Blog Posts

Stillwart Volume 2 and Results of the Rafflecopter draw

8/29/2015

A big thanks to everyone who has been involved in the Stillwart blog tour. Both volumes of the Fairly Stillwart Chronicles were written in part to be read between parents and their children. Reading is one of the best means of bonding that you will ever have with your kids. These are the type of books I would have read to my children, I hope you enjoy them with yours.

http://morningrainpublishing.com/project/the-fairly-stillwart-chronicles-by-scott-butcher/

http://morningrainpublishing.com/project/the-fairly-stillwart-chronicles-volume-two/

There has been fantastic support for the book launch, Stillwart Volume 2 hit no.1 in its category for Amazon in Canada, and rated in the UK and US. Most of the sales were probably directly to Morning Rain Publishing who had a discount going (still in effect!). An excellent outcome.

During the book blog tour, arranged by Morning Rain, I had 66 new likes of my Facebook author page; the reach on my Facebook account was 7076; Facebook engagement was 685; Facebook likes of my blog were 51 and that was only me, the number of people involved was well beyond my accounts. We had new bloggers from India, Germany, Australia, New Mexico, Irish America, and Canada, all in keeping with the multicultural nature of the books. Very happy that Stillwart went everywhere. A big thanks to Priya, Jessica, the Irish American Mom, Cass McMain, Ashleigh, Anglelika Rust and Jennifer Boggart for their blogging. But also thanks to Jo for the book cover, Jaclyn for her editing and to Jennifer again for organising the blog tour.

Oh, by the way, if you do read and enjoy the books please leave a short review in Goodreads or on Amazon. Reviews help get the word out for a good book, which I hope you find these are.

Now I’m supposed to announce some prizes. The two winners of the Rafflecopter draw were:

Mike Bratek of the US, and Priya our blogger from India!

Big congrats to you both, you can expect an assortment of prizes to be sent to you from the good people of Morning Rain Publishing. Thanks again to everyone who participated.

Cheers, from Scottie

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The Fairly Stillwart Chronicles, Volume Two blog tour

8/19/2015

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Welcome to The Fairly Stillwart Chronicles, Volume Two blog tour! Pull up a chair, a toad stool, or swing from a branch and get ready for a sweet ride!

First up – thanks to all the bloggers who have donated their time, energy, and web space for this tour! The schedule, complete with links, is listed below for your convenience. There’s so much to see, with a different highlight every day, so don’t be shy about checking things out.

During the tour, we’ll be playing a riddle game. Each blogger will post a riddle along with the answer for the previous days’ post. Just a little pixie fun to keep you on your toes. The first person to tweet the answer to the entire riddle at the end of the tour, using the hashtag #Stillwart, will win a special prize.

Here’s today’s riddle to start you off:

Also, we’ll be having a Rafflecopter draw. No purchase is necessary. All you have to do is click the Rafflecopter widget below and enter for your chance to win a Morning Rain Publishing book bag and a Fairly Stillwart Chronicles notebook. Don’t forget to let everyone know there are lots of ways to win by tweeting or sharing on Facebook with using the hashtag #Stillwart.

Thanks again to all the participants, but readers and bloggers. The blog tour schedule is listed below:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And last, but not least, Morning Rain Publishing is offering an exclusive 20% off when you purchase a copy of the The Fairly Stillwart Chronicles, Volume Two through their web store. The coupon code needs to be entered during checkout and is valid from August 27th to August 29th.

August 19: Official Tour Launch (Scott - http://www.scottiesbooks.com/blog)

August 20: Cover Reveal (MRP - http://morningrainpublishing.com/)

August 21: Author Interview (Priya Prithviraj - https://priyaprithviraj.wordpress.com/)

August 22: Book Trailer (J.M. Lavallee - http://jmlavallee.blogspot.ca/)

August 23: Guest Post – Irish Connection (Irish American Mom blog - http://www.irishamericanmom.com/)

August 24: Book Excerpt (Cass McMain - http://www.cassmcmain.com/2015/08/24/blog-tour-guest-poster-scott-butcher/?utm_campaign=shareaholic&utm_medium=facebook&utm_source=socialnetwork))

August 25: Advanced reading copy review (Ashleigh - https://bookfreak21.wordpress.com/about/)

August 26: Advanced reading copy review (Angelika Rust - https://angelikarust.wordpress.com/)

August 27: Book Release (MRP - http://morningrainpublishing.com/)

August 28: Editor's Review (Jennifer Bogart - http://jenniferbogart-author.blogspot.ca/)

August 29: Announce Prizes (Scott - http://www.scottiesbooks.com/blog)

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Bald Eagles....the truth.

6/19/2015

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Okay. They look very pretty... bald eagles, the American emblem. From memory, there were less than 200 mating couples left in the US (outside of Alaska) in the 1970's. Almost lost the dear little things. DDT came close to wiping them out - in the USA. Plenty of them around here now. They mostly survived in Canada, and migrated south (just puttin' that out there). Glad to see they've come back from near extinction.

Anyway, in a badly worded Smithsonian article (yes Bones, is turning...in her lab) see http://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/american-myths-benjamin-franklins-turkey-and-the-presidential-seal-6623414/?no-ist
'I came across a few couple myths about ' unfortunate wording. But what can you expect from the Smithsonian? Sorry Bones. Annnnyyway.... still a good article. Let's see what Ben Franklin (famous ladies man) had to say about bald eagles:

"For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly...With all this injustice, he is never in good case but like those among men who live by sharping & robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank coward: The little King Bird not bigger than a Sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the district. He is therefore by no means a proper emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America who have driven all the King birds from our country…"

In an Eagle's Heart the true character of the Bald Eagle is revealed, and like people, there are those with an Eagle's heart, and those without.

Look to the north.

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Mr Sooty - an excerpt from the Stillwart Chronicles

5/28/2015

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“Who.”

Still’s head jerked up. She was alone in the bush. There were animals in the bush, and some of them ate fairies. “But not me,” Still blurted.

“Not me, who?” the voice came.

Her pixie eyes turned toward the voice; there was a dark shadow, and two rather large eyes.

“I’m Still, Stillwart, who are you?”

“Stillwart? That is a strange name, are you a fairy? Stillwart doesn’t sound like a fairy name.”

“No, I’m not a fairy.” Stillwart had almost shouted, but then in a very much smaller voice she added, “Do you eat fairies?”

“Yes, fairies are very tasty. Are you sure you’re not a fairy?”

“Very sure. Stillwarts don’t taste nice at all. What are you? Who are you? I can’t see you very well.”

“I can see you quite well, you sort of look like a fairy but you don’t have the same glow. Hmmm. I’m an owl. A Sooty owl. I don’t have a name. Are you sure you don’t taste good?”

“With a name like Stillwart?” Still stood with her hands on her hips, and looked the owl in the eye. “Have you ever tasted a wart, Mr. Sooty?”

“Hmmm, warts don’t taste good. Sometimes possums have them, I leave the warts.”

“Why do you eat fairies?” Still asked with interest.

“Taste good, nice feeling when they go down.”

“Do fairies taste the best, then?”

“No, no, mice are best. I’ll hunt them tonight.”

“Why not fairies?”

“Hard to catch, they have magic too – the strong ones. Sometimes they send me away with a salt taste in my mouth. Yuck. Easier to catch mice, nicer tasting anyway.”

“Hmmm. You’re an owl, and owl’s fly. I can fly too. Do you want some company, Mr. Sooty?”

“Who?”

“Me.”

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World War 2 – what really happened? Did America win the war? Or did Britain and its Commonwealth save America’s sorry isolationist ass.

5/22/2015

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A day or so ago I was reminded by an American friend about how their entering world war 2 saved Britain, who were apparently weeks away from collapse, and eventually won that war. I thought to myself, well, that’s a very American view. But what other view is there? I’ll come to that.

It’s Memorial day in the US soon. I wanted to show a picture of my Grandfather. He had been a British soldier between the wars, but was living in the US when the war in Europe started. He went back to fight for Britain. I’ve been trying to find the role he played, but very hard to do. One day perhaps I’ll go to Britain and try and track down his war records. Two other family members went back with him to fight for Britain and both died in the Battle of Britain. They were in the US, which was a neutral country for about 2 and a half years. They needn’t have gone back, but they did. There’s no memorial to them in the US for this Memorial day, but perhaps there should be.

So did America win the war? Well this is the state of play when the US entered. The Battle of Britain had already been won by Britain and her Commonwealth. It was an air battle. Hitler wanted to crush the RAF (Royal Air Force) before invading Britain, as air superiority was seen as being critical to German victory. The battle went on for many months, but the Germans changed tactics – instead of destroying planes and airfields they decided to bomb the cities, London in particular. This gave Britain a chance to rebuild its air defences, and with her Commonwealth and free European allies (a goodly number of whom died piloting fighters) they eventually won the battle and claimed air superiority.

At that stage, Britain had both air superiority and superiority at sea. Being an island, this made it relatively safe from invasion. The only chance the German’s really had to beat Britain beyond the Battle of Britain was to starve the country of food and supplies using its submarine fleets. Large amounts of war time supplies were coming from North America by convoy. Canada sent over 500 convoys to supply Britain, and the Canadian navy suffered terribly in the protection of the convoys. America played a peace time part in helping supply the convoys. They were critical. But with those supplies continuing to arrive, Britain was safe. A stalemate had occurred in that theatre of war.

In North Africa, the German blitzkrieg had been frustrated by Australian and British troops who had held Tobruk behind the German lines for many months. Eventually British, Australian and other Commonwealth forces overcame the Germans at a decisive battle at El Alamein, Egypt, and forced the Germans to retreat from Egypt and Libya to Tunsia. This was largely ahead of the American arrival.

In Russia, the Germans had failed to take Moscow, and the Russians had held their ground at Stalingrad and Leningrad with terrible losses on both sides. So when America entered the war, the Germans were actually stalemated on two fronts, and were losing severely on a third. America’s entry tipped the scales to a timely victory.

But what would have happened if Britain and her Commonwealth had failed to hold before that day? What if America had remained isolationist, just concentrating on war with Japan perhaps? Well time would have been lost, and time was critical for everyone if Germany was to be defeated at all.

At the end of the war Germany had almost perfected its V3 rockets, they had already launched the V1s and V2s against Britain. The Germans nicknamed the V3s the New York rockets. That’s right, rockets that could be used to attack the American east coast. What’s scarier than that? The German’s had an advanced nuclear program.

Few American’s would know this, but the Manhatten Project – the project that helped develop America’s own nuclear capability – wasn’t initiated by Americans. It was suggested to the Americans by the British, who thought it unwise to develop such a program in Britain where it might be attacked by German bombers. Members of the British Cavendish labs were sent to the US to help start the program. Without the British (and actually Commonwealth scientists such as Sir Mark Oliphant were also critical) America would not have started the program to develop its own nuclear capability.

With a little more time the German’s would have beaten everyone to developing the first nuclear weapons, and with their New York rockets, they could, and would, have leveled the East Coast of America, as well as Russia. So it’s pretty safe to say that without Britain and its Commonwealth, who didn’t surrender before America entered the war, but instead held the Germans at bay, and actually beat them in North Africa, the US would eventually have lost the war. Another year may have been all it took for Germany to have rained nuclear terror from across the Atlantic.

Where were we? Oh, yes. From one perspective, America can claim to have won the war, by breaking the stalemate that then existed. But they didn’t do it alone. Britain, with its Commonwealth, had held their own. Russia was there too. From another perspective, Britain and its Commonwealth, who had been on the front line two and a half years earlier than the US, can rightly claim to have saved America’s sorry ass, because if they hadn’t held (and actually begun to turn the tide against Germany) Germany would almost certainly have had enough time to develop its nuclear weaponry, and then it was game over for everyone.

It seems that all the allies were needed, even the Russians (though we really don’t talk about them any more).

Oh, and on a personal note, my grandfather survived the war, I know that he was in North Africa and Normandy, but he survived and returned to the US, eventually dying there. I visit where he lived when I can, a beautiful part of Virginia.

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I’m a Feminist? Me? And, apparently a Humanist too?

5/5/2015

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When did that happen? Mind you I had high hopes for the latter, but a feminist? I write a whole bunch of books with female leads and downtrodden heros (check out Stillwart!). Does that qualify me as a feminist for the former, and a humanist for the latter? If so, cool.

I hadn’t really thought about it before , but then a friend, Cas Meadowfield, posted this:

“Now has anyone heard, about this…. sometime ago I was told by an educator that our prejudices were more or less fixed by the time we're eleven. I've tried searching ‘child development’, but no joy…

It seems, (if this is true) that to get women (and others) to have confidence to be themselves, and find the job they love, children's writers have to write inclusive stories.

I know Scott does this…

I try and do this myself…”

Well, after she posted that, I had to think to myself, well gee. I guess I am.

I grew up with that generation that saw Star Trek a lot on the TV, the old multicultural, multiracial show that had the thumbs up from Dr Martin Luther King Jr. But there were other like shows and movies that I grew up with that also influenced me. To Kill a Mockingbird type movies. Books too, the Tales of Narnia (surprisingly good books for cross-species relations and inclusive plot lines), Dr Seuss (yep, think about it), Tom Brown’s school days (anti-bullying book), A Wrinkle in Time (strong female heros), and many others.

And perhaps being at the tail end of other people’s prejudices influenced me as well. It’s funny though, being a white anglo-saxon-irish protestant (not quite a WASP), you’d think I’d be pretty high up on that non-pecking order, but it turns out that it doesn’t really matter. Being a funny, little, sickly, Australian asthmatic in Canada is enough to get you kicked pretty heavily. To escape I started creating my own worlds, where everyone got along – fantasy, yes. Could have gone for hate, and there were times I did feel that, but I couldn’t maintain it for very long, so I went the other way. Oh,I overcame the asthma in my late teens too, I started running. My best time for the mile was 4 minute 17 sec, pretty good for someone who had to go to hospital if he ran a 100 feet as a 12 year old.

Those bad old days are gone. Now it’s my turn to be an adult. I have this picture of my daughter, to show. I insisted that both she and her sister learn how to change the tyre on a car. She changes tires for her less well taught friends now, both male and female. I don’t have to worry about her being stranded anywhere with a flat tyre. It’s the little things that matter, practicality aces traditional roles anytime.

Nothing wrong with girls playing soccer either. Even if they were the only girls on the team – they had a ball, literally. They’ll come and watch the next Star Trek movie with me too, and I’ll watch Cinderella with them. It’s the little things. Both my daughters have their own minds, and then there’s my son the chef, who always loved cooking. They were all brought up to find their own way, stand on their own feet and to respect others. They all chop wood too. I think I’ve seen many families like ours.

And yet, there’s always a dark side to people. Two sides of the coin. For me it’s not so much a dark side as a stupid side. I have chronic foot in mouth disease. The filters are often on holiday. The worst one I can remember was when my company bought a piece of equipment, I was halfway back to Canada from California with it, when the person we’d bought it from asked for me to ship it back by courier. I thought it was an emergency, went way out of the way to get it back as quickly as possible. I later found out they didn’t even use it. It sat on a shelf. Well… the term from my youth, which I never mentally ascribed to any ethnic group, it was just a term to me…was ‘Indian giver’. Not the best thing to say to someone whose actually from sub-continental India. Culturally insensitive. Of course I didn’t think of that until after it came out of my mouth, my mind didn't make the pre-clunker association. Worst thing I’ve ever said …well, maybe not, but it’s up there… and what could I say? No apology is great enough. I’ll never use that term again. But at least I realise that it wasn’t acceptable. I wonder if we all say stupid things, or is it only me?

So not a saint. I just try my best. Little wonder I’m still surprised by those two tags that I was given. I’m not sure I deserve them, though I won’t reject them either. I just am who I am.

You can only try. Maybe you're a feminist and a humanist too, and didn't even know it.

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Being Out of Date, and Instagram

4/4/2015

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Instagram…why do I have to learn that? Well, so I’m told, the demographics of middle grade kids (for whom I write books) has them all Instagramming. Apparently Facebook is dead to them, and Twitter is only a niche thing…blah, blah, blah… you can look it all up here http://pando.com/2015/01/07/if-youre-over-20-you-dont-get-social-but-this-kid-can-teach-you/ a good article on Social Media used by kids.

I’d actually feel old, but I know that computers and electronics trend for two or three years tops, so even people in their early twenties who don’t keep up will shortly be out of date, old, behind the times, irrelevant. So, really, the advantage of being a techie in his fifties is multigenerational tech experience. I’ve been out of date, old, behind the times, irrelevant many times before and I know that catching up is usually not a bigee. I can be young again (smiley face emoticon)…well, for a year, or two, or three until things change again. I’ve really just started bothering with Facebook and already it’s out of date. Mah, what can you do?

Okay, so Instagram. Absolute pain in the neck so far. I needed to use my smartphone to set it up. Why couldn’t I just do it from the laptop? Grrr, I’m still good with laptops. I only use my smartphone for phoning really. Sometimes when I’m away from home I turn on the data so that I can check my email, oh, and I do use it as an alarm…and a watch – it makes a good watch, I always used to bust watches – but apart from that there’s a whole lot of functionality that I wasn’t even curious about. Yeah, I did say it was a smart phone, but it’s an older one, a Galaxy Ace 2x - ancient. I have a really good (and I mean, really good) plan with it, so I’m not in a hurry to upgrade. I spent half of yesterday just trying to find out what sort of phone I had, because the only thing it said on the outside of the phone was Samsung, absolutely nothing more. Figured it out in the end, it was listed under the settings app, and then under ‘device’ but you had to scroll down to find it. Really well hidden it was.

Anyway, I had to find out what sort of phone I had to help work out why I couldn’t find Instagram in the Galaxy App store. It turns out that I probably couldn’t find it because it comes as a standard feature for this particular phone with most carriers…except mine. Yeah, that's the price I pay for not paying the price of a standard plan, no Instagram. Wouldn’t even have cared, except I have to ‘interact’ with my book demographics. Yeah well, I had some choice phrases for the publisher yesterday about that.

Long story short, I didn’t even have an app for the Google Play app store – that’s where I needed to get Instagram from. That really should have been the end of the story - stymied again by my cheap carrier - except, I found a backdoor. The GPS navigator (which I did have) was actually a Google Play product, upgrades of that were available through a Google Play link...and so was everything else. Excellent! Ha, I was in, I had it beat. I got Instagram loaded when I wasn’t supposed to. Don’t know if it works yet, but it’s on my phone.

Oh, and bonus, I finally worked out how to use my phone as a flashlight. It has a widget for that (I’d always assumed it would be an app). Now next time I go to a Katy Perry concert with my daughters, I’ll be able to hold it up with the light on and wave it around, instead of feeling socially awkward because I don’t know how to get the light to work on my phone. By tomorrow, I should be totally tech on Instagram, I figure I’ll have a good nine months before I’m out of date, old, behind the times, irrelevant, again. Facebook is already dead, who knew?

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The Soul of Nemach and the Burbank Adventure (by Scott Butcher)

3/13/2015

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This is just something cheesy I wrote for a few minutes entertainment. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, and I'd like to thank Lina Hansen and her book 'Cursed Times - What Now?' for part of the inspiration for this story (see http://www.wattpad.com/story/28196609-cursed-times-what-now ).

Nemach didn’t so much float as distill into existence, someone was coming, pulling the once minor official from his cursed slumber.

You will never have eternal rest, I curse you with your own progeny.

What did that mean? It had only taken a few years for him to realise. It meant that every time a descendent came near the statue in which his Ka was contained, he was disturbed from the peace of death. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t been so damn fertile. Two wives and three concubines, some twenty children. Now his descendants were … well, everywhere.

“A pox upon you and your mother’s ass.” Nemech lashed out. But of course ‘ass’ had a different meaning now.

“Now, now, Nemach, old man. No need to be touchy. I’ve got news for you.”

“Ah, it is you Humphrey. Of all my descendants you are the least annoying. If I must be pulled from the land of darkness, then at least let it be for something worthwhile.”

“Once a copper, always a copper, hey old Nem.”

“Ever so, I followed the tenants and rule of justice given to us by the goddess Ma'at. It was through this that I came to serve the great Pharaoh, Thutmose , the third of his name. It was I who discovered the thefts and betrayals of the Nubian Prince, the one who cursed my Ka for eternity when I revealed his evil doing. If only I hadn’t taken the concubines as reward, my death would have been so much more peaceful.”

“Too late to worry about that, old boy.”

“Ah, but that Libyan concubine, she could do this thing with her thighs…”

“Yes, yes, all well and good. Hard to keep the old dog down, even in death, but your more gratuitous memories aside, I have an interesting proposition for you.”

“How so, Humphrey?”

“Well, old friend, I’ve tracked the Nazi infiltrator here to the studios. War with Europe isn’t far away, but the Germans are readying themselves with agents even here in the Burbank Studios. This one is particularly vicious - from what I’ve been able to find out, blackmail and murder are the least of it.”

“We have spoken of this particular evil before Humphrey, and were my suggestions of any use?”

“I’ll say, old boy. Your deductions are what got us to this point. The studio heads are of course on our side. We’ve narrowed the identity of the infiltrator down to someone involved with a movie now being filmed.”

“Ah, the moving pictures that you have spoken of? But what of the lady in black?”

“You were right about her, too.”

“So, she has been taken captive then.”

“I’m afraid not, she escaped before the cops arrived. She’s in hiding now, but she’ll be found eventually.”

“I’m not so sure Humphrey. Did she steal the plans for the new moving picture, the one being written in preparation for the war?”

“One of the scripts is missing, so we have to assume she’s taken it.”

“Well Humphrey, it seems plain that their aim will be to destroy this moving picture before it’s ever made. That’s what they’re here for now.”

Humphrey’s head bobbed up. “I believe you might be right, old boy.”

“Naturally, I’ve had thousands of years honing my skills with good descendants such as yourself. Though I may complain of being occasionally woken, I have transcended the ill effects of the curse by making myself of use to humanity. Such is the gift of the goddess Ma'at.”

“Yes, well I’m Episcopalian myself.”

“Without doubt their target will be the studios. That would be the easiest way to stop the making of the picture.”

“I believe you’ve cracked it again. But I’m ahead of you on how we find our culprit.”

“How so?”

“You’re ability to read minds will help. I’ve arranged for you to be…”

“You mean the vessel in which my Ka is contained, of course.” Nemach interrupted.

“…ah, yes, quite so. Anyway, I’ve arranged for your vessel to be used as a central prop in the movie. You’ll be right there with all the actors, and should be able to find who we’re after.”

“And tell me Humphrey, how does a figure of the God Horus become part of a moving picture?”

“Well old boy, as it happens, a black alabaster figure of a falcon works quite well in this particular movie. It’s called the Maltese Falcon.”

***

Many days later:

“Ah, the dreary watch continues. But what’s this? Humphrey! Awaken, our culprit is at hand!”

Gun at ready, Bogey leapt up from the couch on which he’d been snoozing. Filming had gone on for much of the day without any of the actors involved seeming to have a part in the studio conspiracy.

“You. It was you all along?” Bogey startled the old cleaning man who had begun to pour kerosene on the set’s carpet. But the man straightened himself to the height of a younger, stronger person, and tore away the fake lines of makeup that disguised his face.”

“Very good, Mr Bogart, you have indeed caught me by surprise. But if you think that prop gun of yours will be enough to stop me from burning the Burbank studios, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“I’m warning you, this is no prop gun. You Nazis seem to have gone to a lot of trouble. Burning the studio? Just to stop one movie?”

“Not just any movie, Mr Bogart. Casablanca. Just think what it would do, it could help mobilise the American people. We can’t have that, Mr Bogart. Propaganda is everything in war. After your initial defeats the American people will quickly collapse, but Casablanca might postpone the Fuehrer’s ultimate victory. That small problem will be stopped here.”

A shot rang out as the Nazi tried to spark his lighter, his eyes wide, he fell with a gaping hole in his chest.

“Not a prop after all...Rick.” His eyes glazed over. The studios were safe, Bogey and Nemach had triumphed again.

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Sometimes Shit Unhappens

3/1/2015

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So we've all heard the saying 'shit happens'. Maybe it was Forrest Gump who first said it, maybe someone totally unknown to us (Forrest Gump by another name). Basically it means that the world, or some diabolical creator, or demon, either/or is going to rain on our parade with all sorts of crap we didn't expect. It happens a lot. If it hasn't happened to you, then look out, fate is probably saving up for a whopper.

But that's not really what I want to talk about, I want to talk about the opposite. Or not quite, I want to talk about when 'shit happened' but then it 'unhappened'. I think luck smiles on me in this respect. I was never lucky with raffles or horses, or anything like that. That was my father and brother. I was the opposite, and learned very quickly to stay away from games of chance. Instead, my luck was elsewhere, or perhaps it was a guardian angel, or a benevolent god. Anyway, I have a story to tell, about shit unhappening (because that's what us storytellers do - we tell stories).

The instance of shit unhappening I remember best was really the first time that I ever took notice of it, and I noticed because it was so very stark. It happened before my wife and I were married, many years ago. I was at university, and didn't have much in the way of money. Gennie, my fiancée, was just starting her nursing studies and had made enough money to buy a car. One Sunday we decided to go for a drive. We pooled the small amount of cash we had (the banks being closed and ATMs a thing of the future) and filled the car with petrol (gasoline for the North Americans). We only drove a little ways to lunch before our long drive, but soon noticed a strong petrol smell, and noticed that the petrol tank was loosing petrol at an extraordinary rate. We'd left the petrol cap at the petrol station. Driving along the wind had sucked almost two thirds of the tank away (it being a very hot day).

We managed to get back to the petrol station but there was no sign of the cap. We didn't even have enough money to buy a temporary cap. We retraced out steps in the car, looking for the cap in case it had fallen off the car near the petrol station - but to no avail. Gennie was distraught, so we pulled over in a deserted street, empty on the weekend because it was fairly industrial. No one was in sight, no other cars were parked nearby. Gennie proceeded to have a good cry. While holding her I noticed something blowing towards us in the wind. It was about thirty or forty dollars in bills. We collected them looking for an owner, but there was no one.

It turned out that the money we had found let us buy a new petrol cap and re-fill the car with petrol. Hardly any change to spare Shit had unhappened, and not for the last time.

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Excerpt from 'An Eagle's Heart'

1/17/2015

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Thought I'd post an excerpt from 'An Eagle's Heart'. If you enjoy you can consider buying the ebook or print book from Morning Rain Publishing.

Chapter 1 The Merlin

The Falcon swept down low to the ground and then soared up through the thermal, gaining as much height as the rising air would allow. As the thermal failed at its upper heights, he spilled from its top and wheeled in a great circle scanning the landscape below as far as the horizon. There was no prey to be seen.

“Nothing,” he sneered in disgust. He felt his frustration mounting. “Nothing!” He had searched all through their territory, but there was no prey to be found. They couldn’t continue like this. He had a mate, and they were expecting hatchlings. Without prey, there would be no young. Without prey, they would starve.

He banked sharply to the left, and dove hard in the last of the down draught from the thermal. Faster and faster, then he swept up sharply, striking at a prey that wasn’t there… that should have been there. He splayed his wings, turning to lose momentum, and then swooped through a leafless stand of birch trees. He arced listlessly above the edge of the harsh northern landscape that formed their territory, but he had lost interest. He wasn’t hunting, instead his mind was held in deep reflection. “This isn’t right. This is not the way it should be.”

It was less than a handful of snow seasons since he had been a hatchling; less than a round of snow since he and his mate had claimed their territory. He had swept the territory many times that day. Now again, he swept its edge. There was no movement in the air; there was no flurry of a small bird’s wing. The little birds were gone. His anger grew. Eventually it overtook him, and he winged into the nearby territory of the Great Eagle, daring the bigger bird to attack him. The Falcon could see the great bird high above him. He willed it to attack him; willed it to give him the fight he wanted, the battle of life and death that was absent without prey.

The Eagle circled high above, but it ignored the Merlin’s indiscretion. The Falcon shrieked. There was no satisfaction even here. He pulled hard on the wing and flapped back toward his own territory. His blood was hot, and he wanted a fight, or a kill. If the Eagle wouldn’t accommodate him, then… then what?

But sometimes nature can be kind. As he swept back towards the nest a shadow of movement caught the Merlin’s attention. It was bigger than him – a monster compared to the Falcon – an indiscriminate killer. Crows were murderers. He knew it was largely their fault that the prey birds were gone, and now this crow was hunting in his territory. This would not be allowed! The Falcon watched the interloper, all the time gaining height on another thermal. This was not a danger to be taken lightly. They usually banded together, the crows, but this one was alone, and he would kill it. It had taken from his territory, it, and its kind. It would pay, and the Falcon would feed his nesting mate.

When the Merlin Falcon had the height he needed, he dove, gathering speed for his strike. The crow was flapping lazily near the ground, afraid of nothing, but it should have been scared. It was in the Falcon’s territory. The Merlin came in fast, hitting the crow more viciously than he had ever struck before. He struck with anger; his talons tore with vengeance.

The crow flailed in the air, wheeling over and losing height. There was no mercy from the Falcon though; it was a relentless hunter. He hit again, even as the crow struggled to stay in the air. The black bird dropped down, shuddering and stunned, but the Falcon attacked again. His blood was hot. He struck at the crow on the ground raking it with his claws, and tearing out its throat with his beak. The crow did not react. It was already dead.

Seeing this, the Falcon triumphantly wheeled high in the air. He streamed up in a vertical climb then dropped down to the earth, arcing along the ground, and at the last moment, swooped onto his prey. Wings spread onto the ground covering the black bird, but it was big. “Too big,” the Falcon thought with satisfaction. He tore what he could from the flesh, feeding himself, and then took some of the flesh for his mate. He tore it away and wafted back into the air, flapping heavily to gain height.

***

Somewhere, high above, the Eagle watched. It was carrion now, the black devil. The Falcon had provided food for them both. The crow was too much meat for the small Falcon to carry, so the Eagle would settle this problem. After all, the Falcon had broken a taboo by entering the Eagle’s territory without permission. The kill was in the Falcon’s land, but this was fair compensation.

***

If the Falcon saw the Eagle swoop down into his lands, it didn’t register. He was jubilant and flew back just above the trees toward their nest. After a few minutes, he alit on the branch above where his mate had been resting, and made his way to offer her the strip of meat. She ate well from his offering, and when she was finished she turned to him to speak. In all the lands, the falcons are the most formal in conversation, even between mates they speak in tones of respect, which is fitting, given that their beaks and talons are made for the tearing of flesh. But her voice was raised, “What have you done? This was dangerous.”

“It was in our territory and they have stolen from our lands this winter. I will not allow it again.”

“They are many, and they are much bigger than us. They will miss their kinsman.”

“They are robbers of nests. Let them have this lesson from their kinsman: that these lands are a danger to them! I have travelled our territory. The winter has been hard. The crows have taken the eggs of our prey. These lands are not theirs. They will not be allowed to enter here again. We will have our hatchlings and they will be safe from the crows.”

The other bird had straightened, and now shifted uneasily, considering his words.

She nodded. “So be it. We will protect our territory and our hatchlings. You have shown me that the crows can be killed, because we feast on their flesh. But you say that there is no prey besides the crow, that our land is empty. These are not good words. How can the hatchlings live if this is true?”

The Falcon hung his head low. “I do not know. I crossed our land and only saw the crow. I have pondered what we can do, but can think of nothing. It is not good.” He thought for a moment more and then added, “The flesh of the crow is still there. More than I could carry. Let us take more of him so that for today, and perhaps for a few days, we are sated. That, at least, we can do for now.”

“These words are well spoken. Fly back, my husband. Back to your kill, and take what can be taken. It will give us time, and perhaps prey will return by then.”

The Falcon raised his wings pulling himself into the air, and then flight. He arced his way back, flying high over the trees, knowing it was better to see the land and not just his kill. Other animals shared his territory. A huge lumbering black bear was one, and the bear thought nothing of eating the kill of others. But what he saw when he arrived back was not something he would have expected at all, for there was the Great Eagle picking at the flesh of the Merlin’s kill. This was not right. He pulled back on his wings landing in the branch of a nearby tree – a safe distance away.

“Eagle, these are not your lands. And that, is not your kill!”

The Eagle ignored him. Ignored him! The Falcon had killed the crow. It was his. He readied himself to attack. The Eagle looked up then, cocking his head to the side.

“I would not do so, if I were you, Little Bird. You may be fast, but on the wing you will tire before me. Then how will you feed your mate when I have ripped the heart from your ribcage?”

The Falcon hesitated. “This is my territory, and that is my kill.”

The great bird’s head cocked to the other side, raptor eyes blinking without emotion. “That is so, but did you not enter my lands, trying to take from me?”

The Falcon remained silent. There was nothing he could say to that.

“Then this is my recompense.” The Eagle tore another strip from the carrion beneath his claws.

Thinking for a moment, the Falcon replied, “But you are a Great Eagle. For you a harsh winter is a boon. Many animals have fallen, and you have grown strong from their flesh. I am a Falcon, a hunter of birds, and in all my territory the only bird to be found was this evil creature, a snatcher of eggs.”

The Eagle looked at the Falcon, and bobbed his head. “That means nothing to me, Little Bird.”

“Then hear this, Great Eagle, there are no birds in my territory save the one in your claws… and yourself. You are a Great Eagle, and very strong, but as you have said, I am fast. I have killed a crow, a mighty bird, much larger than myself. Perhaps I am desperate enough and fast enough. I may not be able to kill a Great Eagle, but I may damage a wing, or at least keep you from the kill that will save my mate.”

The Eagle looked at the Falcon for a long time. “Ha,” it clucked. “That might be amusing, brave Little Bird. But you are correct. This winter has been good for me, and I have had my fill of crow. These are hateful birds, all full of spite. They kill for naught, and I am pleased that this one is ended. I know you to be a distant cousin, and do not wish you ill. We are cousins who stand against the crows, and I am glad that there is one other who will face the egg snatchers. Take what remains. I have no need of it. I have seen that the birds you hunt have fallen to the winter cold, and to the crows. Only those in the Stone Forest of the humans remain. But a warning, Little Bird: do not cross into my territory again, unless you seek the permission that our kind requires.”

“My apologies, Great Eagle, and thanks from myself, and from my mate. Know too, that I took no food from your territory but only flew there in anger. I meant for no ill to fall between us.”

“Then let none do so.” It was part warning, and part peace offering. With that, the Great Eagle took flight, leaving the Falcon to the remains of the crow.

Flying back to his mate, the Falcon brought the remains of the meat. This was all there might be for some time. There was still much snow on the ground, though in some places grass was showing. The green was coming, but would it bring the birds back? The last green season was not good for hunting. He and his mate had moved to this new territory, making their first nest, but even here, the birds were few. The future seemed bleak.

However, there was something the Great Eagle had said: there were birds in the Stone Forest. He had heard of the Stone Forest, though he had never seen it himself. A forest of rock, and wood, made by the humans, empty of other life. But the Eagle had said that there were birds there, and the Great Eagle had no reason to lie. By the time he had returned to the nest he had formed a plan, and was resolved to follow it.

“You have returned, my husband, and this meat will keep us well for a while.”

“Only yourself, my wife.”

“Why so?” She turned her head to him.

“There are no birds here, and we face starvation, no hatchlings, and a grim future. But I have met with the Great Eagle, who was stealing my prey.”

“The great eagles,” she said with concern. “What foolish thing have you done, Husband?”

“Take care, Wife! I am the Falcon. I have done what was needed and have brought you strips of meat. What merlin has killed a crow before? We are desperate, and I act from this.”

“My apologies, Husband. You are right that you have done what was needed and brought me strips of meat. But the Great Eagle is not a creature we would wish to have as an enemy. How have you taken these strips from his claws?” She looked to the skies, perhaps thinking that the Eagle may have followed her husband to their nest to seek retaliation.

“Do not be concerned, my wife,” the Falcon tried to comfort her. He did not wish her to be alarmed. “We are at peace with the Great Eagle. Indeed, I was foolish.” He hung his head toward the ground. “In anguish I did fly into the territories of the Great Eagle. He took part of the crow as recompense. We spoke and came to peace, and he left us the crow. And… perhaps, a little more.”

The Falcon’s mate was stunned. “You spoke to the Great Eagle, and you saved us this food from its claws. This is… this is… I am without words. For a merlin to speak to an eagle! It is … unusual. They see us as nothing. Was this an honour?”

The Falcon puffed out his chest. “Indeed, I have conversed with him. He was pleased with the killing of the crow, the egg snatcher.”

“Yes, I have not had time to think on this, but a crow is a very large bird indeed, and they can be fierce. Is there any other merlin known to have killed a crow? You have earned the right to converse with the Great Eagle, my husband. What else did he say to you?”

“One other thing did the Great Eagle say. He said that there were birds in the Stone Forest of man.”

She stared at him silently. He paused, expecting her to comment, but she said nothing, so he continued, “I must see this. There are no birds here for us, but we will not starve. You rest here and watch our territory. Hunt and feed if you can, but I must go to see if there may be some territory to be claimed where there is food for the hatchlings.”

She continued to stare at him. “You are right, my husband.”

“I… I am?” He hadn’t expected her to agree; she surprised him.

“Yes, you are.” She looked sternly toward him. “You must seek out the Stone Forest. We must have food for hatchlings. I have nested an egg while you have hunted.”

For the first time he noticed the spotted texture of a shell, mostly hidden by down and dried moss. It was broken, the shell too thin, the egg was in ruin.

“I have not had enough food this winter for eggs, my husband. We must have prey to have hatchlings. If there are no birds to hunt here then we must find a way. But where is the Stone Forest? I have heard it spoke of, but it is far away.”

The Falcon thought on this problem. “I will ask the Great Eagle. He has seen the Stone Forest. I will use the rights of permission to enter his territory and ask him this question. He has spoken to me already; perhaps, in his hatred of the crows, he will speak to me again.”

“Then waste no time, my husband. The time for hatchlings is short; the seasons turn quickly. Use the ceremony of approach and speak to the great bird. Yes, perhaps to the killer of a crow he will deem to speak again.”

He looked at her for a moment, nodded his head, and took to the wing, raising himself away from the nest.

Don't forget, think about buying the book if you enjoyed this excerpt, and please think about leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon too. Much thanks, Scott.

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