Author Interview: Vivienne Mathews

Hello Everyone!

The epic adventure stories of our time each have something that no others do, memorable characters, dastardly villains, grand treasure, dashing heroes, and/or epic storytelling; however, as great an adventure as he was, Ulysses, my friends, did not have a tail, and Captain Ahab did not have a giant bird who owed him a powerful debt. Otter Captain Marshall is the ultimate hero of a new generation and the secrets that await you in The Son's of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune will challenge your perception of the meaning of the word epic as all those elements mentioned before are contained here, in one place.
 

It's a grand honor to introduce you to the best writer and storyteller that I have ever read. She is a good friend and my personal muse. Thank you, Vivienne Mathews, for allowing me to interview you for my blog. It is a true privilege to help spread the word of your amazing new book, The Son's of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune.

The honor, dear friend, is all mine. I’ll beg you to forgive my slow responses as I’m currently nursing the mother of all bee stings. My left arm is roughly the size of an elephant’s leg, numb from shoulder to fingertips, and red as the day is long. Take a moment to let the visual sink in. It’s a work of art.

I know you're a hobbyist beekeeper and I suppose that's just one of the toils of the trade. Wasn't it the famous Chunk who said “I'm not all alone in the dark. I like the dark. I love the dark.” [He ducks and crawls under a tree branch] “But I hate nature! I HATE nature!”

I love nature, but bees give me the hebegeebies and make me do the sissy dance. (no I can't spell that word, and my spell checker cares little for it as well.)

You are an absolute riot with your wonderful personality and hilarious sarcastic sense of humor; I’d love for people to get to know you as I do. Please tell us a little about your self. Why do you describe yourself as the ice queen?

I'm a beekeeper, a wife, a mother, and an INSANELY dull person. I don't remember if the whole "ice queen" thing is something that was bestowed on me or if I came up with it myself, but it's a friendlier way of pointing to my (sometimes fairly profound) social phobias. Sadly, introverts are often seen as "cold" and "distant." At some point I decided to just own the labels and see where that got me!

From one hermit to another, I have come to own the notion of recluse due to my inability to be interesting, and I wish to assure you that, if you share similar voices in your head like the ones that keep me company, then you and I, surely, are not insanely dull. One or the other, perhaps, but not both. On second thought, I take that back, we are not dull at all.

Hehe, from one hermit to another... agoraphobia SUCKS, doesn't it? You make an excellent point, though. Being a tad on the wackadoodle side does liven things up, at least a little.


All the brilliant people are, or were as the case may be. Being normal is so boring. Who would want that?

Your new book, The Sons of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune, is now available in paperback and for the kindle and kindle readers for smartphones. Could you give us a brief description of the premise.

Let’s see, I have to give the salesman pitch here, don’t I? *Clears throat.* The Sons of Masguard is an adventure-fantasy series in the vein of Wind in the Willows or Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. It has tall ships and pirates and the kind of magical artifacts you’d expect to see in Indiana Jones. As a matter of fact, Harrison Ford is in negotiations to play Masguard in the upcoming film.

…Okay, I made that last part up. The rest of it is accurate, though. I swear.

I have no doubts that, with your talent, the universe will conspire to make that last part happen. The epic trailer alone makes me want to see the movie. Your husband, Meral, does an amazing job with the voice over. A very talented man, he is, in his own right. (Take a look at the book trailer for yourself at the end of this interview.)

We have been friends long enough that I have seen first hand how wonderful of a mother you are. I know that your son is your world. Is he the inspiration for this series or for writing children's fiction in general?

He absolutely is my world. Probably because he takes after his father so much! He's been the inspiration for a slew of children's stories, although, I actually wrote the first draft of "The Sons of Masguard" in my late teens, years before he was born. It is definitely fair to say that he was inspirational in the rewrites, however.

He has grown so much since I've last seen him.

Yeah, he won’t stop doing that, for some reason.


Canned question from me to you, what in the world makes you so good and where do these amazing ideas come from? dreams? Little birds? Or bees, perhaps?

Okay, we have to stop for a second because I need to give you an e-hug for saying that. *MASSIVE SQUEEZE!*
 
It's silly, but the initial inspiration for "The Sons of Masguard" came from an ostrich. My mother was teaching preschool children from a book with no pictures, so she asked me to illustrate the alphabet characters for her class. I was happy to do it -- I LOVE drawing cartoons. The book merged the letters "o" and "p" into a painting ostrich. I thought, "How lame is that? Couldn't they have done something clever... like an octopus pianist? Or an otter pirate?" It bugged me until late into the night, when I got out of bed to draw the first images of Captain Marshall and McKinley the Marauder.

That's partially what makes you so amazing. I love how your mind works.

So, as I just learned, you also do the illustrations for the print version of your book; there is no question that your talent for writing is inexorable, although, I had no idea you could draw as well. Are there any other talents you've kept secret from the world all these years?

Baha! Talent? What on earth is that? Would I know if I had it? I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had it. No, I dabble in a lot of things (paint, guitar, piano, voice), but I don't do any of them well. I do make a mean soufflé! That counts for something, right? ... I'm kidding. I actually have no idea how to make a soufflé. At all.

I have absolutely no idea what a soufflé is, but talent I know, and you have it in abundance. For as long as I’ve known you, it's been your nature to be your own worse critic, although, others will now see your talent for what it is … pure magic.

Now, something that I have always wondered, are you a student of the craft, or like Maybelline, were you just born with it?

Ugh, I'm a terrible student! I've tried, honestly. But a person could drive themselves mad trying to consume all of the tips and techniques and dos and don'ts on writing these days. For me, noveling (Is that a verb? It should totally be a verb.) is about the characters. Telling their story through their eyes. If I concentrate on how I'm writing, I completely lose sight of what I'm writing -- and the result is a big pile of beautifully structured words that don't lead anywhere. I tell the story first, work on the form second (and sometimes third, and fourth...), and rely on the beta readers to tell me whether I've gotten it wrong. It's amazing how much you can learn from the words, "This scene didn't really work for me."

Loveable characters are the key. When they want their story told and their voices begin telling their story in your head, craft generally goes out the window and you just write the character's story. Honestly, I think that is the true craft, not all the rules and knowing which to bend. I love your mind set and I think your notion is spot on.

You are one of those writers who puts other writers in awe of your work, writing things that others think "I wish I had written that", does your prose come off the pen as smoothly as it reads? You're so good and natural at this you probably don't even have to edit much.

There you go again, being an insanely kind person! I have a horrible tendency to be REALLY wordy. It takes somewhere around a zillion editing passes to filter out all the unnecessary crap that comes out of my fingertips. Hopefully, the end result is at least somewhat legible!


Your "unnecessary crap" is another writer's golden egg. It's an innate ability that lies within you to craft such realistic images with your words, words that remind me of classic storytelling. Your writing, to me, is not unlike the mastery of artists such as Algernon Blackwood, Washington Irving and, one of your favorites, Richard Adams; how do you craft prose with such precise word choice and imagery?

What an AMAZING compliment! I don't know that I could ever measure up to their works, but I've always been a huge fan of classic literature. I'd love to think that their influence bleeds through from time to time, but... well, I write about talking otters, so...
 
Yes, but you write about them as if they are the classic characters themselves.

Why, thank you! Maybe it's just that Masguard is every bit as wordy as I am... *Grin.*
 

An interesting thing stood out to me as I began reading; the notion of the clock face in the prologue is such a notable symbol, what is the significance of symbolism throughout the book and your writing?

Thank you so much! I try not to go overboard with the symbolism in this series -- readers tend to find that obnoxious. Luckily for me, Masguard is a bit of an over-educated chatty Kathy, so he can get away with saying things I'd otherwise have to leave out. In the opening scene, he's reflecting on his life, writing one last letter before he goes out to face *spoilers*, and he wants to make his words count for something.

Characterization is one of your many strong points, all of your characters are so well crafted it's difficult to choose a favorite.

Without divulging any plot twist, can you give us an idea of the premise of the second novel in the series?

Book Two picks up where Book One left off, on Marshall's ship, en route to Mosque Hill. Things get a little nuttier, a little more fantastical. Some of the lesser characters from Book One turn out to be not-so-lesser characters in Book Two. And of course, you get to find out whether or not I'm evil enough to have murdered everyone's favorite pirate.

You? Evil? Not sure I have reason to believe that. However, I do have reason to believe that the word hoary causes you to break down into uncontrollable, maniacal laughter .... where might you have heard that word before? Could it have been in reference to some hoary marmots? You know, hoary marmots would make excellent villains in the sequel. 

Hoary marmots, I love it! Also, an excellent name for a redneck poetry group.

Lol. I think we could organize one of those.

I was also thinking that, as my best writing friend, I can picture us going the way of Stephen king, Amy tan and Dave Barry; best friends before, during and after fame. Maybe we should start a band as well? The Mosque Hill Tender Hearts Jug Band. Has a clever ring to it, doesn't it? I have dibs on the washboard! 

LoL! I call the triangle! Can we start a band with only two instruments?  

Well, someone has to play the jug or it wouldn't be a jug band so much, would it? Sigh, no band then. let's start a club instead. For Hermits only, of course.

Good plan! Do we get a tree house? I’ve always wanted a tree house…

Absolutely! Wouldn't be complete without one. I look forward to the first annual meeting of the Hoary Marmots Writer's Club for Hermits. Oh, the Tom foolery we'll share.

It has been wonderful talking with you. In addition to being an amazing writer, Vivienne, you are an amazing person as well.

The secrets of The Sons of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune are well kept, as well kept as your art. Your art should be in a shrine, my friend. Your writing is complex, powerful, concise, and hauntingly beautiful. It's a wondrous mix between classic styles and storytelling, and modern notions and imagery. It is an honor above all others, to consider you one of my best friends and more so, my muse. You are the reason I strive for greatness as a writer. The world is a better, more beautiful place with your art in it and very soon the world will know what I know. With all heartfelt sincerity, you my friend, are the world's best kept secret.

And with that, I have to leave. Because you’re making me blubber like a baby. Or a granny. Or a grown man with allergies. In any case, it’s getting difficult to see the screen.

I can’t thank you enough for having me on your site – and for being my friend! We wackadoodles need to stick together. In a tree house.

Yes, we sure do. We make the best company after all. Take good care of that bee sting. I look forward to the sequel with great eagerness!



Synopsis: The Sons of Masguard and the Mosque Hill Fortune

The first installment in a new series from Vivienne Mathews, this anthropomorphic tale is sure to strike a chord with fans of “Redwall,” “Watership Down,” and “Warriors.” Centered on a rivalry between two otter captains and the ancient threat that brings them together, it is an adventure-fantasy on the open sea, described by the author as “’Wind in the Willows’ with pirates.”

*******************************************

A haunting mist has settled on the harbor beneath Secora Tor. Tasked with unlocking its mysteries is the stoic otter Captain Marshall, an accomplished military figure and heir to the greatest explorer in the kingdom’s history. As he sifts through myth and reality, his dangerous journey grows ever more complicated when he learns that McKinley the Marauder – pirate, nemesis, and general miscreant – has ambitions that could put his mission at risk.

Now, accompanied by a gypsy mercenary, a dishonored knight, and a family of thieves – and tailed by the evil wolf Baron Von Ulric, who has ambitions of his own – their paths converge in an uneasy alliance, becoming a race against time as they travel to the legendary island of Mosque Hill, each of them hoping to reach an ancient artifact before it is too late. Each of them desperate to stay ahead of the secrets that they keep.

What will they lose along the way?

And where will they turn when they realize that nothing is as it seems?
  

Website(s)

The Sons of Masguard for Kindle on Amazon
The Sons of Masguard in paperback on Amazon
Vivienne Mathews Home Page Link  
Link To Vivienne Mathews Author Page On Amazon

Vivienne Mathews Social Media Links

  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7051589.Vivienne_Mathews
  https://twitter.com/VivienneMathews
 

Happy Halloween!! Stagnant Fear

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of one of my favorite holidays, I'll repost for you one of my favorite, haunting sections of Scarlet Reign. 

 

Her irises shrank, regaining focus. The purple- grey haze that was her torment raged behind her narrowing pupils. Emily Wichum’s apparition floated through the trees and across the quad. Kate had never believed in the supernatural; this night would challenge her perceptions of such things.

She followed Emily across the quad and down the steps of the packing warehouse of an old sugar factory. Musty, stagnant aromas excreted from the damp cardboard strewn about the shadows of the place. She slowly made her way through the corridor, keeping aware of slight movements along the edges of her sight. Far ahead an image slowly materialized through the darkness. A large metal box inset into the concrete wall; the metal mesh gate across the opening bent around an object protruding from it.

As her eyes strained to focus, another image became more apparent. It appeared to be a polyester smock hanging from a hook on the wall. It hovered barely two feet off the floor, oddly moving like a sheet in the wind. There was no breeze here. A strange euphoric, light headed feeling took hold of her. The smock turned to face her then floated away through two closed double doors on the east side of the room.

Kate paused for a moment to calm herself. Her eyes adjusted further to the poor lighting and the metal box took on more shape, the shape of a corrugated box crusher. She could make out a shoe on the end of a protruding limb. The leg bent unnaturally at the shin and ran underneath the huge metal plunger. Fresh crimson liquid oozed down the lower portion of the gate washing over teeth and bone fragments that were scattered on the floor.

“Good lord!” she said covering her nose from the stench. “This person was crushed alive.”

The skull had imploded in such a manner that the eyeballs forced from the sockets. Kate stumbled, tripping over her own feet; she fell backward, passing through an eerie gray mist that hovered in the air. Along the wall lay a small pendant. It was in the shape of a name, a name she knew. It was Lisa’s.

Halloween Countdown 2012: Requiem for the House of Never

The Halloween countdown continues.

I've a firm belief that we are shaped by the time of year we are born. Being born in the fall I'm smitten by the colorful falling leaves, the smell of fires shifting on the breeze, the Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas Holidays, etc. This is the time of the year that I feel most excited to be alive. My roommate has joined in the spirit as well, decking out the house in Halloween fare. I create Halloween soundtracks, jot down ideas for spooky tales, and put on Death Becomes Her or the the old Night Gallery series.

I've never considered myself a poet, though I like how this particular one turned out. This was an assignment in my college poetry class several years ago. The ending needs help but here it is in the rough.

Requiem for the House of Never

Spring-heeled Jack

With a whiskey sour

Ramparts and brambles

Raped by wisteria vines

Murder, Murder most foul

On the back of London’s Hyde

Crickets howl

Through dank recesses of evils’ Ripper

Souls tattered, 

Requiem residence in wistful horror

The Soul Net torn

Halloween Countdown 2012: Old West Outlaw

My life has been in a bit of a stasis the past month. A lot has been going on in my head of late, with the excitement of my first ever Disneyland trip for my birthday and a new bout of Hermititus rearing its head coupled with the daunting NaNoWriMo coming up in just a few days. I’m nowhere near ready for it, though I suppose that is the purpose, the nature of it. You’re not supposed to be ready for such a thing, you just do it. My participation is a “volunteerism” by a good writing friend, K. Bran Bardsley, who feels it will help me break the nasty writer’s block I’ve been in. I’ve found since that a few other friends are participating as well. Dana is one and I look forward to taking this trip with her as I admire her writing very much as well as that of K. Bran Bardsley.

In light of my favorite holiday quickly approaching and the NaNoWriMo participation, I’ll post a few spooky scenes from Scarlet Reign in the next few days leading up to Halloween and the kickoff of said challenge.

In this scene, Kate and Daniel have gone into Radean’s for breakfast when all hell is about to break loose.

Pallets of siding materials and roof sealer lay along the sidewalk just outside Raedean’s. Rae’s finally fixing up the place.

“There you go kids.” Rae says placing biscuits and gravy in front of us. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need anything else.” She musses my hair. My face grows warm and Kate’s grin enhances my embarrassment.

“What?” I ask.

She tries to hide her smile. “Nothing.”

The leaves fall like golden-red snow. This time of year always makes me giddy; pumpkin pie and Halloween decorations. Kate loves it too.

Outside along the east window two workers clamor down off a rickety scaffolding. They enter the diner and order two eggs over easy with hash browns and gravy. The scaffolding begins to sway as if it wanted breakfast too. A linkage on the cross member fell loose and the structure came down hard. A black and yellow Dewalt nail gun slides through the debris and suspends itself by its power cord five feet above the ground; its cord tangles around the trigger and when pulled taught… two muffled pops brake out and two small star bursts appear in the diner window; a third pop shatters glass particles across tables and the dining room floor. Chaos is scattered screams and shouting. I lift and push the table toward Kate; she drops to the floor behind it. Taking three steps toward the counter, I used the stools to vault over grabbing Rae on my way down as a second burst of projectiles explode coffee pots above us. Glass fragments rain around our heads. The cord wraps against the trigger tighter and faster bursts come until the holding chamber is empty.

Swinging freely, twisting and writhing, it hangs there like an old west outlaw having spat its discontent at the patrons in the diner.

“Are you hurt Rae?”

“I’m fine dear. Thank you.” Her face is pale.

Everyone seemed unscathed save for one man who lay face down in the center of the room. He’s wearing a brown suit and tie. I hadn’t noticed him sitting at any of the tables and he wasn’t anyone I recognized. ‘Who is he?’ Someone asks. Another, side steps the pool of blood he lay in and tugs his wallet from his trousers holding it as if it was covered in toxic sludge.

“His name is Deacon Jones.” The man says and tosses the wallet away.

“I know that name.” Rae says “He’s the new pastor at the church on Hollister.

I feel my face flush. Queasy fear gnaws at my ulcer. I know that name too.

I hope you enjoy this piece. I’ll be expanding and perhaps changing much of my current Scarlet Reign material as NaNoWriMo progresses; expanding current chapters and building new ones. Much of the material I currently have is in need of serious editing and what I produce for the challenge will be much worse. Though I suppose the goal is to get it finished, then edit later. That is, if I can mute my annoying inner critic.

Follow Dana’s amazing work at Idiots and Earthquakes, and check out K.Bran Bardsley’s fantastic Ebook, Myth & Madness: The Prisonersof Solvor. NaNoWriMo is located at Nanowrimo.org.

Tempest-laden Eyes

Hello everyone!

 
I have been quite short on Six Sentence Sunday offerings the past few weeks. May have to pick the bones of the stories I've already visited. In the interim, it may seem I've fallen back into my hermit ways but not so much really. I've spent the last few weekends out experiencing some amazing things. Last weekend I had the fantastic opportunity to pet a few sturgeons. Sturgeons are the largest fish living in the Idaho rivers reaching about 6 to 8 feet long, although outside of Idaho they can reach 13 feet and 2000 pounds and they can live for over 100 years. For a guy who doesn't get out much, petting such ancient creatures is absolutely amazing. They feel like silky neoprene.

In other news, because I'm so short on SSS posts I'll offer a short excerpt from my short story On The Turning Away. Logan is a writer, of course, and he's been writing feverishly on a manuscript about a childhood friend who committed suicide when he was young. This event damaged his psyche dramatically. The following is actually the end of the story (spoiler alert), where Logan finally lets go of the pain he's been harboring for so many years. 

All he ever wanted was to be somebody’s hero.

            Along the horizon, a grayish purple haze slowly overtook the sky, bringing with it a stronger northeastern wind. Golden-red maple leaves waltzed in and out among the base of the trees; several of them pausing to pay their regards as they passed, swirling through and around his legs.

            He’d become a hard, bitter man, though he had his reasons. His face has been eroded by the trials of his life; his course chiseled chin did nothing to compliment his tempest-laden eyes.

A rugged tan trench coat flailed behind him, snapping and crackling as it licked at the wind like the flame of a campfire. As he took in another deep breath, the sweet smell of sandalwood and honeysuckle soothed him.

            “I’ve spent my whole life reaching…” he said, the words carried off into the shifting wind.

            “… The sum of who I am is how loosely I hold onto the past, and how tightly I grasp the future.”

            He took out the rolled stack of papers from inside his coat, holding them firmly. The wind excitedly and curiously took great interest in them, fiercely crinkling through them, desperately trying to rip them from his hands. Tears formed in his eyes as he held them above his head … He slowly opened his hand and allowed the wind to take them.

Hope you enjoy it. I do miss everyone. My goal is to catch up with as many of my favorite blogs as I can this week. I crave your inspiration and kindred spirits. 

M.L. 

The Sunshine Award

Hello everyone.

One of my best writing friends, L.J. Kentowski, has honored me with the Sunshine award. I'm grateful that she thought of me for it. L.J. is one of the most talented writers I’ve met. Her first book, Guardian of Fate is an amazing read, and the sequel, Seeker of Fate will be released soon. Go check her out, read her work, you won't be disappointed.

This was more difficult than I imagined, though it was a blast to complete.

This is how the Sunshine Award works:

• Thank the blogger who nominated you
• Post the award icon above
• Answer the questions below
• Nominate ten other bloggers (I don't think I know ten other bloggers ;\)

On to my questions!

1. What is your favorite Christmas/festive movie? It's difficult to choose one favorite. I do enjoy A Christmas Story; it’s a writer’s movie for sure. I’m also partial to the movie Jack Frost. Sad ending, yes, though it's a fine movie. Reminds me of all the Christmas' I'd missed with my kids because of the divorce and how I wished I could have, somehow, shared everyone with them.

2. What is your favorite flower? My mom used to plant Pansy flowers around the lantern light in our front yard and I loved them. I find them to be amazingly beautiful, and of course, when I see them I’m reminded of my mom.

3. What is your favorite non-alcoholic beverage? Yet another wonderful reminder of my mother … we didn't have much soda in the house as I grew up, but on occasion my mother would send a Dr. Pepper with me in a sack lunch for my grade school field trips. The flavor takes me back to my childhood, to Tautphaus Park and that fantastic surprise she left me in my lunch sack. I have grown quite fond of the cherry version of Dr. Pepper. Also, I’m a sucker for Egg Nog during the Fall and Winter Holidays.

4. What is your passion? This is a loaded question. I think my first passion, if speaking of family, would be my kids. If I had one, my Girlfriend/wife. As far as extracurricular activities; writing, reading, and audio production. My ultimate goal is to produce my own audio books and other writing audio productions. I also have a passion for beautiful outdoor areas and hiking.

5. What is your favorite time of year? Fall. I love the the changing color of the leaves, a fire in the fire pit and tiki torches in the dimming light or curling up to a fire in the fireplace. I become most giddy around Halloween, Thanksgiving and through Christmas.

6. What is your favorite time of day? Dusk and night. As stated in question 5, I love a fire in the fire pit and tiki torches in the dimming light, watching the stars twinkle and shoot across the sky.

7. What is your favorite physical activity? Is this question PG?! Well, I am a single guy after all. Ok, in all seriousness, hiking would be my physical activity of choice. I enjoy the outdoors, beautiful expanses of wilderness and trees.

8. What is your favorite vacation? Anytime I can get up to a wooded area and spend a few days in a cabin, I’m in heaven. However, I must mention that this October I’m going to Disneyland for the first time. I'll keep you posted how that goes.

Now I get the honor of nominating ten awesome peeps for this award:

Kelly Seguin

Krystal Wade

Mackenzie Crowne

Eleri Stone

Loni Flowers

Teresa Cypher

Jessica Subject

Daniella Renelt

Six Sentence Sunday: Troubadours and Marionette Strings

Hello, Everyone.


I have been in limbo the past few weeks it seems. Local friends have been coming out of the wood work lately and I felt, with their coaxing, the need to put my shy, hermit tendencies aside for a while and get out of the house. It’s not healthy for me to be a recluse all the time. I spent last weekend hiking throughout the beautiful Idaho country, such a wonderful time, I’ll never forget it. It seems I’m not the only one who’s missed the SSS the last few weeks, however, and I’m glad my writing friends are getting out into the sunshine. Must be cabin fever going around.

So, this week I’ve cheated a bit, changed the punctuation just slightly to turn eight sentences into six. I know, bad form; though I wanted to use this section and it was just too difficult to break it up into six sentence bits.  Another scene from Squishing Whistle Pigs; after last week’s Six, the pastor makes his opening speech to the congregation and this Six follows directly.

The last word echoes through the pews all the way to the back of the room, punctuated by a select few ‘praise the lord’ interjections. A small three piece band begins to play, the congregation stirs and then the whole of them stand; reluctantly I do as they do. They begin to sing and move to the rhythm, I don’t do that. A strange force takes effect on some and their hands become weightless and rise up into the air, palms facing the ceiling; they’re attached it seemed, to marionette strings. I wonder if I look up I might see troubadours in the rafters with crossed sticks. There isn’t any.

I hope you enjoy this week’s Six. I’m quickly running out of them. Maybe I’ll have to write something new for a fresh set. ;)

Thank you again for your visit here. Please visit the official Six Sentence Sunday site for more great writers who actually follow the rules, and click on some of my favorite Sixer’s here: Wendy S. Russo, L.J. Kentowski, Loni Flowers, Kelly Seguin, Mae Clair, Daniela Renelt, Karen de Lange, Mackenzie Crowne, and Steven Montano. 

Your comments are very welcome. I'm sincerely fond of them so please leave a word or two.