Dear Dog of Destruction by Stuart R. West

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(A personal letter to my dog, but everyone's welcome to read):

Zak, what did I ever do to you to fill you with so much rage? Didn't my wife snatch you from one of her students who found you pillaging in their trash? Didn't we take you into our house and offer you food, love and shelter? Haven't we set you up with a heated doggy pillow? So why do you repay us with such a disdain for our furniture?

Okay, you're not allowed on the sofas. I know that upsets you. I'm only allowed on them after a shower. Stuff happens. But you don't have human rights. You gotta stop ripping up the sofa when the mailman comes. Yes, he brings bills and fliers about hair removal. But you can't know that. Even if you did understand "humanese," it's still not a reason to wreck the house. (Let me rip up the sofa when I see the bills.)

One time you were so angry at the mailman, you put your paw through a glass picture frame. Who was there to rush you to the doggy doctor, terrified at the sight of all the blood? And who had to put up with the questions and nervous looks as to why I had blood stains all over the back seat of my car? I was nearly branded a serial killer, thanks to you, my furious, furry friend. But I've stayed with you through thick and tics.

You can be fun sometimes. Sweet, actually. It's a shame you don't like buses, joggers, motorcycles, trucks, trash men, door-ringing politicians (that one I agree with), the ice cream truck, and of course, mailmen. Everyone has their peculiarities. Other than that, you're a wonderful creature. Sort of.

Frankly, I'm at a loss why we humans put up with your furry kind at times. But I'm onto you. Took a while, though. When I try and load you into my car to go to your weekly doggy day care (I know, I know), you feign an inability to jump into my vehicle. You insist I lift all of your sixty-five pounds. Very stubborn. Huh. Of course, you have absolutely no problem jumping into my wife's car, do you? When my wife told me you were playing me, I grew furious!

I realize you see my wife (even my daughter) as your pack-masters. But c'mon! I'm the one who feeds you, walks you, hangs with you more than they do! Alas, I am but your play-pal. Sigh.

Why, in your honor, Zak, I even created a character in my thriller series, Killers Incorporated, who loves dogs. Sure, he's a sociopathic, hot-headed serial killer. But he will see no harm done to dogs. Can't be all that bad, right?

But here's the bottom line, Zak. Every time I get angry with you, I holler, rant and rave. Then I look into your golden eyes and melt. You had me at the facial licking.

P.S., chocolate's not good for you. It's like toxic lima beans. Only deadlier. One would think you'd get a clue by now.

Your play-pal,

Stuart

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Rain Forest Writers Retreat was Amazing! by Nancy M Bell

I just wanted to share with you all what a wonderful time I had at the Rain Forest Writers Retreat. It takes place at Lake Quinault, Washington state, the venue is the Rain Forest Resort Village. This beautiful resort is smack in the middle of the Olympia Rain Forest. Patrick Swinson organizes everything, there are three sessions which begin in late February. For the past two years I have been lucky enough to be in the third session with my amazing writing friend Sara Durham. This retreat is geared to writing, this year from Wednesday evening til Sunday at noon I wrote 30,000 words. The resort is basically closed at this time of year, so we have the whole place to ourselves. There are hotel rooms with lake view, there are self contained cabins for those lucky enough to snare one and magical scenery wherever you look.
The worlds largest Spruce tree lives here along with many other giant trees. There are hiking trails into the rain forest if you need to clear your head for a bit. Of course, it does rain, a lot. But that's okay, liquid sunshine, you know.

The University Book Store from Seattle comes every year and sets up a table with books by the attendees. A great chance to snap up some amazing books by people you actually know! There is a restaurant on site, The Salmon House and it serves spectacular meals. I recommend the salmon and the Merriman mushrooms, yum yum. The lounge is open all day for us crazy writers, from 6 am to far into the night. I usually write in my room, just cause I'm too lazy to unhook my laptop and lug it over to the lounge. Also, far less distractions for me, although I did stop to watch a bald eagle circle over the lake through the large picture window of my room.

I love this retreat, it's so amazing to be surrounded by nothing but other writers all busy tapping away on their keyboards. Of course, there is some fun and games too. Saturday soup and grilled cheese lunch in Cabin 6, followed by the Saturday night Cabin Party with complimentary and varied margaritas made with laughs and finesse. I'm not a drinker, but the night is always filled with laughter and conversation.

While I was at the retreat this year I worked on the next book in the Arabella's Secret series. Book One The Selkie's Song is available in ebook, Book Two Selkie Dreams will be available this spring. I'm really looking forward to telling the story of Laurel's Gramma Bella. A lot of readers of my YA series The Cornwall Adventures, wanted to know more about her grandmother and how she met the selkie in the first place, why did she leave Cornwall in the first place, how did she know Sarie, etc etc. Arabella's Secret seeks to answer those riddles and give the reader some insight into the how and why of things. The thing I love about writing is that my characters never fail to surprise me. They go off in directions I don't plan and some characters just show up on their own and work their way into the tale without me even thinking about it.

If you'd like to explore The Selkie's Song just click on the cover below for a buy link. Arabella and Sarie are waiting to welcome you, and the selkie Vear Du will no doubt be there as well.

Saint Patrick's Day Remembered - Janet Lane Walters

Don't get me wrong, I have Irish blood in my heritage. One of my ancestors came from a small town in northern Ireland. I may spell this wrong but the town was Bellinahinch, County Down Ireland. Many years ago, a friend and I earned enough money doing horoscopes to buy our plane tickets to visit Ireland. Her step-mother lived there and her father was buried in a small church yard, To tell you how long ago this was, we flew Freddie Laker to England, took a train through Wales and then a ferry boat across the channel to Ireland. Things I remember most about my trip was the shades of green, a trip to the Devil's Crosswalk with a bus load of Irish teens.

Back to my visit to the town where Mariah Jane, my ancestor left. The town was very hilly. Unfortunately on the day we arrived the town records office was closed so I was unable to find any distant relatives. But outside the town in the hills beyond, we were treated to a farmer showing off his sheepdog's skills. We had stopped beside the road to eat our lunch when we saw the dog, the shepherd and a flock of sheep. We stood entranced by the way the dog worked.

So you can see I'm Irish but I'm orange rather than green. This leads to a much earlier memory. After finishing my three year nursing program, I enrolled in Duquesne University's bachelor's program for nursing. Saith patrick's Day was celebrated there but being someone who walked her own path, I decided on St. Patrick's day to wear my orange jumper. While this could have brought disaster to me I persisted. My only class that day was an English one. Half of the men in the class were on the basketball team. They laughed and escorted me on break to the cafeteria for coffee. That is my memory of the most interesting St. Psatrick's Day of my life.

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