and it doesn’t fit neatly into any one genre box. It isn’t simply a shamanic tale or a tragedy or a farcical story. It is a carefully woven narrative that is rich, complex, and has true depth.

Susan Byrnes

Author, Editor, Book Critic

Thursday, October 2, 2014


So Halloween is on its way, and I have been working on some silly joke books. I will post one here once in a while, though its not released yet. Also as today is the second I'll remind Sarah to release book 5! Cry of the Mock Turtle will be  out on Lulu now and posted to the website tonight. In a week or so I'll be putting up the Christmas displays in the store as well. So today I have started work with a very talented young man to make Diaries an audio book. Lots of exciting stuff on its way. Today I'll leave you with my warped sense of humor and later this week I'll post an excerpt from Mock Turtle.