Excerpt from The Black Line
I entered the marketplace. It was bright and loud. It stank of sweat, sizzling meats, spices and piss. I loved the market. Here it was easy to blend in, become a shadow amongst the drunks, whores, rats and other filth that plagued this place. I pushed through the writhing mass of screaming, fighting, retching and laughing flesh towards the Hub, one of the more reputable watering holes in the market. More reputable meaning you were less likely to slip in someone's piss or vomit and break your neck while trying to find a table.
I was just about to enter the sliding doors when I felt someone grab my arm. I looked down at the hand and saw those familiar inky lines traced under the skin. My eyes drifted up to the face. It was a woman maybe in her twenties. I couldn't tell with all the filth and grime that covered her skin. At least her eyes were human, unlike mine. It didn't seem to matter. She was still a rat like me.
"Kolat," she whispered. This wasn't the first time I heard this word. She was calling me brother, in my father's language. There were many other half-bloods like me. Some tried their hardest to blend into society. The closest they got to that was becoming concubines to the rich, bodyguards or hired assassins. There were others attempting to band together and form their own colony. Ula Maq, The Dreamers. Then there was the underground resistance. I didn't know too much about them, except they called themselves, Ula Sad, The Others. We all had one thing in common. We were outcast. I wanted to push her onto the ground and run away, but I remained as still as a statue. Her black fingernails were digging into my arm. I could actually feel them on my skin. She definitely inherited the strength of the Thax. As I felt her nails piercing my skin, I thought of how strong a full-blooded Thax would be. I guess I would never know since they were driven away for good over a decade ago. All that was left behind were their bastard freak children, us. Remnants of a time best forgotten, but humans never forget. They recycle. Recycle their plastics and metals, their emotions and opinions. They now build walls, fences, forcefields to keep the others out. Shielding themselves from anyone that wasn't human, everything alien. It isn't a surprising notion. It was only since the arrival of the Thax that humans started treating humans as...humans. I looked back into the woman's eyes. They were green. I took her hand and grabbed it.
"I'm not your kolat," I said and gently pushed her away.
"You are my kolat whether you like it or not," she said, clawing at my cloak as I turned away. "They are watching you, waiting for you to take a wrong turn...waiting to send you to the line." I slowly turned and faced her again. The Black Line was the biggest wall the humans had built to this day. It was a huge forcefield that encircled the entire galaxy. "They want to quietly get rid of us. They are sick of being reminded of the past and it is written on our skin." She traced her fingers along her face. Tears were washing away the dirt, but they couldn't wash away those black veins, the dirt in our blood.
"We are protected by the law," I said.
"Oh and people never break laws," she said, running her fingers through her matted hair. She's just a crazy rat. I kept telling myself. I needed to focus on my own problems. "Laws are just words and words can be changed. You must join us now."
"Join who? Ula Maq? Ula Sad?" I shook my head. "I would've signed up long ago if I gave a shit."
"Not dreamers or others," she said and pulled me closer. "Ula Ket." She was breathing erratically, more tears forming in her eyes. I saw myself staring back at me in those two small pools of murky green. I searched my mind for the meaning of that word. I yanked my cloak from her grasp and backed away. I scanned my member chip against the side panel and the sliding door screeched open behind me.
"I am your mem!" Her screaming filled my ears. Mem, sister. "We will break through the line and find our true ket!" The doors slid shut. The girl slammed her palm against the plastic. "Ula Ket!" On her palm, there was a huge purple scar, a symbol of some kind. I burned it into my mind, just as it was burned onto her skin and turned away.
Excerpt from Mouse
He had been watching the girl for over a week now. Mouse, the old man thought, for she was quiet as one as she slipped in and out of abandoned buildings foraging for scraps of food and supplies. He guessed she was in her early teens, but he wondered how well she could communicate.
Most children he encountered scattered away like vermin when he came near and the ones that didn't, grunted and clawed at him with their small, scabbed hands. For food and water, he guessed. He didn't blame them. This was the only world they had known. How they survived this long was a mystery. They were far more resilient than he could've ever imagined. For the very few who remembered their lives before the scourge, this new life was unbearable, impossible to make peace with. Those that could not kill another, killed themselves, but the children were different.
His attention went back to the girl. He knelt behind a small brick wall to hide. He didn’t want his presence known, not yet. She peered out a doorway and glanced around warily. She swept like a shadow down the street, pausing only once to glance at her reflection in a shop’s broken window. I wonder if she has a name.
He took notice, not for the first time at what she had slung across her back. It was a small ukulele case. At first he thought she used it primarily to hold supplies or food, but he was wrong. One night as he was writing in his journal, he heard music. The instrument was horribly out of tune and missing a string, yet she pressed her small fingers onto the strings and played. As she played, she hummed tunelessly along. The man felt a tear fall and melt away into his beard. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard in years. That’s when he knew she was the one.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Monday, November 23, 2009
NanoWriMo is stressing me OUT! In a good way!
I began writing a novel for http://www.nanowrimo.org because I thought it'd be a fun exercise in deadlines and spontaneous creative writing. All of that turned out to be true! You have to write 50,000 words in thirty days and nights. A person like me loves a challenge and I especially love feeling productive. I'm only at the halfway point and there were times where I felt itchy, nauseated and crampy. All of which probably was probably due to the fact that I needed to take a shower, eat and use the restroom.
I've been at it all day today and am finding myself restless and making excuses to do things like sweep up dog hair and do the laundry. Even when I email friends and family, I feel like I'm still writing my book! Here's a short blurb and excerpt from it!
Home Sweet Necropolis
Book One: The Sight
By: Linda Patricia Cleary
Penelope Caldwell lives in a cemetery. Not next to it, but right smack dab in the middle. On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, she wakes up from a nightmare in which a classmate of hers dies. Little did she know that her nightmare was actually a premonition or that ghosts were going to start following her around and asking her for favors. What a birthday gift!
Chapter Two: Diary of a Dead Girl
After the initial shock of Aaron’s death in my nightmare, I started wondering about the details. Why was he glowing? Why was he going to that old decrepit house? Why did Amanda Peters look perfect even in my dreams? Couldn’t my subconscious have given her pimples or something? Thoughts were buzzing through my brain like a swarm of excited bees. Why would I randomly have a nightmare like this? Why did Aaron die? I sat up and pulled my quilt tightly around me. When I had first awoken, I really believed he was gone. I felt my eyes watering when I heard a faint knocking on my door.
“Penny? Are you awake?” It was old dad.
“Yes, come in,” I replied, stood up and started making my bed. The door creaked open and Frank smiled at me.
“Happy birthday little girl.” He said.
“I’m not so little anymore.” I said, suddenly feeling silly because as I made that statement I was arranging a trio of raggedy stuffed animals in front of my pillow.
“You’ll always be my little girl…even when you’re thirty,” he said as hobbled over to my bed and sat down. He brushed his gnarled fingers across my quilt and sighed. He was thinking about her again. My mom.
“Get dressed the family wants to wish you a happy birthday,” he smiled and stood up to leave the room.
“You’re my only real family old dad,” I said.
“Penny, you try and get out of this every year but you know it’s the right thing to do,” he stated as he shut the door behind him.
I peeked out the window. The sky was gray and overcast with clouds and the ground still damp with morning dew. It was your typical October day in Misty Cove. You would think that I’d be disappointed that I wasn’t greeted by a ray of sunshine when I opened my curtains, but I much prefer a gray brisk day to a summer one. I love bundling up. I slipped on a pair of jeans that were crumpled at the foot of my bed and pulled on a black sweater that was draped over a chair. I slipped my thumb through a hole in the right sleeve and smiled. I shoved on my rain boots, threw on my red plaid pea coat and walked out to meet Frank. He was sitting on the front porch. He wore a large gray wool coat that had been through more than a few moth attacks and a red knit hat with a big pompom on top that mom had made for him before I was born. He was holding a large rusty shovel.
“Looks like I need to get a new shovel. A shame, this guy lasted me ten years. More than half your life,” he chuckled loudly while pointing at a dent at the tip. It’s rare to see old dad without his shovel. Mal actually drew a comic called, The Shoveler of Truth. It’s based off of Frank of course. I laughed so hard when I first saw it. On the cover is old dad with bulging muscles, still wearing his plaid pants and suspenders, holding his massive shovel high into the sky while being struck by a bolt of lightning. I giggled to myself just thinking about it.
“What’s so funny?” Frank asked looking up.
“Nothing. We should go,” I said as I felt a phantom gust pass through me causing me to shiver slightly. I pulled the hood of my coat over my head. Old dad leaned the shovel against the side of the rickety stairs. He put his arm around me as we began our walk through the graveyard.
I blew little puffs of white smoke from my mouth as we walked. I could hear old dad panting beside me. Sometimes I worried about his health but I don’t think he’s been sick even once that I can remember, if so he always toughed it out.
“The ground’s going to start getting hard soon, once the frost starts forming. So, it’d probably be a good idea to get a new shovel,” he observed while he patted me on the back.
“Oh, old dad! Just get that new shovel. It’s always hard for you to throw old things away.” This was usually the extent of our conversations. Old people always seemed to talk about things like changes in the weather and about being old.
“They just don’t make things the way they used to. I’m sure the next shovel I get will only last me six months. A year if I’m lucky!” Oh and they also talk about how things aren’t the same as they used to be. Well duh!
“Frank, a shovel is a shovel.”
“I’m sorry Penny. I shouldn’t be babbling on about shovels on your birthday,” he sighed and we continued the rest of our short trip in silence. We stopped at a gravestone covered in moss.
“I should really clean the moss off these before it gets too cold,” old dad casually commented.
“Don’t worry, I can help you with that. I don’t want your arthritis flaring up again,” I said as I stood staring blankly at the grave.
“Look at us Penny! Blathering on like a couple of old curmudgeons,” Frank laughed. “Well, we can make this quick. I know Layla is expecting us.” That made me happy. Layla always had something yummy in store for my birthday. Frank knelt at the grave and pulled out a bundle of white roses from the inside of his coat. He must’ve bought them early this morning before I was awake.
“My dear Enid, today is Penelope’s sweet sixteenth birthday and it’s also been sixteen years since you’ve left us,” he paused to take a deep breath. My mother died giving birth to me, so you could probably understand my reluctance on visiting her grave on this day. Happy birthday to me. Happy death day to my mom.
****
I just kind of chose that excerpt at random. Well, it's back to writing! Wish me luck!
xoxo
Linda
I've been at it all day today and am finding myself restless and making excuses to do things like sweep up dog hair and do the laundry. Even when I email friends and family, I feel like I'm still writing my book! Here's a short blurb and excerpt from it!
Home Sweet Necropolis
Book One: The Sight
By: Linda Patricia Cleary
Penelope Caldwell lives in a cemetery. Not next to it, but right smack dab in the middle. On the eve of her sixteenth birthday, she wakes up from a nightmare in which a classmate of hers dies. Little did she know that her nightmare was actually a premonition or that ghosts were going to start following her around and asking her for favors. What a birthday gift!
Chapter Two: Diary of a Dead Girl
After the initial shock of Aaron’s death in my nightmare, I started wondering about the details. Why was he glowing? Why was he going to that old decrepit house? Why did Amanda Peters look perfect even in my dreams? Couldn’t my subconscious have given her pimples or something? Thoughts were buzzing through my brain like a swarm of excited bees. Why would I randomly have a nightmare like this? Why did Aaron die? I sat up and pulled my quilt tightly around me. When I had first awoken, I really believed he was gone. I felt my eyes watering when I heard a faint knocking on my door.
“Penny? Are you awake?” It was old dad.
“Yes, come in,” I replied, stood up and started making my bed. The door creaked open and Frank smiled at me.
“Happy birthday little girl.” He said.
“I’m not so little anymore.” I said, suddenly feeling silly because as I made that statement I was arranging a trio of raggedy stuffed animals in front of my pillow.
“You’ll always be my little girl…even when you’re thirty,” he said as hobbled over to my bed and sat down. He brushed his gnarled fingers across my quilt and sighed. He was thinking about her again. My mom.
“Get dressed the family wants to wish you a happy birthday,” he smiled and stood up to leave the room.
“You’re my only real family old dad,” I said.
“Penny, you try and get out of this every year but you know it’s the right thing to do,” he stated as he shut the door behind him.
I peeked out the window. The sky was gray and overcast with clouds and the ground still damp with morning dew. It was your typical October day in Misty Cove. You would think that I’d be disappointed that I wasn’t greeted by a ray of sunshine when I opened my curtains, but I much prefer a gray brisk day to a summer one. I love bundling up. I slipped on a pair of jeans that were crumpled at the foot of my bed and pulled on a black sweater that was draped over a chair. I slipped my thumb through a hole in the right sleeve and smiled. I shoved on my rain boots, threw on my red plaid pea coat and walked out to meet Frank. He was sitting on the front porch. He wore a large gray wool coat that had been through more than a few moth attacks and a red knit hat with a big pompom on top that mom had made for him before I was born. He was holding a large rusty shovel.
“Looks like I need to get a new shovel. A shame, this guy lasted me ten years. More than half your life,” he chuckled loudly while pointing at a dent at the tip. It’s rare to see old dad without his shovel. Mal actually drew a comic called, The Shoveler of Truth. It’s based off of Frank of course. I laughed so hard when I first saw it. On the cover is old dad with bulging muscles, still wearing his plaid pants and suspenders, holding his massive shovel high into the sky while being struck by a bolt of lightning. I giggled to myself just thinking about it.
“What’s so funny?” Frank asked looking up.
“Nothing. We should go,” I said as I felt a phantom gust pass through me causing me to shiver slightly. I pulled the hood of my coat over my head. Old dad leaned the shovel against the side of the rickety stairs. He put his arm around me as we began our walk through the graveyard.
I blew little puffs of white smoke from my mouth as we walked. I could hear old dad panting beside me. Sometimes I worried about his health but I don’t think he’s been sick even once that I can remember, if so he always toughed it out.
“The ground’s going to start getting hard soon, once the frost starts forming. So, it’d probably be a good idea to get a new shovel,” he observed while he patted me on the back.
“Oh, old dad! Just get that new shovel. It’s always hard for you to throw old things away.” This was usually the extent of our conversations. Old people always seemed to talk about things like changes in the weather and about being old.
“They just don’t make things the way they used to. I’m sure the next shovel I get will only last me six months. A year if I’m lucky!” Oh and they also talk about how things aren’t the same as they used to be. Well duh!
“Frank, a shovel is a shovel.”
“I’m sorry Penny. I shouldn’t be babbling on about shovels on your birthday,” he sighed and we continued the rest of our short trip in silence. We stopped at a gravestone covered in moss.
“I should really clean the moss off these before it gets too cold,” old dad casually commented.
“Don’t worry, I can help you with that. I don’t want your arthritis flaring up again,” I said as I stood staring blankly at the grave.
“Look at us Penny! Blathering on like a couple of old curmudgeons,” Frank laughed. “Well, we can make this quick. I know Layla is expecting us.” That made me happy. Layla always had something yummy in store for my birthday. Frank knelt at the grave and pulled out a bundle of white roses from the inside of his coat. He must’ve bought them early this morning before I was awake.
“My dear Enid, today is Penelope’s sweet sixteenth birthday and it’s also been sixteen years since you’ve left us,” he paused to take a deep breath. My mother died giving birth to me, so you could probably understand my reluctance on visiting her grave on this day. Happy birthday to me. Happy death day to my mom.
****
I just kind of chose that excerpt at random. Well, it's back to writing! Wish me luck!
xoxo
Linda
Monday, August 3, 2009
Where's the summer going?
I know I have another month or so to be productive during my summer break but I feel like it's slipping away.
Her Wayward Journeys has been quite a journey indeed! I keep wanting to change this, tweak that, rewrite
this, throw out that...I want the book to be the cool universe that exists in my brain.
I guess lots of things have been difficult with having to train two dogs. Inconsistency seems to be the constant
with those two! Where one succeeds the other is oblivious. They aren't bad dogs...I think humans and dogs are
both confused most of the time. They, being partial herding/cattle breeds, have TONS of energy! But they sure
are cute.
Other than editing my book(s), I've been working hard hand making things for Karli and I's etsy shop! We've been doing okay but I need to find more ways to get our stuff seen.
Well, it's off to editing land! I'll probably end up just making something out of fake fur...let's be honest.
xoxo
Linda
Her Wayward Journeys has been quite a journey indeed! I keep wanting to change this, tweak that, rewrite
this, throw out that...I want the book to be the cool universe that exists in my brain.
I guess lots of things have been difficult with having to train two dogs. Inconsistency seems to be the constant
with those two! Where one succeeds the other is oblivious. They aren't bad dogs...I think humans and dogs are
both confused most of the time. They, being partial herding/cattle breeds, have TONS of energy! But they sure
are cute.
Other than editing my book(s), I've been working hard hand making things for Karli and I's etsy shop! We've been doing okay but I need to find more ways to get our stuff seen.
| Etsy Buy Handmade ShopGhoulieGirls |
Well, it's off to editing land! I'll probably end up just making something out of fake fur...let's be honest.
xoxo
Linda
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Shop Ghoulie Girls!
Karli and I have finally filled our little etsy shop with stuff! We have been working hard in our dungeon of fun and are very happy with the stuff we've made! Buy stuff. New things will constantly be added so keep checking back. I put some samples of things here in my post! Have fun!
A picture from our little photo shoot, that I didn't use. Lexi was getting in on the action!
Shop Ghoulie Girls!
Karli makes the cutest things!
xoxo
Linda
A picture from our little photo shoot, that I didn't use. Lexi was getting in on the action!
Shop Ghoulie Girls!
Karli makes the cutest things!
xoxo
Linda
Monday, June 15, 2009
When words start to lose their meaning...
I have officially been on summer vacation for a total of 98 hours. Since then, I've been spending my time planning my future or alternate dimension life, writing, eating various snacks, playing with my pupster, playing Dungeons & Dragons, making things out of snuggly materials, reading, surfing the web and editing, editing oh and did I mention EDITING?
So, I decided that I'd give my book (The Dreamer) another read...it just has to get more awesome right? I hate it. Not really but reading the same words, over and over again is tiresome. I even thought that having a computerized British woman named Lucy reading it to me might make it easier...which it has to a certain extent. I love this trilogy. I think it's great and I want it to become a perfect diamond of a book. I keep polishing and polishing it but I can't understand English anymore. I've also become obsessively analytical about every SINGLE word and sentence. I guess this is completely natural for an author to go through when writing their first book.
On another note, Following Archer is coming along swell! I just need to iron out a few plot lines and twists. I think I may try to finish it this summer as well!
Karli and I have started a little etsy shop. I will provide the address for it later because there's the whole issue of making products to actually put into it. ;) I guarantee that it will be filled with fuzzy, furry, shiny, sparkly creatures and things that will make you say, "Ooooooh, I want it!" More on that later!
Random note: Here's the thing that made me feel creepy. The making of a "Reborn" doll. Interest peaked? Look it up online.
xoxo
Linda
So, I decided that I'd give my book (The Dreamer) another read...it just has to get more awesome right? I hate it. Not really but reading the same words, over and over again is tiresome. I even thought that having a computerized British woman named Lucy reading it to me might make it easier...which it has to a certain extent. I love this trilogy. I think it's great and I want it to become a perfect diamond of a book. I keep polishing and polishing it but I can't understand English anymore. I've also become obsessively analytical about every SINGLE word and sentence. I guess this is completely natural for an author to go through when writing their first book.
On another note, Following Archer is coming along swell! I just need to iron out a few plot lines and twists. I think I may try to finish it this summer as well!
Karli and I have started a little etsy shop. I will provide the address for it later because there's the whole issue of making products to actually put into it. ;) I guarantee that it will be filled with fuzzy, furry, shiny, sparkly creatures and things that will make you say, "Ooooooh, I want it!" More on that later!
Random note: Here's the thing that made me feel creepy. The making of a "Reborn" doll. Interest peaked? Look it up online.
xoxo
Linda
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Being simple is difficult...
I received my first rejection letter! Weeee! I didn't feel held back by it too much. My initial reaction (which lasted about 10 seconds) was, "What's the point in trying to write?" but that feeling slowly faded and the rejection turned into a catalyst to make me want to move forward! The agent was extremely nice and complimented my work by expressing that I was a strong writer with an original concept but that she felt she wasn't best fit for the project.
I think that finding the perfect agent is one of the hardest things I've had to do (and am still doing!). I want to find someone who whole-heartedly believes in me and my work. It's just like any relationship. I've completed editing my manuscript which is around 340 pages and almost 90,000 words and I'm fighting this very minute to go back and start editing again.
I've also found a few new agents I will be querying. One that I'm VERY excited about. I've read interviews with him and found his words inspiring and intriguing. He's also into science-fiction and fantasy...which I think is highly important since that is what I primarily focus on. I'm trying not to get too attached to any one agent so that I don't feel too let down if/when I get rejected.
Speaking of rejections again, I started a rejection wall and even a binder! Leave it to me to make my rejections into some sort of organized project!
In my new query I've eliminated a separate synopsis and just integrated it into the letter itself and let me tell you...smooshing a 90,000 word novel into two sentences was the most difficult thing ever! But I did it! Here it is!
Fifteen year old Lexi Bennett thinks that traveling with your parents through space attempting to find a place to call home can be boring, that is until she’s left alone to fend for herself on a strange alien moon. Befriending tunnel “rats”, running from space ravagers and mind squad agents are only the beginning of her troubles, little does she know that it’s her strange dreams and mysterious gift that have the power to save the universe from its terrible fate.
I've also opened up the second book in my trilogy which is maybe a third of the way complete and my brain turned to mush. I was editing for about ten hours yesterday so I have to give myself a break I guess. I just keep having little revelations bursting in my brain and can't stop taking notes, which are plastered around my walls.
I read through my other stand alone novel, Following Archer and remembered how much I loved it! So, once I can pull my head out of deep space, I look forward to working on that piece again! How does Stephen King do this? There's no possible way! I think he has a bunch of ghost writers he keeps locked in his basement and they write for him.
Here's what I have on my writing to-do list:
1. Stop analyzing query letter and send out.
2. Stop editing The Dreamer and send out.
3. Read through The Black Stone and make edits.
4. Finish The Black Stone
5. Finish Following Archer (This and #4 in no particular order)
6. Work on I Was A Giant
7. Outline several other ideas
Other than writing...kind of...songs are being written for the Season 2 opener of Commander Quacks, Protector of the Future. Our 10 fans can't wait!! We are still mildly researching places that would be interested in airing a sci-fi puppet tv show. I mean who wouldn't??? That is a whole other story.
Here's a random high school photo that a friend put up on facebook...
It's funny I was just making fun of a guy on a TV show wearing that very poncho I'm wearing in this picture! Ironic.
More later.
xoxoxo
Linda
I think that finding the perfect agent is one of the hardest things I've had to do (and am still doing!). I want to find someone who whole-heartedly believes in me and my work. It's just like any relationship. I've completed editing my manuscript which is around 340 pages and almost 90,000 words and I'm fighting this very minute to go back and start editing again.
I've also found a few new agents I will be querying. One that I'm VERY excited about. I've read interviews with him and found his words inspiring and intriguing. He's also into science-fiction and fantasy...which I think is highly important since that is what I primarily focus on. I'm trying not to get too attached to any one agent so that I don't feel too let down if/when I get rejected.
Speaking of rejections again, I started a rejection wall and even a binder! Leave it to me to make my rejections into some sort of organized project!
In my new query I've eliminated a separate synopsis and just integrated it into the letter itself and let me tell you...smooshing a 90,000 word novel into two sentences was the most difficult thing ever! But I did it! Here it is!
Fifteen year old Lexi Bennett thinks that traveling with your parents through space attempting to find a place to call home can be boring, that is until she’s left alone to fend for herself on a strange alien moon. Befriending tunnel “rats”, running from space ravagers and mind squad agents are only the beginning of her troubles, little does she know that it’s her strange dreams and mysterious gift that have the power to save the universe from its terrible fate.
I've also opened up the second book in my trilogy which is maybe a third of the way complete and my brain turned to mush. I was editing for about ten hours yesterday so I have to give myself a break I guess. I just keep having little revelations bursting in my brain and can't stop taking notes, which are plastered around my walls.
I read through my other stand alone novel, Following Archer and remembered how much I loved it! So, once I can pull my head out of deep space, I look forward to working on that piece again! How does Stephen King do this? There's no possible way! I think he has a bunch of ghost writers he keeps locked in his basement and they write for him.
Here's what I have on my writing to-do list:
1. Stop analyzing query letter and send out.
2. Stop editing The Dreamer and send out.
3. Read through The Black Stone and make edits.
4. Finish The Black Stone
5. Finish Following Archer (This and #4 in no particular order)
6. Work on I Was A Giant
7. Outline several other ideas
Other than writing...kind of...songs are being written for the Season 2 opener of Commander Quacks, Protector of the Future. Our 10 fans can't wait!! We are still mildly researching places that would be interested in airing a sci-fi puppet tv show. I mean who wouldn't??? That is a whole other story.
Here's a random high school photo that a friend put up on facebook...
It's funny I was just making fun of a guy on a TV show wearing that very poncho I'm wearing in this picture! Ironic.More later.
xoxoxo
Linda
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