I ain’t involved in no kidnappin’, Melvin thought when he hung up the phone. “I gotta get away!” He collapsed onto his couch, slapped his palms together prayer fashion and tried to think. Sometimes, when he squeezed his eyes shut real tight, it helped.

He tried but no thoughts came.

“Okay, maybe I gotta move around a little. Was I movin’ the last time I got an idea?” He decided to give it a try.  He lifted his corpulent torso off the couch and started to pace. With squinty eyes and bouncing belly he thumped back and forth across the room, hoping to come up with something. After several passes he was dizzy. “Nope. Nothing, darn it!”

Then he remembered, “Oh, yeah! I was eating! I think better when I eat!” He raced toward the kitchen, tugged at the refrigerator door and foraged behind two bottles and slimy lumps that once had been tomatoes. The only edible thing he could find was a chunk of cheese. he decided that it would be okay to eat it–as long as he avoided the fuzzy blue spots.

Melvin searched for the best angle to get a good bite and wondered if cheese was brain food. “Prob’ly not–mice ain’t too swift.” He carefully sunk his teeth into the good edge. “Gee, this ain’t too bad.” He decided it was worth the effort to stop and eat even if cheese was not brain food and reached for a beer to wash it down.  After his hasty feast, Melvin was ready to try to think once again.

Want more? Check out “The SEED” at www.annrichduncan.com.

 I look at the empty screen. It stays empty.”

Does that sound familiar? Well don’t dispair, it happens to all of us. I found the perfect remedy after I was stumbling on my second Johnny Vic book. Some say, “Just write anything and soon you’ll get the creative juices flowing.” Sorry! Never works for me. I end up with jibberish.  But wait! A sudden epiphony!  The creation of a story takes two efforts. It isn’t just the writing . . . it’s the research, too!  (even with fiction).

When the words don’t come to you, you have to go to them.  Duh.

  It’s just your muse telling you to relax and put on your Google eyes:  flesh out the scene by researching the site where it takes place and adding factual  information. Perhaps you could describe the building:  was it designed by a famous architect? should it remind your reader of a past home? is it made of crumbling bricks or do the windows sparkle in the sunlight? Is it a city block or a country homestead? Can the character relate to the history of the place? Or, perhaps, you can describe a creature that scuttles by.

Just simply Google that thing, place, event, creature, whatever . . . and then, the results will most likely spur you on to add some details to your scene. For me, those details end up writing the story.

With my current “work in progress” I was researching the Sonora Desert and found out about an endangered species of cactus. Its rate of growth and the rarity of it helped me to work out a very important scene in which John Victor gets saved.

So now, when I find myself staring at a blank page, I take it as a sign that I just have to Google something.  The following scene literally flowed after I’d done a bit of research about native Americans that Johnny Vic would have come across in his journey back thru time to the American Revolution. It involves an item I had never heard of. A firesteel. It’s on page 92 of “Travel With Johnny Vic” . . .

Ten minutes later, Jenny raced back into the house. “Dr. John! Dr. John! I can’t find him–but I did find this!” She held up a small metallic object and Linda’s heart wobbled when she saw Dr. John’s reaction. “What is it, Dr. John? What?”

He held it up for her to see. “I’m afraid this firesteel has a wolf pattern scratched into it. It may have been dropped by an Iroquois.”  Linda said, “Firesteel?” Dr. John gave her a sidelong look. The woman did not recognize a common firesteel?  “It’s the latest toy for the Iroquois . . . .”   blah blah blah.

Firesteel. Calvin Coolidge. Civil War. GMO’s. Heirloom seeds. Cochise. etc., etc.  I’ve researched them all. And more for my books. Your story could easily become a published book, with enough actual factual info!

Want more? Check out my books a www.annrichduncan.com!

Johnny Vic sees Benedict Arnold in "Champlain Gold"

Looks like 2011 is going to be a great year for Johnny Vic. Like, what are the odds that your character is going to be the focus of an historical play, even as he’s being “immortalized” and mounted on the wall of Ticonderoga Elementary School? Even as you’ve been picked up by an exciting literary agent? (by the way, as a result of her advice, I’ve got a great new website:  www.annrichduncan.com. )  But, before you go there, read on!

Whitehall, New York, is an historical town at the very southern end of Lake Champlain. Originally called Skenesborough, it’s the site of the first American naval shipyard:  Benedict Arnold was commissioned by Congress to build 15 warships there! And while they lost the battle (of Valcour), those 15 little ships did succeed in turning the huge British fleet back toward Canada. I’m working with the Whitehall Rec Assn and Bridge Theatre to do Johnny Vic’s Whitehall Adventure. After all, Horace Greeley and Charles Dickens both visited Whitehall (they’re the inspiration for an opening song for the play!)

Vacationing this summer? Consider Whitehall, New York!  And a hop and a skip away is East Poultney, VT, where Johnny Vic may just star in a second historical play. Jeepers. More on that later. Right now I should get to work. Two plays to work on. It’s definitely “play time”.  Don’t forget to check out my recipes, art and Crafty Kitchen posts before you leave.  And please! I welcome your comments!   Learn more at my website:  www.annrichduncan.com  . . . including a puzzle page for JohnnyVic fans.

crisp, sweet carrots

And then, there’s us writers, who must help you to smell, taste, see and experience the gardens in our novels.  For instance, on page 91 of my novel of suspense, The SEED (that can be found at www.annrichduncan.com) you get to “see” Dr. Bascomb’s gardens thru Evie’s eyes as she storms over the big hill:  . . . the contrasting foliar effects were further evidence of the owner’s skills in working with plant life–from the bursts of tall, waggling grasses to the sheared conical evergreens, every inch had been coaxed alive with the colors and the mingling scents of flowers and herbs. An assortment of climbing roses laden with cream, pink and deep red buds spilled from the tops of stone walls in anticipation of a riotous blooming season. And to Evie’s far left? The delicate Japanese honeysuckle vines released their sweet fragrance into the fresh country air to blend with the heady scents of lemon verbena and golden sage.  This scene takes place in Massachusetts, in the Berkshires, where you can see the tower on top of Mount Greylock (the highest peak in the state) in the distance.

Mount Greylock? Massachusetts? I spent twenty years in that area, working and raising my girls.  We lived in Adams, North Adams, and finally in Williamstown, before I moved to Vermont in 1998.  The Berkshires are beautiful and the Green Mountains of Vermont are gorgeous.  And then, there’s the Adirondacks in New York (where I grew up). They’re amazing.

Jim Mancuso, the map man!

entertains and teaches students with, well . . . maps!  Yup. He draws them, anywhere, anyplace, like 35-foot wide ones in a gym, or 60-foot wide ones on a parking lot or playground, or NORMAL sized ones in the classroom.  And he does it FREEHAND! Adding, as he draws, engaging stories about the creation, expansion and growth of our country. That’s Jim Mancuso.  Find him at:  www.makemapsmatter.com.  Go ahead! Get a “hands-and-feet-on experience.”

And, while you’re websurfing, don’t forget to check out my website:  www.annrichduncan.com — especially my You Tube video entitled Seed Baby.  It’s a hoot, but it’s also got an important message about genetically modified foods.  And it promotes my book, The SEED!

Seed Baby on You Tube. Check it out on my website.

Watched a documentary today. About Nostradamus, the French astrologer from the 1500′s. It said he wrote while in a trance. Got visions and wrote them down. Wish I could do that. I tend to do research. Like with my new novel–a follow up to The Seed. Sort of.

Maybe it’s my public relations and journalism experience. Thing is, I need facts. Just the facts, ma’am. I look things up and weave them into the story. Like how did Tucson, Arizona get its name? It’s in the book. And, what could lead people to a victim who has been buried alive? How about an endangered species that a witness might have seen? So I looked up endangered species in the Tucson area. Got a good one. Which led to statistics about construction, human population, yata, yata, yata.

Each fact woven into the story. Heck, I even learned about the burial of Cochise, the great Indian Chief. And, one of the biggest mines in the Tucson region. Bisbee Queen? Nichols Turk’s Head Cactus? Arizona Sonora Desert Museum? Habits of the Monarch butterfly?  The veins and Petiole and other parts of a leaf? And, cedar used for Alexander the Great’s ships? It’s all there. Woven into a thriller. John Victor’s second adventure. Hmmm. I’ve got lots of facts, maybe I should sit down and envision the way to use them.  By the way . . . have you seen our You Tube video, called:  Seed Baby? It’s a spoof on biotechnology. Log onto my website:  www.annrichduncan.com and scroll down to the You Tube button. Do it now for a good laugh!

The SEED is my novel of suspense–the first John Victor adventure–that features treasure hunter, John Victor. Did you know he’s based on my brother? A real treasure hunter who has traveled across the country in search of heirlooms, gemstones and all sorts of lost treasure. And, he has a gold mine, too! In Alaska.

Check out my archives for other posts that include recipes, art, pages from The SEED, famous quotes and more.  Thanks for reading this far.

In the meantime, have you seen my “Crafty Kitchen” series? Includes pages from my novel of suspense, The SEED, and quotes from some famous people, and recipes, history, and more. There are the recipe, my art, and Johnny Vic pages you can click onto, too, at the top of this blog. Thanks for tuning in.

. . . in the last installment, Melvin was thrashing around because of a nightmare involving giant mosquitoes. Soooo, here we go:

Melvin dialed Ricardo’s number. He scowled. Ricardo was a squirmy fellow with a squeaky little voice, even if he was a big shot with the FDA. Melvin only put up with the man because he often came through with easy jobs that paid good money. Very good money!

The ringing stopped and Melvin waited for the beep before leaving his coded message, “The soup’s hot–time to eat.” He knew that Ricardo would be glad to hear that the enhancer had been added to the jet fuel without a hitch. Smooth as Mom’s pumpkin pie, he murmured as he hung up.

A glance at the clock told Melvin there was still plenty of time for sleep. He yawned and scratched his expansive belly with long, satisfying strokes on his way back to the couch. He hoped Ricardo’d show up with the money before he had to leave for his shift as a security guard at the Miller Building.

As he drifted off to sleep, Melvin smiled. He expected to make a big score there, too.

CHAPTER 7:  Is it a bomb?

When the mail clerk dropped the battered package on his desk, FDA executive Bob Jette had a premonition. Could this be a bomb? You never know these days–especially when you work in a federal building. He quickly dismissed the idea. Heck, there shouldn’t be anything to worry about–they take precautions with packages these days . . . even here in the Food and Drug Administration.

He turned it over. There was no return address, but the postal mark was from Tennessee. He frowned. He did not know anyone from Tennessee and he hadn’t been working on any apps from there, either. He tore it open and peered inside. “Hmm. It’s a video.” The video had a handwritten message on its label. “See that this gets to . . .”

“Hell’s bells! The ink’s smeared.”

The only other part of the message that Bob could make out was the first three letters of the name of the person who sent it. He thought it said, “P-e-r.”  So, who do I know with a last name that starts with p-e-r? He shrugged. Oh well . . . maybe if I move on to something else, it’ll come to me.  As he sorted through the rest of his mail, a name popped into Bob’s head–’Timothy Perkins. Of course! Commander Perkins was here last fall, looking into a matter for the Army’s R&D Unit. I bet he wants me to pass this on to his people. But, then again–why would he send it to me if he wants THEM to get it? Bob tried to recall his sessions with Lieutenant Commander Timothy Perkins. He works with General Carrey and that Colonel they call C.D., so I guess he’s honest–I know they’re good guys. Bob pursed his lips as he pictured the man they called Perkins. He’d been impressed by his sharp mind and his ability to process reams of data. He wondered if Perkins had a photographic memory.

Bob decided to watch the tape before taking any action. He stuffed it into his briefcase, thinking he’d watch it while his wife Carla was at her P-T-O meeting.

The rest of the day dragged along as Bob busied himself with the usual paperwork and confirmation calls. With each hour, he grew more impatient to see what was on the mysterious video. In Bob’s estimation, five o’clock did not come soon enough.

After they enjoyed a quiet dinner together, Bob gave Carla a peck on the cheek. He watched intently as she buttoned her jacket, noticed how her hair bounced with each movement. Moments later, he stared nervously as she nosed her car out of the driveway. It’s funny, he thought, how you notice the little things when you’re scared. Scared? Where’d that come from? It’s just a video.

. . . . that’s it for this one. Thank you for coming this far. Please let me know what you think in the comment box.  To order The SEED, or any of the Johnny Vic historical adventures, go to my website:  www.annrichduncan.com.

Me, hoping for real heroes. Photo by Lisa Swanson.

Every time I read a newspaper, a newsletter, or a news magazine.  Every time I tune in to the news on television, I become frustrated. I wonder, why don’t we have a John Victor out there? My character would fix this world in a heartbeat!  Or Brick Little? The other hero in The SEED (my novel) that can be seen at my website www.annrichduncan.com.   Brick and John Victor both live by the words of Gandhi:  “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.”  They also believe what Henry David Thoreau once penned:  “Live your beliefs and you can turn the world around.”  And then there’s William Shakespeare’s words:  “Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.”

You know what? I fear that if we don’t attempt to find decent, God-fearing, Gandhi/Thoreau/Shakespeare-loving leaders, we’ll be forever transformed. And that’s not good.  Read The SEED!  Root for the good guys!

Gripping Suspense

Jeepers. I think John Victor should fight social security in a future novel. I’ve been looking at the numbers, and quite frankly, those federal watchdogs who “care” so much about the people they serve are guarding the wrong people. Or so it seems. Take a two income family from the mid 90′s (where each parent earned just under $26,000).  Their returns from social security? $450,000.  Their return if they INVESTED in a program similar to what has been given to federal civil service employees? $975,000.  And poor, young black men receive even less. MUCH LESS. Don’t believe me? Instead of watching American Idol, Judge Judy or football . . . look up the fed’s Thrift Savings Plan, or benefits from social security.  YOU KNOW WHAT?  I believe this because at one point in time, I was studying to sell savings plans thru Ben Franklin. If I had been able to save–within one of their plans–the same amount of money I had been forced to put into Social Security, I could have retired VERY COMFORTABLY in my late 40′s.  Huh? Too bad I’m in my–well, let’s just say later years–and my expected social security income is on the sub-standard side, like, maybe I should develop a taste for cat food.  Go, John Victor, go!   Hey! The title of that one should be:  The GREED.

Oh sure, some people think my life is exciting. After all, I’ve been the host of a radio talk show (even interviewed Gloria Vanderbilt, Ron Powers, and Governor Jim Douglas); and I’ve published four books, and I’ve just been picked up by a literary agent, and my husband has created the beautiful outdoor sanctuary that can be seen at:  www.ChristsHouseofAngels.org. But, really! I’m quiet. I’m not much of a talker at a party, and heck, I admit I love Disney movies and the Waltons. Oh . . . and Quincy! And yes, if I see a turtle trying to cross the road to lay her eggs, I admit I stop my car and help her along. Even snappers. I’m not a nut! I just love nature and all God’s creatures. And that leads me to one very, very important truth:  We all have gifts from God! We all have a mission on this earth! We all are unique! Check it out in I Corinthians 12:1-15.  For within these lines you’ll see that, “. . . the manifestation of the Spirit is given to every man, to profit withal.”  So, I might be a dud on a trip . . . but I’ve got something special in me. You do too.  By the way, pages from The SEED (cover shown below), recipes, my YA historical adventures and my art work are on other pages. Click onto them at the top of this post!

Funny, action-packed, thought provoking! Yep, it's my novel of suspense. Find it at http://www.annrichduncan.com.

God's creations . . . altered and patented.

“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.” These words of wisdom came from Anne Bradstreet (1612-1672) the wife of Governor Simon Bradstreet, and the first published woman poet in America. Now, my mother once told me that she found this amazing Puritan in our family tree. Hmmm. Maybe there are a few specks of her blood flowing in these veins, causing my need to write along with the spirit to proclaim that the crops from heirloom seeds are truly God’s food. Oh well . . . it’s April! Spring is in the air! It’s also time for the next few pages from The SEED, available at several dot coms listed on my website:  www.annrichduncan.com.

. . . . in the last installment, John Victor had decided to enlist his old army buddy, C.D., as a leader to turn a group of disgruntled citizens toward constructive actions. And, scuzzy but lovable Melvin was in the midst of contaminating the fuel tank at a small municipal airport with The Terminator! So, here is installment number 4 . . .

CHAPTER 4

John Victor was still in the tub when Betty arrived. She called to him as she struggled through the house with her luggage. “Hello, sweetie . . . where are you?”

John’s mellow reply prompted her to call out again. “Of course, you’re in the hot tub. Do you look like a prune yet?” She bounced into the bathroom playfully wielding a gaily-wrapped package. “I’ve got something for you. When Mary and i went shopping I heard a little voice say, “Buy me for John! Buy me for John! So, I did!” She waved it back and forth, hoping to coax her husband out of his tranquil soak.

John reached for a towel and tried to snap her with it. “What a brat!” she exclaimed as she skittered out of reach. “You better be good, Johnny V or I’ll ask Jonathan to take you back!” Jonathan, the pastor of their church and a close friend, had presided over their marriage ceremony four years ago. It was the second marriage for both of them.

“I’ll tell you what, brat . . . I’ll put on the coffee and you can open your present later. When you’re dry and civilized.”

JOHN PEERED INTO the steamy bathroom mirroor as he toweled off. Lively blue eyes stared back. “Pretty darned good for an old fart. Maybe a little on the short side, but all muscle. Not necessarily handsome either, but as Betty says, I’m definitely adorable. Yup! Ah-DOR-able!” His image nodded in vainglorious agreement.

John called out, “How’s everyone in Anchorage? Mary must be ready to pop any minute.” Mary was soon due to give birth and Betty had spent the past few days helping her daughter-in-law in her efforts to furnish the nursery. Betty poked her head through the doorway. “Mary’s so cute. She positively glows . . .”

John’s heart skipped a beat as he stared at his wife.  He thought, she can’t be glowing any more than you. He decided that Betty looked more like an aunt than a grandmother.

. . . . that’s it for this installment.  Tune in again, (on Tuesday–yes, they’ll be shorter and more frequent) because John will get a letter asking him to find treasure from the Civil War. That project will bring him to Washington and lots of excitement!

A John Victor Adventure

April—one of those months that invites poets to strut their stuff—is here. April is a time to be romantic and sentimental: I mean, who (born before 1970) doesn’t remember Pat Boone crooning to the tune of April Love? But, April is a time also of renewal and hope and perhaps even life’s struggles; and that’s what Ralph Waldo Emerson must have had in mind when he wrote the following words in his epic poem, The Concord Hymn, sung on July 4, 1837:

“By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April’s breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard around the world.”

Emerson’s hymn was sung in honor of the completion of the Concord Monument. He was, of course, referring to our founding fathers and their struggle to effect freedom from a tyrannical monarchy. Those brave men and women, black and white (too bad we don’t hear more about that!) finding the wherewithal to stand against the strongest nation of their time. They, indeed, planted the ‘seed’ that created the greatest nation on earth. Our nation! And I like to think that my hero, John Victor and his friends, are showing the same sort of bravery as they stand up to Alexander Graham Rossweild and his well-paid thugs. How’s that for a smooth segue into . . . the third installment of:  The SEED!

. . . in the last installment, Julia had escaped (well, sort of). And then, there was the evidence that she sent to world-renown botanist Martin Bascomb. But it had slipped unnoticed, behind his library table. Sheesh! And John Victor was voicing his concerns that Colonel Mitchem was a ‘bad seed’. What’s next? Read on and see . . .   

WHEN HE WASN’T looking for hidden treasure or family heirlooms for his clients, John worked as a fire crew coordinator for the State of Alaska. Manny, a guy he had recently met on patrol, had invited him to the meeting. He believed that Manny and most of the people were motivated by the desire to improve their lives. However, he was convinced that the group’s leader had ulterior motives. John thought scornfully, if Mitchem’s a real colonel, then I’m a naked monkey’s Dutch uncle–his eyes sent shivers up my spine. Oh well, he thought, I’d better get going so I can work on my plan. John’s skis cut into the icy crust, propelling him across the snow like a diminutive schooner at high wind. Each turn of the winding hillside trail brought him closer to the cozy lodge that he shared with his wife, Betty, on the outskirts of Upper Summit, Alaska. She’d be returning home by nightfall and he wanted to be finished by then.

As he sped along, John acknowledged gratefully that once again Alfie’s theory had worked. He now felt refreshed and ready to solve his problems. He wished he could find the old coot and thank him. Alfie, a hermit-like prospector who once lived nearby, spent many decades panning for gold and avoiding human contact, but during a rare contemplative moment, the secretive old prospector had told John, “Nature has an answer for everything if you just take the time to listen.”

Alfie said it had come to him unexpectedly one day when he was feeling alone and desolate. An inner voice said to look beyond himself, to witness the beauty of nature and to appreciate its miracles. In that fleeting moment, Alfie had discovered the richness that could be found in the balance of nature. His newfound theory was simple: for every need there is fulfillment, but too many wants can cause things to come unbalanced. Perhaps Alfie had heard the voice of God. Or perhaps it had been guardian angels. Whatever the source, the message had a profound effect, and from that day forward, Alfie’s wants were few and he relinquished his dreams of striking it rich.

While John was not ready to stop his own quest for riches, he did think there was a lot of truth to Alfie’s ‘balance theory’ that always seemed to unleash an inner wealth of wisdom. So whenever he did not have the answers, he returned to nature–to stop, to listen and to find the road to balance.

JOHN REALIZED SOMEWHAT ruefully that he never even knew Alfie’s last name. Soon after that remarkable visit, he found the grizzled old man’s cabin stripped of all his personal belongings. He had left without a single goodbye.

JOHN’S THOUGHTS returned to the citizen’s meeting as he came within sight of his front entrance. He was afraid that the leader’s motives were not good. He’d be willing to bet his biggest gold nugget on that. After all, he was no stranger to the criminal mind–as an accomplished treasure investigator and gold miner, John Victor had seen more than his share of unsavory characters and the chaos they could create and an inner alarm rang loud and clear as he watched Mitchem that night. He knew he had to stop the guy before someone got hurt. Damned fool–his eyes practically sparkled. I bet he was hoping they’d get violent!

John came to a quick, snow-spraying stop. He unhitched his boot-locks, scraped the icy clumps off his canary yellow Rosignols and burst through the door. He couldn’t wait to get started; and as he stripped off his wet outer clothing, he decided there were a lot of good people at that meeting–good people seeking positive changes. Unfortunately, the good people had a bad leader. No balance there, he thought, and he realized he’d have to find them a good one.

Reassured by his own determination, John Victor slung his soggy jeans onto the towlrack before pulling on his favorite gray and navy sweats.

CHAPTER TWO:  The right leader . . .

John sat down to think. First, he needed a leader–someone he could trust who would recognize that most of these people had the right intentions. Somebody charismatic–a regular George Washington or Martin Luther King would be good! John thought that C.D. would be perfect. Yeah, C.D.! C.D. was a long-time army friend who was currently stationed with the Research and Development Unit near Washington, D.C. Heck, he mused, C.D.’s even a dead ringer for Morgan Freeman–the ultimate box office good guy. I always think of him when I watch Freeman’s movies! Affectionately called C.D., Colonel Lucas Everett Davidson had been a First Lieutenant in John’s regiment. C.D. had proven himself on the battlefield in Viet Nam and again as a Lieutenant Colonel during Operation Desert Storm. The two men had kept in touch throughout the years despite their differing lifestyles and John always looked him up when his travels brought him near C.D.’s headquarters. Well, there ya go!

JOHN SMILED. C.D. was willing to attend the next meeting. If anyone can bring them around, C.D. can. “I did good,” John said to himself. He decided to reward that good self with a generous helping of Betty’s apple pie, a hot toddy and a long soak in the tub. He figured she’d be home well after he attacked her delectable pastry.

CHAPTER THREE:  Liquid gold . . .

Three stars were visible in the misty moonlit sky and the peepers and crickets wree in full voice. Their high-pitched chirps created an unworldly atmosphere as a shadowy figure listened for movement within the six-plane hanger. Melvin wondered how such tiny creatures could be so loud. It was as if they were trying to squal on him. To make matters worse, hungry mosquitoes buzzed around his head and vague fears of the West Nile Virus made him wish he’d brought bug repellant. “Darn it!” he groused, his eyes following one of the buzzing creatures.

There were no security guards in sight, but Melvin didn’t really expect anyone to be there. That’s what he liked about small, state-owned airports–easy access. He figured luck was finally on his side with this job. Yup, I feel lucky tonight! Ricardo’s client must be a real chump to pay so much money. All I haf’ta do is add that stuff to the holdin’ tanks. They say it won’t hurt nuthin’ . . . the stupid gover’ment was stoppin’ them from testin’ it. As he turned from the hanger, a new thought occurred to Melvin. Gee, it might even make the planes fly better! He decided this was his chance to do some good in the world, and earning two thousand clams certainly made it worth his effort. And they’ll give me another two to do the next airport. Not too shabby! Melvin felt a sudden surge of pride.

AT THE SOUTHWEST end of the field, Melvin stared at the two fuel tanks. They looked like big white grain silos. Boy them things is tall! He did not relish the idea of climbing that high.

The nearby crickets stopped chirping when Melvin got close enough to read the lettering. The first silo held AVGAS, the fuel used for the small piston airplanes. He shook his head.

Nope. I don’t want that one. He read the lettering on the other tank. “Jet Fuel. Yup, that’s the one.” He climbed to the top of the silo and pried open the hatch. Already tired from the exertion, Melvin slowly backed down, tightly clutching the vertical supports on the narrow metal ladder. His flabby belly bounced from rung to rung until he reached the bottom and hopped to the ground. After catching his breath, he scuttled across the parking lot to his rusted VW van and trudged back with a large black case.

“This thing weighs more than Ritchie’s ol’ lady when she’s on a bender. Nuthin’ but dead weight,” he grumbled as he struggled through the opening in the fence. “Darned skeeters don’t help neither.” After stopping to give the buzzing insects a futile swat, Melvin dragged the large coffin-like case the rest of the way and opened it up. Inside was a heavy agitator assemblage that would blend the liquids. It had three lightweight tubes that had to be connected as a single unit, then eased into the silo.

AFTER MOUNTING the tubes, Melvin bounced back down for the agitator. According to the instructions, the thing had to run for two hours to adequately mix the solution into the fuel. It’s nuthin’ but an oversized ‘lectric mixer, he thought. Hmmm, thinka’ the dough this baby could stir up. And, man . . . it’s stirrin’ up mucho dough for me! Melvin cackled merrily. He continued to grin at his own joke as he fetched the two five-gallon buckets.

It was a struggle to get them to the top, but he was determined to make just one trip. He had to stop three times to rest and swat at the relentless mosquitoes. By the time he reached the agitator, the veins pulsed in his neck and his chest heaved with hard, raspy breaths; and as he emptied the buckets, both the mysterious golden brew and his sweaty face glistened in the moonlight.  I hope you enjoyed this installment and are looking forward to #4!

April may have a few warm days up its sleeve, but it’s still got plenty of those damp, windy moments when you just long for a nice, steamy bowl of soup. So, here’s one of my favorites. By the way, it’s great paired up with a chewy slice of bread that’s been topped with tomato and cheese. (See note about Brandywine tomatoes below).

Chicken Soup

INGREDIENTS:  Either a whole chicken or lots of legs (with bones); two medium carrots; one large onion with skins; one parsnip; one stalk celery or the leaves from three stalks; a heaping tablespoon minced garlic; water; salt & pepper to taste. NOTE:  Sometimes I drop all of the above, coarsely chipped, into a crockpot for the day, but I prefer the stove-top method described below.

STEPS:  (1) Dice the vegetables as small as you can and saute’ them in a bit of olive oil and butter in a large fry pan until they’re soft. Remove with slotted spoon into your soup pot. (2) Brown the chicken (in large pieces) in the same oil/butter. Add chicken pieces to the vegetables. (3) Cover with water almost to the top of the pan and bring to a boil, then add a few pinches of herbs. (I prefer a tiny bit of sage and a sprinkle of thyme). (4) Reduce heat and simmer for about three or four hours (until the chicken easily pulls off the bone). (5) With slotted spoon, remove the solid parts and let them cool until you can handle them. (6) Pour the liquid thru a strainer into a tall, thin container and let it cool long enough to let the fat float to the top. Skim off fat. (7) Remove the flesh from the bones and retrieve the soggy veggy pieces–adding all of it back into the strained broth. (8) Heat up as much of it as you want, adding salt, pepper and powdered garlic to taste. TIP: I sometimes add a few cubes of bouillion if I was too generous with the water.

CRAFT TIP:  Often when the soup is simmering, I pull out my current crafting project. One recent one was a “life collage” I created for one of my daughters, using baby pictures thru her high school years. Directions are as follows:

ITEMS NEEDED:  Large picture frame with mat (I use frames for under ten dollars from the local dollar-type stores); lots of color photos (photocopies or duplicates); glue stick; scissors; glitter.

STEPS: (1) To make it interesting, I snipped the inside edge of the mat in a non-symmetrical, wavy pattern. It reveals a little more space for more photos and adds an interesting effect. For Elizabeth’s collage, I glued bright blue glitter to the entire front surface of the snipped mat. (2) Trace the outline of the wavy inner mat edge onto your background paper. (3) Arrange photos inside the area, cutting headshots and/or outlining full body shots as you see fit. (4) Once you have the photo pieces arranged, glue them in place, filling the entire area. (5) Place your masterpiece into the frame. (6) Is it soup yet?

SPEAKING OF SOUP:  Don’t forget the Brandywine-wiches! Shortly before serving your soup, turn on your broiler; slice your tomato; arrange the slices on toasted/buttered slices of bread (the chewier the better); top with your favorite cheese, then broil until the cheese melts and turns golden brown.

Why Brandywine? It’s an heirloom variety of tomato, known for its delectable balance of sugars and flavor. Juicy, too! The fruit is large, weighing a pound or more. To avoid cracking, pick the Brandywine tomato just before it ripens.

. . . and now for more Johnny Vic! In the last installment, he was having breakfast with Ben and they were joking around.

 

A scene from a fourth grade reader

 

 After a lengthy fit of the giggles, Johnny Vic and his uncle concen-trated on their food. They ate hungrily and did not speak again until they cleared the table.

“SO, JOHNNY . . . THEY delivered a metal detector two days ago. One of the new ones they asked me to check out. I’ll be writing an article about it for Lost Treasure Magazine.”

“That’s neat, Uncle Ben!”

“As a matter of fact, they’ve designed it with kids in mind, so they want your reaction too. Wanna be part of my next story?”

“Oh boy, do I! Will it beep like your 1200 does?” Johnny Vic’s heart raced as he thought about the treasures that lay waiting to be found.

“It sure does, kiddo.”

“Awesome!” Johnny Vic could almost hear the familiar beeps that Ben’s machine made last year when they came across something hidden in the dirt. Sometimes it was valuable, like the lost wedding ring they retrieved for Ben’s friend, Stuart. Sometimes it was just a bottle cap or an old rusty nail. You never knew what you would unearth.

“You know what, Johnny Vic? We might find some incredible artifacts right here on this property! After all, Vermonters played a big role in our country’s history . . .  especially here in the Lakes Region. Did I ever tell you that Horace Greeley got his start in this neck of the woods?”

“Yup. Lots of times.”

“Hmmm. I guess I did.”

“Yup. Lots of times.”

“You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Okay. I’ll stop–if you promise not to mention it again.” Johnny Vic gave Ben a playful grin. He actually loved to hear his uncle’s stories about history.

“Fine, I won’t . . . except for one thing.” Ben cocked his brow with a sidelong look.

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Well, you remember my friend Linda, and her cocker spaniel, Pelier, don’t you?”

“Yup. She owns the Horace Greeley House, doesn’t she? She’s neat.” Energetic Linda Knowlton was Johnny’s favorite of all of Ben’s friends. her eyes always seemed to sparkle with laughter. her house was the site of the Northern Spectator, the weekly newspaper where Horace got his start as an apprentice in the 1800′s when he was a teenager.  That’s it for this installment. See you next time!

 

Book #1 in the Johnny Vic series

 

 

This is Benedict Arnold's ship during the Battle of Valcour, from Johnny Vic book number 2.

Well, my new and improved website is churning and gurgling on its way to being published on the internet. (It’s www.annrichduncan.com). Perhaps, it’ll be up by Saturday, March 19.  I can’t wait! Once it’s up, I’ll begin the posts for my blog series called, The Crafty Kitchen:  From The SEED to the Table.  It will feature pages from my novel of suspense (for adults) entitled, THE SEED.  The Crafty Kitchen will also post recipes and tips and trivia about heirloom seeds.  In the meantime, I thought I’d share one of my favorite “authorly” experiences that occurred in my home town, Ticonderoga, New York. The art teacher for the elementary school hosted my visit, then had her students create colorful pictures based on scenes from the first two Johnny Vic adventure books. The pictures were then transferred onto tiles.  Then, they were mounted and hung in the school hallway. Super Cool! 

Johnny Vic finding the magical metal detector!

Benedict Arnold’s ship, above, is an amazing piece of art done by one of the fourth graders, don’t you think? And, I love the trees in this second picture that shows a scene from the Prologue in the first Johnny Vic book, entitled:  Travel With Johnny Vic Through the Metals of Time.

Ten thousand organic consumers signed OCA’s petition last week to Barack Obama, asking him to take a clear position in support of organic agriculture. Thanks to all who joined in to deliver this resounding message to the incoming administration. Unfortunately, it is now being widely reported that former Iowa Governor Tom Vilsack is being considered for the Secretary of Agriculture position in the Obama Administration. Vilsack is a notorious cheerleader for genetically engineered crops and chemical and energy-intensive industrial agriculture–certainly no friend of organic food and farming. Tom Vilsack’s appointment would represent a major disappointment for the Organic Consumers Association and its members. But there is still time to make your voice heard.

Visit our friends at Organic Consumers Association to vote for the future of YOUR food!