Congratulations to Phil Carnehl, the Rebel Penguin, who was awarded a Daily Deviation for one of the Yeti pieces I commissioned him to do for a children's story I wrote. It's truly deserved. Seeing all the positive feedback has reinforced my desire to try and get that sucker published. I've been dragging my feet because I'm not convinced trying to get an agent is good for one's soul. I love Miss Snark, but reading her just drives home the point that publishing is a dog-eat-dog world. Well, I'm a bear with a yeti on my side so I guess there's no need to be timid.


Snow White Shepherd by *rebel-penguin on deviantART

Here is the interview I did with him last month which has now fallen off the main page into the archival abyss.
And check out Shane Cheffins' new work- he's the guy who did the robot bear you see to your right.

Nothing new to tell you about the screaming ghost girl. Here in Edmonton there's been another mystery going around concerning a University of Alberta professor who's gone missing. Seems he called in sick and then went to Hawaii to do some adventuring, only he never got there. Everyone figures he met some misfortune while hiking, but what everybody forgets is, he's a nanotech researcher. To me it's obvious that he downloaded his consciousness into billions of tiny, self-replicating robots who will now go colonize the universe.
Which reminds me of a short short story I wrote about nanotech once. Not quite as short as the 6-word stories Cass mentioned, but pretty close.

Anyways, here is the first entry for my bloggiversary contest:

Infamy.
A Halloween Story
By Gabrielle

“Look, all I’m saying is that I do the same thing he does! He gets all the press. I just want my due.”
“I understand that, Mr. Durt, but there are mitigating circumstances to consider.”
“What circumstances?” Mr. Durt paced the room with a plodding gait. He sighed heavily. “There’s only one difference between us.”
“Blood.” The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at his client.
“Yeah. And that’s it.”
“Mr. Dracool is claiming that centuries of history and development enmeshed his family, if you will, in their heritage. He says you have no such claim. He has substantial evidence to support his case.”
“Evidence?” Mr. Durt was exasperated. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
“The foreign property holdings, the folklore of the region, the centuries of precise knowledge… the list goes on but you can see in these transcripts that it is all well documented. You have no such proof.”
“We’ve been around just as long!”
“Proof, Mr. Durt, is what courts are looking for. Not emotional hearsay.” The lawyer stacked papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut with an air of finality. “I can’t take your case to court. There’s nothing to go on. We’d never win. Bring me something substantial and I’ll reconsider. But until then, I must decline to represent you.” With that, the lawyer left the room.
Mr. Durt groaned and sank into a chair. He stared morosely out the lone window and his thoughts uncoiled slowly, with a hesitant air, until at last they were laid straight and clear before him. “I don’t need a lawyer,” he said then. He felt a bit triumphant. “I’ll try this case in the court of public opinion. I’ll go to the papers! All it will take is a little publicity and bang – I’ll be out of Dracool’s shadow for good.”

* * * *

The headline on the next day’s paper read as follows:
DURT: JUST LIKE DRACOOL
“Mr. Durt claims that the Dracool family have been ousting him from rightful popularity since the early 1900s. In our exclusive interview, he reveals the shocking lack of difference between he and Dracool. No longer content to wait in the wings for the dregs of Dracool’s success, what Durt wants now is equality. Story on page 6.”
The circulation of the papers spiked noticeably and the editor of The Chronicle knew a golden story when he saw one. He sent his best journalists to obtain a rebuttal interview from Dracool.
The day after Durt’s story the headline read as follows:
DURT LIVES UP TO NAME SAYS DRACOOL.
“Mr. Vladimir Dracool spoke out against claims by Mr. Durt that his family had been leeching fame off Durt since the early 1900s. According to him, Durt has neither the brains nor the style to wrest the Dracool family from their status. He says Durt is “just a cretin fumbling for his day in the dawn”. Story on page 3.”
The papers were snatched up. The public loved a battle royale. The headlines bopped back and forth like a verbal ping-pong.
DURT ACCUSES DRACOOL OF BATTY LEGACY.
Then: DRACOOL DECRYPTS ILL WILL
And the following day: DURT: GRAVE ACCUSATIONS BY DRACOOL
Followed by: DRACOOL SLINGS FRESH MUD
The public ate it up for a good two weeks. There appeared to be no resolution to the quarrel nor indeed did either party seem particularly interested in a cease-fire. Durt and Dracool merrily exchanged barbs and innuendo with a revolving door of journalists and The Chronicle circulation nearly doubled. But then came a plateau. And then the decline. There was nothing new to say. Old jabs were re-worded into new headlines and the public’s appetite waned. Until one day, nearly three weeks after Durt’s initial foray into the public arena, sales of The Chronicle suddenly spiked again. The public were in a frenzy to get at the story behind the latest headline. Dracool, in his mausoleum, and Durt, in his plot, frowned at the news. Neither had given a new interview. They ventured forth to buy copies of the paper. The headline screamed:
MR. HARRY’S MOONLIGHT SERENADE TO CONGRESS
“By the light of a full moon, eccentric millionaire Mr. Harry pleaded his case to a very special Congressional gathering last evening. The address was deemed a howling success by one party member in attendance and the banning of the use of silver in ammunitions manufacture is now the issue of the day on Capitol Hill.”
Mr. Durt’s phone rang. It was Dracool.
“Our fifteen minutes are up, my friend.”
“So, truce?” Durt sighed.
“You’ve always been the brains, you know.” Dracool chuckled.
“Funny.”
“I’m taking the redeye to Transylvania tonight. Take care of yourself, Durt.”
“Yeah. You too. We’re bloody well two sides of the same night anyway, aren’t we?” Durt listened to Dracool’s laughter over the line before the other signed off. And that was that.

The End

A coal mine can be a creepy place, especially at night. When I'm on water truck, filling up the tank, I always have to remember to do a quick scan for bears, wolves or cougars before I get down. And usually I forget. So I've gotten a good scare more than once from being down on the ground in the pitch dark when a sudden movement not ten feet away startles me- it's always just a deer, but for a split second you don't know and it raises your hackles.
So I'm pretty sure I would have been freaked right out if I had been there last night (this week I'm on dayshift) when everyone heard the garbled but terrified voice of a little girl on the two-way radio screaming for help, saying something about a brown bear and possibly her dad being on the ground. Then a bloodcurdling scream, and nothing.
When we got on shift this morning various versions of this story started going around, and my first reaction was a little shiver, and, "Cool Hallowe'en ghost story!" and then, well, I don't know what to think. There's been no reports of missing little girls, no evidence of a mauling, nothing. They searched around and called the police last night, but what more can you do at night when you have no idea where even to begin looking?
And why is a little girl out at night in the wild? How did she happen to have a radio tuned to the mine's frequency? Is it a hoax? A tape? A ghost? If not, what? I talked to some of the guys who were working and they didn't think it was a fake- they were all freaked right out- enough to call the cops (who said there was nothing they could do without a missing persons report). I didn't even know if I should blog about it until there was more info. If you hear or know anything (like you can identify the horror movie the soundbite was taken from) let me know. There's been quite a few poachers hanging out, so maybe they were screwing around to get revenge for us calling the cops on them. Who knows? One thing's for sure- I'd way rather it was a poacher, or hell, even a ghost, than a real little girl.
Creepy.

Happy Four Years!
Pooing in the Woods turns 4 today. Yay for Homie Bear!

Here's a children's Hallowe'en story for you, based on a sketch Hermitchild drew me - she called it, "He Made it Himself". Enjoy:

Hallowe'en was approaching and all the cubs of Hudson Elementary School were excited to see the announcement on the school's bulletin board:

Costume contest!
Win a bag of lemon-flavored lemmings
for the most creative costume of the year
Dress up as your favorite monster,
movie character or mythological figure!
Wear your costume to school on Friday
for the lunchtime Hallowe'en party

"Wow!" said Berg. "I'm gonna be a pirate! No, a cowboy! How about you, Cousin H?"
Little Homie Bear replied, "I don't know- how can I choose? I have this cool book at home of all these mythological creatures, I think I will be something from that."
"Like a dragon or something?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Ooh, ooh, how about a troll or a demon or a zombie? I changed my mind I'm not gonna be a cowboy I'm gonna be a vampire! No, a ghost! I mean, a werewolf. Yeah . . ."
Little Homie Bear left Berg to his quandary and wandered home, deep in thought. He didn't even stop to chase all the little seals who all took a vasive action when they saw the polar bear cub approach. When he arrived home to the ice cave, he asked his mom if they had any sewing stuff. She showed him some old scraps and needles and stuff that was still lying around from the previous occupants of the cave, an Inuit family.
Little H got to work, putting on his red goggles like a welder pulling down his mask. Fabric flew and needles broke as he tried to get his big bear paws to do the delicate motions required, but Little Homie Bear's concentration never wavered, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully. Every day that week he would go straight home from school to work on his costume.
Finally Friday arrived, and Little Homie Bear proudly donned his costume and went to school. Berg and all his friends were there, all dressed up in a dramastick variety of costumes.
"Wow, Berg," said Little Homie Bear, "I thought you were going to be a werewolf."
"Changed my mind," said Berg. "I decided I would be Cruella DeVille."
"Oh. You look great," said Little Homie, as he took in Berg's dyed black fur on half of his head and his feather boa.
"Thanks! But what about you, what are you supposed to be?" But just then the bell rang and everyone rushed to their desks. No one liked to be late for Mr. Baffin's class because he was a mean old bear. But class was a little unruly as everyone was too excited about the Hallowe'en party and contest. At last the lunch bell rang and everyone rushed to the gymnasium.
Hudson School's principal, Mrs. Aurora, went from student to student, praising their costumes and passing out candy. She was the judge of the contest. When she got to Little Homie Bear, she was perplexed.
"And what have we here, dear?" she asked.
"I'm dressed up as my favorite mythological monster," Little Homie Bear proudly said. "Legends say this unfathomable creature lives upside down beneath us on the other side of the world, and it has wings but it can't fly cause it's upside down so it just walks for miles and miles and they make noises like this: SCREECH SQUAWK and they eat, well, I don't really know what they eat. Pixies, maybe. Or lemon-flavoured lemmings, which is my favorite too."
Mrs. Aurora was no match for this verbal onslaught, and she was impressed by the little cub's enthusiasm, if not his sewing skills. "Did your mom help you make this costume?"
"No, I made it myself!"
"Well, very good job. First prize!"
Little Homie Bear, dressed as the mysterious and mythological penguin, shared his lemon-flavoured lemmings with his whole class.

On deviantArt there's a meme going around where artists offer free sketches to anyone who wants one (up to ten, usually) so long as any takers offer the same . So I've taken up a few people on their offers, but rather than sketches I offer poems in return, since my sketches would be a terrible blight on the world. Here is the sketch Travis Hanson did for me, since I was in a mastodony mood last week:



And here is a poem I wrote at the request of Hermitchild, who also drew me a sketch that I will try to write a poem for as well, so I won't show it to you yet:

Little lemming, lemme in, lemme in
Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin
I'm not a big bad wolf and you're not a little pig
So just open up your door, quit being such a prig
No, I'm sorry, but I'm a little indisposed
which is why you can't come in and the door is staying closed
Listen, little lemming, just a second then I'll go
You're probably a salesman so my answer still is no
Little lemming, little lemming, please just let me in
No! Now my patience is starting to wear thin
You keep standing at my door, yammering and talking
I say go away and still you keep on knocking
Sorry little lemming, I know I am a boor
But I won't go away until you open up that door!
I know what you did, how you let those lemmings die
You led them off a cliff by claiming they could fly
Now little lemming, lemme in, lemme in
So I can serve you this subpoena so you can pay for your sin!

The two typefaces are to distinguish voice, which you probably figured out on your own. I wanted to make use of the obvious lemming stereotype while still doing something a little unique.

The Storyteller by Travis Hanson

Okay so, the creative challenge: My Fourth Bloggiversary contest! The assignment I gave the grade 7s was to pretend they were the little boy in Travis Hanson's Storyteller print. What story is he telling that has all the forest creatures so enrapt? So your challenge will be the same, but with some parameters.
Write me a story about anything you want, so long as it has some element of the fantastic, or whimsical, or, well, you know what I like. Courtroom dramas? Not so much. Courtroom dramas where a vampire is suing a zombie and a robot is the judge? Perfect. Take advantage of the fact it's Hallowe'en!
Post the story on your blog or email it to me at nwaddell (at) gmail (dot) com and I will post it here if you don't have a blog. It's open to anyone so even if you are some lurker I have never heard of, or whoever. Tell your friends!
Deadline is flexible but my bloggiversary is the 22nd I think, so around there but definitely before Hallowe'en.
The winner will get to choose between an actual Storyteller print for their wall, or the brand new Seven Devil Fix CD!
Oh yeah, bonus points for using Dramastickly and other examples from the Grade 7 lexicon.

Here's some more examples of creative spelling from the stories I assigned:

sueiside
vilant screeming
enzone (end zone)
bodem (bottom)
hew (who)
ricking havoc
concer (conquer)
metiore
hypers space
19teenth
Take a vasive action!
Neatherlands (a country that is at war with its near neighbour China)
shalk (shock)
quiquly
And my favorite, because it's a whole new word which I challenge all of you to use in a sentence:
Dramastickly

This is way too much fun! About 40 done, 50 to go! Seriously, though- I've been very impressed. The point of this exercise was to get their creative juices flowing and to have fun. Not to circle spelling errors in red ink and stuff like that. I was lucky enough to have teachers who really recognized and nurtured the creative spark in me so the one thing I wanted to accomplish in my brief stint as a teacher was to encourage the students to be creative, and they definitely did that.
How about YOU guys? Are you up for a creative challenge?

Michelle dropped a phonebook-sized stack of papers on the counter- 90 stories for me to mark from my field trip to her Grade 7 classes last week. Wow, how do teachers and professors do it? But at least these are an absolute hoot to read. I marked ten of them tonight, only 80 more to go! Here are some early highlights:

"It was a very bloody war and swords were flying everywhere with hands still attached.// Xerxes wept and sobbed and cursed at the Spartans.// All of the Persians piled upon the rangers killing them all and blood was everywhere but at least only 1 Persian soldier died but they gave him a proper burial." -Connor

"Deranged Snowmen from New Jersey took over the north they hadn't seen us because we camoflaged our igloos." -Ryan (I also liked his spelling- "slottered" makes way more sense than the true spelling!)

"Societies ruined, houses burnt down, blood curdling screams of horror is all that you hear in my town.// We were about to give up when we heard a scream it sounded like 5 year old lil Jimmy." -Haley

"After 5 hours of battle the snowmen came out with some sort of snowball plasma cannon. It was so sophiscated our troops didn't know how to dismantel it." -Zach

Anyways, I was really impressed. The stories had a fair bit of "sophiscation" to them. Quite a few students chose to use this drawing by Travis Hanson as a springboard (hence the deranged Snowmen from New Jersey), while so far only one used this one, which of course, I expecially dig. And sadly, the bear in that story is an antagonist:

"But Fuzz (a coyote) wouldn't come; instead he fought the bear, bitting and scratching, but Fuzz was no match to a bear. The bear hit Fuzz so hard he went flying into a tree with bruises, bumps, lumps, and blood all over him. "Nooo!" screamed Lily and Billy-Willy. The bear walked away with a happy look on his face, like he had accomplished a really hard task." -Carissa

Happy Thanksgiving- I'm Thankful For Elephants!
And for you non-Canucks, Happy Second Monday in October. Michelle and I went down to Calgary for some family, food and fun. It was great. So, know what I think is cool?
Elephants. According to the May 1991 issue of National Geogrpahic that Michelle let me steal from her classroom the other day, there was once a four-tusked species of proto-pachyderm called Primelephas, as well as mammoths and mastodons and other very cool mumakiloids. From that issue:

Of all the truly colossal beasts that once walked the planet, only these two remain [the African and Asian elephants). And they are disappearing even as we are just beginning to learn about their lives.

In the 20th century alone, more than ten million elephants died at the hands of humans. Sad, hey? But so familiar as to be cliche.
Anyways, I bought some cool-looking comics to see if maybe some Elephantmen get a little revenge.

Now I Know What Scares a Bear

I can stand up to and stare down a raving mad coal miner who's got fifty pounds on me. But a room full of gregarious giggling grade 7's, well, that's a little frightening. And then multiply that by three and you're looking at nine years of nightmares for me. Michelle had me in as her special guest speaker for her schoolkids today.
Actually I'm exaggerating- it wasn't scary, it was fun. Though I honestly don't know how my wife can do that every day. Crazy.
I spoke on the art and elements of storytelling, and I read them my Yeti story I blogged about last week. (The mp3 of my reading at the Gathering is online, if you're interested.) I also read this old poem, they liked the line about the poo crapping. I even assigned homework! Michelle said I could, but when I mentioned how we could mark them next week after Thanksgiving she stopped me and said, "No, YOU can mark them next week. All ninety of them. Have fun!" I basically said they could write a story about anything they wanted, so long as they could identify the conflict in it. I showed them some of Travis Hanson's artwork to inspire them a bit, and let them go. I look forward to marking them!
And, uh, if you see my autograph for sale on eBay, well, I tried to explain I wasn't actually a famous writer, but . . .

Homie Bear on Holidays!
Yup, so, I needed a vacation. Because of my four-day shift rotation, taking one set off gives me twelve days of freedom. Pretty good deal. This is already my third day off. Heading to Calgary for Thanksgiving, but until then I'm just hanging out here at home, doing some writing, some reading, some running and some relaxing.
Did I say running? You betcha! Ever since Michelle's half-marathon I have been running pretty steady and I'm loving it. Oh yeah and working out while watching Samurai Jack cartoons on DVD, too.
On the writing front, I'm working on a short story that required me to reread Pierre Berton's Klondike, which was no chore because it is easily one of my favorite books of all time. You should read it- your life will be enriched. Seriously. I finished that up today and now I can go on to something I've been saving for just this occasion- Dan Simmons' Olympos.
Come to think of it, last week at work I read a sci-fi classic that I'd be willing to bet influenced Simmons enormously- Walter M. Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz.
Well, I have some relaxing to do so I'll leave you with a cool, kinda halloweeny excerpt from another classic sci-fi writer, Fritz Leiber (not Leiberwitz!), from his essay "A Defense of Werewolves".

You think that everything that thrill's (sic) been done, that there's no more true eeriness in life, but just a wearisome atomic round, and that the future . . . belongs to some pragmatic, plodding breed who never heard Pan pipe or feared the darkness that's between the stars? That is to laugh! Pass me the wine-skin. And yet that's just how I feel part of the time.
But how untrue! When each new fact, like an old witch, has as familiar some new mystery, when each conquered realm opens a new wilder, wider frontier, when man's about to leap the planets . . .
Open your eyes . . . and you will see wonders undreamed, innumerable . . . Wonder as great as in archaic times made gleaming eyes by rocks like these at Stonehenge and in the darkling woods where satyrs danced.

Wow, look at the time! It's October! My favorite time of year. In a few weeks, Pooing in the Woods will turn four years old. Soon, I will be able to form whole sentences and even begin to read and comprehend simple stories. Oh, and hockey season starts. Also, the world turns its attention to the underworld, the dark underbelly of the collective unconscious, the horrific and the unwholesome. Monsters! Hallowe'en! Candy!
How's this for monsters in the basement- at the University of Alberta (my Alma Mater) researchers have accidentally discovered a new species of Icthyosaur! National Geographic has the details.