Category: Children's Book

November Goodreads Giveaway

11/4/2014

The holidays are upon us, so I thought to myself, "Self, it's the season of cheer and generosity and all of that good stuff. Let's do good stuff for others." I personally thought that was a great idea, sooooo...

From now until December 1, 2014, I'm running a giveaway on Goodreads. Two lucky winners will walk away with an autographed copy of my Middle Grade novel, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER. Perfect for stocking stuffers, teacher gifts, or, for the Grinch in all of us, to hog all for yourself!

Please enter, and please pass it along to those who might be interested. Thanks a bunch!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Daniel the Draw-er

by S.J. Henderson

Giveaway ends December 01, 2014.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

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SMILE! Free Book Today!

10/16/2014

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Yesterday I lost someone very special to me, my horse, Fansi. My family has owned her from the very beginning. I slept in the back of a van parked in the aisle of my barn waiting for her mother to give birth to her, and even then I almost missed her being born. Horses are sneaky little things. :-)

Fansi and I had 22 years together, and yesterday afternoon she crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She's now kicking her heels up with all of her friends who have gone before--Moe, Mariah, Jake, Pepper, Sugar, and her mom.

Obviously, I'm sad. I knew for a couple of days prior to her passing that it was likely, so I planned in advance to do something happy for others.

On October 15 and 16, I'm offering my children's/Middle Grade book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER, for free Kindle download. No strings attached, just wanted to do something nice and for people to be happy. (And, yes, I meant to post this yesterday, but I wasn't feeling up to writing this blog post. Sorry about being a day late!)

Click here or on the picture below to go directly to Amazon to download your copy before the promotion ends tonight. Don't forget to smile. :-)

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Violet, You're Turning Violet!

10/1/2014

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Ahhh, I just love when I get to pull classic Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory quotes out of mid-air... and they actually kind of fit. Except that Roald Dahl's Violet Beauregarde

is a singularly unpleasant character, which is not so with Audrey Kane's Violet.

Okay, so maybe my Willy Wonka example didn't work at all, but you should still check out magical Violet, THE PURPLE GIRL. Keep reading...

The Purple Girl

Caution! Violet is a purple-skinned girl whose purple spreads to everything she touches. She lives behind garden walls. Is she magical? Is she the devil’s child—or simply cursed? When the lonely thirteen-year-old embarks on a dangerous journey to find the one boy that dared to befriend her, she travels at night…in the dark…to keep people from seeing her purple skin. But no one is more surprised than Violet when she unlocks her mysterious gift.

The Purple Girl is an adventure story about a young girl’s triumphant journey to be herself. While written for children, this thought-provoking adventure—and its surprising twists—will delight readers of all ages. Violet’s story is shaped to empower young girls and help them embrace their identities.

Excerpt

Frustrated, I blew out the candle and slipped the book back into its velvet cover.

“Violet, is that you?” my mother called from her bed.

I gave a little gasp. With the text in my hands and my heart pounding, I stood rooted to the spot. There was a second of silence, and then I heard the creak of her bed and the easy rhythm of her snores.

Barely breathing, I replaced the text on the shelf and then crept my way through the doorway toward the kitchen. There wasn’t much time. Dawn was ready to break. The gypsy girl would be waiting.

When I reached the side door, I hesitated. Can I do this? The garden is a pretty but also a lonely place to be caged in.

With unsteady hands, I eased open the door and slipped out.

About Audrey Kane

As a writer, and also a designer of tapestries with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from the University of Georgia, it is only natural for Audrey to weave visual stories. When she is not designing tapestries, she is busy conjuring up characters that find themselves in extraordinary situations. Between carpools and design work, she is plotting, scheming, writing, and revising. She lives in North Carolina with her husband, their three children, and her unruly dog, Rascals. Audrey's favorite time to write is in the early morning while her family sleeps. With Rascals sprawled out snoring beside her, it only takes one oversized cup of coffee to get her mind moving.

Audrey is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers & Illustrators. She loves traveling, museums, and blackberry-apple pie. Actually, she loves all kinds of pie. And she especially loves her family. They have put up with Violet and Waxy for a long time. You can visit her at: http://www.audreykane.com

The amazing illustrations are by Tory and Norman Taber.

Get the Book

Amazon

Connect with Audrey

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Macaroni Monday

9/29/2014

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Sorry I've been so horrible about blogging lately. I'm participating in an anthology project, and one of our big deadlines was yesterday. Like any true writer, I waited until the last few days before the deadline to get crackin' on my work. The good news? I, indeed, made the deadline. The bad news? I've lost feeling in half of my hands. Haha.

Oh, and my goal deadline to finish Daniel 2 is tomorrow. If I'm being honest, the goal deadline to finish that sucker was back in July, but that's waaay before it morphed into this unrecognizable thing. Now that it's ballooning into this tome of WAR AND PEACE proportions, well, let's just say I've had to adjust that deadline a few times.

All of that to say, I've been concentrating my finger energies elsewhere. However, numb, useless hands or no, my blog silence must be broken. What better way to do that than sharing some fan art from kids who have read DANIEL THE DRAW-ER?

Awesome, right? This picture's artist is a kid after my own heart. YAY HORSES!

By the way, your fan art could wind up on my blog, too! All you need to do is contact me for my e-mail address, then send me a scanned image of your art. I also love getting real, live mail (the old-timey kind in envelopes with stamps and everything!).

So let's hear it... Who's your favorite DANIEL character and why?

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The Legend of Ghost Dog Island

9/18/2014

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I can't believe I haven't posted anything for an entire week! Wow, I have no idea where all that time went. Actually, I do, but it would make a very boring blog post. I'll save you all of that to say, I'm here now, and I've invited my friend Rita Monette to give us the low-down on her Middle Grade book, THE LEGEND OF GHOST DOG ISLAND.

Side note: Maybe you've noticed (I have!) that a lot of my writer friends write about dogs. Talking dogs, dogs who live with witches, ghost dogs, you name it. Before you ask, no, that's not a prerequisite to being my friend and/or featuring a book on my blog. Apparently that just means that dogs are so interesting that they are in a lot of books. If my dogs were featured in a book, though, it probably wouldn't be that interesting. And it would probably have a title like WOOFWOOFWOOF: ENTER THE POSTMAN or WHY CAN'T I HAVE MORE TREATS?: ONE DOG'S STRUGGLE TO KEEP HER GIRLISH FIGURE.

See? Boring.

However, Rita Monette's THE LEGEND OF GHOST DOG ISLAND is anything but boring. Keep reading to learn more about this howling great mystery.

Behind Every Legend Lies the Truth

Moving is nothing new for ten-year-old Nikki Landry. Her fisherman father relocates their raggedy old houseboat several times a year in search of better crabbing spots. However, their latest move has brought her to a mysterious bayou where she feels something is watching her from a nearby island.

Nikki learns of a local legend about something sinister inhabiting those swamps, stealing the souls of dogs…which would explain the strange howling sounds. Papa reassures her there’s nothing on the island but gators and snakes. He would know. He’s spent his whole life trapping and fishing those bayous and swamps. But Nikki and her new friends uncover strange happenings from years ago that may have started the old legend, and town folks aren’t talking. Then her beloved beagle goes missing.

Join Nikki as she seeks to discover the real truth behind the legend of Ghost Dog Island…before it’s too late.

Excerpt

Mama closed the door behind her. She knew once Papa got going on one of his tales, there was no stopping him.

The last traces of daylight seemed to disappear in a hurry, as if Papa had ordered it away. The glass globe of the kerosene lamp clinked. He touched a match to the wick and adjusted the flame until it filled the room with pale light and gray shadows. He motioned me to sit next to him on the worn sofa.

I hurried to his side, not knowing what spooky legend he was going to tell this time. But as scared as I’d get, I always enjoyed hearing ’em.

“Mais, there’s a legend told around these parts.” That was how they always started out. He leaned down so the light from the lamp made eerie shadows across his face.

I rolled my eyes, determined not to get spooked this time.

“Folks say there’s something living out yonder,” he went on. “Legend has it the monster lures dogs to the island using evil spells. Then at the peak of the full moon, they’re turned into hollow spirits with glowing eyes.” Papa put on his eeriest sneer. “That there’s Ghost Dog Island.”

“Ghost dogs?” I pulled my knees up against my chest and wrapped my arms around ’em tight. My mind conjured up images of a huge monster with drippy fangs and dogs with bright yellow eyes. I thought about the feeling I had of something watching us. Was there really a creature out there? Did it have its eye on my best buddy? I shuddered.

IEEEOWWWOOOO-oooooooo! The howling sound echoed again across the bayou.

Get the Book

Musa Publishing

Amazon

About Rita Monette

Rita Monette was born and raised in Southwest Louisiana. After retiring from her job as an administrative assistant for the State of Michigan, Rita began doing what she always wanted to do…write, draw, and paint. Five long years later, Musa Publishing offered her a contract for her debut middle grade novel, The Legend of Ghost Dog Island, and now the sequel, The Curse at Pirate’s Cove, which also include her artwork. Her stories are set in the beautiful, yet mysterious, bayous and swamps of her home state. Rita now lives with her husband, four lap dogs, and one lap cat, in the mountains of Tennessee.

Connect with Rita

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George Knows - A Doggone Great Middle Grade Read + GIVEAWAY!!

9/3/2014

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It's been, what?, a whole week since my last feature about a talking animal? If you're counting my last "Names Changed To Protect the Innocent" blog about Whiskers, then it's been even less than that. I'm a firm believer that one simply cannot get enough talking animals.

Lucky for all of you that I've got another story--GEORGE KNOWS by Mindy Mymudes--about a smart pup who can communicate with his Girlpup, Karly. Even more cool, GEORGE KNOWS just won a Reader's Favorite award for Children's Books for grades 4-6. Pretty awesome!

Keep reading for more about the award-winning GEORGE KNOWS. And when you're done reading about George, don't forget to enter to win a Kindle version of GEORGE KNOWS or my book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER. Giveaway ends at 12 a.m. on 09/13/14!

Click on this picture for Readers' Favorite's review of George Knows

George Knows

An egotistical magical basset hound named George believes it's his duty to train and protect his 12-year-old Girlpup, a greenwitch named Karly. He and his Girlpup must solve a murder as well as save their park from being developed. George is the perfectly designed familiar for the job.

Excerpt

I don’t understand my Girlpup; the rest of my Pack adores me. Packmom Doreen is always an easy conquest. She saved me when I was a puppy and I fell over my ears, and my legs wouldn’t stay under me. She is the most important member of the Pack—she feeds us.

Just not often enough.

Packdad Brian is very well trained and does whatever Packmom Doreen wants. In the last two years, I’ve become a model of the perfect hunting hound. Karly needs to see me for what I am, and she doesn’t.

Yet.

When I prowl in her mind, I see how she pictures me—a clumsy, stupid, wobbly pup. I shouldn’t have to prove to her I am the best familiar in the world or that I am brilliant. I shouldn’t, but I know I’ll have to.

“George!” she shouts through panting. Why is she running? “Where the heck are you?”

Although Karly’s scent changed after her twelfth birthday from sweetmilkFrootLoops to that fakeflowerchemical that she thinks removes her odor, I know it’s her. Even if I can’t smell her, I can still hear her stumble over the path. Big rocks and trees that scrape the sky get in the way. She needs to get lower to the ground. Now she’s sneezing. If only she’d work with me, her allergies would go bye-bye. Whoever heard of an allergic witch-in-training? We can use green magic. But Karly will first have to trust me.

And she doesn’t.

Yet.

Maybe when she gets older.

She will.

I continue to scrape my claws into the damp ground, searching for more smelltastes and listening for my Girlpup. She’s panting like it’s a hot day. At least she’s catching up. I am satisfied she’s okay, and dig like a badger with my wonderful big paws and claws, the ideal excavation tools. I wish I was digging up the den of a rabbit. I slow to sniff.

No.

There’s no rabbit here.

Something different’s calling me.

What the heck is it?

Dirt and roots pile up behind me, and my rear is now higher than my front as I dig. I scrape against rocks and try to push them away. They aren’t rocks—too long and thin. I wrap my jaws around one and toss it with a headshake out of the hole. I find another and do the same thing, until there is a pile of buff-colored things that look like bleached driftwood.

I heave myself out of the hole and investigate my find. The thick sticks are hairy with fine roots. I pick one up. It’s light for its size, hollow, and about the size of a rawhide bone. It has a round knob on one side and is broken off on the other. I retrieve more pieces from the hole and sit.

Maybe they are old branches.

No.

They don’t smelltaste like old branches.

Hmmm.

Karly finally shows up, huffing and puffing, out of breath. She needs to get out more. I poke my nose into the pile of things I’ve dug out. “George, what are you doing? You aren’t, um, eating those, are you?”

I look at her like she’s crazy. I don’t eat wood.

Anymore.

Karly points to the things and counts them. “So what did you find? There are nine of whatever they are.” She bends down and touches one. “Weird, they look like someone snapped them in half.” My Girlpup takes one of the longer things and rubs off the dirt.

She drops it like it’s a pan just out of the oven. I take a sniff; it’s not hot. There’s something here, though.

Not a good something, either.

“G-G-George, those are bones,” Karly’s voice breaks as she stutters over my name. I take another sniff. Yeah, they could be bones. What’s the problem with that? I lick one. It tastes like dirt. They’ve been here a long time.

Yup.

That’s it.

Just a bunch of animal bones. Maybe a big dog buried them. What’s bothering her? The hackles rise on the back of my neck. The not good gassulfurdrysnakecatstink smelltaste spins around my brain like smoke.

Oh.

Oh no.

I hack and cough. I know exactly what kind of bones these are.

I look Karly in the eye and push a picture of a Halloween skeleton. I know she doesn’t like it when I go into her head without permission, but this is important. I am not sharing the good stuff, like manure, rotting fish, and dead animals.

“No way. These aren’t human bones,” she squeaks and backs up.

Nope, she can’t ignore these. I pick one up gently between my teeth and carry it to her feet. I carefully place it in front of her toes then shake my muzzle, lips flopping from side to side, trying to get the taste of Peep bone out of my mouth. Peep bone.

It’s awful.

Bassets do not eat Peeps’ bones. We only chew non-peep bones. We need our Peeps to hunt for our fresh, meaty bones.

“George, leave it. We need to talk to Aunt Heather about them. She’ll know if they’re human or not, and what to do if they are.” Karly gulps. “If they aren’t…I hope they aren’t. You’ve never smelled human bones, so how’d you know?”

Um, I am your familiar. I have magical skills? There’s something off about the bones, and a weak scent gets stronger as I inhale.

Blegh.

It’s a really bad smelltaste.

Get the Book!

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About Mindy Mymudes

Mindy--uhhm, Mandy--is doggone adorable.

Mindy Mymudes runs with the Muddy Paws Pack in Milwaukee, WI. She insists she is alpha, even as the dogs walk all over her.

She's worked in a hazardous waste lab, where under the sign for the Right To Know law, was added: if you can figure it out. she's been a metals tech, a bakery clerk, a professional gardener, and taught human anatomy and ran two university greenhouses. Along the way she picked up her Master's Degree in Biology, specializing in the population genetics of an endangered plant. She is also a top breeder, handler, trainer of English springer spaniels, with three in the equivalent of the National Club's (ESSFTA) hall of fame. Every time she thinks she knows dogs, another dog comes along and proves her beliefs are totally wrong.

Mindy Mymudes is actually the Nom De Thumbs for me, Mandy, a well known English springer spaniel.

Connect with Mindy... Uh... Mandy? Mymudes

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GoodReads

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Names Changed To Protect the Innocent, Part 1

8/22/2014

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Each week, I've committed to networking my readers with other authors who are also building their readership. As far as I'm concerned, that's a win-win. They get to tell a new set of people about their stories, and maybe you find your next favorite book (after mine, butofcourse! Wink, wink).

At least one day per week, I'll take a break from promoting my wonderful author cronies to share a little bit about me, what I'm working on, and all kinds of other good bookish stuff. I thought I'd kick this weekly segment off by addressing a FWQ--a frequently-wondered question. I think the term "FAQ" is so overdone, don't you? So, FWQ it is.

"Where did you come up with the idea for that character?"

Well, dear reader, that's a wonderful question, and not one I always have a brilliant answer for. When I was writing my Children's/Middle Grade book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER, so many of the ideas for the silliest of creatures came from the cobwebby recesses of my brain, with no real idea how they got there in the first place. A few of the characters--the best characters, really--were based on people and animals I know and love. It makes me so happy to know that you know and love them, too, and you appreciate all of their unique quirks.

Instead of pouring out every one of my secrets at once, I will break them up into separate blog posts, to be doled out like bread crumbs in coming weeks. And, in the spirit of building up momentum, I'd like to start things off slow and low-key.

Our first victim... ahem, I mean, subject will be Tommy, the guy you all love to loathe.

Tommy

Tommy is the loser boyfriend of Daniel's older sister, Lila. Tommy's claim to fame is his shabby, poorly-designed facial hair, gross aroma, and his enthusiasm for arm punching poor Daniel. This guy's also not real great with important info, such as names. In short, he's a little bit of the worst.

We're asking ourselves that, too.

It was brought to my attention recently that one of my brothers-in-law read Tommy's description in my book and thought he might be the inspiration for such a lovely, wholesome character. If he identifies with Tommy, then shame on him.

Or at least our relationship. Sniff sniff!

Just kidding. Maybe.

Tommy is based on a combination of bad boyfriends my sisters went through. Most of those guys were short-lived, cute but empty-headed, with not enough interest in a bratty little sister to take the time to say hello, or even learn my name (not even a "Fritz"!).

Like I told you before, it's Fritz, not Buddy.

His signature arm punch was actually drawn from a particularly traumatic experience I had. No, none of those guys punched me, although I'm sure a few of them wanted to. One guy who looked at least four years too old for my sister, with the gross mustache not helping his cause, came over to our house to hang out. I remember him pinning me under a bean bag chair (yeah, we were a bean bag family), and tickling me until I peed my pants. Adults always warn about that kind of stuff happening--"Stop! Or she'll pee her pants!"--but you don't think it'll ever happen to you until it happens. And then you're eternally mortified, and you have to get back at all of the skeezy sister's boyfriends in the world by immortalizing their misdeeds in print. Forever. Then you make it all worse by telling the world that somebody tickled you past the point of no return... Okay, I'm going to stop now.

Nevermind.

The Tommies from my past usually weren't rockstar wannabes, but most of them considered themselves to be cooler than they actually were. I think we all think that about ourselves, some of us are just better than Tommy (and my sisters' exes) at keeping it on the down-low.

I hope you enjoyed taking a deeper look into the story behind one of my characters. Make sure you check back next week for another installment of "Names Changed To Protect the Innocent".

If you're on Pinterest, please join me over there and let me know what you think of when you read my stories. I always love to see how readers visualize my characters! You're usually far more creative than I am!

Until then, keep dreaming...

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Kibble Talk

8/18/2014

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Mondays are ruff. I mean, really ruff. Oh... I mean, rough.
I wish someone would just throw me a bone and it could be Friday all over again. Oops, I did it again. Sorry. I've been reading Cynthia Port's book, KIBBLE TALK, and now I can't stop thinking like a dog.

KIBBLE TALK is a silly, snarky little book that kids and adults will enjoy. Keep reading for a little bit more about the book and Cynthia Port, KIBBLE TALK's awesome author!

Once Tawny decides to do something, there’s no holding her back. So when her best friend Jenny dares her to eat dog kibble, down it goes. Little does she know how that dusty, tasteless lump will change her life. Suddenly she can hear what dogs have to say and talk back to them too! This might not be such a big deal, except that her own dog, an enormous Great Dane named Dinky, has a LOT to say. He lets her know right away that his fondest dream is to be a teeny tiny lap dog. Tawny promises to help him, and her life nearly goes to the dogs. A story about friendship and family, Book 1 in the Kibble Talk series will have everyone howling with laugher. Perfect for readers 7 to 12 or as a read aloud.

Excerpt

Diving under my bed covers, I told myself over and over, “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This is NOT happening.”

“Oh, but it is,” Dinky said with a lazy sigh. I felt him slump into a giant pile at the side of my bed. “Can I have my scratch now?”

I couldn’t believe I could hear another dog talking—and it was my own dog! I was also surprised at the type of voice Dinky had. Gunner had sounded like he should, which is an odd thing to say in the first place since we are talking about how a dog sounds talking. But Gunner looks sort of gross and gravelly and sounded that way. By that logic, Dinky’s voice should have been very deep and maybe elegant or something, like the prime minister of a fancy European country. It wasn’t though. Dinky’s voice was high pitched like a little kid, almost a squeak. His voice was, well, dinky.

“I can’t help my voice,” he squeaked at me. “Now get up and give me my scratch! Your mom and dad are on couch potato duty. That makes it your turn to entertain.”

I screwed up my courage and peeked one eye out from under my blanket. There was Dinky, staring at me with his usual huge, walnut-brown doggy eyes. I was about to dive to the bottom of my bed and never resurface when I thought of a way to test whether all of this was really happening.

“How do I know I’m not just imagining I can hear you talking?” I asked him nervously. “You haven’t said anything I couldn’t have made up myself.”

“Fair enough. Let’s see then,” he said, and gave his triangle ears an impressive waggle. “Oh, I know!" he said after a moment. "Your dad did NOT just find Fishy Fish dead one day in his bowl. He was changing the water and accidentally used hot instead of cold.”

I threw back the covers as I gasped in surprise. “What? He did? And he didn’t tell me about it? Are you sure?”

“I may be a talking dog, but I’m no liar. I saw the little orange guy go belly up, cooked like instant oatmeal. Then I had to listen to your dad’s guilty thoughts for weeks. He still thinks about it whenever your mom serves fish sticks.”

I shook my head in wonder. This was news I definitely couldn't have made up on my own, meaning that this talking dog thing might be legit.

“So . . . so you dogs are just thinking and listening all the time? Gunner said . . .” I started to ask.

“Gunner?" Dinky said, interrupting me. "Ugh. I’m sure he was a cute puppy, but that dog has let himself go.”

“He says he’d like a bath now and then, but they won’t give him one,” I snapped.

Dinky gave me that head-tilted, ear-raised, eyebrow-scrunched dog look. “If you’re gonna start taking Gunner’s side in things, in anything, I’m not sharing any of my dog food with you,” he said, and started to get up.

“Sharing any of your . . . hold on . . . was it really the dog food that did this to me? Is that why I can hear you?”

Dinky lay back down. “They say it’s happened before, but I figured it was just dog legend. Some of us have some imaginations, I tell you! Something about a Dr. who could talk to the animals . . .”

“Dr. Doolittle?”

“You’ve heard of him too? Maybe it is true then . . .” Dinky mused, almost to himself. He started whipping his long bony tail against my hardwood floor, deep in thought. “We don’t know what causes it, but we know that when someone makes an honest effort to see what it’s like to be somebody else, they can understand them better. Sometimes it can go a bit further than that. When you ate Gunner’s food, what were you thinking about?”

“What it would be like to be a dog and have to eat that boring stuff all the time.”

“Just as I suspected,” Dinky said, closing his eyes and nodding his huge head in a knowing sort of way.

“What do you suspect?” I asked, moving to sit at the edge of my bed.

“When you ate the kibble and let yourself have a real glimpse of what it means to be Gunner, unpleasant as that had to have been, your brain must have opened up a new door, so to speak, so you could hear us the way we can hear you.”

“And can you hear all humans? What we say? What we’re thinking?”

“We do eat your food, you know—table scraps anyway, and we’re pretty much always thinking about what it would be like to be you. So, as long as we keep getting human food, we can still hear you.”

“Ah ha! That’s why dogs beg so much!” I said, slapping my knee in self-congratulation.

Dinky snorted. “Not so fast, Dogologist! I believe you tasted the kibble? That is why we beg so much. Hearing human thoughts gets very boring, very quickly, but not as boring as eating dusty tasteless kibble for breakfast, brunch, lunch, second lunch, post-lunch snack, pre-dinner snack, dinner, second dinner, second and a half dinner, post-dinner snack and bedtime snack.”

“You left out dessert.”

“Oh no, never eat dessert. Wouldn’t want to get fat. Now, I am ready for my scratch and then I have to go sniff the cat’s behind or she’ll think I forgot her. She’s impossible when she thinks I’ve forgotten her.”

We have a cat too, named Fisher. My dad, I now knew, had murdered the thing she used to enjoy fishing for, but Fisher was still her name. She’s a pretty thing, soft and white and fluffy, but not particularly friendly. In the winter when the house is chilly, I sometimes feel her slinky little body leaned up against me at night. But by morning she’s always gone, off to find a bit of sunlight warming up a cat-sized area of carpet for her. She rarely bothers to look at us, and never asks to be petted or picked up.

“Come on, scratcher-girl, enough talking,” Dinky said.

'No, don't go," I said. "I want to keep talking to you."

“We can talk some more tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day after that.”

Now, if I’d had any clue about the amount of trouble I was in for, I might have stopped talking to Dinky that very instant. But right then, I could have talked to him all night. That is, if my head hadn’t suddenly become as heavy as a bowling ball stuck to the end of a wet noodle. Something about running away from your best friend’s sleepover because you found out you can hear dogs talk, and vice versa, and then discovering once and for all that your parents are just plain old parents, with the exception that your dad is both a fish assassin and a liar, makes a girl super tired, apparently.

I gave Dinky a good scratching, and then he clickety-clicked right out of my room. He didn’t even say goodnight.

About the Author

I live in Indiana with my husband, two daughters, and a head full of stories. When I was a kid, I told all my joys and sorrows to the dogs, cats, birds, fish, guinea pigs, lizards, hermit crabs, etc. that shared my home, and I secretly hoped they understood. The dog in Kibble Talk, the first book in my Kibble Talk series, was inspired by my dog Kodiak, a cuddly 150 pound Alaskan Malamute who truly believed that her head was a lap dog. Book two in the series, Dog Gone Dinky, was inspired by my parents dog. He was sweet, but whenever I petted him my hand came away with so much grease it felt like my freckles would slip right off. Dog grease. Oog.

Connect with Cynthia

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It's My Turn

8/15/2014

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After a busy week of telling you about just a few of my many writer friends, it's my turn to be the guest! My friend Krysten Lindsay Hager, author of the Middle Grade book TRUE COLORS, has graciously (and awesomely) opened her blog to me and DANIEL.

Click HERE to go to Krysten's blog.

And make sure you come back here in a couple of weeks, when Krysten will visit us and share some of her memories of the most wonderful time of the year--the beginning of school.

Now, unless you have some books to buy or some love to share here, why are you still here? Go stop by Krysten's blog. ;-) Tell her I sent ya!

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Daniel the Draw-er 2 Sneak Peek!

7/11/2014

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In May I started working on the second Daniel book, DANIEL THE DRAW-ER 2 [working title]. It's turning out to be quite an adventure, because there are a ton of great scenes and stories that want to be told. My goal was to hit 14,000 words (the approximate length of DANIEL THE DRAW-ER), but I'm just shy of 12,000 words tonight and there's so much left to be written. We'll see what happens when it comes time to edit.

In the meantime, here's a silly little peek to see what Daniel's been up to this summer:

A girl with a short red braid sits down in the grass next to me, and stares at the picture as I work. She's wearing a bright pink Glitter Ponies shirt. Glitter Ponies is a girl cartoon, and it’s nowhere near as cool as Bionic Aardvarks of Underworld Z. I can't believe she can wear that shirt without being embarrassed.

“What's your name?" She twirls the end of her braid between her fingers.

I stop drawing, not sure who she’s talking to. "Wh-what?"

"What's your name?" She repeats.

Wait. Is she talking to me? I look over my shoulder, but no one else is around.

“What. Is. Your. Name?” She asks again. I’m trying to ignore her, but she’s looking at me and blinking a lot. Yeah, like that’ll magically make me pay attention to her.

“I asked you a question." She touches me on the arm, and I pull away from her as fast as I can. It’s a proven fact that girls are the number one carrier of cooties, and no one likes cooties. I’ve never seen a real-live cootie up close before, so I don’t know what they look like, but I’m not about to find out at Camp Bigfoot, when I’m so far away from Mom and her special cootie shampoo. Besides, if anyone’s gonna have them crawling around on their clothes or hiding in their ears, it’s this girl.

Who's ready to read more? Comment below and say hi! I'd love to hear from you!

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