Last year the fine folks at Butterball brought their famous turkey hotline into the world of text messaging. You could sign up to get text alerts to help you prepare the perfect bird. In keeping with the times, Butterball has added a few new bells and whistles to their turkey preparation tips. Along with text tips, you can tweet with butterball, join them on Facebook and visit their mobile site, which is packed with tips and videos to help you serve up a perfectly prepared Thanksgiving dinner. Way to go Butterball.

On behalf of all of the Hookers, we wish you a very happy and oh so satisfying Thanksgiving Day.

Congratulations to our friends at Twelve South on their latest product release – BassJump, which is a portable subwoofer for MacBook, MacBook Pro and MacBook Air. One simple USB connection provides sound and power for this little gem. Download the software, plug in BassJump, launch iTunes and your MacBook is turned into a mini soundsystem with a richer, fuller sound. BassJump comes with some fun features, like big honkin old-school analog VU meters and you can customize the sound based on your style of music. You can pick up a BassJump online at TwelveSouth.com, Apple.com or Apple Retail Stores.

Perhaps BassJump will end up on the cover of Macworld, just like the Twelve South BookArc.

Wonder Girls is a famous korean group which performs in America recently. Wonder Girls hit the charts with songs which have special hooks called Hook Song.

Click it! WonderGirls

Part of my “Red Carpet Writing: Hook Your Reader Hollywood Style” workshop is focused on dialogue. Our favorite movies always have those stand out lines, during those key moments that embed into our hearts and memory. How often do we remember lines from our favorite books though? Particularly, dialogue. I’m challenging myself to create more memorable lines in key moments in my books now. Since it takes a village, I’m hoping you can help.

What are your favorite romantic movie lines and why?

Here are some of mine:

“Aaaasssss yoouuuu wiiiissshhhh.” -Princess Bride

“…that no one in my whole life will make me feel the way I feel when I’m with you.” -Dirty Dancing

“I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.” -Notting Hill

:}Amber Scott

I was just about to go off and indulge in one of my favorite forms of therapy when I realized I had not posted my thankful blog for today.  Today I am thankful  for my hooks…my crochet hooks to be more specific, and I have many of them!

I learned to crochet the standard base chain for every crochet project when I was quite young.  I am not entirely sure of the age but I think it was around 4th grade from what memories I have of that time.  I made long chains out of scrap yarn that my aunt gave me back then.  I don’t know when I learned to do more than that but by the time I was in 8th grade I could do basic stitches.

In high school I made both of my  brothers blankets one year for Christmas that turned out very nice.  Both of them to my knowledge still have those blankets, or afghans as they are sometimes called.  I prefer to call them blankets, afghan sounds like an old lady item and I am not old, yet.

Over the years I’ve purchased books of various patterns  to learn more complex stitches.  With my hooks and some yarn I have made many blankets, hats, scarfs and baby booties. All the items I make are given as gifts or to charity.  Only once have I made a blanket for myself, but the dog has claimed that as her own now so some day I will have to get around to making myself another one.

Crocheting is very relaxing, hence I refer to it as therapy.  In colder months I rarely watch television without working on a project, I feel unproductive just sitting.  When I was working I kept my project tote in the car in case I was stuck in traffic or at the railroad crossing.  I’ve even been known to carry a skein of yarn and hook in my purse and crochet in the hardware store while following my husband around. My sister is also a ‘hooker’ and sometimes we meet up at our favorite coffee shop to work on projects and indulge in pricey coffees while we bond.  We even started a group for  ladies to together at the coffee shop with their crochet and knitting projects for gal-pal time.

My daughter suggested I should make blankets and sell them on Craig’s List or Ebay, but I worry that it will become more like work and less like relaxation.  I also would not  have a clue what to charge for an item.  How do I put a price on the time involved to make one of my creations?  For now I’ll stick to making things for others, every stitch full of love for the recipient.

Off to grab one of my hooks  I am so thankful for and continue the work on a baby blanket.

Here are some recent projects:

A swan is put down after it is rescued from a Cambridgeshire river with a fishing hook embedded in its tongue and neck…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: school uniforms. The blog is also related to: seminars.

A swan is put down after it is rescued from a Cambridgeshire river with a fishing hook embedded in its tongue and neck…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: fishing angler. The blog is also related to: miami fishing.

Dear Ludovic

Cuckoo and Hook are not the same.  I know they sound similar, but they are different.  Your crane does not have a cuckoo on the end.

Love

Mum

Dum da dum dum

Dum da dum dum daaaaah

It doesn’t matter what it is that you do – but if you want people to remember it or check it out – have a great hook.  It doesn’t matter what your art form is.  It doesn’t matter what kind of content you create.  Everything that you do – that you want people to remember – needs a great hook.

In music, it’s that line that people sing – sometimes it’s words, sometimes it’s just noise or a series of sounds that gives a song character.

If you’re speaking, it’s the first thing that you say that makes your audience lean in to listen to the rest of what you have to say.

If you are writing a paper for a class or a magazine article or a blog post, it’s the thesis statement.  You grab their attention with a hook.

For this particular blog and specifically this post – it could be one of many things.  The red font that says Identity Specialist.  It could be the simple fact that you think that my ideas are not that good – and if you’ve read it this far, you’re hating this idea more and more – but you’re still reading it.  It could be that you’re a follower of this blog or I made you follow it.  It could be that you were looking for something completely different, but since I tagged this post with a word that you happened to be looking for, you found it.  I really don’t know.

I do know this – in whatever you do – if you create a great hook – people will be more willing to remember what it is that you’ve written or created.

When I was in college (waaay back when, LOL), I called my mom and asked for her chicken and rice recipe. It’s not a particularly unique recipe, I’ve since found it online in several variations. It is, however, the ultimate comfort food for me. The aroma of the sauteed onions and celery in the browned-chicken drippings, the moist rice…yum.  So, since I’ve been sick with both the flu and strep this week, and since Wednesday is usually “my” day for cooking, I decided that I needed the comfort. I’m mostly over the strep, the flu seems to have abated to “just” exhaustion, yes…it’s time. I pull out my dog-eared recipe card and begin. And once again I realize that the final product, while edible, won’t be just right. Why? Because it wasn’t made in the pan.

THE pan.

The chicken-and-rice pan.

The one used in our house since the dawn of time – or in this case – my childhood. The pan, as far as I know, resides with my mom in Florida. It, like many of us so many years later, is somewhat the worse for wear. The handle is mostly gone, the sides are dinged, the cover, if it’s even still in the vicinity of the actual pan no longer has a handle. But…that’s THE pan. The right pan. With that pan I can make some pretty amazing chicken and rice.

Without it…eh.

So-so.

I am nearing the end of my first semester in the doctoral program. The “real” work has finally kicked in and, as challenging as it is, I am enjoying it. My main struggle this semester has been (aside from the recent death of my father, the continuing struggle with melanoma, hand/ligament surgery, strep throat, and now the flu) has been the looming prospect of no teaching jobs for the upcoming spring 2010 term.This despite pretty outstanding, if I do say so myself, teaching evals and observations.

Zip.

Zero.

Nada.

Every place at which I have either taught in the past or applied for the future has no classes to offer. The State of California is going bankrupt and taking its higher education institutions along for the ride. It’s gotten so bad that I’m applying in Phoenix and in northern California, figuring I can fly and/or drive home for doctoral classes/weekends if needs be.

To get me out of my funk, several good friends have pointed out to me that I am missing a golden opportunity. I have a good many writing projects in the works; a solid screenplay pitch that’s already gotten good feedback, a manuscript under review by a well-known publisher, several other stories and/or script ideas just begging to be written. Those projects have been sitting dormant because of my normally busy schedule. Perhaps it’s time to dust them off?

So, with their words in mind, I am concentrating again upon my writing (in addition to, of course, the doctoral work, which has priority). I have been stressing and worrying, fussing over my CV, subjecting myself to painful self-examination and hyper-critique, wondering why I can’t land a permanent teaching gig. And then the “apostrophe” hit (Spielberg’s Hook reference, look it up.) I have decided that perhaps the problem with my CV and my applications is the same problem that I am having with the chicken and rice.

I just need to find the right pan.

Tonight: so-so chicken and rice and completing my SLO paper.

Twelve South BookArc in December Issue of Macworld.

Congratulations to our friends at Twelve South. The Twelve South BookArc is on the cover of the December issue of Macworld Magazine. The BookArc was chosen as one of 38 Great Gadgets for your Mac, iPhone & iPod. You can read the full article right here. Quite a feat for a company less than four months old. Way to go!

Sorry for the long wait for the update folks. So many pictures.

Friday the 13th celebrated Olivia’s 25th birthday (again) aka End of Season, lol, and also the going away party for Nick Chaney aka Massive Clearance, as he’s moving back to New Zealand.

Olivia has WAY more amazing photos than me, her with her wicked pro camera and photography skills and all. You can view her photos here.

What a celebration it was! We started off at Hook, the basement bar beside the 711 behind Luxy. Then moved on to Dark + Light put on by A State of Sound at Luxy, featuring Burn Electric (Stefan & Dom) and Genetically Modified Beats (GMB – Eben & Matt), with DJ Hooker (Dom) playing at the end of the night.

Max, looking oh so HUGE mag man:

Marcus’ mismatched Nikes:

Audrey’s bare back, why is this girl single again? Oh right, cuz she’s that hot. Don’t be afraid to talk to her!

Olivia looking fierce in my H&M dress:

She has always been one for masks:

Lesley and I:

Jer double fisting it:

Lilian rockin her Rhianna nails, they are sharp! (Drew in the background)

Abe and Liam:

Stefan and his girlfriend… (what’s her name?? I forget, sorry I am bad with names…someone please tell me!)

Nikki in Rice Society!!

Nick Chaney, oh how we will miss you!!

Carol looking so sleek. Nice hair, girl!

Marika rocking her Rice Society chain! The hacksaw

Brian and Jessica looking fine in glasses. Sexy secretary look is working for ya!

Ben’s cool shirt – had to cut out his head.

Vicki and Lisa:

Amanda with her Rice Society earrings:

Bathroom door at Hook, this is what I felt like waiting for the 4 people to get outta the only stall:

Dom yelling again:

Sandi and Cresencio. Justin said it best about Sandi when he said, “She is so rock n’ roll tonight. Look at her in the spotlight. It’s like Nancy looking for her Sid.”

This was in Hook near the entrance. it reminds me of the movie Big where he gets his wish:

Star Wars figures in the box gets points every time:

Two rad girls who I wish were my friends. Sen Sen is the one on the right.

Jer and Max, I’m gonna miss you guys when you go on vacation!

Me on a cop scooter. Ya, I asked him. He said it was cool. I was laughing so hard:

Moved to Luxy, finally and watched the glow stick/lazer dancers. (Special thanks to Daryl who got me in )

Marcus did not go to Luxy.

Toby was having fun! He wasn’t even listening to Ween, and he was having fun!

Stefan rocking out for Burn Electric on the guitar this time. Nice surprise change to the keyboard. This man is talented in the music department.

Burn Electric:

Dom introducing GMB, Eben pictured here:

I repeat, Marcus did not come to Luxy and he did not buy Justin and I drinks either. Eben & Matt in their awesome outfits:

Timmy! (but said in the South Park kinda way, hehe) Timmay!

GMB:

Jeff, that’s a nice leather jacket. Shop more.

Shelly looking saucy. Really love the spring on the strap.

This girl followed us here from Hook. I think she may have been on her way to Fly, or maybe she was slanging some sponsered alcohol. either way, she was super happy to pose for my picture!

Dom made a mixtape. Around his neck. And now he wants to eat it. Hmmmm….

Jack and Dom:

Abe, you need to keep this tiger on a short leash! Liking that color on Tasha:

Sandi in the washroom looking all Nancy again:

Ran into Helen:

Abe and Johnnie. Abe’s obviously having fun!

Nick and Justin, the last goodbye!

Doesn’t that shirt look like Nick’s, above? DJ Hooker (Dom) rounding out the night. Lookit that chick in that background, total celeb shock – OMG it’s HOOKER!

One of the coolest parts of the night was signing Nick’s Adidas and also the Jenga blocks. I think the blocks were Rachel’s idea. Great memories! Happy Birthday to Ola and Til Next Time, Nick!

#178 – Blues Traveler – “Hook” – (1994)

Ironically (or not, I really don’t know how to correctly use the word “ironically”), Blues Traveler had a knack for creating awesome ‘hooks’ in their songs that really did bring you back.

Charleston CVB ad running in Southern Living.

A recent ad the Hookers created for Charleston CVB inspired a family to build their own “snowman” in the sand. Marianne spotted the family building their snowman this weekend on Isle of Palms.

The family of four, recent transplants from New Jersey, spotted the Charleston CVB ad in Southern Living and thought they’d take their kids to the beach to try their hand at a  little sand sculpting. The family plans to use their version “Frosty” on their Christmas cards.

Here’s one of those, “why didn’t someone think of this 20 years ago” ideas. A company in Japan called Bar Code Revolution creates custom designed barcodes that can really dress up your packaging. Click over to Fast Company to learn more about this brilliant design tactic.

Last weekend was about searching for horses, in particular Duke, Molly and Liberty, Poco and Roach and baby Hayden. I found Hayden and Poco and Roach.

The end of the third rifle season was Friday or Saturday, depending on which DOW schedule was right, and I mostly had the basin and the horses to myself – ah, peace. I haven’t seen the pintos since the start of hunting season, I think, probably because of pressure from the road, close to which is the only water source I know of for them.

One of the bands that has NOT been hard to see recently – Kreacher’s – was briefly sighted up by the northwest road, then not again. I did get lucky and saw most of the others both days I was out.

Grey/Traveler was babysitting his youngsters – safely tucked into the saltbush taking their afternoon naps – while mamas and Iya were out grazing. Chrome and his new family were nearby, baby Hayden also taking his nap.

It was pretty windy both days (very still and nice until Saturday mid-morning) but mostly sunny and perfect temperature. Still some shade in the very shadiest of the most-north-facing hills but otherwise totally dry – except “the squish” on the loop road down from the roller-coaster hill, but not a problem to drive through.

The first clutch came when I found Steeldust’s band near the north-south road north of the Flat Top pond (which continues to shrink). Hook was with the band, and Aspen, but Twister was not with Hook. Maintaining my practice of not letting ya’ll share (some of ) my worry, he’s with Cinch and Bruiser! Not too much of a surprise, given they were all out on the Round Top-Flat Top saddle the previous weekend. AND the very first time I ever saw Mister Twister, he was with Cinch and Corazon.

Comanche and Mouse were napping on the far side of the band, and only Aspen and Hook gave me the eyeball while I visited (I don’t think Mouse moved so much as a hoof). Steeldust was hanging out with Alpha on the other far side of the band, and he apparently was completely unconcerned that Aspen and Hook were closer to his ladies and babies (except Alpha and Storm) than he was. Is Alpha in heat? There was no activity to suggest that; they were very quiet, sharing each other’s company in the sunshine. I just like to speculate. Storm-chaser is holding onto baby-hood as long as he can.

Hook and Ember napping. They weren’t as close as they look in this photo. That’s Hollywood’s band way out in the distance on the east-west hill.

Sundance roused from his nap long enough to greet Aspen and Hook, and after a couple of squeals and sniffs, went right back to the band.

Is it just me, or is Mouse getting stocky as he grows up?

Handsome curious boys

Front: Mahogany and Sable. Back: Ember and Pinon.

Sleepy, sleepy babies: Ember, Pinon, Hannah and Luna

A little after the previous photo, Hannah laid down. In the “near” background is the east-west hill – that’s where Hollywood’s band was hanging out both days.

“Baby” Storm is still nursing. Mama Alpha still lets him. Steeldust was just to the right.

Comanche.

Whaddy’a think? They look sleepy … and they look fantastic, eh?

You all, of course, know the Twister “mystery,” but I didn’t yet at that point. This pic was taken from the west-side loop road looking back at the band. Those crazy ponies didn’t even move in the time it took me to drive around there – well, Storm walked over to the main group. Lower left: Steeldust and Alpha. Looming weirdly hugely in the background is Filly Peak.

Seven’s band was between the Round Top road and roller-coaster ridge pond, Bounce’s was between the pond and the ridge, and Cinch, Bruiser and Twister were out between Round Top and the weird guzzler. No Molly and/or Liberty to be seen. Bounce’s were right at the base of the ridge, so when I drove over, I decided to walk down and around them to get better light. But before I got “better” light, I got light that loved Alegre.

Love that rim lighting on her forelock and tail as she stands over her baby Whisper, who is growing up into a fine young boy.

Handsome handsome!

Just like daddy Bounce!

Sweetest bravest curious-est girl Gaia

She’s still baby-clacking.

While I was visiting with and photographing Bounce’s band, Seven was curiously and calmly watching. Then he walked down to get a drink from the pond, just a little bit in front of him, out of this frame.

I checked the hunter camp on the hilltop overlooking Wildcat Spring. Except for four ribcages, four mule deer heads (antlers cut out) and hides, two gut piles and three entrance routes to the hill from the main road, the only speck of trash I found was a bottle cap. I guess I get leaving the leftovers for the ravens (they didn’t seem to find the stuff till the next day, making me wonder how recently the hunters left) and coyotes, but did they have to dump it down the hill on the side of the spring/canyon?? And the three routes they drove in – I hope – illustrates the need to prohibit off-road travel in an area of limited forage. How long will it take for grass – or anything else – to grow back in that poor (poor as in not very fertile) soil the horses depend on?

The sun was close to the horizon (I always forget how early it comes when we turn back the clocks) by then, so I headed out, hoping to find Grey’s and Chrome’s still in the flats. Oh, lucky me … but the long shadows were growing longer by the second.

You can see that the shade has overtaken them by this point … See that white-ish blur at upper left? That’s Grey/Traveler. His band was out to the right.

Hayden looks back at me and Chrome takes the opportunity to investigate the little mister. That’s Grey’s butt between his ears; an unfortunate angle, but I didn’t want to move and lose the moment! Remember how I originally described Hayden’s star as diamond-shaped? What does it most resemble now?? Be still my so-lost heart.

This is how close they were … and how calm. Still in the sunshine, barely. Jif and Hayden were to the right; Grey/Traveler was over to the left as far back as his band. In the background, from left: Iya, Houdini, Terra and Cuatro. I think Two Boots was closer to Grey.

Lovely day and evening.

Wale talks about 4 (potential bp3) tracks Kanye flew in to play for Jay-Z before a show. he wanted a couple of them, specifically “A Star Is Born” for the intro to Attention Defecit (in stores now!! it’s pretty ill!!!)…i would have liked it better with Wale, don’t really like the Jay version HONESTLY.

Kanye producing “Let The Money Fall” for Wale, KiD CuDi, Drake…dope. could still come into fruition??

peace, and remember to smile, love.

Worldwide Headquarters

Antwerpselaan 40 • B-1000 Brussels

Tel: +32(0)2.412.08.88 • Fax: +32(0)2.412.08.58

Matters of Somewhat Importance

November 9, 2009

From: Worldwide Headquarters – Brussels

To: Clients, Partners, Colleagues & Land O’ Lakes Butter Container Collectors:

By now you have digested today’s issue of the Wall Street Journal and have moved on to more taxing matters, such as contemplating which day of the week you’ll use to ascend the attic stairs to retrieve your flannel undergarments in preparation for some cooler weather. As this thought rattles around your cranial cavity, enjoy a few warm morsels of news from the world headquarters of our small empire known as Hook.

The Hookers traveled to Columbia, SC to retrieve three AIGA Awards at the 15th annual In-Show gala.

The Hookers hired a sand sculptor to build a snowman in the sand for this new ad for the Charleston CVB.

We had the good fortune to develop a grand opening campaign for the new Halsey Institute of Contemporary Art, which included guerilla, social media, print and outdoor to promote the grand opening. You can see the work here.

Perhaps we can help you develop some work that will warm your hindquarters? Phone us and we will create work that will make you tingle inside like a young girl bestowed with her first baby Blanc de Hotot rabbit. We eagerly await your call.

Cheers and Good Day, The Management

Cheesy AIGA Awards

Friday night Hook collected three AIGA Awards for logos. Winning logos were Riot Outfitters, Twelve South and Introdacqua. Congrats to Brady on a job well done.

This is Part One of (what will be) a four-part rant blog on my thoughts on querying.  The first two parts offer my general views or approach to the query process.  Parts three and four walk you through the steps I took when working on queries.  Included are two versions of the one for Set ‘Em Up, Joe.* 

A Query: The Sum of Its Parts

Query:  To pose a question.**

Rather succinct definition.  To the point, though not extremely helpful–unless you think of the question being asked as  “Will you read my work?”  Because that is the fundamental goal of any query.

Here’s a more detailed definition:

A one page letter to entice a prospective agent or producer into requesting and reading your work – provides only brief and relevant information.**

Let’s break that down.  One page letter.  Hmmm….might need to break it down even more. 

One Page.  ONE.  Not three, not one-in-a-half.  One.  Yes, it’s possible.  Yes, it’s what agents typically want.  If you can’t boil down the premise of your novel to one page, you may need to rethink things.  More on this later when I discuss how I worked on my query.

Letter.  This is actually important to think about.  A letter is a form of written communication.  When you are writing a letter, you consider the recipient as you craft it.  This means you consider your audience and structure how and what you write accordingly. 

A note to your mom might be done on the fly, filled with more lax prose or cutesy language.  Maybe you share a beef or make a snide remark about something that’s got your jammies in a bunch.  A letter to an agent, not so much. 

The query should be professionally approached, written and sent.  Think of it as a job interview (in a way, it is…you want to be hired as a writer), and put your best self forward.  Warning–this next sentence is very long. If you’re reading this out loud, for some strange reason, take a deep breath first. 

If your best self is a ranting, whining, angst-ridden writer who believes the only thing standing between his book being on the shelves of every bookstore in the world and author obscurity is an army of agents, editors and publishers who wouldn’t know a good book unless you told them they were a mere request for a full away from it–get thee to a shrink.***  Or your spirtual advisor of choice.  Or the group of friends and family who always get that creative types are perpetually misunderstood and underappreciated.  But whatever you do, don’t query.  Not until after several therapy sessions and some serious self-contemplation.  And maybe a stiff drink because you need to chill. 

Agents are not the enemy.  If you send a query that is in any way pushy, rude or disparaging of the industry- you’re your own enemy.  Politeness, respect and an appreciation for the process is a better way- to not only approach an agent – but to approach anyone.  And why would you not want to be professional?  Don’t you want to be treated that way?  Remember that whole do unto others lesson you learned as a child?  The lesson doesn’t become moot when you make the transition to adulthood.  I stress this part because lately I’ve noticed an alarming trend in agent blogs.  Many are sharing common problems with query letters they receive (and pass on).  From what I gather, many queries are borderline rude.  Some go so far as to criticize other agents or editors, or the industry as a whole.  I don’t get it.  Why would anyone want to be part of something they seem to hate so much??  Anyway, point made.  Be a professional (as in you want to be a professional author, right…so start by being a professional writer).

** From the best source for finding information–Google (o.k., maybe not, but my dictionary is upstairs and honestly, I go online for just about everything anyway).

*** Never underestimate the power of a good shrink.  Er, psychiatric professional. 

Entice.  Ooh, this is a good part.  I’m all a tingle here.  Again, we must turn to our trusty google dictionary.  To entice means to lure; to attract by arousing desire or hope.  And while the lure part almost sounds a little stalker-like, the rest is great.  To attract by arousing desire or hope.  I mean, doesn’t that get you all a tingle, too?  Arouse, desire, hope.  Good stuff.  It’s what you want your novel to do, right?  So you need your query to do that, too.  

How do you entice?  Hmmm, maybe I shouldn’t have dismissed that lure part so quickly, because what is another word for lure?  Bait.  And when you see the word bait, what do you think of?  Come one, quick word association 101.  Bait: Hook.  Ah, now we’re cooking, because the HOOK is what gets the interest of an agent–in fact, it gets the interest of any reader. 

So you want to lure an agent by dangling that hook, that thing which makes your novel a must-read.  Now, you don’t actually say that.  You don’t write something along the lines of “this is the greatest book you will ever read!”  or “you must read this book, it’s the next BIG THING!”.  Because first, that’s just obnoxious.  Second, and please don’t take this personally (I don’t), but really?  The greatest book ever?  Cuz, there are some really, really great books out there.  I’m not saying your book isn’t incredible, but pride goeth before the fall and all that. 

You don’t state your book is fab–you show it.  Show, don’t tell.  I know you’ve read that before.  This goes back to the One Page part, but essentially you need to present that which makes your book unique/fantastic/at least a great read.  Seriously, you need to let the agent know why your book is what it is–the premise and how the premise is met.  This is where that ever elusive thing known as voice comes in.  Entice an agent by offering a glimpse of your novel—the tone, the character(s), the conflict, the driving passion if you will.  And you allow your voice to come through it all.

By the way, one other reason not to state your novel will be the best one that agent will read?  How do you know?  Hey, maybe it will be.  But it’s a subjective call.  Only that agent knows what she or he loves.  Although that does tie in with the next part of the definition–Prospective Agent–which is covered in Part Two.

*In a nutshell (what does that mean, anyway?) – I worked hard on the first query I sent.  I read books on how to write queries, attended a query workshop, asked for outside input…and sent it to two agents (I took the slow and steady approach).  Both agents passed.  So, I did more research–this time, reading agent blogs and pouring over agency and agent guidelines.  My revised query was sent to four agents, three of which requested partials (current status-still on cloud nine due to requests, hoping partials turn to fulls, fulls turn to…oh, you know).  I did research, I read, I revised…and I honestly feel good about the query I sent out the second time.  My sincere hope is that my comments might help any other writers who are struggling with the query process.

###WARNING### — this post will contain very graphic description of surgery and operating room stuff.  If you’re not cool with reading that, stop reading now and go here.  This means you, S, J, R, M, and Y.*

*I totally made these people up, by the way.  Unless your name starts with S, J, R, M, or Y, and you’re easily skeeved by blood and guts.

Let’s try writing in the present tense for this entry.  Change it up a bit.

So.  Let’s see.  Friday morning I wake up at 5AM.  This is early.  Normally I’m dreaming about car fires or delicious little impossible cupcakes at this point.  But I wake up to my alarm (set to 93.3 WMMR, because it’s the only station I receive clearly on my 20-year-old clock radio), shave, shower, eat some breakfast (per my instructions … don’t wanna be passing out in the OR), and make my way to the hospital.  This time I am in the main hospital building, which houses some 30 or 40 operating rooms, I believe.  I take the elevator up to the floor with some of the ORs.  I knock on the door of the OR nursing suite.  “Hello?” I say to no one in particular.  It is 6:45AM, and I don’t see anyone here.  Finally, a woman sees me and says, “Ok, grab some purple scrubs (yes!), put them on in that bathroom, lock your stuff in the locker, and wait in that room over there across the hall.  Someone will come to get you.”

Hmm, ok, I think, this isn’t so bad.  I change into my sweet purple scrubs, lock my stuff away in the locker, put the key around my ankle, and turn the corner into the OR lounge.  Yikes.

There are about 40 people in here.  All wearing either teal or green.  All drinking coffee and eating danish or donuts.  All talking to each other.  I stick out, but people ignore me.  I sit down on a couch and wait.  To my left is a bug zapper.

Wait, a bug zapper?

To my right is another bug zapper.  I can only assume, given the vast amounts of food and drink to be seen in this lounge, that they’ve had a little problem with lil’ critters.  Hence the bug zappers.  I assume.

At precisely 7:01AM, all the green- and teal-clad folks begin checking a master sheet, file through a door, and disappear down the hall.  I take it that these people are all nurses and techs and have disappeared to start the day.  I am left alone in the lounge, watching the sad news from Ft. Hood.  I am tempted to stuff my hole with donuts, but I resist.  At 7:30, another student comes in and we chat.  She changes into her purple scrubs, and we sit together for a while.  At around 7:50, a nurse comes over and introduces herself, saying she’s sorry, but someone called out sick, and she’s been tasked to take care of us.  For the next 15 minutes, she goes over the “house rules.”  This includes things such as:

• Do not talk to the surgeons unless they talk to you.
• Do not touch anything blue or clear plastic.
• If you feel faint, sit down immediately and tell the circulating nurse.

So after these rules are hammered home, she says, “Ok, let’s go, follow me!”  She gives us booties for over our shoes and a hairnet/cap.  She is perusing what looks to be a master list of all the surgeries scheduled for that day, and is trying to figure out where to put us for the morning.  We follow her downstairs and to the next building (which is connected with a bridge).  And then we finally enter the OR suites.

At this point we are standing in a very long hallway, with ORs on either side.  The nurse gives us a duckbill mask here, and instructs us to wash our hands.  As I’m stepping toward the giant sinks they have for the surgeons to scrub in, I hear the following:

WOMAN #1: Oh man I gotta go wash my eye out!

RANDOM MAN:  Why, what you get in it?

WOMAN #1:  Oh, just some blood.

Our friendly nurse says we should always wear that mask inside the OR.  She also gives us a flimsy-looking coat of some sort, because it gets very cold inside the ORs.  Lastly, we are told to wear disposable plastic glasses to protect our eyes.  We follow this nurse down to OR #5, at which she drops off the other student.  She wants me to go into OR #3, and we enter through the door.  Five people turn around and stare at me for a few moments, then turn back to the patient, who is lying on the table, completely under anesthesia, with her abdomen exposed.  They’re about to start a laparoscopic resection of the colon.  Cool!  I think this is my lucky day.  Then things turn sour.

The surgeon seems upset.  He’s going on about some machine that isn’t working properly, and they can’t start the operation.  The nice nurse who’s been taking me around says, “Ok, let’s find you another room — this one’s quite ornery.”  She then says, “I think there’s some ortho surgeries going on, let’s go down there.”

We knock on OR #36, which seems to already have a surgery going on.  I’m allowed in this room, introduced to the circulating nurse, who will be taking care of me here all morning, and then the charge nurse disappears.  Ok, this is it.  I’m alone now.  On my own.  Gotta keep it together and be professional.

I’m introduced to the people in this OR.  Right in the middle of their surgery.  From left to right:

1. Circulating Nurse, who is the only one not in the sterile field.  She wears a mask and cap, but normal scrubs.  No gloves.
2. Scrub Nurse, who is in the sterile field.  She seems to be standing next to the instruments and handing them to the surgeons.
3. Scrub Nurse, who is in the sterile field.  He seems to be manning the hooks and retractors.  That seems to be his only job.
4. Chief Resident, who is in the sterile field.  His job seems to be opening the case, making the incisions and getting started.
5. Registered Nurse First Assist (RNFA), who is in the sterile field.  She is manning the suction and other tools.
6. Patient, who is in the sterile field (duh).  He doesn’t seem to know what’s going on.

I should mention here that this OR is different-looking.  They do only “joint” cases here (involving joints and bones and such).  Because of this, they use some sort of strange air-flow system.  All the people in the sterile field, which is represented by a giant box drawn on the floor (I was instructed to never step over this line, by the way), are wearing these futuristic-looking helmets with battery packs.  Over these helmets they have what appear to be space suits.  They really look like the scary government guys from the movie “ET.”  Hilarious.  Apparently these draw the air up and into the ceiling or something.  I never did figure out what that was.  There is a giant apparatus attached to the ceiling, to which they have taped plastic sheeting in front of the patient’s face.  Only the anesthesiologist, who is not in the sterile field, can see the patient’s face.

This first case is a bilateral total hip replacement.  As I arrived, they had just finished this man’s right hip.  They are ready to start the left hip now, and I have arrived just in time.  I’m told to stand where I can see what’s going on (which is still about 6 feet away), and this is pretty much where I stand for the rest of the morning.  They have a giant flat-screen TV, which is showing a close-up camera view of the operation.  I sneak a few peeks at this from time to time, but it’s much more interesting to look at the surgical field.  There is an iPod hooked up to a miniature speaker system sitting on the floor to the side, and this is pumping out some tunes at a reasonable volume.

So, onto the first surgery I witnessed.

As I mentioned, this is the left hip replacement.  The patient is a man in his 40s, and has severe degenerative joint disease, which has rendered both his hips in pretty crappy shape.  This patient has a spinal epidural in place, and is under only conscious sedation — Versed and Demerol.  So the anesthesiologist talks to him from time to time, and the patient answers back.  Amazing.

At this point they’re ready to get going.  The chief resident and the RNFA seem to be doing most of the prepping — they have shaved this patient’s left hip and leg down to just below the knee.  Then the circulating nurse applies liberal amounts of betadine to the patient’s leg.  Then the Chief and RNFA wrap the hip and leg in some sort of yellow material from 3M.  I think they call it Ioban.  It wraps skin-tight and stays on throughout the surgery.  They actually just cut right through this material when they make their incisions.  The chief asks for the scalpel, and starts his incision, which runs about 8 inches down the outside of the left leg.  As for the surgery and operating room … some observations:

• There is a giant drape/blanket sitting on the floor in front of me (between me and the operating table).  The chief and RNFA, who is in charge of soaking up the blood with sterile sponges, throw their trash onto this blanket.  Sometimes when this trash lands on the drape, it splashes onto my lower legs a bit.  I don’t mind this.
• At the beginning of the surgery, the scrub nurse and circulating nurse write down everything they are using for this surgery (25 sponges, 2 scalpels, etc.).  At the end of the surgery, these nurses go over this list again, and ensure everything that went into the patient has also come out of the patient.
• The circulating nurse does a lot of paperwork during the surgery.  Every now and then she is asked to get something from the surrounding cabinets or outside the OR, and she gets this, opens up the package very carefully, and extends her arm into the sterile field, where the scrub nurse grabs it from the package.  The circulating nurse also calls over to the PACU to let them know the patient is almost ready after surgery.
• After prepping the patient for surgery, the 1 scrub nurse, the chief resident, and the RNFA all go out to scrub in for surgery.  The other scrub nurse remains behind to continue prepping the room, and when the other 3 come in, she and the circulating nurse help them get their gowns and gloves on.  It’s really a well-oiled machine and team.
• The anesthesiologist has an interesting role.  A lot of the time during the surgery he is just sitting there looking bored.  Other times he is hanging some blood on the IV pole or monitoring other numbers.  During the entire surgery, he is often chatting with the other members of the team.
• Speaking of chatting, there is rarely any silence.  They talk often and loudly, about many topics including vacation spots, the Phillies, and dinner plans.  I’m sure they’re concentrating, but you couldn’t tell from the mood in the room.
• The chief resident starts the surgery, and opens up the patient and does most of the work.  Then, in the middle of the surgery, the attending surgeon walks in, takes over, does the actual implanting of the titanium hip the patient will receive, and then walks out again.  The attending surgeon is there for, at most, 15 minutes.  The surgery lasts about 75 minutes in total.
• During the surgery, lots of random people (all wearing scrubs, of course) walk in and out of the OR.  Some of them start talking to the operating members, and some of them just watch for a while, and then leave.  Apparently these are other nurses from other ORs who just feel like visiting.  I didn’t know this happened during surgeries.
• The attending surgeon and the chief resident are both triple gloved.
• It is astounding how much the surgeons manhandle the patient.  After the hip is implanted, the RNFA and attending take this patient’s leg and turn it every which way, sometimes appearing to discolate his hip.  They are doing this to ensure he will have proper range of motion, as well as to ensure he won’t dislocate his hip when he walks on it.  However, they aren’t exactly gentle when they do this.
• Once the thighbone is exposed, the chief and attending break out the big tools.  They have to attach the new hip to the hip and thighbone, so they basically just take out this giant chisel and hammer, and WHACK WHACK WHACK WHACK away at the bone.  It seems almost barbaric, but I suppose there really isn’t any other way to do it.  Then they take out this extremely loud bone saw and just saw away at precisely measured places of bone.
• The smell of burning bone is one I will never forget.  When the chief is burning some of the areas, and chiseling away at the femur, there is that distinct smell that I can still remember.
• Even standing about 6 feet away, the chiseling of the bone makes some blood and bone marrow spray on my glasses.  But only a little bit.  The chief and RNFA have liberal amounts of it on their face shields.  From time to time they take a sterile towel and wipe it off, like surgical windshield wipers.

Some other thoughts about my experience:

• Some other nurses and HCPs talk about something called “Imposter Syndrome.”  This is especially true in my OR observation.  How is it that I, a little old nursing student in my 2nd month, am allowed to just wander in and out of rooms where they are performing major operations on people a few feet away?  It’s crazy!  Such trust!  It’s amazing to me that I’m still allowed to do these things and be given access to these ridiculously cool scenarios.
• Orthopedic surgeries are super bloody.  The patient has given 2 units of his own blood to use during surgery.  Cutting into bone is very messy.  Lots of blood and marrow and other gunk.  Because of this, the blanket in front of me is filled with bloody sponges by the time the surgery is done.
• After the total hip, I get to stay for a 2nd operation, which turns out to be a total knee replacement.  This is less bloody because they use a tourniquet on the patient.  However, it’s infinitely cooler, as I get to see the entire knee exposed 4 feet in front of me (I lean in a little closer by this point).  All the tendons and ligaments they talk about on TV — all right there.  Incredible.
• Patients fart a lot during surgery.  At least my 2 patients sure do.
• After the range of motion is confirmed and the titanium hip implant is secured, the chief and RNFA measure the length of each of the patient’s legs.  I can imagine it would be a bad thing if the patient’s legs were two different lengths, right?

The soundtrack for the surgery (iPod edition) includes:

1. The Killers:  Somebody Told Me
2. Matchbox 20:  3AM
3. Nickelback:  Rockstar
4. Maroon 5:  This Love
5. Modest Mouse:  Float On
6. 5 For Fighting:  Superman
7. Radiohead:  Karma Police
8. Weezer:  Beverly Hills
9. Sublime:  What I Got
10. Third Eye Blind:  Jumper

I wonder who gets to pick the songs.

After seeing the total knee, it’s time for me to leave.  I go back through the doors into the lounge, where I see … 25 people eating lunch.  There are pizza boxes everywhere, and people are digging in for the lunchie munchies.  I change back into my regular scrubs, return the purple scrubs to the charge nurse, and leave the hospital.  My back hurts from standing.  My feet hurt from standing.  But my mind is spinning with intrigue.  I love the OR.

A/N: I’ve had a general sketch of where this story should go for a while, but it’s been slow going. It’s picking up a bit now, so I should be posting (somewhat) regular updates. (of course, now that I say that, who knows what’ll happen.) Thanks again for your reviews; they truly make my day!

Chapter 11

Wendy stretched, smiling sleepily, her arms above her head. She’d had such a delicious dream. It had been so difficult to sleep at first, but as she finally dropped off, she could have sworn that someone had been with her, lulling her to sleep with his steady breathing and soft touches to her hair. She slid her hand to the place beside her, only to find that the sheets were cold. Strange, I could’ve sworn…

The doors flew open with the now-typical flourish that preceded Smee’s appearance. She sat up in bed, blinking as he carried in a tray of questionable-looking porridge and a steaming cup of… something. But what caught her attention was the fact that he was accompanied by the Captain, looking as pristine as ever. She was suddenly aware of her tousled hair and the fact that she was clad in only a nightshirt—his shirt. Wendy hesitated, then drew up her chin, refusing to be intimidated by his mere presence.

“Good morning, Red-Handed Jill,” Smee said cheerfully as he placed the tray on the bedside table. “Did you sleep well?”

She smiled gratefully at the friendly pirate, realizing that she was hungry. “Yes, thank you.” She turned to the Captain, and offered a smile in truce. “Thank you, Captain, for the use of your quarters. It was quite kind of you.” And, she realized in surprise, it had been unexpected. Their discussion the night before had certainly raised a few questions in her mind. He’d been polite and courteous to her, while she had been tense and combative. Perhaps she needed to reevaluate both his position and her own.

His expression did not change, although she thought he seemed pleased as he said casually, “Well, we couldn’t place you below with the men; you’d never get out alive.” She flushed slightly, but couldn’t keep a cough of shocked laughter from escaping. His lips twitched in return.

Smee looked as if he were torn between amusement and embarrassment. “Yes, well, we have clothes in the hold that may fit you. When you finish eating, come find me and I’ll help you look through them. They’re not ladies clothes, but you can’t exactly be picky, now, can you.”

She merely nodded, and Smee turned and left the room. The Captain stood in the doorway, avoiding her gaze, looking at a book that he’d selected at random. He seemed uncharacteristically off-kilter, and she wondered where he’d spent the night, and whether he’d slept at all.

“Is there something you forgot, Captain?” she asked sweetly.

He hesitated, staring at the book he’d lifted, then looked up at her. “How long has it been, for you?” She looked so comfortable in his shirt and his bed that he nearly groaned. Why was she sent to torment him so?

She instinctively knew what he meant, and swallowed hard. “Years. Many years.” Much had happened since she’d last been in Neverland.

He looked confused. “Yet you say that I have not aged.”

She blinked. “I don’t recall mentioning such a thing,” she said, willing herself not to turn red. She could not let him know that she had memorized his every characteristic, that she had been so aware of him in her younger days that she’d been able to tell instantly that every line on his face had been the same. Her attention had not changed, either; she was still hyper-sensitive when it came to the Captain.

He relented, surveying her silently for a moment, then said softly, “The men do need a Storyteller, Red. Simple pirating is not enough. It never has been.”

Suspicious of this apparent non sequitur, she nodded wordlessly. He closed the book, put it on the shelf, and left the room without another word.

Wendy bit her lip as she pulled the breakfast tray towards her. A Storyteller was needed, and she just so happened to have thousands hidden, repressed deep inside. Perhaps she could truly become Red-Handed Jill once again. It wouldn’t bring back all of her memories, would it? Some could still stay hidden?

-+-

Wendy made the giant bed, then donned her clothes from yesterday and went to find Smee. She was pleased to discover as she walked that while her wounded leg still throbbed with pain, she was able to get by with a limp. She wouldn’t need a stick to lean on.

Smee took her down to the hold, chattering all the while. As she walked through the ship, she was uncomfortably aware of the many eyes upon her. She wondered if the Captain had made a general announcement about her presence on board, for the eyes did not seem curious, but simply watchful. Some felt rather predatory, however, and she quickened her step behind Smee as he led her to the giant trunks in a corner of the hold.

“Here we are.” Smee groaned with effort as he opened one. An explosion of fabric lay inside, and he began pulling out pieces of clothing, one by one. “We’ve been gathering booty for so long that we never know exactly what we have anymore. We’ve gone through about eight cabin boys, and I’m sure some of them left their old clothes behind, so we’re bound to find something to fit you,” he said kindly.

She pulled aside shirts that looked about her size, and found a few pairs of trousers that could fit. There was so much inside the first trunk that they didn’t need to look inside the second, although Smee insisted upon opening it as well.

As she looked at all of the fabric, an idea came into her head. “Smee,” she asked cautiously. “You say that you and the men never use these clothes?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” he said, then looked at her curiously. “Why do you ask?”

A slow smile began to cross her face. “Oh, no matter. I need to bring something up with the Captain later.” She got to her feet, stretching out the soreness in her leg, and began to help him put the clothes away. “Tell me, is there anything I can do to help pull my weight around here?”

Smee paused. “Well, you could ask Cookie if he needs help fixin’ the meals. The man’s a master chef but I’m sure more hands won’t hurt. Anything else and you’d be stuck with the men for long periods of time, and that wouldn’t be fun for anyone, least of all you.”

She smiled at Smee even as she fought back a shudder, grateful for his thoughtfulness. “Well, would you show me where to find Cookie?”

-+-

Wendy growled at the full five-gallon buckets she was attempting to drag towards the stairs. The cook hadn’t taken kindly to her intrusion upon his domain, and had relegated the task of water retrieval to her. Of course, the freshwater hold was kept down two flights of stairs; something about the necessary relocation due to dry rot and rat infestation had been muttered as he’d shoved the buckets into her arms and pointed her to the steps. She’d shouldered her burden and marched away, as best she could. It seems the man took a personal dislike to her, and had decided heavy labor would be the best punishment. Had he heard her thoughts on the porridge that morning?

“Men,” she muttered as the bucket sloshed alarmingly. “Too stubborn to know what’s good for them.”

Footsteps sounded down the shadowy corridor, and she fought against the sudden pounding of her heart. She hadn’t seen the Captain since his cryptic words before breakfast, and he was not likely to show his face down here. She forced her breath to slow; she did not like the way her heart leapt at the first sound of boots on the steps. Calm down, Red. He’s a bloodthirsty pirate who may or may not be holding you captive on this boat. Simply because you happen to dream about him in disturbing detail does not mean that reality will comply with your imagination.

Yet she still looked up eagerly as the footsteps drew nearer, only to see an impeccably dressed pirate making his way down the steps towards her.

She waited, shoulders back, eyes focused on the bucket, hoping that the man would simply ignore her and walk by. She moved back into the wall as he approached, giving him ample room to pass her, but he suddenly stopped and looked at her. His immaculate appearance began to fade upon closer inspection; he appeared out of place in the spotless clothes, as if he were playing a part, but felt ill at ease in the material.

His expression, however, was what caused chills to run down her spine; his gaze was fixed upon her and there was a hint of hatred as well as anger and desire on his face. Yellow eyes narrowed as he closed in on her personal space. “Well, if it ain’t the Captain’s newest pet,” he growled, his breath making her gag.

“Please step aside; I need to be on my way,” she said resolutely, but he moved in closer and lifted a hand to trail down the side of her face. She flinched away, but he pressed closer still and chuckled. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in sudden premonition.

She tried to push him aside, but he grabbed her forearms and squeezed, making her bones nearly grind together and bringing tears to her eyes from the pain. “Now, now, girlie, I’ve had my eye on you, and you’re going to appreciate it proper, like a good girl should.”

Oh, God, here came the memories. Wife is second to Husband. When will you learn to speak properly to your betters? If I’m going to marry you and take you out of this hovel, you are going to learn some respect! He had appeared so pleasant at first, and her family had liked him. Too bad the most innocent looking sheep often turned out to be the worst kind of wolves.

She shook off the past and focused on the alarming present. “Let me go,” she said firmly, willing the tears in her eyes to disappear even as she wished her voice could be louder.

The pirate laughed. “Why isn’t that charming, she’s trying to tell us what to do.” Fear rose in her as she realized he wasn’t talking to himself, that another man had appeared in the small corridor. Her odds had just gone from bad to worse.

Making up her mind quickly, she flew into action. Twisting her wrist around, she kneed him in the groin and pulled away as he let go and yelled in surprise at the pain. Whirling around, she raced towards the stairs only to find herself falling suddenly. The second pirate had tripped her, and was pulling her backwards by her injured leg. She kicked out desperately, but the first man was stepping over her now and pulling her up by her hair. She gave a strangled cry of pain, but he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.

Panic flooded her, and she found herself desperately crying, “No, please stop, not again,” wordlessly as they pushed her against the wall. Help, please help me. The first man grabbed her neck and began steadily squeezing as the world slowly went black.

-+-

The Captain was moving before he realized it, striding, nearly running across the deck of the ship to get down into the hold. His men moved out of his way quickly once they saw the look in his red eyes; they recognized the spectre of death in his gaze.

He couldn’t quite understand the deep-set trepidation that motivated him; he only knew that if he didn’t get somewhere now, something horrible was going to happen. As he raced down the stairs, he heard a yelp, then a thud from the darkened corridor ahead. Another voice cried out, and his blood ran cold. Help, please help me.

Wendy.

Front of Shirt

Back of Shirt

In case you missed the annual Day of the Dead party at Taco Boy, here’s the shirt Hook designed for the festivities. This marked the first year Taco Boy had two locations open for the November 1st celebration, hence the Double the Deadness.

We’re almost to the end of hunting season. I was hoping we’d make it through with only the respectful people I’d seen thus far, but it wasn’t to be. Despite the fact that we reclaimed the old illegal road to Wildcat Spring, hunters apparently drove in a new “route” up on top of the next hill right above the spring! I guess they couldn’t read the very large sign at the entrance to the herd area telling ‘em to stay on designated routes!

This is what the sign says: “Travel restricted to maintained roads. Cross country travel prohibited.”

Who thinks driving off the road and up onto a hill is OK? These guys.

It’s hard to see the trucks and stock trailer and utility trailer and big canvas tent up on the hill, but they’re there. Note the old road to Wildcat at lower left. Lots of tire traffic and some boot traffic to the boulders (and walking past) to check it out. One of the dead trees the students “planted” was knocked over, whether human-caused or natural, I don’t know. I stood it back up. Thank goodness for the boulders, methinks.

To make matters worse, three men – one on an ATV and two on a “gator” or “mule” or some little golf-cart thing – came up behind my Jeep while I was watching and photographing Kreacher’s band from the road, drove around me and sent the horses galloping away.

Check out the passenger shading his eyes so he can see the horses better. The carsonite sign at left marks the intersection with the road to Flat Top.

This was my next view of Kreacher’s band.

I just read a really great Writers on the Range (High Country News) column written by a guy who used to be an avid off-road ATV rider … until the day he was hunting elk and a group of off-road ATV riders zoomed up and scared off the elk … and didn’t understand why the author was PO’d.

To go back in time to a more positive encounter, when I first passed Kreacher’s band, just on  the other side of the road from where this happened, I was heading back to get a closer look at the camp. I drove slowly past the band and took pix through my passenger’s side window. Then I noticed a truck coming up behind me. I drove on, watching carefully in my rear-view mirrors, but they were very respectful and also drove very slowly past the horses, who stayed right where they were, completely relaxed.

Do you get the point? Some visitors respected the horses and were able to get an amazing view of them. Then three visitors completely disrespected them, and the horses galloped away to protect themselves, making it impossible for anyone to enjoy them further at that time.

In addition to the fact that chasing/harassing  the horses is completely illegal, it’s just plain stupid, disrespectful to the horses and rude to other visitors. ARGH!

I sent an email to BLM that night, and I received a near-immediate reply that not only had they had law-enforcement rangers in the basin the day before but that they would follow up on my report. Very much appreciated.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

There were still patches of snow in the basin – more than I expected, truth be told – but it was obvious there had been plenty of vehicle traffic because the roads were mostly good (though a bit more rutted). I did hear what sounded like a stuck truck, but I could never figure out where it was coming from.

Kreacher’s were first on the flats below the catchment. There were a lot of human “visitors” in the basin. I parked up near Flat Top and hiked the old road around the hill. Grey/Traveler’s band was on the north side of the hill. I followed some ATV tracks that went up actually onto the hill … maybe before the sign went up … maybe ignored. I spent some time just visiting with Grey’s band but didn’t take any pictures, then kept going around to the “saddle.”

Hook and Twister were hanging out in the middle under some trees. Twister was lying down with Hook standing over him when I first saw them. The trail was somewhat dry – and considerably drier than the ground right off the trail (snowmelt) – so I sat down on the trail to watch the boys.

Steeldust’s band was out by the west-side loop road; Hollywood’s were a little closer to Flat Top. They ended up going all the way over past the pond to the roller-coaster ridge, up on top, then back to the west end. Aspen was with them when I first saw them, but I didn’t realize until I looked through my photos at home that Hollywood’s followed them.

Bounce’s band was over by the west end of Knife Edge … without Molly and Liberty. I never did see them. (Also didn’t see Duke that day, or Chrome, Jif and baby Hayden.)

Cinch and Bruiser also were on the saddle – closer to Round Top – and then I saw David and Shadow back toward that far yucky water puddle. It and the one close to Flat Top both have a little water, and by the hoof prints, horses are drinking at both.

You can see the snow … and the salt in the soil around the puddle.

While I was watching David and Shadow, I saw another “shadow” under some trees in the middle of the saddle, between D&S and Cinch and Bruiser …

Ze, Roja and Seven … Bruiser in the background.

It’s so weird to see them without Molly and Liberty.

I went back around the hill – Grey/Traveler’s were right up at the base of the hill then – and took the horse trail to the pond. It’s shrinking every time I see it.

I was almost back to the main road when I saw the camp and went to investigate.

That’s when I passed Kreacher’s band the first time.

Corona has been playing in the mud.

And then on the way out …

Loved that halo-light on the ponies …

A little lovely light, a little lovely background … a little lovely wild.

It was such a wonderful end to the day … until the horses heard the ATV.

Let’s review again how the day really ended:

I want everyone to feel about the horses the way I do. It’s a rude realization when I’m reminded that’s not the way it is.