It’s World Kindness Day and we’re warming up after a four-day snowstorm this past weekend here in Colorado Springs that eerily coincided with a tumultuous presidential election. The snow is almost gone. In my little world, the painful divisions of 2016 has once again ramped up. Family members are polarized to opposite sides of the political aisle. It’s a significantly painful division. If you don’t want to read my two cents. Feel free to scroll on, this is my space and I say want I want.
I don’t know if Kamala Harris would have been the ideal alternative, but she would have been the lesser evil, by far, to the president we have ended up with. Again.
Look, I’m a woman of a certain age. My childbearing years are behind me, yet I have reason to be concerned for not only myself, but for every U.S. female everywhere. Every U.S. citizen. I have friends that don’t fit “gender norms”. I have friends with kids who don’t fit “gender norms” and if you don’t think I won’t speak out for them, you are mistaken. I’ve read Project 2025. If you haven’t, if the nine hundred and twenty pages is too much for you, well then, it’s clear where your priorities lie and wow, good luck to future blindsided you.
I have been diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses. I have real reason for anxiety around pre-existing conditions and health insurance. Because my husband and I had to get our insurance from the marketplace this year I got a good look at how this could kill me. There are marked differences in pricing my part of the policy as opposed to my husband’s. He is healthy for the most part and only on one medication. I’m on a number of medications that make a feeble attempt at controlling the symptoms of the chronic illnesses I deal with. I’m financially penalized as if I developed these illnesses on purpose. So yeah. I’m concerned about who will occupy the White House.
I get platitudes from family members saying that the incoming Oval Office occupant “tends to exaggerate” or “pops off at the mouth sometimes” or “he doesn’t agree with Project2025 and he’s not really going to put it into action” WTAF?! We can already see that he’s working towards exactly that. I mean,
We have just elected a convicted felon to the highest office in the nation and that’s the best I can say about him. Those who voted for him, I’m baffled at how they were sucked in. He won this election with money and slick, unsubstantial but expensive, commercial culture campaigning. Most the the claims of which were just straight up false (ya know, just exaggerated a little). I mean, Pete Hegseth as defense secretary? Are you kidding me??? It’s just one example of the ridiculousness forming the future circus of our national government. He gave them the old razzle-dazzle and half the nation totally fell for it.
So, here’s my game plan. I will continue to be kind. I will continue to support those that will become more vulnerable than they already are wherever and however I can. I will continue to practice spirituality according to my own beliefs. I will continue to love. I will continue to be my own advocate in managing multiple chronic illnesses and my overall health. I will continue supporting writers and artists. I will continue writing. I will continue creating. I will continue to maintain the big fucking fence that allows my heart to remain open. I can’t guarantee I’ll always be kind or compassionate because sometimes circumstances call for something else, but I will continue with my game plan.
Most years there are ghost tours of the downtown area of my city of Colorado Springs like many other cities across the country. The stories told on these tours are sometimes true…and sometimes not. It’s up to the listener to decide. This, is a similar kind of story. Mind you steps when the veil is thin, you never know what trouble might blow in on the wind.
The public story of the Cascade Park Apartments is fairly well known. You can read it on the plaque in front of the building. But it isn’t the whole story. Benjamin Lefkowsky, who bought the house in 1922, was an avid follower of Aleister Crowley, infamous occultist, called “the wickedest man in the world” by the British press and self-proclaimed “beast 666”. Lefkowsky practiced the dark arts he learned from Crowley in his basement and other places around town and he had grand plans to make expansions to the building to accommodate his growing following.
Lefkowsky and his wife had just finished a Halloween Black Mass in the woods near their house. Upon returning home they found their twin daughters, Zorya and Morana, missing from their beds, favorite dolls and robes still there. All that was left of their nanny was a smeared trail of blood leading out the back door. Two tiny sets of red footprints trailed from there, around the corner of the house, and down the street before fading away to nothing. Official word said the girls ran away when their nanny fell victim to a hungry bear who broke into the kitchen for a snack. The unofficial word was lefkowsky’s otherworldly minions had escaped their bonds and exacted their infernal vengeance. Either way, no trace of the girls or their nanny was ever found.
Mrs. Lefkowsky, overcome by grief, committed suicide. The last known whereabouts of Benjamin Lefkowsky was Ridge Home State Hospital where he was placed in solitary confinement due to his effect on other patients who claimed that Lefkowsky got inside their heads, making them do bad things. Lefkowsky disappeared from his locked room two years later.
Today strange whispering and weird chanting can still be heard in the basement of the Cascade Apartments. Lights randomly blink on and off. Footsteps and children’s laughter are heard in the halls. Sometimes a weeping woman is seen moving down the building’s grand staircase. And residents, neighbors, and visitors have reported intense feelings of being watched in many areas of the building and the surrounding grounds where dark figures have been reported lurking at all hours only to disappear from plain sight when you look directly at them.
Disclaimer: Okay, before anyone gets their knickers in a bunch, this is totally a work of fiction, but it was fun, wasn’t it?
Karma and Bob 4ever A Gnome Adventure (based on a true story)
I watched the smarmy teenager in grungy clothes ooze down the street on his well-used skateboard. Dawn had just broken, but I was still awake. My morning was going pretty well until he spied us on the front porch. His eyes narrowed and a crooked grin split his pimply face as he looked at Bob, jumped off his board and flipped it up into his hand with the toe of his shoe.
He was bold. He strolled right up the drive like he owned the place, a menacing look on his face. I was terrified. I couldn’t move. I wanted to scream, kick the stupid kid, save my Bob, but I was frozen in place. I watched helplessly as the kid walked back down the drive, Bob swinging at the end of his arm in a grubby hand. Once back on the street he threw down his skateboard and jumped on it in one fluid motion.
Bob was gone! Just like that. I couldn’t do a thing about it. I couldn’t even blink. Bob’s denim overalls and blue gnome hat disappeared out of my sight long before the sound of the skateboard on the rough asphalt faded into the distance. Oooh! Someone was going to pay for this!
The humans arrived home shortly after Bob’s abduction. They fussed and complained about how they had just brought us out of storage, but they did nothing about trying to find him. They even joked that maybe Bob had run away. What was wrong with them? We’d enjoyed the free air for a grand total of two weeks to a month! We hadn’t even had the chance to take our first walk of the year.
Once night fell and the humans had gone to bed, the other gnomes gathered in small groups of two or three. I heard the murmurings and saw the sideways glances. Words like “crazy” and “there’ll be no livin’ with her now, not that there was before” floated to me on the evening breeze. Everyone on the street had seen what happened. A daddy long-legs crawled over my foot in a hurry. I was tempted to boot it, but that would have just been taking it out on the innocent.
The pink flamingos the neighbors across the street put out as a Halloween joke milled around in their own yard whispering Maker knows what. Except for one. The one with no legs and a neck that bent in a funny way. That flamingo had said the wrong thing at the wrong time and it took Bob and three other gnomes to pull me off of the stupid, mouthy thing. Lawn flamingos were huge gossips and that one learned not to talk behind my back the hard way.
Okay, so I had somewhat of a temper.
Just then, the giant toad that kept watch under the mailbox hopped over. My hands were balled up in fists my arms folded across my chest. Clearly, I was not interested in talking, but that never stopped Toad.
“You know, you’re going to have to simmer down if you expect anyone to help you.” Toad croaked.
I waved a cloud of gnats that had risen out of the grass and leaves, out of my face. I hated long summers. They meant more time in the box because the humans were enjoying the warm weather before fall and winter set in. “Who said I needed any help? Besides, these nitwits are mostly useless,” I said.
It was true. Most of the gnomes desperately needed painting and could hardly see because their eyes had faded away. Some only had the structural features of a face with almost no details at all, just a blank, white canvas. Creepy. The humans had repeatedly talked about repainting them, but hadn’t even so much as bought the paint.
“I guess you’re just lucky that way.” Croaked Toad, “You get to stay in storage and come out all pretty and pristine while the rest of us sit out here in the blazing sun, rain, snow, and wind losing our youthful paint jobs.”
“Whatever. You have no idea what’s it’s like to be stuck in a box eleven months out of the year!” And they wonder why I’m cranky?
I looked up at the stars and wondered if Bob could see them from wherever that kid had taken him. We should have run off when we had the chance. We would have been free and we’d still be together. I realized my thoughts were wandering when Toads voice drifted to me again.
“Oh well, when you’re ready to be reasonable, let me know.” And with that he hopped off and joined a group of gnomes near the bird bath.
Toad meant well, but there were things he didn’t know. I couldn’t afford to lose my cool in front of everyone. Things beyond my control happened when my emotions got the best of me. Like what happened to that stupid flamingo. There were things no one but Bob knew, no one but Bob understood.
So, I quietly slipped away while no one was looking mostly because I knew Toad would try to talk me out of it. I could do this on my own, right? I didn’t need a bunch of misfit, worn-out yard ornaments getting in my way. I had to get Bob back before the sun rose on the day after Halloween or I’d be put back in the box, all alone until next year with no hope of finding Bob.
I jogged down the street keeping to the shadows as much as possible. Lucky for me, I was a biker skeleton with ragged jeans and not those fluffy dresses the others wore. Just because it was nighttime didn’t mean that there weren’t people out and about. I heard teen boy voices and raucous laughter coming from a garage on the next block over. I turned the corner and followed the sounds.
I crept up to the open garage door. There were four of them including the hoodlum that stole Bob from me. There wasn’t much light, but I could see Bob and my heart broke. He was dangling from a rope tied around his neck and fastened a hook in the ceiling where it looked like a bicycle used to hang. Somehow, he managed an undetected wink at me just before one of the kids threw the last of a slushy at him. The slushy splashed all over poor Bob and the garage floor and those nasty kids thought it was hilarious.
I was not amused.
Bob twisted on the end of the rope and when I saw his face again, I nearly cried. He looked resolute, like he expected me to just leave him there. I made a move to enter the garage and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. The kids wouldn’t have caught it because they were too busy laughing and making fun of each other.
Just then one of the kids yelled “Hey! What’s that?”
He was looking directly at me. I panicked and made a run for it. The others came running to the doorway.
“It’s just a raccoon.” Said the thief.
“No man, it looked like…”
That was the last thing I heard because I wasn’t listening anymore. They had left the garage as the kid that spotted me ran to catch up to me. Even with my head start I knew I wouldn’t be able to outrun them. I turned down the back alley and ducked through a hole in a chain link fence and got a face full of spider web. One of the big neighborhood dogs lived there. I froze just on the inside of the fence.
A huge Chow Chow stepped out from behind the shed in the yard and let out a low growl. He slowly walked over to me and gave me a sniff. I prayed he didn’t confuse me with a fire hydrant or worse, a chew toy. The boys stopped short of the fence as the dog thumped his huge paws against it and barked at them. I was grateful to be standing in the dog’s shadow. For now. I threw my voice to sound like one of the boys had whistled at the dog and it pounced on the fence again, breaking one of the pickets.
“That’s old Mr. Ferris’s dog!” One of them hissed. “He’ll only take commands in German. He can tear you apart. Old man Ferris feeds him whole frozen deer legs from his hunting trips. That dog devours them, bones and all. We can’t go in there.”
“I’m not going in there!” Said the thief. “Whatever it was you saw is gone. There ain’t nothing in there but that stupid dog. You must be trippin’.”
The other two boys laughed at the lanky kid’s expense.
“C’mon, let’s go,” said the slimeball thief. “I’m not hanging out here to wait to get on Ferris’s bad side. They turned and walked back the way they had come.
I took the opportunity of the dog watching them go to silently sneak back through the fence. I ran in the opposite direction of the no-good kids and back to my own yard without ever looking back. After dodging the next-door-neighbor’s cat bringing home a juicy mouse, The lady of the house would be thrilled to find that on her pillow in the morning. I made it back to my spot on the front deck just before dawn. Frozen for another day and I had failed miserably at rescuing Bob. Who knew what kind of shape he’d be in by nightfall?
Thank the Maker the neighborhood was quiet for the day. I couldn’t handle any more drama.
After what seemed a lifetime, the sun had set and Toad was already in my face. “I see Bob hasn’t returned. I take it things didn’t go too well last night.” Toad croaked.
“No, no they didn’t.” I spat back. “There’s a whole gang of them. They strung Bob up like a piñata and were throwing stuff at him. One of them spotted me so I had to take off.”
“You’re lucky you weren’t caught and strung up right along with him.” Toad’s eyes disappeared into his head as he blinked. He wagged his head from side to side, as close to shaking his head as a toad could get. I imagined he was trying to get rid of the grasshopper leg that was hanging out of the corner of his mouth. “Now do you believe me when I say you need help? It’s not a weakness. Everyone needs a little help at some point.”
“Fine.” I snapped. I wasn’t happy about it and I was sure they’d screw it up, but what choice did I have? I needed a distraction so I could get Bob out without being seen.
Toad gathered up a reluctant team and we headed to the sandbox to lay out the plan. Simple. A couple of the flamingos and gnomes would distract the disgusting human offspring while I slipped into the garage and rescued Bob. Turned out that flamingos were very good and imitating cat fights. Who knew? The whole thing would be over quickly and the flamingos and gnomes would be away long before anyone knew what happened.
We headed to the house of horrors as a group. I didn’t need to catch the blame for anyone wandering off and getting lost or much less, harmed in any way. I’d never hear the end of it.
When we got to the house, I sent the others to the side of the front yard farthest from the garage. When I gave the signal, they would start the diversion and I’d dash into the garage and rescue Bob and then we would all run like hell. Scattering in all directions. It was a good plan.
Only we didn’t count on them being ready for us.
When I got to the garage there were three of them. I didn’t see the smarmy thief. Just then the ruckus began without my signal and the three inside the garage rushed for the open door. I ducked around the side of the house before they could spot me and they hustled to the other side of the front yard. I could hear popping sounds.
Just then, one of the gnomes from my front yard ran by.
“Run for your lives! Run for your lives!” He screamed.
More popping sounds and the rest of the gang ran past with smarmy thief in hot pursuit with a pellet gun. Maker help us! There was only one thing to do. I would have to sacrifice myself to save the others.
I waited for the perfect moment. It seemed like forever, but it was just a few seconds before smarmy thief passed in front of me. I darted out from the side of the house right under his feet, tripping him up and sending his friends tumbling on top of him. I wriggled out from under someone’s leg and took off in the opposite direction from the others.
The ploy worked but barely. I had just enough of a head start once those stupid kids untangled themselves to run around the corner and duck under a pickup truck. The kids kept running straight down the street disappearing around a curve about a block away.
I crawled out from under the truck and headed back to my yard. I knew it wasn’t going to be fun so I may as well get it over with. I hoped that those smarmy kids wouldn’t try to go to take the battle to my own front yard. At this point they should have at least gotten the message that we could make a pretty big ruckus when we wanted to and some people were light sleepers.
Slowing down to a walk as I entered the front yard, the scene could have only been described as chaos. The wounded were being tended to by Bertha, a rotund little gnome with a hustle in her bustle. She shot me an angry glance at me as she attempted to reattach part of Slocum’s right arm and hand. At least he’d somehow gotten back with the amputated appendage. One of the flamingos had two gaping holes in its body and another had lost a leg.
I ignored the angry glances and stares and headed straight up to my spot the front deck. Unfortunately, so did an angry little gnome named Dirk, with Toad following close behind. Dirk was a countrified little guy with a big southern drawl.
“This is all your fault!” Dirk stabbed his finger at me with each word.
“Now hold on there…” Toad tried to interject.
“I don’t need you to defend me!” I stepped between Toad and Dirk. I was the tallest being of the larger gnome variety I stood at two and a half feet tall to his one. I was practically a giant.
The other various creatures began to form a crowd.
I turned to the crowd, looking over Dirk’s head like he wasn’t even there, and I let loose.
“No one here has ever wanted a thing to do with me! I can only imagine that the sad little group of you that went with me tonight only did it out of some sense of pity for Bob.” I looked down at dirk. “For all I know you sabotaged the mission just to spite me!”
A rumble began rolling through the crowd. I didn’t care. What were they going to do? I could feel the magic welling up inside me. Dirk started to open his mouth Toad took a hop to the side. I hauled off and backhanded dirk and he when flying into the lilac bushes fifteen feet away. The crowd gasped and I stormed off amidst comments of wonder at how I’d just slapped a gnome all the way across the yard.
I climbed the tree next to the house and walked along the fence until I came to the spot where the people stored the garbage cans. I stared down into the half full can wondering if I’d be doing everyone a favor if I just jumped in and let the garbage man take me away to the dump. Once I jumped in I wouldn’t be able to get out on my own. Maybe it would be better that way. I heard toad hopping over before he even spoke. I didn’t bother to even look up.
“How long have you been able to do that?” Toad asked.
I knew his next question would be if I could do that, then why didn’t I used my powers to rescue Bob. I kept my silence. I was just as likely to blow Bob up as rescue him.
Toad just stared at me for a moment, then he hit the nail on the head. “You can’t control it, can you?”
The cat was out of the bag. I stared into the depths of the garbage can. It’s darkness calling to me.
“We can work with that.” Toad croaked. “However, you have to trust yourself and you have to make an effort to trust others.”
Neither of these things were strong points for me. The only one in world I trusted was Bob.
Toad rotated his head to one side and raised a toad leg with all the little toad appendages spread apart. He gazed at me intently, making me feel funny.
“What?” I said. Then I began to rise off the fence. “What the — what’s going on here?”
Toad almost imperceptibly moved his little toad hand to the side and down, and I followed in kind, but I definitely wasn’t moving of my own volition. Understanding began to dawn on me. Toad, had powers. I was floored. Toad landed me gently on the driveway on the side of the house. We were still out of sight of anyone or anything out front.
“We are going to do some training.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer. “And then we are going to get your Bob back.”
I simply stood there, slack-jawed, trying to absorb what Toad was saying. Training? What kind of training? And how was this training going to be completed in enough time to save Bob before Halloween?
“We start with healing.” Toad croaked flatly. “Come with me.” He hopped off towards the next-door neighbor’s yard.
“Why are we going over here?” I asked, unsure of anything at the moment.
“Because if the others find out you have magic before you can control it, they may decide you are dangerous and then it will be your own plaster you’ll have to worry about.”
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
Rounding the corner of the neighbor’s house we worked our way into the wild weeds and elm suckers of an unattended side yard.
“Ok, let’s get started.” Toad hunkered down with his great jowls lying on his feet and his back legs tucked in. He almost looked like a stone.
“Okay…” I said, drawing out the latter part of the word, “what are we doing?”
“Shhhh. We are being still.” Toad said softly.
Again. Not one of my strong points. What was it about this toad that he could pinpoint everything I loathe and all around can’t stand?
“You don’t like the stillness because that’s when all your noise comes. Close your eyes and be still.”
Once again. Nail. Head. Bam!
“Quiet yourself.” He said. Listen to the noises of the night.” He said.
“I can’t. There’s so many thoughts, so much stuff.”
“Let them float by. Greet them, acknowledge them, and let them float by. Now is not their time. Now is your time.” Toad sat there, unruffled, serene.
“This is stupid.” Unlike Toad, I fidgeted.
“That is your fear talking. There are only two energies in the universe. Love and Fear. You must walk out of fear and walk into, and with, love.”
“This all sounds a little froo-froo if you ask me.”
“Well then, good thing I didn’t ask you. Shut up and concentrate on your breath. In and out, in and out.”
My hand flew to the back of my head as I felt something hit it. There was nothing there. “Hey!” I said, as I looked for the culprit.
Toad softly laughed. “Concentrate.”
“How’d you do that?” I realized there was no one there but Toad. He gave a heavy sigh, but stayed silent.
“Do we really have time for this?”
Silence. Serene Toad face.
“Fine.” I plopped down on a patch of grass and closed my eyes, concentrating on my breath as I was told. Hundreds of things flew at me all at once, each loudly clamoring for attention. Apprehension, thoughts of old hurts, present pain, I was drowning. No. I wasn’t going to let them control me. I took a deep breath and began greeting each one and silently telling them I would get to them all in turn. Slowly the tide of thoughts grew still and my mind grew quiet. A calm came over me and I became aware of the crickets singing, the breeze in the trees, the murmurs of the other creatures in my yard next door, and the rest of the night sounds. I became aware of the breeze on my face, I even fancied I felt the rays of the moon shining down on me.
“Very good.” I heard Toad’s croaking in my mind, not in my ears. I tried not to let that creepy fact ruin my concentration.
“I’m going to give you a gift that will greatly accelerate your powers and your understanding of them. However, it’s not going to be pleasant. You must accept this and let it roll over you. The less resistant you are the easier this will be. Understand?”
“Uhm, no! What do you mean it’s not going to be pleasant?” I said, narrowing my eyes and looking at him sideways.
“There is a price to be paid for shortcuts.” A vision of Toad appeared in my mind’s eye along with a verdant, green open field. I felt myself standing in the same field, facing him.
“I don’t know about this.” The vision began to darken.
“Stay with me. It will be worth it in the end. Trust me. Think about why you’re here.”
I didn’t. Instead, I thought about Bob hanging in that stupid kid’s garage. I gritted my teeth, “Let’s get this over with.”
“Alright then.” Toad hopped over to a dead oak tree. “Break a stick off of one of the branches.”
I followed and silently did as I was told and then followed Toad to a flat piece of sandstone.
“Sharpen it to a point.” He said.
“I really don’t— “
“Quiet! Sharpen the stick.” Toad had become serious and bossy.
“Okay!” I brandished the pointed oak stick at him, “now what?”
“Gently rub the stick on my back. Be careful not to poke me.” He hopped up and turned in the air landing with his back to me.
I looked at the stick then at Toad. I was pretty sure he’d lost his little mind, but whatever. I rubbed the stick on his back and he did the hop, turn thing again to face me.
“Show me.” He said.
I lowered the stick in front of his face and he gave a curt nod. A thin film of something left a sheen on the sharp end of the stick.
“Now stab it into your arm.”
“What! Are you crazy?” No way was I doing that. Who knew what kind of crazy stuff was on the end of that stick, let alone on Toad’s back.
“Do it!” Toad’s voice was suddenly commanding and much larger than what should’ve come out of something that size. I actually felt compelled to do it. A thought struck me. Moments ago, I had been staring into a filthy trash can contemplating the validity of my existence. Eh, what the hell.
I stabbed the stupid stick into my stupid arm. “Ow! I glared at Toad. No anesthetic or nothing, huh?” I pulled the offending piece of oak tree out of my arm as the skin around the puncture would began to turn purple. Then, still totally aware, I fell over and felt nothing.
“Better.” Toad chuckled. Chuckled!
Panic ensued but you wouldn’t have known it by looking at me. My unblinking eyes simply stared serenely straight ahead. Meanwhile my brain was doing its best to crawl out of my skull. It was just like daytime.
“Calm down. The effects are temporary. You’ll be fine in a few hours.” Toad quickly regained his composure. “Now for the hard part.”
‘Hard part? Really?’ I thought. I’m going to wring that little toad’s neck when I get out of this.
“Feeling feisty? That’s good. You’re going to need that energy.” Toad pushed me onto my back and climbed half-way up over my head resting his chin on my forehead, facing downward. I could just see it moving in and out with his breathing, hovering over my unmoving eyes.
“Now, push me off.” He said.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I wondered if this is how I would die. Poisoned by a toad in a patch of weeds almost twice as tall as me.
“Focus!” Toad’s voice roared through my mind. He didn’t croak when he spoke this way. Interesting. Well, if he wanted me to push him off, I show that bulbous green skinned bug eater. I summoned all my anger and pushed it at toad, imagining him flying out of the weeds and landing about three feet away.
Toad made a “pfft” noise as he popped up about one centimeter and rolled off of me to land upright on the ground next to me. My ears were ringing and my head hurt.
“Good, you managed to move me on the first try. Not nearly as far as you wanted to and I didn’t even give any resistance, but a solid first try.” Toad climbed back onto my forehead. “Try again, see if you can overcome a little resistance.”
Toad suddenly felt a lot heavier on my head.
I began to gather up my anger and frustration.
“No, you won’t get the job done like that. You have to access both sides of the energy. There must be balance. Find a visualization that works for you and use that to summon your power. Like this.”
A vision of intertwined snakes, one all white light, one inky black that seemed like it could suck up all the light, filled my mind. The power emanating from them was immense. ‘Don’t snakes eat toads?’ I thought.
“Nevermind who eats who, that doesn’t matter. Choose. Now.”
The weight increased on my forehead, feeling like it might possibly crush my skull.
“Knock it off, toad! I get the picture. You’re going to crush my head!” I searched for an image in panic.
“Yes, I just might. You should probably focus and move me off.”
“I never knew what a jerk you were.” I said as I found my image. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do. An image of Bob and I, me in silver and him in gold, holding hands. We raised our hands together and pushed our energy outward in one big burst.
Toad and I both when flying. I went straight up and he went somewhere off to my right a few feet away. My head felt like someone split it open with jackhammer.
“Good!” toad exclaimed as he made his way back to me through the tall weeds. “I imagine your head is hurting quite a bit now.”
“That’s an understatement. Wait, why aren’t you feeling it?”
“It’s an unfortunate side effect of the venom I used to help you bring forth and control your magic. I told you there was a price for shortcutting.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say the price was my head exploding!”
“Relax. You can fix it now.”
“Riiiiight.”
“While it’s true that your abilities are more suited to battle than to healing, the fact that you have abilities means that you have the ability to heal yourself and others. I would suggest you do so before you lose consciousness.”
“Just then everything began to go dark, the pain had ratcheted up to a level that was becoming unbearable. Toad was right, if we didn’t do something I was going to pass out and end up left out in the open. The impending dawn wasn’t helping my stress level one bit.”
“Focus!” Toad’s voice cut through the pain. I would have flinched if I could have made my body move. But then again, I would have run a long time ago if that were the case. I called up the image of Bob and I, making it expand in my mind, pushing out the pain and the poison. My skin began to feel like it was on fire as it oozed out of all of my pores. I could feel other feelings coming back and soon the pain was subsiding and I could move again. I sat up and found myself sitting the middle of what looked like a circle of blighted grass.
“Interesting choice. I would have just condensed it into a ball and puked it up, but whatever works for you.” Toad said from his position sitting outside my circle of death. “You’re ready.” And with that he hopped off toward the front yard.
An angry group of gnomes was gathered just off the front corner of the house near the herb garden. As we approached, they turned toward us and their voices became louder. Accusing me of putting everyone in danger for my own selfish gain and so on and so forth.
“Quiet!” Toad said in his power voice. I didn’t have another name for it. “We have an announcement. Gather everyone and get the flamingos over here.”
The mob blinked in unison a couple of time and then scampered off to do as they were told.
“You’ve got to teach me that,” I said.
“Not a chance,” toad said.
“You’re no fun.” I turned and walked up to the deck standing in the center on the edge like it was some kind of stage. Toad hopped after me and settled off to one side.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Someone said.
“Yeah, who died and made you queen?” Said someone else.
I eyed toad nervously, the anger already rising. He just nodded at me and inclined his head towards my audience.
“Okay, look, I know I haven’t been the easiest gnome to get along with.
“Heh, no kidding.” Heckled someone from the back.
“Tobias, you will hold your tongue. As will the rest of you until Karma is done speaking.” Said toad. A murmur ran through the crowd but they settled down quickly.
“As I was saying, I haven’t been the easiest gnome to get along with, but there was a reason.” I dropped my head and stared at my feet. “I have certain abilities and I couldn’t control them. After I’d hurt one of the flamingos, I figured it was better to keep everyone away so I didn’t hurt anyone else.”
More murmuring began to rise from the crowd. “What kind of abilities?” Someone yelled.
“If you can’t control them maybe you should leave,” said another.
Toad hopped to my side. “That’s enough! Have you all become so high and mighty that you would ostracize someone who didn’t ask to be here any more than you did? Who are you to judge yourselves better?”
Properly shamed, they fell silent again.
“Karma is a war gnome.” Said Toad.
Even I was shocked at his news. There hadn’t been a known war gnome anywhere as far as we knew in our little corner of the world for centuries.
“Well, I don’t know…” I started.
“Karma, you must accept what you are if you have any hope of controlling what’s within you. Our training today was just the beginning.”
“Hey, how do you know she’s a war gnome, toad?” One of the flamingos spoke up.
“I was not purchased locally,” toad croaked. “The people found me while they were on vacation in the place where I was made. It was a green and beautiful place. There were many war gnomes there. Gnomes and fay were treated with respect, not like here where we are treated like common yard decorations and fantastic mythical creatures. War gnomes are the protectors, they battle those that threaten our kind. Bad dogs, mean cats, and hoodlums like those who have taken Bob.
“Do they all have tempers like hers?” Tobias prodded.
“Some do, some don’t. I found most of the gnomes in the other place to be rather volatile. That being said, a war gnome is not the kind of creature you want to be on the wrong side of.”
I hopped off the deck and everyone in the vicinity moved back, giving me a wide berth. The loose crowd parted in front of me as I made my way to the flamingos in the back by Tobias. He moved in front of them as if to protect them. I stepped up to him and he lowered his head and moved out of the way. The flamingos were shaking but stood their ground. Had to admire that kind of courage. Out of the three of them only one of them was still whole.
“I’m sorry about your injuries.” I grabbed a skinny stick off the ground and moved toward the one-legged flamingo who leaned on the whole one. He flinched away from me. “It’s okay, I’m going to fix you up,” I said. He looked to his flamingo brothers who made a motion kind of like a shrug, then he nodded at me. I put one end of the stick in the hole where his leg used to be. It wasn’t as long as the other and he smirked at me.
“Wait for it…”
As I held the leg in place I visualized it becoming one with the flamingo. The leg lengthened and turned to metal looking like it had been there with the other one all along and all their beaks dropped open as he put his slight weight on it and took a tentative step. I moved to the other injured flamingo and put my hands over the holes in his side from the pellet shots he’d taken. As I envisioned, the holes closed up like they had never been there. I paid no mind to the gasps and freaked out whisperings behind me. I turned and walked back up to the deck.
The sun was beginning to lighten he horizon and I could feel the heaviness of day paralysis coming and so could the others. The crowd was quickly dispersing. I hurried up to the front deck to take up my spot, but I quickly decided that wasn’t a good idea since the hoodlums had seen me. I decided hanging out on the side of the house was a better idea. I squeezed into the hedge between yards and settled in to wait out the day.
***
When I woke up that night I was back on the front deck. The humans had decided to pick today, of all days to clean up the side yard. Oh well, at least I was still here. There must have been an interesting conversation about how I had managed to get wedged into the hedge.
Toad soon joined me. “Are you going to take another stab at it?” He croaked.
“I have to.” I watched as the nocturnal neighborhood woke up. “I can’t just leave him to be destroyed like that.”
“It may already be done.” Frog said quietly, as if saying it might make it true.
“No. I would know.”
“They will be expecting you this time.”
“I know.”
“You have a plan?”
“I do. This ends tonight.”
“Well of course it ends tonight, tomorrow is Halloween.” Toad seemed to revel in stating the obvious.
“Don’t steal my thunder, you irritating amphibian.” I hitched the strap of my biker overalls over my bone shoulder and marched to the front of the deck where the neighborhood nocturnals gathered. The neighborhood cats had even come to lend a hand along with a rag-tag band of racoons. They were all chattering amongst themselves when the flamingos noticed me standing there.
“Hey! Listen up y’all. Karma’s got sump’in ta say!” It was the flamingo who was formerly missing a leg. Clearly from the deep south. What they were doing out on the lawn during the month of October was now a bit clearer. It was a southern thing, I figured.
Shaking myself out of my revelry about the origins of lawn flamingos I briefed the gathering with toad’s help in clarifying the sketchy details. At one in the morning, we headed out. Why one in the morning? Because we found that this was when the teenaged boys hung out in the detached garage behind the thief’s house. About this time, they were winding down, getting tired, bored, off-guard.
We hit them hard and we hit them fast. With the help of the cats and the raccoons, they never knew what hit them. First in were the cats and the raccoons. Hissing and growling as they tumbled into the garage in a sea of flying fur scattering the boys, their sticky drinks and snacks and one racy magazine all over. The boys headed for the door, herded by the force of nature that was angry cats and racoons.
I snuck in with toad and an army of gnomes and lawn flamingos who swarmed the area taking all the skateboards away. Bob was in bad shape. He’d been used for paint gun and pellet gun practice and seemed to have given up sentience altogether. I slowly lowered him to where toad was waiting below. The ruckus outside had receded. I hoped it had moved down the street but instead, the creepy, disgusting kid that had stolen Bob from me had returned. Pellet pistol in hand.
“I don’t know what you little freaks are, but I swear I’ll fill every last one of you with holes. He took aim, right between my eyes.
“NO!” Toad yelled, jumping between me and the smarmy kid. The shot went right through the middle of him and he landed badly on the other side of the garage, but before he could get off another shot, he was swarmed by flamingos and garden gnomes who managed to disarm him and freak him out to the point that he was reduced to a simpering pile of half-grown human on the concrete floor.
“Karma,” Tobias softly called my name from where he was standing by Toad, “he’s not…he’s not dead, is he?”
Much as I hated to, I left Bob in the hands of Bertha while I checked on Toad. He didn’t respond to me and I doubted I had the energy to save them both, but I would die trying. “Let’s get them back to safety. Hurry!” I prodded the gnomes in to action. We swept up both Toad and Bob and headed home. Leaving the thief crying alone in the corner of his own garage.
Most of the night critters and the rest of the lawn people had scattered and gone home. Only those within a house of each side of my yard had remained. There was no sign of any of the brats. We carried Toad and Bob to the side yard, to the circle of blighted grass I had created, and I began to work on them.
I started with Toad. Truth be told, I didn’t think I could save Bob by myself. I stilled my mind and searched for Toad. He was sitting on a rock in an idyllic pond scene.
“A little ostentatious, don’t you think?”
“Not at all,” said Toad. “I’m not coming back.”
“What? No! I need you! I have to save Bob! I can’t do it without you,” Panic pulled me partly out of the vision. I heard Bertha, urgency in her voice, saying Bob was fading.
“You don’t have much time,” Toad stated the obvious yet again. “I’ll help you, of course, but this is the last time. You must learn to have confidence in yourself. Now, help me get a little closer to Bob.”
I was suddenly thrown out of my trance. Left only with the order to move Toad closer to Bob. I turned to Bertha, “We have to move Toad closer to Bob.”
“What? Are you nuts? What good is that going to do?” said Bertha.
“Just get over here and help me. There’s not much time!”
Bertha ran the few steps to Toad and we lifted the big, fat amphibian over next to Bob. Toad showed no signs of consciousness, let alone sentience.
“Berth, I’m going to go into a bit of a trance. That’s where Toad is.” I spoke to her slowly.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“You don’t have to. Just monitor us and wake me if anything serious happens.”
“Uhm, okay” Bertha was clearly skeptical.
I returned back to the astral plane or whatever it was called and found Toad again. Somehow, he had grabbed Bob and they were sitting under a tree chatting as if everything was just fine.
“What is going on here?” I asked
“We were just chatting about what happened what will happen and how things are going to go,” Bob responded.
“Uh-huh, and how are things going to go?”
“We’re going to save Bob and put him back in his cozy little resin home,” said frog.
“Okay,” I said, wary of what Toad might be up to.
“Let’s do this, then,” said Toad, “Hands on patient, here we go.”
As Bob grew clearer and more detailed, Toad grew fainter and I felt stronger. Something was terribly wrong.” I stopped and snapped back to reality.
Bob was standing in front of me. Somber. He knew. He knew Toad was going to give his life to the healing and he did nothing to stop it.
“Why,” I cried.
Bob took me into his arms, “Toad said to tell you that it was the only gift he had left to give. He said his wound was beyond healing, that he was dying and he had to pass on his power to someone. He chose you.”
“But, I’m not…”
“Yes, you are, he said you’re worthy. You’ve always been worthy.”
Halloween came and went without incident. It seemed we had taught those hooligans a lesson after all, though what were they going to say—that they were attacked by lawn ornaments? Like anyone would believe that. By the time the night was over and we were done with our party, we were ready for the long nap and went happily into our box until next year. Rumor had it that Tommy, that was the name of the smarmy thief, had a bit of a breakdown and would be spending some time at his grandma’s out in the country to hopefully help him get over whatever had made him so scared of the dark at home.
Deanna delivers a whodunnit mystery with attitude. A vicious thunderstorm sets the mood for this whodunnit. E.v.e.r.y.o.n.e has a secret. More than one person has a motive for the murder of Liz’s husband, Jack. A tangled can of worms is opened when Liz’s neighbor invites her and the rest of the people in their small mountain neighborhood to her house for the evening.
The storm traps all the suspects in one house. Secrets are exposed and suspects abound while Liz obsesses over who may have killed Jack. Peopled with fabulous characters, a moody, immersive setting, and a great puzzle occluded by a bunch of robberies, wrapped in the dark wings of a mystery, This is NOT going to be a book you want to put down. Why are you still reading this? Go buy it! Now! Buy all her books!
I’m doing a workshop for Pikes Peak Writers on what to do with all that information we haul home in our heads and in our bags from a writers conference. If you’d like some pointers on how to sort through the minutiae how to make the momentum of conference work for you well into the rest of your year drop by and check it out May 21, 2024, 6:00 PM MDT. It’s free, but you must register HERE.
Recently hubby and I went to see Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 at Roadhouse Cinema here in Colorado Springs. Maybe I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, maybe it was the fact that we waited over an hour for our food while everyone around us got theirs on time, maybe it was my own triggers, maybe it was because we were sitting so close to the screen in the front row making the action so much larger than life, or maybe there really was excessive depictions of animal and child cruelty. In any case, I didn’t enjoy it. Not. One. Bit. And I really wanted to. Which Ironically means it was a good movie.
What was this Movie About?
The latest installment of the GotG saga gives us the story of the genius and enigmatic, Rocket. Rocket doesn’t talk about his past. Turns out it’s brutal. In fact, Nebula says what was done to rocket was worse that what her father, Thanos did to her. If you have issues with animal or child cruelty, you might want to reconsider seeing this one. As the dog and cat mom of rescue animals, I couldn’t disengage from the triggering effects of repeated cruelty shown on the screen.
Did I say “repeatedly”?
Oh, yes, I see I did.
Rocket is near death after he’s attacked by one of the Sovereign tasked with bringing him back to High Evolutionary who engineered both the Sovereign and Rocket. Rocket escaped High Evolution while he was still a kit after his “modifications” made him too smart for his own good, or the good of the rest of his group of modified ‘lower beings”. And so Starlord and what’s left of his crew after “the snap” organizes a rescue mission involving getting the code for Rocket’s kill switch from High Evolutionary so they can repair his body and save him. Much mayhem ensues because…GotG.
The movie had all the flashy effects, adventure, and a little of the comedic factor (which fell rather flat) that I’ve come to expect from GotG, but it was totally overshadowed. There was entirely too much suffering. It seems to be the newest thing in modern films. There was no sense of wonder, no light and the script seemed formulaic at best and the abilities of each character are inconsistent an conflicting.
Why Is GotG Vol. 3 A Good Movie?
Because it made grown-ass adults cry. I heard the sniffles from all over the theater. How does that make it a good movie? Much like me, the other people who were sniffling couldn’t suspend their empathy response to Rocket’s tortured past. The love lost between Peter and Gamora is sad and pales in comparison, never progressing in any meaningful way. And yet, many people think it’s a fabulous flick. Maybe that’s because of the usual spectacular effects or a favorite cameo such as Nathan Fillion as Master Karja. But I was prepared for a ridiculous and fun space ride and ended up watching a movie that continually threw the torture of Rocket, his friends, and even kids at me. However, because it elicited such a strong emotional response and as a writer who is always watching with one eye on the mechanics of the story, I still have to say it was a good movie. Just maybe not for people like me who were expecting fun, not a sad, tear-jerker.
Pikes Peak Writers just finished up their 30th Annual Pikes Peak Writers Conference. The theme was Wordstock ’23, 3 Days of Peace, Love, and Writing. As president, it was my job to shake hands and kiss puppies. By puppies, I mean the wonderful Oski, faithful companion and service dog to Chris Mandeville, but I digress already (easily distracted by books and dogs). I had the freedom to roam the whole conference area, attend whatever workshops I wanted, and run errands throughout the hotel for my fellow volunteers working the conference along with talking with conference attendees.
A whole lot of volunteers are required to put the PPW conference on, including our conference director, Jenny Kate, our MC, Bowen Gillings, our programming director Karen Fox, our bookstore manager, Laura Hayden (second in command, James Knight), our registrar, Charise Simpson, our sponsor coordinator Nikia Hunt, our pitch coordinator Cara Allen, our webmaster, Sharon Manislovich, our wonderful and talented ballroom coordinator and creator of our theme, Rebecca Glesener Davis (aren’t these decorations just groovy?), and so many more. I wish I could name everyone, but that would make this post very long. Thanks to all the volunteers that helped make this conference possible, including those that just jumped in and helped out at the spur of the moment.
Me, Rebecca Glesener Davis, and Sharon Manislovich.
I talked to PPW members, non-members, agents, editors, and writers of every level from novice, to hobby, to indie, to traditionally published. This post is aimed at those that are newer to the writing game, writers conferences, and what to do after drinking from the fire hose that is a writers conference.
The ever informative and entertaining Mark Leslie Lefebvre!
Use the momentum of conference to your advantage. Use your enthusiasm to write that blog post, create a writing schedule, make your writing space as inviting to your process as possible, create an exercise routine, or, ya know, get words on the page. You can use the high energy of conference to help you for days, even a week after conference, which can help you begin to create good habits.
I take copious notes while at conference. My brain fog and memory issues have intensified after having Covid and my notes are more important than ever. My notes include everything from room numbers to notes from talking with other writers and the people that help us get our books into the hands of readers such as the wonderful Mark Leslie Lefebvre, director of business development at Draft2Digital. Who is both informative and entertaining and kindly gave me a whole lot of information about publishing anthologies with D2D. Prioritize your notes you took and take action on them starting with the most important. Add those book recommendations to your TBR pile, send a thank you note to those that helped you out, follow up with those you wanted to meet up with outside of conference. BUT don’t be an obnoxious stalker. Don’t send pages to anyone that didn’t specifically ask for them. Don’t add anyone to your mailing list that didn’t give you permission to do so. Don’t ask for favors unless you’re ready to return them. Don’t try to sell anybody anything.
Once you’ve got the post-conference work out of the way, it’s time for some pampering. Celebrate in whatever way your little writer heart loves.
Get writing! I want to see your book in the bookstore next to mine next year when YOU attend Pikes Peak Writers Conference 2024! You can get a friends of Pikes Peak Writers discount until the end of May. Pull out your flapper dresses, fedoras & channel your inner Gatsby! Check it out!
Questions: What’s the first thing you do when you get home from conference? What do you miss the most about conference and how do you hold onto that until next time?
Hancock Historical Museum men’s and women’s fashion in the 1920s
Pikes Peak Writers (a 501(c)(3) organization) is committed to helping writers grow and thrive through education, outreach, and community.
I’m the president of my local writing organization, Pikes Peak Writers. The term is a minimum of two years and a maximum of six. Sound like an enormous commitment? We have volunteers who have been consistently volunteering in big ways with the organization since its inception in 1993. We are an all-volunteer organization with an all-volunteer board of directors. Volunteer time is dictated largely by the volunteer and the positions they want to fill. Heavy lifters are usually members of the board who fill at least one position in addition to their board position. We are what you would call a “working board”. We have volunteers at conference that just moderate a couple of workshops. One thing is true for them all. We value and appreciate their service no matter how much time they give. Here’s what volunteering with a writing organization can do for you.
1. Hang Out with Other Writers
Sometimes I try to talk to my husband about my latest writing dilemma and don’t get me wrong, he tries to be helpful, but let’s face it; no one understands the trials and tribulations of a writer better than another writer. It’s not good for you to spend so much time holed up in some room somewhere squirreling away your words. It’s important to put on some pants and go out and be social once in a while so why not go out and be social with people who understand? If you attend conferences and cons you’re almost guaranteed to make a new friend. Writing organizations are a great place to start.
2. Find Your Helpers
No matter your writing level or how you publish, a little help never hurt anyone. Beta readers, editors (did you know there’s different kinds of editors for different purposes?), critique groups, and more can all help improve your writing. The best part is that you get valuable input and insight and you get to decide what to use and what to keep. Write-ins are a great way to get some distraction-free writing time in. Most organizations have at least one write-in event or members who are running their own.
3. Encouragement, Support, and Advocacy
Writers are strange birds. It’s difficult to discuss our writing with others if they’re not writers. When I discuss whatever I’m writing with my husband, one of two things usually happens. 1. his eyes glaze over seconds after I start talking and he says “what?” 2. He is in middle management i.e. he is a problem solver. So he will try to solve my problem even though I’m just sharing a bit of my workday, much like he would do, not expecting me to solve his work problems for him. Events that your local writing organization puts on can be invaluable to you as a writer. These events give you the opportunity to rub elbows with agents, editors, and other writer of all levels. Some larger organizations advocate for new writers and the larger writer/reader community by providing grants to new writers, libraries, and independent book stores. Who knows? You may help another writer in some way you would never expect. A rising tide lifts all boats.
4. Opportunity and Education
Writing organizations often hold contests and give opportunities for scholarships to conference and other events. PPW gives scholarships to their annual conference and publishes anthologies with submissions consisting solely of stories submitted by members. In addition, PPW’s blog is full of useful and educational writing information submitted by members. Submitting to an anthology gives members a chance to learn about the publication process for authors from submitting to the contract to marketing after publication. Writing for an organization’s blog gives a writer experience in professional writing and an opportunity to market themselves by sharing. Most organizations will give you the rights to your post back within a relatively short period of time, giving you a ready-made post for your own blog a few months down the line. You can find information on other publishing avenues by connecting with fellow authors. For example, I learned about submissiongrinder.com from a fellow author who writes short stories. Writing organizations also present tons of opportunities to learn, from yearly conferences to workshops presented throughout the year on a nearly endless variety of subjects.
5. Connection
I wouldn’t be the author I am today without the connections I made through PPW. I went from being a complete novice and general member, to newsletter editor, to non-conference events director, and now I’m president. I’ll also be the project manager for the next anthology. Each of these positions, along with others I’ve held over the years (I wear many hats) have taught me so much about the art and business of writing and given me the opportunity to know some truly exceptional people. AND I became a published, award winning, international selling, author! I’m so grateful for these gifts. You don’t have to be an uber-volunteer like me, but getting involved as a volunteer is one of the best ways to connect with others within the organization and with, say it with me now–“agents, editors and other writers, oh my!”
Whether you’re a pantser or a plotter, you need to know about scene lists. This is a tool that can change your life as a writer. Pantsers don’t run away. I promise I’m not trying to convert you I’m trying to help you. Don’t be afraid of the big, bad spreadsheet program.
What Is a Scene List?
A scene list can be as simple or as thorough as you want it to be. As a pantser, you might just make a simple list of scenes in a spreadsheet program like Excel or Google Docs just for quick reference as to where something happened. Especially if you’re writing in a program like Word where you looking at one, large, running document. I mean, scrolling through a 100k Word document to see where you first hinted at that smoking gun has to be one of the most tedious and unnecessary actions one can be bored to tears doing. On the flip side, plotters, you’re probably already thinking about tracking all those pesky little details floating around outside of your beautiful outline.
What Can a Scene List Do for You?
Your scene list can be so useful that it can assist you from the maze of the (gasp) outline and first draft, all the way through the bog of revisions, bypassing the junk fields altogether, and right up to publishing castle. A scene list can help with everything from character traits to timelines.
Here’s the hand-written scene list from Joseph Heller’s novel Catch-22.
Looks complicated? It’s not. Remember all these squares were filled in over a long period of time. As writers we all know this stuff takes time and odds are it’s not going to look the same as when you first started. However, a scene list can help keep you on track. Especially when you’re wandering around in the purgatory of the soggy middle. Your scene list can put you back on track and moving forward.
Finally, you’re down to the nitty-gritty. It’s time for editing. But wait! You know there’s some missing scenes and some that need to be sent to the abyss. But which ones? Never fear! Your handy scene list is here! Need to drop that meaningful backstory comment that foreshadows why Jane is so afraid to let anyone get close? Browse your scene list. You know you have to pull that scene where that one thing happens that, as it turns out, is totally irrelevant to the story? Browse your scene list. You can highlight what you want to keep or toss in different colors, or highlight POV so you can track how much page-time your characters are getting. The possibilities are endless.
Get the most from your scene list
Here’s some information you might want to include to get the most out of your scene list (you can do more or less, or do it completely differently, it’s all up to you):
Scene number
Chapter the scene is found in
Estimated word count
Actual word count
A short scene summary
POV
Other characters involved
The scene’s structure
Date the scene takes place within the story
The setting in which the scene takes place
You can use a spreadsheet, some kind of outline form in a word processing program, the cork board in Scrivener, sticky notes on a wall or in a folder, graphing paper, or some other helpful writing tool you prefer. Your scene list can be the map to your novel, showing you all corners of the world you’re building and everything within it at a glance. Your all-seeing eye gazing into your newly forming world.
K.A. Olgren Stories 'n' More 