PROLOGUE Claire shook the spray of liquid from her hand, laughing. “Jeez, take it easy. I didn’t realize you’d already been drinking.” She checked the glass for signs of damage before lifting it to her lips. Mary’s toast carried liberal enthusiasm. “In your honor, babe.” Mary leaned forward. “Seriously, Claire. This is fabulous. You nailed it.” Claire grinned. “About time, too.” After months of wishy-washy deliberation, the Whitfield Library Board had finally agreed to launch a capital campaign to raise mon ...continued...

i don't sing at birthdays I pedaled my Schwinn Autocycle along the gravel road beside the Waterman's south pasture. The rutted road rattled the front fender almost enough to drown out my rendition of Gloria in Excelsis Deo. Almost, but not quite. Four of Charlie Waterman's cows standing by the fence-line mooed in tune to my song. I switched to Christ the Lord Is Risen Today near the intersection of the gravel and paved roads. Two lanky, flop-eared, black-and-tan hounds crawled out from under the front porch and added their howls in accompaniment. They ...continued...

Kansas 1886 Jason Cahill sat in front of his stone fireplace on a bitter cold January night, a medical book in his hands. But every few minutes he would glance up at the clock on the mantel. A minute later he looked sideways at the front door. “What is taking so long?” he murmured. At almost the same time he had spoken these words, there was a loud rap on the door. Jason stood up quickly and unlocked it. Outside, a full moon at their backs, two tall men in ankle-length coats and Stetsons waited. Between them they carried something long and heavy, concealed in a canvas bag. ...continued...

My Great Escape 4/20/15-email from agent after reading my whole The Color Eater manuscript. I’m super excited because I know an email like this means I’m getting close. There’s merit in my writing. Includes the phrase “I really liked a lot about it; the writing was excellent, the action was well-executed, and the different powers people had were super cool.” Followed by lengthy suggestions where the story could be fleshed out in addition to an invitation to resubmit once re-writes are done. 4/22/15-Panic attack at the ide ...continued...

Dec 17, 1947, I was born to Lorane Joyce and Daniel Quintin Boje, in Memorial Hospital, Spokane, Washington. Twins had died the year before I arrived, making me, the first born, that lived. My dad married my mom, though she was pregnant with those twins from another man. I know this because, when I was fifty years old, she fessed up and showed me her picture outside the church, and you could see she was well along. My dad told me after his divorce from my mom, to read my birth certificate carefully. Thinking I must be adopted, I studied it. Turns out, he was unemployed, and listed as a labore ...continued...

11 is a very important number in my life. Let me tell you why. I was born at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of the year, the 11th child of the 12 that my mother and father had in total. Of the 10 that had been born before me, only four were still living when I was born; four of the six who had died had not reached their first birthday. Of the four then alive, only two survive to this day. So out of 12 children, only the last four , including me, are,as at the time of starting writing this story in 2013, still living. And, as with most births at that time a ...continued...

Today we woke up to more of the same. A howling wind and violently flapping tent walls. We discovered that the wind, which is from the north, is rapidly pushing us back to our start location from yesterday. We call it a hamster wheel when the ice beneath our feet moves as quickly south as we move north. Since we are tent bound I have felt a survival mode kick in with both of us. I found myself hoarding the last of my Pop-Tarts as I secretly tried to eat them inside my sleeping bag, denying their very existence when questioned by Mike over the noisy wrappers giving me up. From the crunching ...continued...