Hello Owl’s Eye View Readers!
I recently began to print my
column, “Life’s A Hoot” which appears monthly in my online “Owl’s Eye View
Magazine” in this blog. It occurred to
me that I should archive all the previous LAH columns so that you could get a
better idea when reading my blog, of what my magazine is all about.
Owl’s Eye View Magazine
consists of 5 monthly columns (penned by my fictitious characters), 2 two
original short stories, and a monthly installment of my original novel
(installments usually run about 30 pages).
In Volumes 1 and 2, and the first six issues of Volume 3, there were 6
columns.
Life’s a Hoot is my editorial
column, which is part personal experience or opinion and part synopses of the
articles and stories contained in that issue.
Therefore, I felt it was appropriate to include the columns on my blog
site, since they contain highlights of each month of my personal life.
This blog contains Volumes 1
and 2 of Owl’s Eye View. I will be doing
a separate blog for Volume 3 Issues 1-6, and then after that, I will print
Life’s a Hoot on a monthly basis on the day each issue of the magazine is
published online.
So here we go! Chills!
Ter
LIFE’S A HOOT - VOLUME 1
ISSUE 1
Stephen King relates in his
book, “On Writing” some advice he received from editor John Gould: “A writer
should write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.”
An excellent rule of thumb
I’ve committed to memory and taken to heart.
Editors, (both professional
and amateur) are writers’ best friends.
The tougher the better, when it comes to ridding a book of mistakes and
clarifying vague passages that leave a reader going “huh?”
Writers who don’t understand
the importance of the editing process confuse me, perhaps because I’ve always
enjoyed the entire process of writing: planning, creating, editing, publishing,
all of it, since I was a child. It
confounds me when a writer abhors any part of the process.
I have met many writer
friends on Facebook, and enjoy perusing their books, articles, and
stories. Most are conscientious and
scrupulous about the editing process, because they realize that it’s crucial to
story-telling. An error free manuscript
is essential for every writer, especially non-fiction writers who are trying to
establish credibility about their specific area of expertise.
I recently read a book
published by a casual Facebook friend
She wrote an amazingly interesting and exciting story which totally
captivated my attention. She maintained
an excellent narrative voice throughout the entire book.
She ruined the whole thing by
not having the book professionally edited.
There were punctuation mistakes, spelling mistakes that were
inexcusable, words that made it look like she’d never researched her topic,
which in turn brought into question her credibility concerning her expertise on
the very subject matter she discussed in the book.
Mistakes every couple of
pages, sometimes two or three on a page left me shaking my head in
despair. Ten pages into the book I
wondered, horrified, if she’d released a first draft of the book to her
publisher, rather than a final proof.
I contacted my friend via her
email address and told her about the mistakes I’d found in the book and
explained why I thought it would be a good idea to overhaul it, especially if
there was to be a second printing.
Surely she would want to correct the mistakes before that. I’ve yet to hear back from her, which is
unfortunate.
She considers herself an
expert on her subject matter, and indeed she is, but that doesn’t necessarily
make her a flawless writer. Most writers
understand that no one writes error-free, page after page and no one should
submit a manuscript to a publisher without it having first been proofread by
someone interested enough to point out at least the glaring flaws.
In other words, once the
story is on the page, (or in the computer), the door should be opened. As many eyes as possible should read it, and
if possible, typos, spelling and punctuation mistakes and other errors should
be circled so that they may be fixed before they become embarrassments, showing
up in a published copy of the book. And
even more importantly, before they distract the reader from the most important
thing of all: the story.
**
LIFE’S A HOOT - VOLUME 1 ISSUE
2
Can Do!
Still dark at four in the
morning on April 2nd, 2009 , the first day of my vacation seemed to be going just
fine. The trip from Georgia Delaware
As I pulled away from the
curb I had no idea how long it would be before I would see her with her little
stuffed friends.
I drove through the sunrise
and everything was fine at around seven. I was getting the nibbles and cracked
the bag of Cheetos and a can of gingerale I’d placed on the passenger’s seat
the night before. I began nibbling and
sipping away, keeping my eyes on the road, thinking in about another hour I’d
stop and stretch my legs and top off my gas tank.
By eight I’d crossed into North Carolina
The next thing I knew, there
was a paramedic knocking on my window, telling me to stay still, and relax,
that they were going to have to cut the roof off of my car to get me out.
I have absolutely no
recollection of the accident. Apparently
I veered left, hit the guard rail, bounced off, back across four lanes of I85
and hit an abutment on the right side of the road with force enough that my car
spun around and ended up facing the wrong direction. My car was trashed, the right front tire was
bent back into the passenger side floor, the steering column was broken and on
the floor, the steering wheel resting in my lap. The air bags deployed, windshield shattered,
Cheetos and gingerale everywhere, and Aha still wailing from my CD player. I looked down at my left arm on the rest,
thinking that it looked weird. And I will always remember the acrid hot engine
smell mixed with road dust. And the
sound of the windshield shattering the rest of the way and landing on the
quilted cover the paramedics had stretched over me, covering my face to protect
me from the broken glass. As the
paramedics started to take me out of the car, I looked over and told them to
grab the black tote bag, and I must have blacked out because I don’t remember
anything else until I was in the ambulance.
Paramedics rushed me to the
closest ER, to get a CT Scan of my head and spine. Fortunately there were no head or spine
injuries, so it was decided, with my extensive injuries that the paramedics
should take me to a different hospital, 40 minutes away, because they had a
better trauma unit. They loaded me into
the ambulance and took off.
In the trauma unit, they
began cutting off my clothes and examining my injuries: a shattered left ankle,
torn ACL and meniscus in my right knee, torn right rotator cuff, broken left
wrist, two broken ribs and a fractured sternum, and extensive bruising across
my chest from the seat belt. To the side
they were placing what was left of my clothes in the trash. A scrub-clad young man held up mittens he’d
dug out of the pockets of my shredded Cruxshadows hoodie. “Want me to save these?” “Yes!
Please! My grandmother knitted
them for me, before you were born.” He
probably thought I was delirious, but it was true. I’d pulled them out and decided to wear them
that past winter. As old as they were,
they were in better shape than I was.
Not much in the belongings bag: the mittens, my Crocs, my wrist watch
that they’d cut off my arm, my bra, which was cut off and I have no idea why
they’d saved and my tote bag which contained my most essential personal
items.
Four hundred miles away from
my friends in Georgia Delaware Winston-Salem , North
Carolina Delaware Georgia
I’d never had a broken bone
before. I’d had several surgeries,
almost hemorrhaged to death twice, all kinds of other crap during the course of
my half century of life, but nothing broken.
I sure made up for it on that misty April morning.
By the time they screwed,
bolted, tacked and plated my ankle back together, splinted my wrist, braced my
knee, and I woke up from the surgery, my sons were there. I heard them quietly listening to the doctor
as I tried to focus my eyes, still groggy from the anesthesia.
My younger son, Joe, was
listening, my older son, Bill, was trying to get the doctor to agree to Medivac
me to Philly. I shuddered at the thought
of being moved from the gurney into a bed, let alone onto a helicopter to be
flown for hours, then into a bed a full 800 miles from my home in Georgia. To my great relief I heard my doctor say,
“She’s not going anywhere. This is not
about convenience for her family and friends, this is about her best interest
as my patient. She’ll be staying right
here.” Thank God, I thought, as Joe
noticed I was awake.
He held my hand, and smiled,
and said I would be alright, which I had enough morphine in my brain to
believe, and I saw Billy on his cell phone, then he came over and they stood by
the gurney, talking to me for awhile.
A couple of hours later,
Billy told me that they wouldn’t be able to stay any longer, because he had to
work the next day and couldn’t get out of it. Joe was not happy about that, but they’d come
down together, so, he had no choice but to drive back to Delaware
I was okay until Saturday
when my heart rate spiked up to 145. I
ended up in Cardiac Care, with a gazillion monitors on me, and trying to get
through the automated phone system of the Human Resources Department of the
retail pharmacy where I work. My phone
service kept dropping the call, I couldn’t get through to a human
representative, to tell them that I wouldn’t be back to work and that I needed
a medical leave of absence, and the stress built up with every dropped call
finally leaving me crying in frustration.
Talk about counter-productive to my health!
The doctors medicated me and
stabilized my heart. I went back to a
private room with my monitors, catheter, IV, casts, splints, brace and
stress.
At the end of the first week,
my friends Linda and Christine came up from Georgia
My glasses were mangled on
the floor. The steering column was
practically on the floor, and mangled, so the keys in the ignition were
irretrievable. I had a 12 cd holder on my visor that was nowhere to be found,
and my medicine bag that a shaman friend had made for me, that had been hanging
on my rear view mirror was gone.
They retrieved my suitcase
from the back seat, tote bags that were on the passenger seat, stuff out of my
glove compartment, stuff out of my trunk, my lab coat that had been on my back
seat. But when I asked about Rosie’s
Beanie Babies, they had had no luck. I figure, since they were behind my
driver’s seat on the floor, they were either under the seat or had gotten lost
when I was dragged out through the roof.
Out of all the stuff I lost, I was most upset about that, because I knew
it would be weeks before I would have access to a computer to order her new
ones, and I’d already missed her birthday.
However, Chris and Linda came
into my hospital room like a warm tropical breeze, hugging me, joking with me,
stashing incidentals they’d picked up for me in my bedside table, and bringing
a little piece of my life in Georgia to me until I could return to it. They replaced my cell phone, which had been
cracked and was dropping calls, and my glasses, and made me laugh in spite of
myself. Then they went back home to
begin the long wait for me to heal.
I finished out the second
week in the hospital, improving a little each day. I was able to sit up, feed myself better,
(though the nurses still were cutting my meat, I had no strength in my arms). I
found that the seemingly small things were the most frustrating: waiting for a
nurse to put me on a bedpan, the IV needle that painfully jammed into the crook
of my arm every time I tried to do the least little thing, the heart monitors
that popped off whenever I moved, (I started snapping them back together myself
so the nurses wouldn’t charge into my room thinking I was flatlining), the
catheter, and having to drag all that crap with me when the hospital staff
tried to lift me into a gerry chair and sit me in the hall to give me a change
of surroundings.
On April 17th my
surgeon released me to a rehabilitation facility in Raleigh Georgia Raleigh
I was scared of the two hour
ride, but it went smoothly enough, and I was still on oxycodone, which insured
that things were pain free. For two
hours I texted my daughter-in-law and concentrated on finally being free of the
heart monitor wires, the catheter, and best of all that goddamned painful IV
needle stabbing my arm with every slightest move.
I didn’t know what to expect
from a nursing facility, and was nervous as the ambulance drivers lifted my
stretcher from the back of the vehicle.
On the way inside, they made comments: “This is nice, there are patients
sitting outside.” And once we entered through the doors: “The nurses are not
sitting around at the station, they are paying attention to the patients in the
hall, and in and out of rooms. Good
sign. And it doesn’t smell like urine,
that’s good.” I nodded, agreeing. The place was clean and nicely
decorated. By the time they wheeled me
into my room I felt much better, relieved.
Two male nurses, Yamil and Dayton Dayton Raleigh Dayton
A few minutes later Alla came into the room, with her
exotic Ukranian accent, and offered me some little bagged snacks, animal
crackers, Cheezits, and graham crackers, asked me if there was anything I
needed, was very pleasant, and then disappeared to take care of her other
patients. We had many talks about Russia
Just after I finished my dinner, Yamil showed up with my
Lovenox shot. From the first day in the
hospital to a couple days before I was released from rehab, I would receive two
Lovenox shots a day, a grand total of 240 shots. Those little suckers hurt. I grew to dread 9 a.m. and 9 p.m.
when the shots were given. Like I said,
it’s the smaller things that get to be the most annoying. But Yamil showed up with the shot and several
minutes (later on, sometimes half an hour!) of conversation and jokes, so it
helped me through the aggravation of the shots.
My first two months I was
completely non-weight bearing. I could
feed myself, one-handed, if somebody put the table over the bed, near my
head. I used my cell phone, but only for
a few minutes at a time, holding my arm up for more time than that really hurt
my shoulder. Try explaining that to a
mother who is famous for her marathon four hour phone conversations!
There is no indignity like
that of realizing that the nurse’s aid at your end of the hall in the middle of
the night is of the opposite sex, and three decades younger than you. I thought back to when I’d spoken with a
nurse (a female one) in the hospital about not being able to clean myself well
enough to eliminate odor. She said,
“Well, it’s hard to clean around a catheter…and you’re a woman, you know? We’re juicy.”
Amusing as I found that term, I had to admit it was accurate. I wondered, on my first night in the rehab
center, if this young man got that, as I lifted my leg up so that he could wipe
me after turning me onto my side off of the bedpan.
He did, actually, and though
he was gentle and thorough every time he cleaned me up, the whole experience
inspired me to work very hard to put myself on and off the bedpan and wipe
myself. I was doing that within a week
of entering rehab. Reaching back and
wiping myself was a new adventure in pain, but I was determined.
Everyone in the rehab center
who came into my room was surprised at my cheerfulness and ability to kid
around and crack jokes. They were used
to elderly patients in various states of dementia, and I was perhaps the
youngest patient in the facility.
However, I did have my down moments.
One day I was frustrated with my limitations, I’d been trying to, on my
cell phone, straighten out some insurance glitches and been getting a serious
run-around, found out my employment had been dropped, subsequently dropping my
insurance and leaving me without income.
I finally just leaned back and sobbed.
The stress, in addition to the pain and physical limitation was just too
much. It all came out in wails, which I
tried to stifle, to no avail. I heard
the call bell sounding from the room across the hall from mine, as I wept. I heard a soft male voice say, “I think the
lady in that room is upset, she’s been crying for a long time. Maybe you should check and see if she’s
alright.” Oh God, I thought, not wanting
anyone to see me in the midst of my pity party.
Pam, the buxom, funny, no bullshit black nurse’s aid, who I particularly
enjoyed teasing and laughing with, came into the room, took one look at me and
said, “Uh oh,” instantly recognizing a crying jag. She put her arm around my shoulders, handed
me tissues, and said, “let it all come out.”
Which I had been doing for half an hour, and after a few more minutes,
it was finally over. Pam gave me a drink
of water, handed me a wet washcloth to wipe my face, and started to leave.
“Hey Pam, I heard that man across the hall ask you to come
in here and check on me, that was nice of him.
What’s his name?”
“Leroy.”
“Well, would you tell Leroy that I’m okay? He sounds like a nice guy.”
“He is. I’ll tell
him.”
“Thanks.”
And indeed Leroy was a nice
man. And someone who helped me through
one of the most difficult, scary, painful times of my life.
A few days later I heard
Leroy in the hall, sitting outside his door in his wheelchair, waiting for
housekeeping to clean his bathroom. I
called him, and in he glided, the hum of his electric wheelchair smooth and
soft like his voice. I thanked him face
to face for the day he sent Pam in to check on me and he told me he’d had days
like that, many, for that matter, after his stroke. “I was paralyzed, and heard doctors say I’d
never walk, have use of my arms, or talk again.
I cried for weeks, then I started praying. And God answered me. He told me I had to stop drinking, had to
stop all the bad stuff I was doing in my life, but if I did, I would have
joy. And that he would help me. He said it wouldn’t be easy, but that I could
do it.” And he smiled, lifted his arms
up, and spun his chair around, straightened his legs from the knee, with some
difficulty, but it was hell and gone from being paralyzed. “And you can do the same. I know you’re frustrated, but you have to
think about the things you can do
rather than the things you can’t. When you first came in here, you couldn’t do
anything. Now you’re sitting on the side
of the bed, They can Hoyer lift you into the wheelchair, and you can wheel
yourself around the hall. You even went
into the bathroom and leaned your head in the sink and washed your hair! It’s just a matter of time you’ll be walking
out of this place,” he assured me.
And I thought about it. He was right.
Not long after that Kelly, my
therapist, helped me use the slide board to get into the wheelchair. This was a huge improvement over the Hoyer
lift, because it didn’t involve the nurses’ aids getting the lift, putting me
into the chair, and returning to put me back in the bed after therapy. I did wait for Kelly to be in the room to put
the wheelchair next to the bed, take the arm off the chair, and place the slide
board for me to use it. I always erred
on the side of safety.
That slide board gave me the
ability to get into a chair without the Hoyer lift. After therapy, I would sit in the hall with
Leroy and his roommate Arthur, and talk while Shelby
Therapy was no day at the
beach. After a lifetime of having
problems with my right knee, it was the one they insisted was weight-bearing
first, and I had to trust it with my entire weight because my left arm was
still casted, and my right rotator cuff was torn and couldn’t support weight
either.
That’s when Frank and I
became buddies. My therapist, Kelly, was
a small framed woman, strong for her size, but I was scared about standing at
the parallel bars. Terrified, in
fact. I didn’t trust (and mostly still
don’t) my knee not to pop, brace or not.
Frank had been a medic in the
army, and had the voice and demeanor of a drill sergeant. Everybody knew when Frank was on the floor
coming to take one of his patients to the physical therapy room. You could hear his barking voice all over the
floor until the elevator doors closed him in.
Frank stooped before me on a
Thursday morning, as I rested my casted left arm on his shoulder, and then he
hauled me to my foot, more smoothly than I would have expected from a 62 year
old man who’d had double knee replacements.
Unfortunately my left leg wasn’t far enough out in front of me and my
weight went on it, which wasn’t allowed yet, there was pain in my foot, and I
wailed to be sat back down. It shook me,
and I refused to let them stand me back up again. This pissed Frank off. “She’s not even trying!” he said to Kelly,
who shrugged, and wheeled me off the parallel bars.
Later that day I saw Frank,
and said hello, and he ignored me. That
pissed me off. Which, of course, was probably Frank’s plan
all along. Friday morning, I stayed in
my room and did my therapy exercises on the side of my bed. Kelly was obviously not happy about
that. She thought I was quitting. What she didn’t realize was that I needed to
psych myself up, and get my head around the physical challenge before me.
All week-end long I thought
hard about what Leroy had said about concentrating on what I could do. My attitude would have to change. Strangers had more faith in my body than I
did. But not for long.
Monday morning I was up at
five. I washed up, changed into fresh
shorts and a top, and brushed my teeth.
I took my reacher and latched onto the arm of my wheelchair which was
sitting by the wall across from my bed, on which the slide board rested, and
pulled it over to my bedside. It was
time. I removed the arm of the
wheelchair, snugged it up to the mattress and braked it, raised the bed above
the seat level of the chair, put the slide board in place and inched my way
into the chair all by myself for the first time.
And took off down the hall
headed for therapy downstairs. First
time I’d slide-boarded unassisted, and now the first elevator ride
unassisted. The nurses at the station in
front of the elevators smiled. “Today’s
the day I kick ass and take names!” I said, rolling onto the elevator. “You go girl!” Pam shouted as the elevator
doors whisked closed.
I rolled myself into the
therapy room five minutes early for my seven a.m. therapy, and parked myself at the end of the parallel bars. On my way I announced to Frank, “today’s the
day, Frank. No more chickening out! I’m gonna do this damned thing!” He responded: “You go sister!”
And I did. I put my full wait on my right leg for 12
seconds, sat back down, regrouped, and then stood for 20 seconds.
A week later I took my first
steps, balancing with a four pronged cane, and walked off the ramped end of the
parallel bars and over to my wheelchair.
Every day I walked a little farther until I’d mastered the hallway
outside the therapy room. Then Kelly
took me outside and we walked from the front door to the back door of the
building.
And inside, I either wheeled
myself beside Leroy when he walked with a walker down our hallway, or, the last
couple of weeks before I left rehab, I’d walk with him, and walk over to his
room to chat for a few minutes.
Finally the day came for
Winnie and Linda to come and pick me up.
(Winnie’s name is Buster, but I call him Winnie because he’s built
kindof like Winnie the Pooh, and he’s got a similar temperament). They stayed with Michael and Carolyn over night
and came for me on Sunday morning, August 2nd, exactly four months
after my accident. I walked out of the
rehab center with my four-pronged cane, very much pleased with my
accomplishments; very much concentrating on what I could do.
Right up until I got home and
had to figure out a way to go to the bathroom.
There was no way I could squat down on the regular toilet (I’d been
using a commode over the toilet in the hospital, several inches elevated above
the toilet height.) There had been a glitch ordering my equipment (commode and
shower stool) and it wouldn’t be at the house for another 48 hours. I brought a bedpan home with me from the
rehab center, and used it for those two days, but carrying it into the bathroom
and emptying it was difficult because my wrist was not much help holding it
level.
I was having a terrible
problem with my ankles swelling. I
ordered an herbal diuretic online, which took almost an entire week to
arrive. I had no choice but to wait
because there’d been a problem with my employment and subsequently my insurance
was dropped. It was eventually
reestablished, but hadn’t been in time for my homecoming. So I paid for my walker, commode, and cane
out of pocket.
I found that when I laid flat
and tried to elevate my ankles in bed, my back would go out. It had been twingy in the hospital, and rehab
center, but the hospital bed supported it, and I rarely laid flat. The disk had shifted during an MRI, toward
the end of my stay in rehab, and had been giving me trouble ever since.
This presented a problem that
drove me to desperation. I couldn’t lay
down and elevate my legs because of my back.
My ankles were seriously swollen.
I couldn’t lie down to sleep, and I couldn’t prop myself either, in bed,
without my disk shifting and causing excruciating pain. I was terrified I would lie down and not be
able to get back up.
I was sleep deprived, and
miserable. After all I’d been through, I
couldn’t face the idea of having this awful pain for the rest of my life, in
addition to all the other physical limitations I would have to deal with
daily. What was the point?
I actually wrote notes to
each of my loved ones, apologizing and telling them how much I loved them, just
in case I got to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to end
it. And I seriously considered doing
just that. I didn’t want to live in pain
every day. I didn’t want to have to
return to the medical system where I couldn’t make that choice, and I didn’t
know if I could function and take care of myself if this horrendous back pain
was now in the mix. I sat on the edge of
the bed, exhausted, desperate, depressed, defeated.
Then Winnie and Linda knocked
on the door and wheeled in this monstrous office chair that he’d replaced with
a newer, lighter model. Winnie’d spun it
until the seat was at it’s highest level, and I put two pillows on top of
it. I found that if I wedged a pillow
behind my back, I could doze off and sleep for around 20 to 30 minutes. I also rigged up a tv tray with a pillow on
top to elevate my legs, and found that my disk didn’t shift as it had when I
was lying down.
And then I went online
looking for a hospital bed. I’d gotten
my first disability checks from my re-established benefits, and had a thousand
dollars in my account. It was supposed
to be for catching up my rent, but Linda told me the rent could wait, I needed
to sleep.
The cheapest hospital bed was
over $2000. My VISA card was maxed. Insurance wasn’t going to cover it, and
besides, I was having trouble with insurance still. I kept looking. I looked up Gerry chairs. They were almost as expensive as hospital
beds, and weren’t much better than the office chair I was using. Then I came across medical recliners. It’s basically a Laz-E-Boy type chair, but it
has a hydraulic lift that raises the chair and tilts it forward. The stool is also solid under the backs of
the legs when raised, and there is apoulstered support at the back of the arms
so there are no gaps that leave your arms unsupported. That feature makes the chair even better than
a hospital bed.
This chair saved my
life. It arrived within a week, Winnie
got it into my room and plugged it in.
Though it will recline completely flat, I raise the stool and leave the
back at 55 degrees. My back is
supported, and I can sleep my normal six to seven hours a night.
I still have a little
swelling problem (more in my right foot than my left, ironically enough), but I
can sleep, shower, and take care of myself in my room. I have graduated from the commode to my
toilet with an elevated toilet seat (with arms) attached.
And I am still concentrating
on the things that I can do rather
than those that I can’t.
The first month I was home I
crocheted Leroy a blanket to replace one he’d given to me in the rehab
center. It turned out very nice. I’d stitched a cross on it, understanding
that his faith was the most important thing of all to him.
And also during that first
month I ordered another set of Max and Ruby Beanie Babies for Rosie. Cait and Joe texted me a picture of her
holding them, with the exact exuberant smile I’d pictured on her face when I’d
ordered the first set…so very many months before.
A couple weeks after I got
home in August, Winnie was laid off, and things have been a financial struggle
between Winnie being on unemployment and me being on disability. But we’re managing. However there was no extra money to install
grab rails, a railing up the garage steps into the main part of the house, (my
room is off the garage), or any other special equipment that might have made
things easier. But I am an inventive
person, and almost always find a way to compensate for my circumstances. Like I placed my commode outside my bathroom
door. With the door closed, I could pull
myself up by the doorknob, the door being braced by its frame. And I hand washed my clothing, which was
therapeutic for my broken wrist and arm muscles. It took awhile for them to afford it, but
Winnie installed a full railing up the steps so I could get into the main part
of the house. He and his son-in-law, JP,
did this on Thanksgiving (which added to the long list of things I was Thankful
for!), and it was the first time I was able to come upstairs for a family meal. It meant dragging cushions upstairs to put on
my chair at the table, and hobbling on my cane very slowly, but hey, it’s
another thing I can do! Sit and enjoy holiday meals with loved
ones.
I’m still on disability, and
will be for quite awhile. There are
still some limitations that would make it impossible for me to work in an
office every day, but that’s the can’t
list. What I can do is write, and I have managed to build and publish my Owl’s
Eye View Magazine website. It was a
longtime dream before my accident. I
wrote and worked, and learned how to bring that dream to fruition. And here we are. Another thing I can do.
Another thing I can do is be
grateful. To my family and friends who
were there, worrying about me, providing clothes and incidentals, visiting me
over great distance, sending me encouragement through phone calls, cards,
flowers, and texts. To the paramedics
who dragged me out of my shattered car and rushed me to the trauma
centers. To the hospital and
rehabilitation center staffs who put my broken body back together, made phone
calls for me in the ER, nudged me, stretched me, cleaned me up, joked with me,
hugged me, Hoyer lifted me, encouraged me, fed me, medicated me, kept watch
over me, tested me, lifted me up to the parallel bars, set up transportation to
doctor’s appointments, transported me, put me on and off of and cleaned my
bedpans, cleaned my room, did my laundry, helped me with insurance glitches and
faxes, and brought me Krispy Kreme (yes Peggy, that’s you!!).
And finally, I am grateful to
Leroy, for pointing out a very simple philosophy that has helped me immensely:
Concentrate on things you can do,
rather than things you can’t. Thank
you, Leroy, for listening, laughing, (especially that wild laugh you’d let
loose when I zoomed down the hall with my legs and arms out in the wheelchair,
that face was priceless!), encouraging, and caring.
I have yet to hug my
grandchildren has been well over a year since I’ve seen them. However, what I can do is Skype them, and thanks to the web cam I received for a
Christmas present, I can see them face to face, talk to them, read stories I’ve
written for them (I’m putting together a book of them), and even have tea
parties with Rosie. Little Joey
recognizes me, and I heard and saw him say “Nana” for the first time just the
other day. All more things I can be
grateful for.
So as I go forward and meet
whatever challenges life has for me, my answer will be, “Can do!”
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 3
Hello one and all,
I have been scanning research
books and materials onto my computer, (which is a hugely time-consuming
project, but it’s allows me to sit and watch movies all day and still be
productive, muahaha). I’m zeroing in on
health and nutrition books this week, trying to thin out my hardcopy library,
which is way too extensive for the size of the room I rent.
I came across “Stop the
Insanity,” “Food,” “The Politics of Stupid,” and “Come on America
I have scanned them all into
my laptop because, even after more than a decade and a half, the information in
the books still is just as valid as when they were released. Susan Powter’s strength, vitality, and
nurturing spirit is just as helpful to me today as it was in 1993 when I first
devoured “Stop the Insanity!” When speaking
of this particular tome, I wish to honor Susan because she has produced one of
the very few books that I have read, cover to cover, twice. While I return to reference books frequently
and read passages for research purposes, I rarely read a book over again. Too many books, too little time, you
know?
I have visited her website (www.susanpowteronline.com) on
occasion just to see what she’s up to these days. She’s still healthy and helpful to people who
need a pep talk, or recipes and tips to improve their health and
well-being. And she has just enough
sarcastic response to the bs in the health and diet industry to render her a
personal hero of mine.
I give Susan Powter a lot of
credit for having the gumption to learn how to live healthy. She started out at over 260 pounds and
alcohol addicted, and overcame it all.
But more than that, she came out with books, a TV show, videos and
finally a website to show others how to accomplish the same thing. What more could I ask from a personal
hero?
It is Susan’s attitude,
pioneering efforts, and encouragement that help keep me striving toward
wellness. Thank you, Susan Powter for
stopping the insanity for so many people through the years, myself certainly
included.
Personl addendum: (And I
think Susan would approve of this.) You know, inspiration can come from
seriously weird places. Night before
last I slept terribly. My back was
bothering me, which scares the crap out of me, because it makes me afraid that
I’ll get stuck not being able to move, and when the back problems are going on
it leaves me depressed and challenges my hope.
I’ve been concerned about my rapidly expanding behind (I’ve recently
been comparing it to the dimensions of a hot air balloon) is in my clinical
recliner almost constantly and that I’m not moving around enough. My activities are all seated: writing,
maintaining my website, scanning my considerable research library into the
computer, watching movies, reading, and eating.
I was only standing to do minor chores and go to the bathroom. This is not enough exercise, my therapists
would be horrified.
I am the type of person who will turn a problem around and
around in my head until I get it figured out.
I suspected that my back was revolting because I was sitting with the
scanner in my lap, and pressing down on the spines of the books to flatten them
on the bed of the scanner. It was
pulling my back muscles. So I came up
with the idea to sit my scanner on top of my printer and stand up to enter the
books. I scan a chapter standing up,
then sit down to give my legs a break while it saves. I have to lean over the click scan for each
page, which, in Terriworld is a repetitive weight-bearing exercise! Yay!
I slept well last night, and this morning my back is
better. No twinges. I was up at five, got my dishes washed, and
decided to extend this article with my progress report. One step closer to getting out of my room and
into a job that will actually support me and give me back some semblance of a
life!
While back pain is never a good thing, in this case I think
it helped me conquer a problem and find a new and healthier way of doing
things. I just needed to ‘stand up’ for
myself!
Terri
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 4
CHANGES IN Owl's Eye View
There’s
big news and big changes coming your way in this issue of Owl's Eye View!
From this issue forward Owl's Eye View Magazine will offer
fiction stories, novel excerpts, and vignettes.
I am removing the columns Fly Right and BS Busters.
I have signed up with Associated Content and am submitting
my non-fiction pieces to them for publication.
Mick Loy, Loren Elliott, Mark Logan, CeeCee Charleston,
Melanie Mirth, Jonas Wurst, and Larry Nunn all were working on Owl's Eye View
in their spare time, zapping out an article for me a month. They were almost relieved when I told them
about the change in Owl's Eye View, and will be supplying me with ideas to
submit to Associated Content.
What does this mean for Owl's Eye View readers? It means I’m swapping out non fiction
articles for fiction stories. Instead of
just one short story per issue, I will be including three short stories. And then there will be the rest of the
columns: Macabre Mirth, Screech On!, From the Perch, Life’s a Hoot, the novel
excerpt, and Swooping Through the Years (Historical Society Page).
On the Wind Spirit will stay because the articles that Lucy
Bernelli writes are almost always directly tie in to something occurring in and
around Owl’s Nest.
The reason I decided to make this change is that from the
inception of Owl's Eye View, I thought it was a little confusing to have health
and nutrition articles in a monthly dark fiction magazine. A Facebook friend recommended Associated
Content to me. They accept submissions,
review them, publish them within a week.
I already have several items on that site: www.associatedcontent.com Once on that page, type my name into the
search box. There are some non-fiction
articles and some original poetry, so far, and I have several health and
nutrition articles on the way. So if you
were a fan of one of the Owl's Eye View columns that is being removed, please
know that the articles will be available on Associated Content.
I will also let you know, through Life’s a Hoot, what
topics I’ve discussed in my articles on Associated Content that month.
So, Owl's Eye View readers, enjoy the changes that allow
you to have the best of both worlds.
More of the dark fiction you love, and more health, nutrition,
community, political, household, music and entertainment articles on the
Associated Content site. You win!
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 5
Echo of Screech On
I don’t usually declare a
theme for each issue of Owl’s Eye View, I prefer to let my columnists run with
their own ideas and be surprised. Every
month I am delighted with what they have to offer. This month Screech On! struck a chord for
me…literally.
The first time I listened to
“Quicksilver” by Rogue and the Cruxshadows, I cried, it spoke to me on so many
levels. Such inspiration, intensity and
passion all in one song.
Then I saw the video with
it’s little touches of alchemy here, there, and everywhere, and I was even more
moved by the talent that is Rogue and the Cruxshadows.
While Larry Nunn pondered the
lyrics on a more global scale, a notion which excited me beyond belief, I was
most inspired on a personal level. I’m
still partially disabled from an auto accident I had last year, and I’m
physically limited. Plus, I’m a writer
and one rejection letter after another tends to zap one’s self-esteem. Plus, the wages I was making at my pharmacy
tech job were barely livable, so you can imagine the pittance I’m getting from
disability insurance, not to mention all the hoops you have to jump through to
continue to qualify for said insurance.
Plus the debt from all the medical bills, and we won’t even talk about
the weight gain from being virtually sedentary for over a year.
All of my personal problems
were beginning to really piss me off, and hearing Rogue’s defiance ringing
through the speakers riled me up, but better, riled me up in the right
direction. I decided it was high time
for me to publish my own writing. Here
it is! Owl’s Eye View Magazine
online. I decided to get in touch with
my disability reps and find out about training and looking for a job I can do
in spite of my limitations. I decided to
eat healthier, and I am. Nothing
processed. All fresh fruits and veggies,
almost no meat. I’ve learned to make my
own salsa, hummus, and guacamole. A
friend suggested associatedcontent.com for publishing my non-fiction articles,
and I’ve been published, and actually paid.
It’s not much money, but I can put ‘free-lance writer’ on my resume in
addition to all of my office and pharmaceutical experience which will hopefully
nudge me in the direction of technical writing that I can do at home (and which
is more lucrative than retail pharmacy teching). And I’ve been trying to remember to just move
around more. Our house sits in a hill,
and I can’t walk up the inclined driveway.
So my exercise comes from walking around in circles, mostly, and
climbing the stairs up to the main house.
But I do set a timer and get up out of my chair and walk around many
more times a day. And I’ve stopped using
the scooters provided by stores where I shop.
So I’ve made many positive changes in my life, and it started with the
spark from one song: “Quicksilver.”
I think Larry’s notion of
duel national anthems is remarkable and Rogue should perhaps pursue that on
some level. The ideals in the song so
well reflect the original spirit of our forefathers. I know it has bolstered my determination to
move forward both personally and professionally in spite of it all.
While Larry offers you well
deserved congratulations, Rogue and Cruxshadows, I offer you thanks.
*****
*****
On the opposite end of the
inspirational scale, Lucy Bernelli’s article about Islam disturbed and unnerved
me. Knowing that there are still
religions and governments that encourage virtual enslavement, rape, and abuse
of women, from the time they are born causes
me deep concern and frankly, embarrassment.
Embarrassment that the world’s enlightened women gained recognition,
respect, and rights in the niches of the world where we reside yet allow this
barbarism to continue outside of our immediate areas.
I researched all afternoon
yesterday on Youtube and have become a fan of Wafa Sultan, Robert Spencer, M.D. Kavanwal and Nonie
Darwish, to the extent that after watching their Youtube appearances or
studying their websites, I've ordered their books. I think the best way to
protect ourselves as women against the enslavement and abuses of Islam is to educate
ourselves, try to share our knowledge with oppressed women, and stand ready. ...
After
everything I've read, especially about Islamic encouragement to enslave, beat,
rape, and mutilate the genitalia of
women, I can't believe that any country today would embrace Islam. I do
understand that the only members of a populace that would follow the murdering
pedophile muhammad are the basest, most misogynistic, pedophilic, domineering,
and sadistic thugs of a free society. I
am extremely open-minded about other cultures, but not this one. I agree with
Lucy that it is dangerous and insidious, and that the fact that they actually
have a name for the lies they tell about the peacefulness of their religion,
(taqiyya) that is sanctioned by their so-called messenger from God,
demonstrates that it is an abomination hiding behind the silk trappings of a
peaceful religion. I suppose that labels
me an Infidel. Absofreakinglutely. And
proud of it.
Ter
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 6
This past month I have been
preoccupied with my non-fiction research, and hope for the survival of my
country in the wake of an ominous threat.
With dark clouds on the horizon, writing fiction seems almost frivolous,
but Lucy Bernelli insures me that the only way to thwart a particular enemy is
to live life as fully and freely as possible, and maintain a balance between
professional, personal, and physical goals.
What she said pointed out to
me that I’d gotten off track. So with
the help of my kitchen timer, I divide my days equally between Owl’s Eye View,
non-fiction articles and activism, my job hunt, Nana School
With everything crammed into
my day, I divide up the relaxation time and tuck little pieces of it between
the hours I block out for all the activity.
The activism and non-fiction articles consume my mind, even while I’m
working on other projects, because of the awesome responsibility to educate and
encourage others to defend freedoms that are threatened. The work I’m doing is quiet, yet incredibly
desperate, and it colors all the other spheres of my world.
In this issue, Larry Nunn has
uncovered a bit of writing that I did upon request of a songwriter friend. Funny how a poem I wrote over five years ago
could be relevant to the serious non-fiction work I’m doing today, but it fits. While it’s a specific poem about a specific
character, it illustrates nicely the mind-set of some of today’s fanatics, and
the fatal seed they bring from centuries ago into the present.
Even though I’m preoccupied
with one aspect of my writing, the labor of love that is Owl’s Eye View, gives
me a place to free my soul from worry for a few hours a day.
Seeing articles of spiritual
hope from Lucy Bernelli is helpful not only to me, but to everyone who clicks
through Owl’s Eye View as well.
Being in the world of Owl’s
Nest is comforting and even though there are evils lurking, I know my Owl
friends will figure out how to overcome them and prevail.
Enjoy this issue, explore Owl
lit, and keep a feather in your heart.
Ter
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 7
I’ve been thinking a lot
about freedom recently. There is a
serious threat to our country that puts our freedom in danger and I’ve been
researching extensively about it in preparation for writing a book of
essays.
While Signe Hannigan, our
beloved Owl Crone, identifies with owls, wise, predator birds that survive in
the shadows, I mostly identify with seagulls.
First, the live at the beach
with the hypnotic rhythm of the waves and tides; the sunrises and sunsets
sliding by as time passes, rain washing them clean of salt, the surf spraying
in their faces as they troll for food, and bob on the surface of the ocean,
resting, drinking I the salt air and the view for all of their days…which is a
lifelong dream of mine.
Second, they live on seafood,
right out of the water, salty, fresh, lean, mmmmm!
Third, they soar through the
sky oblivious to religion, politics, economy, war, racism, and all sorts of
other troubling issues plaguing humanity.
The only thing they will
fight over is food, and if there’s enough of that it’s live and let live.
Gulls represent freedom, both
physical and spiritual that human beings can never know.
Especially now that I have a
hard time just walking, I picture gulls soaring about; the tang of sea air in
their nostrils; sea water drying of their feathers; soaring; diving into the
surf, rewarded with a fish or clam for their supper; wading in the surf at the
end of the day, soaking their fees, nodding off to the ocean’s lullaby; and I
think, now that is freedom.
Td 7/16/10
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 8
As I look over the articles
for this issue, I must say there’s some seriously intense stuff…I know it’s a
dark fiction magazine and all, but wow…
The Crone’s brief missive in
“From the Perch” is cryptic bordering disturbing.
Lucy’s “Owl Medicine” article
in “On the WindSpirit” is informative and insightful about Native American
Mysticism surrounding our favorite creatures…and possibly the lightest piece in
this issue.
“Swooping Through the Years”
offers a tribute to Connor Boyle, Cassandra’s husband who literally planted the
seeds for Owl’s Nest with her. It’s
amazing what they accomplished starting with two acres of garden and less than
a square mile of space to build a town.
Larry Nunn introduces us to
the band, Formalin, via some particularly intense lyrics they have performed
recently at Screech, and no doubt will be requested to perform again and again
so haunting is their message.
Macabre Mirth is
particularly—well—macabre this issue.
And then there are my three
stories, “A
Place
The final little push into
that delightful, chilling place is this issues installment of
“Reflection.”
So sit back in your uneasy
chair and enjoy the journey.
Chills!
Terri
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 9
This is a rather momentous
issue because it is the last installment of “Reflection.”
I hope you all enjoyed
reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
If you like it enough to want
to buy it, please email me: oevmag@gmail.com
and let me know. If I can show a
publisher that there is a demand for the printed book and that I have
interested readers, it will go a long way to getting me a contract, not only
for “Reflection,” but for the rest of my books as well.
Starting next issue, I will
be running installments of “Holy Terrors.”
This book establishes on-going characters that will carry into
“Carnival” and “Carnival Battle” that I will be publishing in early 2011. Actually, I’ve published “Carnival,” but I
will re-publish it with “Carnival Battle,” as a refresher.
I’ve been very busy with all
of these on-going characters and stories for the magazine. We’re going to have a lot of fun together in
2011! I’m also planning on updating and
publishing “The People Of Owl’s Nest,” a comprehensive list of all the Owl’s
Nest characters, and descriptions and what books/stories they’re from. So you can keep track of your favorite
Owls.
On a technical note, I
FINALLY figured out the glitch that was causing all the text on the site to be
flush left. You will notice it is now
centered, and easier on the eye when reading.
You’re welcome. If you were here
with me, I’d let you doink me on the head for not figuring it out sooner. Haha!
It’s been quite a month. There’s a hum in Owl’s Nest. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but
there’s an energy under the surface of everyone’s consciousness, a warmth,
though just beneath that there is a chill.
And everyone seems to have a story going on, something that connects
them irrevocably to Owl’s Nest.
As if they’re cinching in
their loose ends, tightening up their borders, stowing the irrelevant and
battening down for a storm. It’s more
than just summer drawing nigh, it’s as if souls were polishing shields.
Eh, probably just me.
Larry Nunn has a weird little
story going on. He’s writing it in four
parts, and cannot tell me how it’s going to end, because he doesn’t remember. I’m hoping he gets his crap together because
I read Part 1 and I’m going to be very upset if he can’t dredge up the rest
from his traumatized brain…
Signe has some verse for you
this issue that I found moving, and hopefully you will too. She’s writing close to the vest (or perhaps I
should say close to the feather) these days.
I’m not sure if I want to put pieces together and try to figure out the
feeling of foreboding I get when I read her stuff…
Nathan Williams sparked a
memory in my heart and mind with his story.
I vividly remember The Lindens in Duck Creek. Actually, Mary Young was a real-life person,
and my father’s cousin. I used to love
to visit her historical house because it had secret rooms upstairs, including
one that you almost needed a map to find.
It was Mary’s husband Clyde ’s study, (he was a writer) and was wall to wall
books. I could have moved into it and
never come out. I was just a little girl
when we went there, and even then Clyde ’s writing room
appealed to me more than any other room in the house.
Nathan’s story, of course
isn’t about my cozy feelings about that hidden room, but souls that pass in the
night on their way into and out of the world.
I’m pleased to see that Lucy
Bernelli is sharing her personal stories about her lifetime of shamanism. She’s so knowledgeable about religion, but
her forte is, always has been, and always will be, Native American
spirituality. She shines in the glow of
Grandmother Moon and Owl Medicine keeps her senses sharp. She will help us find the way through
darkness, which is spilling down upon us.
And for that we shall
prevail.
(This is a real-life place.)
Last but certainly not least,
a couple of Owls told me that if you want to get out of town on a Saturday
morning and find unique crafts and extraordinary art, a great place to head for
is Chestertown Farmers’ Market in Chestertown Maryland. Information is available at: www.chestertown.com and they also have a Facebook page. I also do my best to post the Facebook pages
of the Chestertown artisans, whose work is remarkable.
Okay, my friends, read on and
enjoy.
Chills!
Terri
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 10
Hello faithful readers and
fellow Owl’s Nest locals. October is
probably my favorite month of the year.
I welcome cooler weather, explosions of fall colors, and Halloween.
This issue of Owl's Eye View
has some new and interesting features.
First of all, I scanned my
maps of Owl’s Nest into my computer, and decided to put them up on the
site. So there is a maps button. There’s a current map of Owl’s Nest, and
there are two historical maps, one of the area when Connor and Cassandra first
arrived, before Owl’s Nest actually existed, and one of Owl’s Nest when Cassandra
and Connor had established their Farmers’ Market. Plus, if I can get it uploaded without
screwing it up, there is a Cross Reference Directory that accompanies the maps,
though for the most part, I’ve written the names of businesses and residents right
on the maps themselves, in spite of having to write very, very small.
Also, I’m offering two short
stories a month instead of three, but Screech On! has changed from offering
reviews of Owl’s Nest bands to articles from Larry Nunn that are lengthier
stories.
Also, be sure to peruse the
Causes button because I’ve added two:
National Warfighters’ Symposium
I have a friend, Boone Cutler
who is Co-Founder of the National Warfighters’ Symposium.
The website is www.nationalwarfighter.org
It's a great and important cause. I hope those of you inGeorgia
Please help in any way you can. On Facebook, search Warfighter's Symposium and 'like' it. Check out the website, and also, Boone's book: "Voodoo inSadr City Iraq
Those of you who know me know I don't go around asking for donations. But this is a cause I believe in. I believe in our military and law enforcement and know they have an incredibly difficult job to do and they risk their lives doing it. The least we can do is care enough to learn about what they do and how their jobs could be made safer and easier.
The website is www.nationalwarfighter.org
It's a great and important cause. I hope those of you in
Please help in any way you can. On Facebook, search Warfighter's Symposium and 'like' it. Check out the website, and also, Boone's book: "Voodoo in
Those of you who know me know I don't go around asking for donations. But this is a cause I believe in. I believe in our military and law enforcement and know they have an incredibly difficult job to do and they risk their lives doing it. The least we can do is care enough to learn about what they do and how their jobs could be made safer and easier.
*****
SNAP – SURVIVORS NETWORK OF THOSE ABUSED BY PRIESTS
If you or someone you know
has been abused by a priest or other clergy member, please know that you are
not alone, and that there is emotional support, counseling, and advice waiting
for you with this organization.
*****
As for the regular columns in
Owl's Eye View, I know you won’t want to miss the second part of Manta in the Screech On! column. Larry’s story has certainly managed to suck
me in.
Swooping Through the Years has Nathan Williams delving into Lucy Bernelli’s
lineage, this particular column relating Corinth Nash Newton’s story.
In On the WindSpirit Lucy Bernelli tells us about the first time she
solo smudged at the tender age of seven, already a shaman in her heart and
soul.
Melanie Mirth gives us a
little taste of the hospitality her tavern Macabre Mirth offers in her vignette
of the same name this issue. My favorite
hangout in Owl’s Nest.
Signe Hannigan talks about
the precarious balance of good and evil in From
the Perch. I get the feeling that
these articles of hers are merely a preamble to a much bigger story. And I have another feeling that that story
will be breaking right here, on the Owl's Eye View site.
Picture Perfect
is an eerie little story I wrote a couple of years ago, inspired by a visit to
the Nanticoke Powwow. There was a native
flutist there who wowed me, and I decided the story needed telling.
Whatever Doesn’t Eat Me First is a story inspired by my dear friend Linda, who
often uses that phrase. It triggered a
visual for me one evening, and I ended up writing this little tidbit.
Finally, there is the first
installment of my novel, Holy Terrors. I must warn you, that besides the normal
ookiness of my novels, this particular one deals with the subject of child
rape. There are some very graphic scenes
within it, that some of you may find upsetting, and this novel is more mature,
adult readers. I wrote this novel
because a very dear, dear friend of mine was victimized in this way when he was
a child, and church investigators continued to turn his life inside out all through
his twenties and thirties trying to discredit him and defeat his accusations in
court. The entire situation infuriated
me to the bone, and I expressed it in the best way I could, through my
fiction.
While Holy Terrors is a work of fiction, many priests and other clergy
men and women do indeed prey on children.
It is a serious problem that should never be allowed to fade from public
attention.
So there you are! Have a great month reading up on the goings
on in Owl’s Nest. If you have any
questions, comments, or wish to request an article or installment of a novel
you missed somewhere along the way, please feel free to email me at oevmag@gmail.com
and you will hear back from me.
Have a great October and a
safe and Happy Halloween!
Chills!
Ter
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 11
After a brutal car accident
last year I spent four months in a rehab center (I managed to tear up every one
of my limbs, a couple ribs and my sternum.) that was 400 miles from my Georgia Delaware
I didn’t think I would want
to remember
This miserable time in my
life.
I thought I’d just want to
put it behind me,
All the mean pain and the
strife.
But your voice floated in
while telling a nurse
I was crying with despair and
pain,
And I knew that a friend was
waiting for me
To come through the worst of
the rain.
The blanket you gave me is
not near so warm
As the caring friendship you
show.
Since God saw fit to bless me
with you
And lift me above all my
woe.
Hearing you laugh as I sail
in my chair
Down the hall with my limbs
in the air
Is music to me that picks up
my spirits
As sure as the smile that you
wear.
No matter how far I might
travel from you
Your friendship blanket will
keep
My heart from freezing on
cold winter nights
As I drift into peaceful
sleep.
And remember I will, this
time in my life
Much easier passed with a
friend.
Though I’ll leave, in the
blanket I’ll wrap myself up
And remember your smile to
the end.
To Leroy Gilchrist: Thank
you, my friend, for the blanket, the quiet talks, and the many, many
laughs. 7/4/09
**
On to the rest of Owl’s Eye
View!
Lucille Nash, Lucy Bernelli’s
great, great, aunt, is featured in Swooping
Through the Years this issue. Nathan
Williams captures the romance and reality of this tragic story.
Signe Hannigan, in From the Perch first offers us a poem,
and then an article calling out a splinter Catholic group that protests and
mocks the Prayer to the Seven Directions, which completely offended many Owls,
including Lucy Bernelli and CeeCee Charleston.
It’s not nice to fool with Mother Owl.
Muahaha!
Don’t miss the musical drama
playing out in Larry Nunn’s life! Click
into Screech On! for the third
installment of “Manta!”
In Macabre Mirth we find a little holiday chill from our favorite
haunted tavern mistress, Melanie Mirth.
Lucy Bernelli, in On the WindSpirit updates us about life
after “Reflection,” then goes on with a story about her first use of Shaman
Wisdom Cards. Very informative and pure
Lucy.
“Michel’s Charge” is one of
the two short stories featured in this issue.
Wilson Nesbitt can tell you that some guardian angels do more than just
watch.
“Squirmies” is one of two
short stories featured in this issue.
The title is all the hint you’re gonna get! Muahahaha!
And finally there is
Installment II of “Holy Terrors.” Please
remember there is graphic violence and child rape in this novel—not everyone’s
cup of tea—but the story needed telling.
It also makes a point about why Owl’s Nest is fiercely protective of its
kids and why Signe Hannigan and her ancestry is leery to a fault about
priests.
I hope you’ll enjoy this
issue, and that it gives you a few goosebumps.
And finally, I wish all of
you and your family and friends a terrific Thanksgiving!
Chills!
Ter
**
LIFE’S A HOOT – VOLUME 1
ISSUE 12
Well, it’s
Chrismahanakwanzaka time again in Owl’s Nest.
This issue is part holiday, part somber.
My literary gift to you, my
readers, in this issue is a bonus short story, “Carnival.” It’s a must read so that you understand
what’s going on when you read “Carnival Battle” in January’s issue of Owl's Eye
View. There’s trouble brewing in Signe’s
cauldron and it’s about to come to a boil.
Nathan Williams in “Swooping
Through the Years,” recalls Elf Owls, that are commonplace in Owl’s Nest—for
better or worse.
Signe Hannigan’s “From the
Perch” column is more solemn, and confirms my sense that something is brewing
in my little town. I’m almost afraid to
imagine what it might be, if it has Signe riled up.
Lucy Bernelli tells us about
building her first medicine wheel during the first years of her shaman
training. I’m finding these chronicles
quite interesting, and I hope you will as well.
In “Screech On!” Larry Nunn
is alive to finish the tale of “Manta” you’ve been waiting on pins and needles
to hear. I’m certainly looking forward
to the no-doubt chilling ending Larry has in store for us!
Melanie Mirth has come up
with a gruesome little holiday vignette for us.
Brrrr! More chills than a nor’easter!
Gramma Dolly
is about loss and remembrance on Christmas Eve, and a child’s faith…
…While Christmas Feast is a rather twisted story about elves your mama
warned you about…sort of.
Also, there is the conclusion
of Holy Terrors that should keep you
awake on Christmas Eve—who knows, you may even catch Santa in the act! (No, no, no, not the way the priests got
caught in the act, I just meant coming down the chimney…jeez!)
Again, please remember that Holy Terrors deals with child rape, has
some graphic violence and sexual situations, not for the munchkins or faint of
heart.
All in all it’s a pretty
packed issue coming your way this season to rescue you when you’re up to your
bloodshot eyeballs with cookies, wassail, candy canes, egg nog, warm and fuzzy
holiday schmaltz—just lock yourself into a dimly lit room and come back to
Owl’s Nest for a surreality check.
On a personal note, I can
hardly believe it’s been a year since the first issue. I must say it’s been a pleasure seeing my
readership grow, and a pleasure knowing I keep you awake at night. Muahaha!
It’s been a year of on-going
recovery, during which I realized a lifelong dream of publishing my
fiction.
It’s also been a year of
making many new friends on Facebook as well as reconnecting with longtime
friends from my past.
The year was filled with
tremendous hardship and struggle, but also accomplishment and joy—a true
rollercoaster ride filled with screams of fear and pain—and laughter.
I am looking forward to year
number two of Owl's Eye View, and all the bumps in the night, ooky stories, and
squiggly, skittering nightmares I will have fun cramming into each issue.
In the meantime, enjoy Issue
12!
Screams!
Ter
**
**
**
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 1
How to begin a column amidst
tremendous upheaval and transition.
For months the ultra
sensitive Owls have felt something of a surface tension in Owl’s Nest. There was nothing overtly wrong, but the tiny
bubbles were forming on the bottom of the cauldron; something was slowly coming
to a boil.
And boil it did—right
over.
Read about it in Carnival Battle. Columnists in this
first issue of the New Year 2011 had columns complete before the events
chronicled in Carnival Battle. But as we move forward, the myriad of changes
and all the ramifications incurred from them will be reported upon at length,
I’m certain. Should be an interesting
year for both Owl’s Nest locals and visitors alike.
On a more personal note, not
only is it a new year, but it is an entirely new era in Owl’s Nest.
Though Signe Hannigan's
physical death occurred decades ago, she was blessed with incredibly strong
ancestral powers that allowed her to walk among us here in Owl’s Nest, and be a
part of our lives from time to time.
Her destiny is to apply those
powers in a new direction, well, all told, an ancient direction, that requires
her complete devotion—and utter dedication and focus of her entire range of
powers to this call—a call to ensure the survival of us all.
On a selfish note, I will
miss Signe at Screech on Halloween night, rocking Owl’s Nest with Doveshadow
and 5CC.
Not to mention her warm
friendship and advice.
However, whenever there’s a
dilemma in my life, I guess I know how she would advise me; all I have to do is
look to her example: Take the selfless route.
I am honored to count Signe
Hannigan as a personal and intimate friend and fellow Owl.
Just as I am honored that you
read my work when you need some ooky in your life. Make sure you stop by in the dead of
night.
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 2
Quite a hoot so far, 2011 is
starting out with a lot of laughs. After
getting Owl's Eye View online during the day of my birthday, January 11, it
snowed in Georgia North Carolina
Then came my friend JP’s 40th
birthday wake later in the month. One of
many to eulogize his rapidly decomposing youth, I read the following original
poem:
Do not go gentle into that good night...
But party on til morning's light
Alas you'll sleep the morrow away
Not even caring if you get laid.
But tonight we somberly bid adieu
To the party youngster that
was you
And join you for the wild ass
ride
Over the hill on the downward
side.
And did you see that hearse
go by?
Your youth's inside, hope you waved bye!
Pennywise will drive it away
Never to be heard from after today.
We're here to wake the youth of JP
Well on his way to AARP.
So lift a glass and knock back some booze;
He's wrinkling up fast, not a moment to lose.
(I kept it short in deference to the newly aged who require frequent naps...)
Your youth's inside, hope you waved bye!
Pennywise will drive it away
Never to be heard from after today.
We're here to wake the youth of JP
Well on his way to AARP.
So lift a glass and knock back some booze;
He's wrinkling up fast, not a moment to lose.
(I kept it short in deference to the newly aged who require frequent naps...)
JP’s friends had him drink a
shot with every gift he opened…needless to say humor abounded, and JP barely
remembers the poem, being roasted by other eulogists, or…well, pretty much
anything else, including his transition to junior grade geezer. Welcome to the club, JP!
I looked up an old friend and
former teacher of mine, and found that his daughter is Claire Donato, a
stunning experimental poet whom I friended on Facebook. I found her poetic imagery quite fascinating,
and she thought it was neat that I was a student of her father’s when he was
first beginning to teach. I hope you
will transfer some of your reading interest to Claire’s work. Google her poetry and buy up her books! Enjoy!
Turning attention to the
goings-on in Owl’s Nest, things are settling down with Meredith Alden in town,
and Nathan Williams’ “Swooping Through the Years” column is abuzz with the
ramifications of having a new “Owl Maiden.”
Meredith herself is beginning
a series of “From the Perch” columns about her personal heritage to set the
record straight once and for all. Her
family history will no doubt be a collection of fascinating family reads,
starting this issue with her father, Trevor Alden.
Lucy Bernelli continues to
extol her wisdom about following the shamanistic path in “On the
WindSpirit.” Additionally, she has a
story about Father William McGoohan’s epiphany concerning his loyalty to the
Catholic Church, as well as information about Hemley Gonzalez, a real-life
philanthropist whose cause is to ease the suffering in the world. Lucy’s column is both informative and
inspiring, a must read.
“Screech On!” also carries a
duel theme this issue. Of course, Larry
Nunn couldn’t resist reporting about the huge party at Screech to celebrate the
passing of the baton from Owl Crone to Owl Maiden. But before that, he excitedly reports about
his real-life friend, Brian McTear, and the feature article about him in the
Philly Inquirer. Another must-read about
a heroic leader in the indie music world.
“Macabre Mirth” is well, macabre
as usual. If you are a fan of Melanie
Mirth’s bizarre vignettes, let me assure you, you will not be disappointed in
this one.
And of course you don’t want
to miss the short stories this issue: Humpty Mommom will give you pause
whenever opening the freezer door, and Paula’s
Pantry reveals aspects of the history of Owl’s Nest’s historical
restaurant’s background that most Owls aren’t even aware of.
Now that the story of Carnival Battle has been unfolded in
Issue 1 of this year, I decided I’m in a novella mood. This issue I present Part I of Screech, which will conclude in next
months issue. I’m sure the story of
Doveshadow meeting Signe Hannigan is one that Larry Nunn drooled over, but I
beat him to the punch and interviewed both Signe and Reuel and dashed off this
novella. Eat your heart out, Lar… (Doing so would surely give me fodder for
another novella!)
So there you have it. Updates on my quirky life, and hints (perhaps
warnings…) about what you have to look forward to this month in Owl's Eye
View.
Have fun, and thank you for
reading!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 3
And so I’ve come full
circle. On March 27 I will be moving
from Georgia to Pennsylvania to live with my son and his family.
I will miss my Georgia family
with all my heart, and will most likely cry for part of the close to 800 mile
trip, but I am very excited to be at a new beginning in my life.
Just when I was starting to
feel like I’d been shoved onto an ice floe and was useless because I’m 53, have
some physical limitations and apparently considered a less attractive employee
then the young-uns with their fancy degrees and nimble musculature, along comes
my son and daughter-in-law who ask if I would be willing to move in and help
them out being a full-time Nana.
Let the hugging begin!
My only condition is that I
don’t ever have to go out in the snow and ice.
As soon as we locked in that agreement, the deal was set. And yes I’m weird for my age…most people move
to warmer climes as they age…I am apparently bass-ackwards as usual.
All in all, I think this
coming part of my life is going to be a hoot.
I have a lot of laughs with my kids and grandkids and no doubt will have
tons to talk about on Facebook and in this column. Keep reading.
On a writing note, my dear
real-life friend, Terry Segal, PhD, has published her book “Enchanted Journey,”
based on her workshops of the same name.
Terry is a licensed marriage and family therapist, with a PhD in Energy
Medicine and my dear friend. I hope she
sells a billion copies, because that would mean that a billion families would
benefit by the wonderful content of her book.
It’s a must read! Certainly check out Dr. Terry Segal’s website: www.drterrysegal.com,
as well as her blog: www.drterrysegal.wordpress.com. Learn how to slay the dragons in your life,
and move through your own “Enchanted Journey!”
For those of you who are in the Alpharetta, Georgia 1025 Canton Street , Roswell , GA 30075
One more thing in
the personal segment of this column.
There is a new Cystic Fibrosis drug that treats the cause of CF rather
than just the symptoms. This is a
breakthrough for sufferers of CF, and I hope you’ll read all about it in the
following article by Melly Alazraki. http://www.dailyfinance.com/story/vertex-new-cystic-fibrosis-drug-vx770-treats-cause-not-symptoms/19857407/
Hopefully the
cure for this dreaded disease is just around the corner!
Okay, it’s time
to talk about Owl’s Eye View.
In From the Perch, Meredith Alden
introduces her plans for her column. She
will discuss her family line in Project Personal Legacy, and in Project Scream
cover abuses of women through time, right up to the present, and give oppressed
women voice. A loud voice, too. The issues she addresses in these columns
will hopefully compel you to research further and scream along with her to draw
attention to millions of women who are oppressed, abused, and silenced.
The Bottle Was… is
a little ditty I wrote from a starter sentence for a writing contest a few
years ago. I whipped out the story over
my Cheerios one morning. Never heard
back from the contest, so here it is for you, my friends. Chills!
Barnacle Bill will make you think twice about taking a
dip in the river! Muahaha!
Diamond Rings is a sparkly little Macabre Mirth vignette that Melanie Mirth has all ready for you
this issue. Dim the lights….
Ever toss a penny
in a wishing well? Nathan Williams has a
story with a little twist on that theme, straight out of the annals of the
Owl’s Nest Historical Society into his column, Swooping Through the Years.
Memory Lane in Owl’s Nest can be a gnarly, twisted little path. Join Nathan for a stroll…
If you love the
ballet you can’t miss Fouette in this
issue’s Screech On! column. Larry Nunn relates a performance he will
never forget.
Lucy Bernelli
shares her vision quest with you, and the story of her Otter Medicine Bag. Don’t forget to visit her shop, WindSpirit,
202 Church Street, in Owl's Nest, Delaware.
Finally, I offer
you the conclusion of Screech!, my
novella featuring Doveshadow, (which, incidentally is based on the real live
Darkwave group, The Cruxshadows. Thank you, Rogue and the Cruxshadows for the
inspiration. And congratulations, Rogue
and Jess, on your impending parenthood!
Okay, loyal
readers. Hopefully this issue will
provide you with your monthly fix of dread and anxiety. Until next month of course!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 4
Lots to talk to you about
both literary and personally this month!
First, I’m here in PA, and
the actual move went much more smoothly than I anticipated. A big huge thank you to my son, Joe, and my
honorary son, Chris for all their help, driving to Georgia, loading my stuff
and driving me home to PA. Another big
thank you to Bill for the use of his vehicle to tow my U-Haul trailer.
My Georgia family sent me off
with much love and a really cool camera to take (and post online!) pictures of
my adventures in PA. Thank you Winnie,
Linda, JP, Christine, Ash, Alex, Nan and Roey for all of your love and support. I miss all of you dearly and love you very much. And a special thank you to Winnie who drove
me all over the place looking for a truck with a hitch, and U-Haul
confirmations and help with the vehicle information. And certainly to Linda who understood and
cheered me on…thank you for being the sister I waited for all my life.
I also want to thank everyone
working on my room and bathroom at Joe and Cait’s. I am touched with all the work and effort
being poured out to make me comfortable.
Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Everything is beautiful so far, and I’m sure
will exceed my dreams!
I have to admit that as much
as I love my grandchildren and wanted to be with them, I had some qualms about
munchkins around my injuries, but for the most part they (5 and 2) are aware of
my ‘booboos’ and are pretty careful not to step on me or otherwise hurt
me. Even my two year old little
T-Rex-in-a-china-shop (as his sister and I call him, then giggle of course!),
is careful. So I’m doing okay in that
respect.
My biggest problem is writing
and keeping up with my magazine deadlines while my stuff is all mostly packed,
awaiting the completion of my room. But
I pulled this issue together okay, and hopefully by next month I’ll be settled
in and a little more efficient.
I am getting a feel for the
routines here at Cait and Joe’s, and starting to feel a part of things. I am learning all the names of Rosie and
Joey’s Nick Jr. friends, haha.
Laughs abound here with my
son and daughter-in-law, and I’m looking forward to years of them!
Okay. Issue 4:
In Swooping Through the Years, Nathan Williams, town historian and
librarian has linked Signe Hannigan’s (and subsequently Meredith Alden’s)
lineage to Athena. Interesting
read.
From the Perch has
drama on a personal and worldly level.
Meredith Alden brings us an account of hate violence that is truly
disturbing, and needs to be considered.
Also, Meredith Alden has a
personal story for us about her reunion with her grandfather. Don’t miss this one!
Lucy Bernelli, in On the WindSpirit reveals how, when she
was thirteen she received her Owl headpiece, part of her shaman
paraphernalia. Quite interesting as a
personal insight into Lucy’s shamanistic world, as well as into Native American
culture.
Larry Nunn tell us in Screech On! a romantic tale of musician
May Elise Beaumont and a mysterious admirer in her life as she debuts at
Screech! This is a special column to me
because May Elise Beaumont is based on my real-life friend Mary Ellen Brown, a
recording artist and writer who created the unforgettable character of
Iaan. I hope Larry and I do Mary’s
character justice and that she likes the article.
If you’re looking to be
weirded out, look no further than Macabre
Mirth where Melanie Mirth spins us a mini-chill for the month, called
“Marathon.”
And once your appetite is
whetted with “Marathon,” move on to my short stories, “Death Shower,” and
“Mausoleum” for continued ookiness.
Finally, there is Part I of
my novella “Tooth for a Tooth.” It’s a
creepy little tale that gives a whole new meaning to ‘living green.’ Muahaha!
I hope the ooky goodness of
this issue makes up for my being a little late getting it on the site. Seek out your favorite reading chair and
enjoy the chills!
Ter
TLD-4/12/2011
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 5
I must say I still have it…
…the ability to write and
concentrate amid utter chaos like when I used to do my Math homework on the
school bus.
Only now it’s writing columns
for Owl's Eye View amid shrieks and laughter of my grandchildren. Their antics are raucous and ca-RA-zy, and I
love being around them. They keep me
chuckling.
But producing novel excerpts,
two short stories and ghost writing five columns every month demands a chunk of
time, so at least some of the writing happens at the circus that is my son and
daughter-in-law’s home. It’s heartening
to know that I though I walk with a limp and can’t get out of a non-hydraulic
chair to save my ass, at least I can still write no matter what.
**
In Owl’s Nest a blizzard has
surprising results—not to mention a surprising origin! Read all about it in “Swooping Through the
Years” written by town historian, Nathan Williams.
Meredith Alden reveals her
tragic family heritage in “From the Perch” this issue, continuing with Forest
and Clara Alden, her great-grandparents.
A mysterious metal band
shakes things up not only just at Screech Nightclub, but in all of Owl’s
Nest. There’s evil, and then there’s
evil, and you can see the difference in “Screech On!” this month when Larry
Nunn shares his story.
Lucy Bernelli relates her
first shawl dance in full regalia as she learns shamanism growing up. Keep track of her progress in “On the
WindSpirit.”
“Toe Tag” is the ‘Macabre
Mirth’ vignette this month, written in Melanie Mirth’s unmistakably ooky
style. Gotta love it!
“Occurrence on Brandy Street”
is one of my earliest short stories.
Found it in a drawer and decided to share it with you this month.
“Reboot This!” came to me
when remembering a cubicle computer crisis while working a former corporate
job. I remembered because I had a
similar crisis on my home computer, and thought the chills it gave me might
give you a couple too…muahaha!
And finally we have the
conclusion of my novella, “Tooth for a Tooth,” which seems to just fit the dark
reputation of Owl's Eye View Magazine.
Lots of stuff to keep you up
late, with spiders reading over your shoulder!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 6
Greetings to you, my reading
friends!
Let’s see, it’s been a busy
month. On a personal note, in
Pennsylvania I’ve finally moved into my room, thanks to my industrious son and
his father-in-law who have worked like fiends to finish it, and the bathroom in
the basement. The window they installed
means I have a sunny little room that makes me very happy, and though the
bathroom is far from finished, the toilet is installed and working, which is
all I need until they can get to the shower and sink. So I am no longer sleeping in the middle of
Grand Central Station otherwise known as my son’s living room. Whew!
On a sad note, there has been
a tragic loss in my Georgia family.
Roey, my wrinkled-butt dear friend has passed into brain-death due to
complications during surgery. Family members
are flying in as I write this column, and by the time this issue of Owl's Eye
View goes online Roey’s family will have allowed him to pass into the
afterlife. My love and prayers go with
him, and certainly to my family in Georgia who are stricken deeply with the loss
of such an energetic, loving, funny, and decent man who was loved by one and
all. I’ll miss you Wrinkle-Butt!
On a happier note, I am
feeling great relief at having my toes fixed.
They are healing as I write, and I am grateful to Dr. Alexander Terris
and his staff for their skill and for
the hilarious conversation I had during the procedure that was almost better
than the Novocain…almost.
So this month came with a
little happiness, a little stress-relief, and sadly, some grief. Life goes on and on.
And so I come to this issue
of Owl's Eye View:
First off, let me tell you
that I have a book called People of Owl’s Nest, that is a listing of everyone
in Owl’s Nest, with their descriptions and background information. I keep these notes so that when I use on-going
characters in novels and short stories, there is believable continuity and my
readers don’t have to email me saying I screwed up someone’s eye color or
lineage, or who was waiting tables at Paula’s Pantry in 1932, or who were the
cops on duty in 2001.
Nathan Williams was in my
office the other day while I was skimming through People of Owl’s Nest looking
up background information for a story.
He started nosing through my People of Owl’s Nest notes and asked if he
could publish them in his column.
Knowing how organized and professional he is, I figure it can only be a
good thing to let him have at it.
Knowing Nate, he’ll probably
dig up stories I didn’t even know took place—so look for segments of People of
Owl’s Nest in “Swooping Through the Years” in future issues.
However, this issue, Nathan
writes about his own personal experience with the Holden estate. Consider it a little warm-up for the first
excerpt of my novel, “Into the Mist,” which appears in this issue. Hope you enjoy both.
In “From the Perch” Meredith
Alden covers more of her family history with a story about her curious travels
into the past to learn about her great-grandmother, Maggie. Interesting read.
“On the WindSpirit” contains
a vital message from an abuse victim.
All I’m saying. Read the column
and take heed.
Larry Nunn comes across a
surprise in the Music Niche that spurs his “Screech On!” column for this
issue. Sheer ookiness!
Macabre Mirth is, well,
macabre as usual. “Amputation” will
surely ook you out, and leave you hoping you aren’t the friend Melanie Mirth is
writing about. (Just kidding Mel!)
My short stories for this
issue are “Running Grudge” which is a little piece of Owl’s Nest history, not
to infringe on Nathan William’s territory, and “Work it, Baby!” which hopefully
will zing you with some irony.
And finally comes the first
installment of “Into the Mist,” my novel about the Wynthrop/Holden
legends. Hopefully you will enjoy the
ookiness over the next seven issues.
In the meantime I hope your
summer is off to a good start. We’re
having a little heat wave here in Owl’s Nest, which is supposed to break next
week. Looking forward to that.
In the meantime, read, read,
read! Hopefully you’ll get some chills
to keep you cool in the summer sun.
By the way, Happy Fathers’
Day to all you dads who are reading!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 7
Whew! It’s pretty hot and muggy in Owl’s Nest! I hope everyone got to relax and have fun on
Independence Day. Though there were
fireworks on the Fourth, (and I could see them from Cait & Joe’s
window! In the air conditioning with no
mosquitos or gnats eating me alive!) a freakish silence reigned for the rest of
the long week-end. My family went to the
beach at my daughter-in-law’s parents’,
and I had the house to myself. I played
the piano for the first time in over ten years.
It never occurs to me to play when the kids are here, too many other
things to do. But in the eerily quiet
house, it was nice. Cait has a fancy
electric piano with strings and harpsichord settings, among many others, and
it’s fun to play…almost makes me sound good…almost…
I got some writing done,
too. And it was a treat watching
non-G-rated movies in the middle of the day up in the living room, though I
still find myself humming the theme to Nick Jr. shows from time to time, no
matter how much Metallica and Cruxshadows I play with the ear-buds on in my
room. Sorry Het and Rogue!
There is some somber
news. We found out this week that Cait’s
dad, Tom, is very sick. I hope you will
hold him in your thoughts and prayers as he considers treatments and fights to
stay with us. He is a loving and giving
man, and we want him around for a long time.
On a happier note, my
daughter-in-law is an exceptional gardener!
We are enjoying peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, a variety of herbs,
lettuces, and spinach. It is so cool that when we need something for dinner,
she can stroll into the side yard and come back in with a bowl full of
veggies! Yay Cait!
AND! The other day she found
a recipe online and made pickles! They
turned out yummy! I think when the
tomatoes on her monster vines start ripening, we are going to try some
canning. I have to say, living here, I’m
eating healthier than I ever have in my life, and it feels (and tastes) great!
Owl’s Eye View is packed with
ooky little tidbits this month, to keep you properly chilled through the
heat-waves.
“From the Perch” is
interesting, and not the usual Meredith fare.
Owl Maiden takes a turn from her family history this month to tell us about
an ‘acquisition’ of sorts at the Owl’s Nest Gallery.
Have any nasty experiences
with weeds? Lucy Bernelli can
commiserate with you in this issue’s “On the WindSpirit.”
Nathan Williams swoops back
through history and links Stephen Hannigan to Stolas, Prince of Hell. Check out “Swooping Through the Years” for
another look into Owl’s Nest history.
Larry Nunn has a gruesome
little tale about crossing the line between encouraging and pushing your kid
too hard in “Screech On!”
Melanie Mirth offers a quick
chill this issue—just the title, “Trumping Sociopaths” should perk your
interest, right? “Macabre Mirth” always
has some quirky little piece, and this issue is no exception.
I whipped through my ideas
folder and came across the impetus for the story “Hoarder.” It’ll make you think twice before helping
someone clean out the garage.
“The Trees Saw…” is whole new
twist for guys who pull the old gender double standard on their wives and
girlfriends! You see? I keep telling everyone dark fiction writers
don’t get mad, they just write ass-hats into stories. Muahaha!
And of course if you’re
looking for a lengthier read, there’s the second installment of “Into the Mist”
which should keep you shivering nicely through the heat-waves.
So you go ahead and start
reading, and I’ll grab some iced tea and start working on next issue.
Thank you for reading! Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 8
It dawned on me this morning
that today is the tenth and tomorrow is deadline and I almost passed out. I’ve been so engrossed in working on future
columns and formatting the first six issues of Volume I into the Owl’s Eye View
book, that time slipped by and got completely away from me. So this morning as my grandchildren play in
their basement playroom, I am scurrying around inside my laptop putting
together Issue 8!
Nothing particularly
significant is happening in my personal life that would draw your interest, no
milestones this month, beyond surviving Grand Central Station that has
relocated permanently to my son’s house—haha!
I did finish the final draft
of the first Owl's Eye View Book and completed my proposal letter. I sent it to an agent who promptly rejected
the project on the premise that she ‘doesn’t represent magazines.’ I replied that I’m proposing a series of
books based on a magazine. I await her
response to that, but all in all, if she doesn’t get what the project even is,
I’m thinking we might not be a good rep/client fit. So I’m still browsing agents and publishers
desperately trying to find a home for my twisted little series of books.
I know what they say about
all work and no play and dullness, but whomever coined that phrase either needs
to expand days to an even 100 hours or shut up and leave me alone.
My friend Charla has been
playing harp for all of eight months and is already performing for the
public. Do I have awesomely talented
friends or what? Go Char!
I’m disturbed about Borders
liquidating and the end of that particular era.
Borders was a wet dream for me when it first opened. I spent many hours in that store—not to
mention many, many dollars. They should
have developed an e-book reader like Amazon and Barnes & Noble did. Ah well, hindsight is 20/20 and all good
things must come to an end, I suppose.
My heart, thoughts and
prayers go out to my daughter-in-law’s dad, Tom, who is recovering from surgery
and battling illness with his usual dauntless courage and spirit. Much love to you, Tom, hang in there. And as a side note to that story, I must say
I’m extremely proud of my daughter-in-law Cait, who gives of herself
endlessly. I strive to follow her lead,
am honored to call her my friend, and consider my son, whom I love very much, a
very lucky man to have found such a remarkable soul-mate.
Okay! Issue 8 is packed with interesting ooky
tidbits for you!
In “Swooping Through the
Years” Nathan Williams tells about his Aunt Hildegard who whips up a recipe
with “Homegrown Ingredients” that strikes a blow for abused women
everywhere—Muahahaha!
Larry Nunn shares the “Raven”
story with us that will no doubt be emblazoned in Owl’s Nest legends. Suck up “Screech On!” this issue!
Lucy Bernelli shares the
first installment of an inspiring story of courage and strength brought to her
by Rabbi Saul Segal whose family survived the nightmare of the Holocaust. “Nazi Conscience” installments will appear in
“On the WindSpirit” Issues 8 through 11 and is a must read.
What would you do if your
best friend and your mom were in a relationship? Find out how Meredith Alden feels about just
that situation in “From the Perch”
The Macabre Mirth vignette
this month discusses an old custom that seems to be enjoying a
revival….hmmmm. Check out Melanie
Mirth’s twisted take on life…and death of course!
If you have your share of
bratty kids in your life, perhaps you should throw them a piñata party! Read how it’s done in my short story, “Pinata
Fun!” Muahahaha!
A classic story about ‘be
careful what you wish for,’ “Royal Blood” follows a dream that turns into a nightmare.
Find out which bats are
hanging out in Dan Wynthrop’s twisted family tree in the third installment of
“Into the Mist.” You may want to invest
in a sunlamp instead of a nightlight for awhile until you find out how this
novel pans out. Muahahaha!
As the dog days of summer
approach, you can lay low in a shady place, reading Owl's Eye View, and creep
yourself out until you’re properly chilled.
Only thing cooler is to hang out in the freezer drawers at the county
morgue. Your choice!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 9
Thinking back on last week-end when Hurricane Irene left
chaos in her wake as she burst through Delaware, Pennsylvania, and Maryland.
I noticed who was concerned about who, who clung to who,
who took care of who.
Comforting to know I lived with family who would protect me
and I them.
Had I been in Georgia I would have been terrified for my
kids and grandkids and mom from a distance.
Even though there was danger, I’m glad I was with them, all of us
weathering the storm together.
**
September brings cooler weather and full time kindergarten
for my granddaughter. I remember safely
packing papers and pencils into my little red plaid book-bag and my Daddy
driving me to pre-school.
I hope Rosie likes school as much as I did. That she loves reading, drawing, and learning
all about the world around her.
She has much to be excited about, and she is. I will be waiting for her Thursday afternoon,
to hear all about her teachers, new friends, and everything she learned.
Update: Rosie loves school!
The first day she came in less then enthused, but her second day proved
much more interesting, especially after having made some friends to share
‘pizza day’ with! And she lightened up
and had fun on the school bus on the way home.
She’s off to a great start. Hugs,
Rosie!
**
Keep your fingers crossed!
I sent my proposal for a series of Owl's Eye View books to a
publisher. I’m going to be shameless
here and ask you to contact Raw Dog Screaming Press and let them know that you
are a loyal reader of Owl's Eye View.
Every little bit helps!
Update: Raw Dog
Screaming Press has officially announced that they are accepting manuscripts
for perusal. I will be re-sending my proposal today. I’m juiced!
**
Okay! Issue 9:
“Swooping Through the Years”
is all about Tallulah Shank who “fixed” her philandering husband…Lorena Bobbitt
eat your heart out….
Lucy Bernelli brings us
Installment 2 of “Nazi Conscience.” Be
sure not to miss any part of this drama that is Rabbi Saul Segal’s
ancestry!
Meredith Alden shares a
first-hand account of the murder of a witch and subsequent dispossession,
torture, and ruination of her entire family, that was the norm during the witch
hunts through centuries in Europe , and almost plagued our own country. Makes you want to hug our constitution and
its declaration of separation between church and state.
Larry Nunn interviews Alex
Morris, guitarist, vocalist, and manager of 5CC and CeeCee Charleston-Morris’
husband.
Melanie Mirth is all about
payback in her Macabre Mirth vignette, “Trumping Sociopaths.”
My short story, “Tit for Tat”
dishes out my ideas about people who are obsessed with starving themselves to
be thin.
My short story,
“Arrangements” provides adoption ookiness…
And Excerpt IV of my novel
“Into the Mist” keeps the ookiness flowing…along with the blood!
Enjoy the chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 10
My son accuses me of becoming
a total hermit crab on the week-ends, shutting myself away in my room for
almost the entire forty-eight hours, but week-end days are my writing
days. The last couple of week-ends I’ve
woken up early with all kinds of ideas burning in my brain about my new novel,
“True Crime Shelf,” which I must complete by July of 2012 when I plan to publish
it here on the Owl's Eye View website.
In the space of the first half of one day I loosely outlined the book,
formatted the chapters, and compiled a stash of online articles in a research
file. So things are coming right
along.
In mid September I completed
the final draft of “MEDS” which is due to be published from January through
June of 2012 right here in Owl's Eye View.
Oh what chills are in store for you, my loyal, ooky-seeking readers! Muahaha!
Halloween is on its way! I will be enjoying my favorite holiday to the
max once again via my grandchildren.
Totally looking forward to it!
Please feel free to share pictures of your own Halloween celebration and
creativity on my Facebook page or the Owl’s Eye View Magazine page! Or use the contact info on the site and email
them to me! I’d love to hear from
you!
Okay, this month has a world
of ooky coming down!
Wanna give your kids
incentive to take care of their teeth?
Brush and floss every night without fail? Tell them if they don’t, they run the risk of
seeing Ted Neeley, the barber and dentist of Owl’s Nest. And if they don’t know who Ted Neeley is,
read them “Swooping Through the Years” this month, and let Nathan Williams
acquaint them. Muahahaha!
Speaking of Nathan Williams,
in this month’s “From the Perch,” Meredith Alden has nice things to say about
him, including a thank you for all his efforts to keep Owl’s Nest history alive
and well in our hearts.
In “On the WindSpirit” Lucy
Bernelli has the third installment of “Nazi Conscience” to offer, giving us
insight into the familial history of Rabbi Saul Segal. Interesting read.
And after all of that,
lighten up with Larry Nunn’s “Screech On!” column in which he covers Dragon Con
and brings us some hilarious anecdotes from bands on tour that all seem to end
up in the toilet. And believe me, he
couldn’t make this shit up!
“Playdate,” this months
“Macabre Mirth” vignette, gives us a little shiver with a brief glimpse into
the world of Melanie Mirth. Hmmmmm…
“Elephant 1 – Trainer 0” is a
little ditty of mine that makes one think about how to treat animals…or
perhaps, how not to—and why.
The family in “Little
Bitch-Next Generation” puts the ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional’!
And of course if you need a
more substantial chill to savor, there’s Installment 5 of “Into the Mist” my
bitey little vampire novel about little vampires.
Happy Halloween!
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 11
Being a dark fiction writer,
and the daughter of an undertaker, death is a topic that I’m intimately
familiar with. I prefer to keep death on
the written page, but unfortunately in mid-October, it struck my family
hard.
My twenty-seven-year-old
daughter-in-law Stephanie suffered a brain aneurism in the wee hours of an
October Thursday morning. A week later,
on Friday morning she was taken off life-support and her organs were donated to
desperate souls waiting for miracles.
Through all of her earthly
days, Stephanie smiled an entirely infectious smile with her whole face. She lived and loved with her whole heart and
soul: her friends, her family, and my son.
Two weeks before she got sick
she told my son that she wanted to look for a job in which she could make a
difference.
There is no greater love than
to give one’s life for another. Stephanie
did better than that: she saved dozens
of lives, perhaps hundreds, of people she’d never even met.
There are 200 organs—from the
heart, liver and kidneys, to the tiniest little bones in the ear—that may be
donated and create miracles for those waiting.
She gave in death as she gave
in life, and even through the sudden tragedy was an inspiration to all of us
who loved her.
I am honored and blessed to
have known her, and am grateful that she loved my son with all her heart and
soul. I’d like to believe that Stephanie
is an angel watching over me, my son, and all of her family and friends. I only hope we can do her as proud as she has
done us.
**
Issue 11 has many ooky
tidbits for you.
In “Swooping Through the
Years,” Nathan Williams brings your attention to a secondary headline that fell
through the cracks on the day that David Green murdered the Bennetts, decades
ago. Chilling little story!
Meredith Alden tells us about
her Thanksgiving dream that has her hopes running high in “From the
Perch.” That’s all I’m saying…
The fourth and final excerpt
of “Nazi Conscience” appears in Lucy Bernelli’s “On the WindSpirit”
Column. Don’t miss the conclusion!
Larry Nunn offers us a freaky
little tale about a ballerina in “Screech On!”
Melanie Mirth gives us a few
words on failure in “Macabre Mirth.”
My story “Project Hunger” is
all about ‘tit for tat,’ when it comes to food and survival.
And my story “Pelt” gives a
whole new perspective to the term ‘skin graft.’
If you’re following Dan
Wynthrop and his crew in “Into the Mist,” this installment is sure to darken
your night. (Well, considering it’s a
vampire tale, it would be inappropriate to say ‘brighten you day’ now wouldn’t
it?)
All in all it’s a pretty ooky
issue.
Chills!
Ter
VOLUME 2 ISSUE 12
Oh my God, gotta love
muses! I woke up this morning and mapped
out the next six months of WindSpirit, mapped Lucy’s purpose and destiny, and
ended my recent ambivalence toward this
character and where her story was going.
It never ceases to amaze me
how the well of creativity just bubbles up and pours into my brain
intermittently.
And I thank the spirits for
it! I’ve been aimless where Lucy’s
concerned, wondering how to write her, what there was to write about beyond the
whole David Green thing.
Well, not aimless
anymore. Storyline is cool, though
perhaps not what you might expect. And
that’s all I’m sayin! Muahaha!
Okay, on a more serious note,
Cait, my daughter-in-law and dear, dear friend has been quite ill this past
couple of weeks. She ended up in the
hospital on November 30th, Wednesday, came home Sunday night, went
for a doctor’s appointment on Monday, collapsed there due to medication
complications and was admitted back into the hospital. It was a very close call, and even though she
came home to us on Thursday night, her doctor made it clear that she is to
rest, not push herself in any way until her body, specifically her heart, has
had a chance to heal. When Cait listens
and actually rests, you can bet the situation was serious.
When I put aside my writing
to step up and help someone, you can bet that person means the world to
me. I have to admit I haven’t written
much this past two weeks. There are things my physical limitations won’t allow
me to do, but I did my level best to take care of the kids, and keep up with
the Cait-established routines for the household.
That meant up at six and
concentrating on getting Rosie off to school everyday, and potty training Joey
because I ran short on diapers and I can’t hop in the car and run errands. So training began in earnest. With excellent results, I might add. Joey’s “The Incredibles” and “Lightning
McQueen” big boy undies have remained dry for most of the week, and they are
hoping Joey gets a handle on the solid waste disposal thing within the next few
days. Daddy came up with a bribery
scheme that hopefully will help.
All in all it’s been busy to
say the least. All the energy I usually
put into Owl’s Eye View went into my grandchildren and home. When I was in my twenties raising my sons, I
had the energy to get up at four to write every morning, concentrate on the
kids from six or seven on until their bedtime at eight, then continue writing
in the evenings. These days, by the end
of ten or twelve hours with little kids, I get into my room, elevate my
swollen, painful ankle and knees and nod off.
Up until this month I’ve had
full-time kid patrol four days a week. So I have days in between to physically
regroup, and write. But when Cait is sick,
priorities completely change.
Fortunately I am an issue ahead with the magazine, but that didn’t stop
me from thinking about next month, and for that matter, my priorities over the
long haul. I have always been able to
adapt to my living circumstances. In
fact, I consider adaptability one of my strongest qualities. So we’ll see what mutations happen during the
next few months, and how they affect Owl’s Eye View Magazine.
Whatever happens I’m sure
chills will abound…
Okay…the future is the future…here
and now we have Issue 12. And an ooky
issue it is!
Arrrgh! Nathan Williams has a pirate tale in
“Swooping Through the Years” for ya, maties!
And a good yarn he spins, too, in “Plundered Heart.” Arrgh!
Bring the ooky to me now!
Meredith Alden let her
beloved McGoo help her with a very special topic for “From the Perch” this
issue.
Lucy Bernelli shares an
ancient fever remedy in “On the WindSpirit.”
Larry Nunn reports on the
Winter Wharf Celebration in “Screech On!”
Christmas caroling Owl’s Nest style!
Muahaha!
Melanie Mirth keeps it short
and scary as usual in “Macabre Mirth.”
Sometimes mini-chills are the best.
“Holiday Stuffing” is a short
and ooky Christmas tale from the depths of my cobwebby heart.
The South Pole demon elves
are back in “Santa’s Good List.” And
just for the record boys and girls, naughty or nice, they may be coming for
you…muahaha!
And last but certainly not
least, I’m serving up the conclusion of “Into the Mist” at my holiday table
this year, so heat up the wassail and cut yourself an extra hunk of mincemeat
pie, because you’ll want to curl up in front of the fire and savor the end of
this book.
I’m going to say Happy
Holidays not because I’m politically correct, but because I have Christian,
Jewish, Atheist, Wiccan, Native American, and spiritually non-committal
friends. I choose to concentrate on the
happy part, rather than the beliefs part. Whatever makes you want to gather
with loved ones and celebrate is fine with me.
Thank you for visiting Owl’s
Nest every month and sharing the ookiness with me! There’s plenty more lined up in 2012!
Happy Holidays!
Chills!
Ter
12/11/2011
**
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