Monday, 12 December 2005


Cold gripped the ancient land. Vast, wind-driven snow banks clung to tree trunks and to the base of every rugged cliff. A silver moon shown through the winter-weary trees, transforming the ground into a blanket of glittering stones. Tracks of animals in search of food crisscrossed the barren landscape.
Alongside the trail used by his people to go from their winter camps to their summer homes, Wolffang leaned against a poplar trunk to catch his breath, his own stomach reminding him it needed fuel. He glanced around, seeking shelter. A tree lay to his right, its roots ripped from the ground with soil still clinging to the fibrous appendages.
He hurried forward. The dirt packed roots would keep the wind from his back and a fire would warm his front. He sighed. The journey had been long, but in distance, it had just begun.
He dropped to his knees in front of the uprooted tree and pawed at the snow until he’d cleared an area large enough for a fire and a spot to sleep. Some thin branches, he snapped from a nearby tree. Dried grass and moss, he found in the section he’d cleared. He arranged them is a small pile and above it, he struck two pieces of flint. Several times the flint slipped from between his numbed fingers but eventually, a few sparks danced above the pile, then one touched a blade of grass and a small flame sprang to life.
His hunger pangs soothed by the strips of dried moose meat he’d consumed, he leaned against the tree roots and gazed into the unapproachable sky, contemplating the whereabouts of his family. They would have though him dead when he didn’t return with the braves after the summer hunt, because the braves, too, had given him up as dead.
He felt the tender spot on his side where the yearling moose had gouged him with its sharp antler. Even he could not fathom why he still lived. His wife and children reappeared in his thoughts. He caressed each one, and counted the days separating him from them.
Without warning, the ground shifted, throwing Wolffang to his side. He lunged for a nearby sapling to prevent the earth from swallowing him. The spirits were angry again. Demanding the human’s attention.
As sudden as the ground shook, it settled, and he looked to the sky at the shifting dancing lights, and a new star appeared, dulling the radiance of all others.
Wolffang stared at it. His mind told him Mother Earth had reached a new plateau. Life as he knew it would soon disappear. His spirit, soothed beyond his enchantment the night he and his wife first coupled, sought the victorious deity.
A wolf claw, given to him by his father, hung around his neck by a rawhide lace, burned his chest. He ripped his clothing apart and yanked off the amulet, then looked down at his exposed flesh. A stinging, fire-red claw mark stared back at him, twisting his thoughts, provoking him to explore the meaning of his shifting world.
A cold gust of air arose, its icy fingers annihilating the throbbing. Wolffang closed his buckskin coat to preserve his body heat. He returned his attention to the new star that paled the changing, dancing lights. The Ancient One had done something new, something significant, on this cold, desolate night.
Unable to penetrate the land of the sleep spirit, Wolffang stood, threw his pack over his shoulders and continued down the trail. He must reach his family, let them know he still lived, and warn them to seek the ways of the new spirit, while time remained.

Sunday, 13 November 2005

Winter has arrived

This morning, the whir of a strong wind surrounded my house and it darkened noticeably. Then the shriek of hungry birds filled my ears. Scrappy, my big orange tomcat, leapt onto the back of a chair near the living room window, and imitated the bird’s chirping. I looked out, and hundreds of tiny, hyperactive snowbirds swarmed about the mountain ash. In minutes, all the bright red berries clinging to thin empty branches disappeared. Then the birds moved on, leaving behind one more assurance winter has arrived.

Wednesday, 9 November 2005


Above the land of the two rivers, a dusky red sun slides silently and unheeded into the underworld, leaving behind a purple sky. In his bedchamber, the great king’s eyes flutter one last time and he too, slips away, ending a remarkable era.
Although impassable walls surround and protect BABYLON, wealth, intrigue, and murder fill her streets--until her sins reach heaven, setting her demise in motion.
Into this city and political upheaval, two princes are born.
Although his father is the Hebrew Prince of Captivity, Zerubbabel is educated as a Babylonian. A vision of golden scepter, crowned with a charging lion, appears to him as a boy, taunting him. After a supernatural journey to the temple in Jerusalem, he connects these appearances to a birthmark resembling a lion’s claw above his temple, and accepts them as symbols of his destiny.
PRINCE BELSHAZZAR is plagued with insecurities, but grows to be a fair and wise ruler.
The destinies of these two princes intertwine until Belshazzar disregards Zerubbabel’s warning, and a strand breaks.
YAHWEH, the Hebrew God, places Zerubbabel in strategic positions within Babylonian society, that enables him to obtain the wisdom of kings. Then a snare he does not recognize entraps him, almost changing history.
PRINCESS BELSHALTI-NANNER, Belshazzar’s sister, captures Zerubbabel’s heart. She eclipses his pursuit of the golden lion until Yahweh intervenes, setting back into place the divine order of things.
Resuming the quest of his destiny, Zerubbabel leads his people across a dangerous, scorching desert to Jerusalem, to rebuild a temple and a nation. Discouragement, complacency, and irritability are daily obstacles. The Samaritans hinder the progress in every way, but the faithful shun defeat.
Although miles and gods separate them, Zerubbabel and Belshalti-Nanner pour out their love on scrolls and clay tablets, hoping someday an unrelenting God will reconsider. Then King Cyrus betroths Belshalti-Nanner to his son. Zerubbabel refuses to extinguish his love, although he knows he can never act on it.
Bit by bit the new temple rises in the centre of Jerusalem, proclaiming the Hebrews are again a nation in their own land. Then Zerubbabel meets Mary. He is cleansed of Babylon, set free from a forbidden love to claim his own destiny--and a wife the Almighty selected for him.

Tuesday, 8 November 2005

Arriving at the finish line uncontested or writing a colorless story merits no distinction, but persevering through all odds seperates winners from dreamers.

Tuesday, 1 November 2005

A Cat in the Sunset

When a new inspiration presents itself, it zooms to the forefront of my imagination and takes over my writing life. Its characters develop from stickmen to people, and embark on an unforgettable journey. Every step they take to reach their destination and every word they speak has a purpose. The storyline is clear and light, but the minute, immediate details bog me down. The pov changes, the passive words, the telling, the fine-tuning, that untended leave a black shape in the forefront of what could have been a marvelous story.

Wednesday, 12 October 2005

Returning Home
One, maybe two
puffs on a dandelion
and the seeds are gone.
Such are the years
I spent along these river banks.
Yet those years
still influence my thoughts,
my emotions,
and establish who I am. Posted by Picasa
My latest Novel
The Writer's Block
She wanted freedom but her past kept her bound.

Prairie Creek
as seen from Jenny's house
Posted by Picasa

Friday, 7 October 2005

My Constant Companion

Posted by Picasa As a writer, I appreciate a silent friend. Someone who stays with me even when my mind is miles away, musing on possible storylines. Scrappy is all of this and more. He listens to every word I say and never disagrees. Most of all he loves me even on my worst hair days.

A sky to dream under

Posted by Picasa

Life is more than a plain black cloud slipping silently, unnoticed, across the fading sky. It's seizing a fleeting moment and turning it into a spectacular sunset.

Fireside Fables

Small, shapeless snowflakes escape the darkness and hurl against my windows, the panes rattling under their assault. I shiver and pull my padded rocking chair closer to the blazing fireplace.

Flames lick and wrap around blocks of wood sacrificed on a metal rack, comsuming them layer by layer.

It troubles me, starts me wondering what am I that a tree should give up its life to keep me warm and content.

Obstacles are those frightful things you see when


take your eyes off your goal.