While out walking, I saw something hanging from a tree. It took me a moment to figure out what it was. It was a small rocket and parachute that my husband and grandson launched back in June. A picture from along the trail.
Working on artwork for a book cover for Down the Rabbit Hole, the sequel I’m writing to A Peculiar School.
The last day of the year, and I’m in the process of making a new website. Still more work to do, but it’s a start.
For over three months, almost four, we have also been updating our home, the kitchen/dining area to be exact. I have to give my husband the credit. He does ninety-nine percent of the work. It’s all a do-it-yourself job. It started on the day after his birthday, September 13. It didn’t start as a kitchen project, but one thing leads to another. I asked if a particular wall was load-bearing. I was hoping to get more light and a new workspace to write. It’s where I’m writing now–the new kitchen island we installed which is pictured.
Of course, the project grew. They always do. We knocked out two walls. My hope was to get it finished by Thanksgiving, then Christmas, then New Year’s. Now, I’m hoping for Valentine’s Day.
We have tried to recycle as much as possible. My husband has hand-built cabinets, moved around appliances, and we’ve dismantled an old barn to use the boards, some of which were ten inches wide.
So, more writing and better-prepared, healthier meals for 2021!
And wishing everyone a much better year! One of creativity, peace, and good health!
I love polar bears, and Ted E. Bear is my favorite character from A Peculiar School. A Peculiar Store is an anthropomorphic tale about all animals getting along. It’s set in a nature reserve.
It’s been so long since I’ve posted. Lately, I’ve restarted my practice of drawing. Something to do during the isolation period. I’ve been doing digital art, basically for the ease of it and for fear of ruining perfectly good paper. It’s a learning process. I’ve been using the Procreate app.
I’ve been attempting characters from my book, A Peculiar School. It’s about all animals getting along with each other. My main character is a peahen. For now, I’ve practiced a peacock. I will keep refining until I get to a peahen, what I think is a good look for Ethel.
Do we create our own reality?
Jessica moves to an island to make a new start after her divorce. A whole new idyllic world opens up for her, but all is not as it seems. A Novel Tea Book Club Selection, Wishing Shelf Book Awards Finalist, William Faulkner-William Wisdom Writing Contest Finalist, 5 Star Readers’ Favorite
The Kindle Version is on sale for a limited time for only 0.99!
A story about a ghost, reincarnation, and love through the centuries.
Sally, inspired by the life of Sally Ann Barnes, 1858-1969, born into slavery in Carter County, KY was listed one of nine moving works of literary fiction. It was chosen along with Mudbound, one of my favorite books of all time. This book was also made into a movie.
The following week Sally was chosen as a finalist in the 2018 Wishing Shelf Book Awards.
I’ve never been much of a collector, but serendipitously I have been coming across animals, the ones I’m writing about. From left to right, Owen Orangutan, Ted E. Polar Bear, Filbert Fox, Hiram Hyena, Densworth Lion, and Ola Owl. This is not a children’s book, although a thirteen year old has read it and understood it. It is very much a hero’s journey type of book.
#Slavery is not a choice.
Working on a new book. Working on a cover.
Friday morning I was informed Jessica Lost Her Wobble was a 2017 finalist in the Wishing Shelf Book Awards. The adult books were judged by 2 Reading Groups, 1 in London and 1 in Stockholm. The books were marked according to editing, theme, style and cover. Actual winners will be announced in April.
Available on Amazon as well as most bookseller sites: Amazon link: https://www.amazon.com/Jessica-Lost-Her-Wobble-Schlenker-ebook/dp/B0198UX0BI/
A Novel Tea Book Club Selection, 2017 Wishing Shelf Book Awards Finalist, 2014 William Faulkner-William Wisdom Writing Contest Finalist, and recipient of a 5 Star Readers’ Favorite Award.
At mid-life, Jessica, after many upsets, moves to an island for contemplation of her life and to make a new start. While there she reflects back on her beginnings in the early 20th century in England, her move to New York City, and marriage at a young age, while making friends with a girl half her age. This friendship opens up a new world for her and helps her explore her own soul. Jessie becomes a part of the island otherwise known as a local as she reinvents her life there and finds love. But all is not as it seems.
“Jessica Lost Her Wobble” is J. Schlenker’s first novel.
BOOK REVIEWS, FICTION WRITING, KENTUCKIANA AUTHORS, NEW WORDS LEARNED, SUSPENSE/THRILLERS, WORDS
Jessica Lost Her Wobble – a Review
by Lisa • July 20, 2017 • 1 Comment
Jessica moves from New York to a small island to start her life anew. But all is not as it seems. The cover for Jessica Lost Her Wobble shows a rather peaceful scene. Does it fit the book? Yes, it does, but In no way does it hint at what is going on beneath the surface.
This story takes place in the 50s and 60s. There are cars, buses, and airplanes, but cell phones and the internet haven’t arrived yet.
Jessica is trying to escape her past and the tragedies she has lived through. Stressful things happen to everyone, but her failed marriage, the death of her son, and not having a good relationship with her daughter have all added up to being too much to handle. She must escape them, escape everything that reminds her of them. No one would miss her, and she really must get away.
I thought the book was very well-written, but it didn’t hold my attention that well until Amy enters the story and makes friends with Jessica. The book then became hard to put down. Amy is much younger, and Jessica’s friendship with Amy makes her take an even harder look at herself and her relationship with her own daughter.
Once Jessica is living on the island, she and her daughter do reconcile. Her daughter buys her a journal, and she decides to write about her life. Romance, memories, and hope for the future fill her life and her journal. Maybe writing about her life will help her to realize who she is.
Jessica Lost Her Wobble does a great job of keeping the twist a secret until the very end. At first, I was mad and tempted to throw my Kindle, but I really didn’t want to risk breaking it. This book turned out to be more of a great psychological story. I didn’t think the twisty ending made any sense when I first read it, but I had forgotten something. “The Prologue” had completely slipped my mind because I had become so involved with what was going on with Jessica and the other characters. That alone should give you a hint as to how real the author developed these characters.
I bought my copy of Jessica Lost Her Wobble from Amazon. If you are a fan of literary fiction, women’s fiction, or stories with a psychological twist, you will love this book. Even if you aren’t fans of those genres, this book should appeal to you. My favorite genres are horror and mystery; a psychological twist is a bonus.
This book about how Jessica lost her wobble is captivating. If you would like your own copy, I’ve provided an Amazon link below.
Amazon Link: Jessica Lost Her Wobble
Recommended Article: The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries – a Review
People excused authors for aloofness or detachment from life.
How could she find herself when so many pieces were scattered and just plain missing?
For Aunt Agatha to hold in a thought or opinion would be like every strand of Jessie’s hair to suddenly fall into place.
Their marriage could be defined as a slow, destructive process, suicide in installments.
She wrote about her past, but then, her pen was guided like a planchette across a Ouija board to the present.
auspicious – promising success; propitious; opportune; favorable
ubiquitous – existing everywhere or seeming to be found or seen everywhere; constantly or very commonly observed or encountered
About the Author:
J. Schlenker, a late blooming author, lives with her husband out in the splendid center of nowhere in the Kentucky foothills of Appalachia where the only thing to disturb her writing is croaking frogs and the occasional sounds of hay being cut in the fields. Her first novel, Jessica Lost Her Wobble, published in December 2015, was selected as a finalist in the William Faulkner – William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition and was awarded five stars from Readers’ Favorite. One of her short stories, “The Missing Butler,” received honorable mention in the first round of the NYC Competition.
Source: Indie Publishing New – July 2017
Vicki Goodwin, aka Sojourner McConnell, author of The Path of the Child and Who’s That in the Cat Pajamas? (The Dolcey Series 1) is interviewed. She mentions me as one of her favorite authors. I consider this an honor considering the vast plethora of books she reads.
One of my favorites. I tried a vegetarian reuben at Remedy Diner in Raleigh, NC, and I loved it. So, I came up with my own version, which melts in your mouth.
The pictures should explain the ingredients. I cut strips of tempeh (usually four or five fit on a piece of rye bread) and saute them in barbecue sauce. I heap a generous amount of butter onto the skillet and place a slice of rye over it. On top of that I place the sautéed tempeh, followed by Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, Thousand Island dressing and top piece of rye. Cook over medium or low heat, careful not to burn the bread, and flip to brown other side.
We ate at Corto Lima for our anniversary. Glad we did. Their food was delicious and different from our usual. It’s Latin inspired. And, they certainly don’t skimp on the alcohol in the margaritas. We’ve now eaten there twice. We tried sitting outside for our second visit. The sidewalks of downtown Lexington restaurants are now lined with tables and chairs, somewhat reminiscent of Paris. During Memorial Day Weekend, I tried my own versions of two of the dishes from Corto Lima – Quinoa Chaufa and Mango Con Chili. (Pictured below)
And, inspired by the Kentucky Native Cafe is Roasted Eggplant with Garlic Sauce. The Kentucky Native Cafe is part of a Greenhouse. Tables are beneath trees and lush foliage to the back of the greenhouse area. Also delicious, and even after we ate we lingered at our table. It felt like meditation. Eating in the woods is the way to go.
My own plate of Cous Cous and Roasted Eggplant with Garlic Sauce. Now, too make a CousCous dish.
Yea! My new book cover is up on Kindle.
Still awaiting the one for the paperback to be changed.
These life mysteries are awesome! Each of these stories is a slice of life with the little mysteries that we encounter. The absurd, the comical, and the mysterious aspects of life are presented. Some of these stories are sad enough to bring you to tears. Others are serious enough to cause one to ponder the serious aspects of life. And some will make you laugh.
“The Missing Butler” – The very first sentence of this story—”It was that butler fellow that did it.”—also happened to be the last words of the woman making the accusation. She died right after she said them. But there is a problem. If this woman did have a butler, no one knew about it or knew who he was. An enjoyable, well-written mystery story that really could happen. Inspector Nigel Brown has his work cut out for him.
“The Mermaids” – This slightly humorous tale about growing older, exercise, relationships, and the power of imagination has some very realistic characters.
“Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” – This story is about a very unusual family vacation.
“Nine Lives” – An old cat tells a kitten about each of his eight previous lives. Since I have eight cats right now and have owned many more in the past, this story really interested me.
“The Wickham” – This is a cute sci-fi story. Alien students go to the planet of Hollywood in order to learn about its literature. So this one would be a slice of life for aliens.
“Auld Lang Syne” – What happens when an older married woman runs into a former sweetheart while grocery shopping?
“The Plans” – A man steals a giraffe from the zoo because the giraffe asked him to help it escape. Need I say more? This is an awesome story.
“Jury Duty” – It is said that there are two sure things in life: death and taxes. I think that a third sure thing should be added to the list: jury duty.
“Murder Under the Oaks: The Cojoined Twin Caper” – Let’s just say that the oak trees have a mind of their own.
“Conversations in a Coffee Shop” – Two people on a date talk about spaghetti, streakers, and how times have changed while in a coffee shop.
“Master of the Stacks” – How much of a part in your life do books play? If they are a huge part of your life, you will really enjoy this story.
“Man’s Best Friend” – One of man’s best friends is taken to an amusement park, and after a harrowing day, makes a new best friend.
“When in Paris” – A couple in Paris on vacation learn to adjust to the Parisian culture.
“The Lost Moment” – How does one get out of a boring, predictable relationship?
“The Red Geraniums” – This is the most emotional of the stories. It focuses on a young girl who is afraid of men because of what her father had done to her, and it focuses on how she overcomes this fear. The name will make perfect sense once you read the story.
Which story was my favorite? Honestly, I have three favorites. I loved the mystery in “The Missing Butler.” My next favorite was “Nine Lives” because of all the cats I own. “The Red Geraniums” made me sad and angry, but then it made me so happy I almost cried.
I purchased my copy of this book from Amazon. If you would like to purchase your own copy, I have provided an Amazon link below.
Amazon Link: The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries
The fairytale land of green is rough and haggard, a gnarled forest of evil beings lurking in a microsomal realm reaching to grab me with each pass.
Needless to say, Miffen was both miffed and sad.
Like obedient dogs, we kept our gaze upon this authority figure as we slid with the grace of ballet dancers in perfect choreography without the aid of Prokofiev music back onto our own hard benches.
Did the lawyer expect me to believe he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time on seven different instances?
About the Author:
J. Schlenker, a late-blooming author, lives with her husband out in the splendid center of nowhere in the Kentucky foothills of Appalachia where the only thing to disturb her writing is croaking frogs and the occasional sounds of hay being cut in the fields. Her first novel, Jessica Lost Her Wobble, published in December 2015, was selected as a finalist in the William Faulkner – William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition and was awarded five stars from Readers’ Favorite. One of her short stories, “The Missing Butler,” received honorable mention in the first round of the NYC Competition.
For the last couple of days I’ve renewed my interest in our trails. The Japanese call it forest bathing or Shinrin Yoku. It’s healing to be out in nature, to walk along forest trails, to observe and become one with the earth.
I do believe what they say, “Location, location, location is true.” My location is nature. It’s what truly inspires me and activates all of my senses.
On my walk I was greeted by this turtle. He or she peeked out for a picture. I always think of longevity when I see a turtle. A good sign for my first day back on the trail. The turtle also symbolizes determination and is slow and steady–all good things to consider if I’m to make a habit of daily walks and overcome my laziness.
I’m glad and excited that my book, The Color of Cold and Ice, is featured on Becca’s International Book Blog, today! Becca is a holistic health and nutritional counselor, yoga and meditation instructor and author of The Chakra Diaries and Chakra Secrets, inspirational memoirs, and the self-help books, Balance Your Chakras, Balance Your Life and The Chakra Energy Diet.
The Color of Cold and Iceis exceptionally creative, weaving the many facets of colors and their chakra associations into the story. Author J. Schlenker beautifully writes of intriguing characters who cross paths throughout the novel, and in the end, become important bridges to balance, passion, health and love for each other.
The novel opens with Sybil, a wife, sister, the owner of a New York City coffee shop, having another of her prophetic dreams. A dream she could not analyze easily, but at least not one like the nightmares that she had seen come true… like the one in which her sister Em’s husband was hit by an object hurtling down from a crane while he and his young son were walking down the street. But this latest dream was pleasant… strange, but pleasant. Nothing foreboding, but indecipherable. She’s standing next to a canal on a bright summer day with her…
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Yesterday I got my draft of Sally off to my beta readers. When I got to the end and read the last couple of sentences a chill went up my spine and I had an emotional release. I think that’s a good sign.
Sally was born into slavery in 1858. She died at 110 on March 31, 1969. I met her once when she was 103. She is 101 in the picture.
I’m not a book reviewer. I do admire those who write them in that they have no trouble in dissecting and squeezing the essence of the book into more than a short blurb. I basically open up with words in two instances–when I’m writing my own stories or novels or when I’m talking with my husband. Some of those discussions we have often involve books as we both in a lot of instances are drawn to the same books.
But, today, I will comment on two books or three books. I finished two today and am listening to a third on audio.
I recently got to hear Crystal Wilkinson read from The Birds of Opulence. Her book won The Ernest J. Gaines Award for Literary Excellence. And, it is rightly deserved.
My review on Amazon was as follows: I was fortunate enough to hear a reading from the book by the author. I was captivated by the rich language and Appalachian culture. The writing was inspirational and a learning experience. The stories of the women from two families were raw and truthful, delivered by the author’s excellent prose.
I love the cover.
The Amazon link is as follows: https://www.amazon.com/Birds-Opulence-Kentucky-Voices-ebook/dp/B015JUDXN6/
I love that I have a signed hardcover edition.
When I say it was a learning experience, it gave me insight into the Afro-American culture. I have been immersing myself into this culture quite a bit lately doing my own research into the writing of Sally, what will hopefully be my next novel. I recently read Mudbound, another excellent book. It was recommended to me on my visit to the National Underground Railway Freedom Center in Cincinnati.
Also, today, I finished the audio version of The Life We Bury by Allen Eskens. This book was totally different than the above two in that it was a murder mystery. This would not have been a book I picked up. It was this month’s reading club selection, and I’m going to rate it as one of the best ones. Even though we purchased the paperback edition from the library where our book club meets I managed to check out the audio version on Overdrive. I have to admit the voice either makes or breaks it for me as to whether I will listen to the audio version, and this male voice made it for me.
A couple of months ago my husband and I attended a lecture by Helen Macdonald, author of H is for Hawk. I’m happy to have an autographed version of her book. Yet, I have also checked her book out on Overdrive, the audio version. Her lecture was so good that I hoped the audio version would be read by the author, and it is.
Since the latest NaNoWriMo I’ve been working on “Sally,” a fictional account of a woman I met when I was eight. She was 103 at the time. She died in March 1969 at age 110. Her story begins, or how I’m relating it, begins with a woman named Elizabeth Dickenson who lived on a Southern Plantation in Virginia. Elizabeth Dickenson married an Erwin and they came to Kentucky and settled just a few miles from where I live.
I did a lot of research on the Erwins prior to beginning this saga. And, some on the Dickensons who originally came from England.
Last night my husband is reading what I’ve written so far and he asks me if I know what his brother’s middle name is? I did, but had forgotten since we never use it. But, here’s where the synchronicity comes in. It’s Dickenson. His middle name comes from the English branch of the family. Now, I’m wondering if I’m writing about my husband’s family? Neither of us put two and two together until last night.
February is the month of celebrating Mystery Thriller Week 2017 – a collaboration of over two hundred authors, mystery and thriller fans, bloggers, podcasters and book enthusiasts from around the world. Last month I had the pleasure of introducing you to Jennifer S Alderson and her intriguing article about Amsterdam, Dutch masterpieces, mysterious mist-filled canals and looted art.
This month, we shoot over to the opposite side of the globe, Appalachia in Kentucky, to an author who also illustrates her own books (Yay!) and I just love her mermaids illustration so much that it’s this month’s featured image! May I introduce my guest host: Jerri Schlenker. Welcome to Oz, Jerri!
The Mystery of Sally
The most excitement is always the project at hand. And that project is Sally. Sally is a mystery that started around age six. I first heard about Sally from my aunt when I was that age. Sally was born in 1858 into slavery. She lived to be 110. I was fascinated to hear my aunt talk of her. I was amazed that my family even knew someone who had been a slave, or even a black person for that matter, because I grew up in the country, attending a small school where there were only whites. As far as I know my small town to this day consists only of whites. Maybe one reason I was so enthralled with the idea of Sally was that I would be writing about her one day.
Nearing retirement, I was at a loss when it came to how I should spend my time. My husband, the kind man that he is, said do whatever you want to do. I had no idea. But one day, we were cleaning out a bookshelf and he came upon an old notebook, poems I had written in high school. He said, “Why don’t you write?” My immediate thought was but what do I have to write about? When we ask the universe a question, the universe answers. That answer was Sally.
For some reason Sally was one of the pivotal moments of my life. After pumping my aunt and other family members with questions about her I was elated when at age eight my father and uncle decided to pay her a visit. I sat in the back seat while we drove for over an hour before the benefit of an interstate to the house where Sally resided with two bachelors. She had taken care of them as babies and ended up living with them in her later years. I’ll never forget the moment when I walked through the back kitchen door. At 103 years of age she was stooped over, mopping the floor. She lifted her head to say hello. I think our souls touched on some level at that moment. I swear I saw a halo. It wouldn’t be until decades later that I would learn some of the gruesome details of how she earned that halo.
Now, if only I had kept pursuing Sally’s life, but my own life happened. You know, those teenage years. And then marrying and having a daughter. I do remember hearing my father say later she was in a nursing home. I remember even where we were when he told me. It was sort of like remembering where you were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. I remember both. She died in 1969. I only saw her that one time, but she must have remained in the back of my mind ready to spring forward when the time was right. Sadly, time had erased many of the people who had really known her by the time I was inspired to write about her.
My husband was more than encouraging in my pursuit of Sally. At first I thought it would be easy. I found that not to be the case. I started with ancestry records – nothing. Trying to find out about an African American born into slavery is almost impossible. There was nothing online. There was a lot of travel involved. There was also hiking.
My husband did the driving. When I think back on it, it was like Driving Miss Daisy. We found Sally’s obituary. I was elated. The elation didn’t last that long. It was wrong. There were two Sallys. I made blind phone calls and traveled to talk to people. People opened up more in person than over the phone. It was always: “I don’t remember much. I don’t know what I could tell you”. But after much perseverance the conversation turned to: “Well, there was this one thing, but I don’t think you would want to write this…” Visiting old people was a reward in itself. This happened about ten years ago and lasted off and on for three. Now, I’m on the verge of old myself.
Everything conflicted in some way. There had to be two of Sally. At the same time the people I interviewed said, no. Information came in trickles. I grasped for any tidbit. It was hard making people understand that even something mundane would help me to understand her life. Most of the information was mundane, but on some days something big would come my way, in some cases, some game changers.
One such day was finding Rebecca who was a year younger than me. Her family knew Sally and went to family reunions, the ones Sally attended. The thing was, Rebecca, had hyperthymesia – she possessed the ability to remember most details of anything she had ever seen or heard. Before talking to Rebecca I had almost given up on the idea of there being two Sallys.
But Rebecca said: “It depends on which Sally you’re talking about.” I felt like Columbo at that moment. There was Sally the mother and Sally the daughter.
Rebecca had a picture of Sally seated at a family reunion. She was 101 at the time the picture was taken.
At the time I was researching Sally I wrote pieces on my blog about her and a few newspaper articles. I kept writing, but filed my notes away. I did three NaNoWriMo’s. It was time for a fourth. The universe one again said, Sally.
Sally will be a work of fiction because I can never know the exact truth of her life.
Schlenker, a late blooming author, lives with her husband, Chris, out in the splendid center of nowhere in the foothills of Appalachia in Kentucky where the only thing to disturb her writing is croaking frogs and the occasional sounds of hay being cut in the fields. Before embarking on writing, Schlenker wove in her weaving studio in the same quiet foothills.
Her first novel, Jessica Lost Her Wobble, published in December 2015, was selected as a finalist in the William Faulkner – William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition and won a Five Star Readers’ Choice Award. It has also been a book club selection and has a Reader’s Discussion section at the end.
The Color of Cold and Ice is her second novel, and was born out of her love of art and her favorite artist, Van Gogh.
One of her short stories, The Missing Butler, received honorable mention in the first round of the NYC Competition, and is the opening story in her collection of short stories, The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries.
The collection of short stories was also an excuse to create whimsical drawings to go along with the stories. Mermaids is the artist’s/author’s favorite. This book is featured in Mystery Thriller Week, February 12 – 22, 2017.
All three books can be found on Amazon, Barnes and Noble (Nook), iBooks, Kobo and most outlets in electronic and paperback versions.
You can grab your copy of Jerri’s books here: J Schlenker on Amazon
Anyone can join in and participate in Mystery Thriller Week, and it all hots up during the week of February 12 – 22, 2017 at www.mysterythrillerweek.com. Check out the amazing books, talented authors, personal interviews, new releases, upcoming events and lots of giveaways, prizes and free stuff too!
So thrilled to get to go to Author Helen Macdonald’s talk last night. It happened via a series of synchronicities. We had something else scheduled which got cancelled and then saw where someone had tickets he couldn’t use. Surprisingly, we were the first to request and got them. We had good seats. This was on Friday. The lecture was on Saturday. Someone on Wednesday gave me a bookstore gift card. Used that to buy the book on Friday night. I was the first in line to have it autographed.Her talk inspired me to be out in nature more, and to start using our trails once again. I found the audio version was available on Overdrive. Checked it out to listen to while out walking in the woods, where I’m sure I’ll see a hawk. My husband will be able to read the paperback.
Her talk was excellent. She took questions at the end. I’m always too shy to ask questions, feeling my question will be stupid, especially after every question, excellent question. Maybe if I had been brave enough, I would have raised my hand and asked, “This is not such an excellent question, but do you perhaps think you might have been a hawk in a past life?” This is the way I think.
Oh yes, and I got new glasses (need them for distance). My husband insisted I keep them on. They match his.
For those of you who love cats, visit: https://sneakylibrarycat.wordpress.com/ Sneaky The Library Cat’s Blog. Two of my cat characters, Oliver and Max, from Nine Lives, a short story in The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries, were interviewed by Debbie Smiloff DeLouise.
I have the honor of interviewing two cats today. One shares the namesake of my author’s cat, Oliver, and the other is named Max. Good day, lads. Welcome to my blog. Can please you share with …
This is the first story featured in my book, The Missing Butler and Other Life Stories (A Collection of Short Stories). The book, both electronic and paperback) is available through various outlets, Amazon, Nook, Smashwords, Kobo, iBooks, etc.
“IT WAS THAT butler fellow that did it. Robbed me blind of ten thousand pounds” Those were nearly the last words of Abigail Rochelle who lived at No. 1 Rochelle Lane, aptly named since Miss Abigail Rochelle was the only resident on the lane.
Miss Rochelle was a spinster, a short, plump woman. She plopped a pan of brownies down on the inspector’s newly polished desk. The look of satisfaction spread across her face as she told the inspector she loved to bake—an excellent hobby to have, since her portly appearance suggested she also loved to eat.
It was Nigel Brown’s first case as inspector, having only been promoted the day before.
Miss Rochelle arrived at his office early. She stormed in, carrying a pan of brownies, exclaiming, “It was that butler fellow that did it.”
“Pardon me, madam,” the inspector apologized. “I haven’t had time to move everything in yet.” He removed a box from the chair and pulled it up for the woman. “Please have a seat.”
Inspector Brown eased into his own chair, giving Miss Rochelle a once over. Careful observation was important in his job. He sat at his sparse desk, a blank report before him, as he glowed with anticipation in beginning his first case as inspector. He had just taken down the details of the agitated Miss Rochelle when his ballpoint pen gave up the ghost.
“Drat! Excuse me, if you please, madam. Might I get you a spot of tea while I’m up?”
“A bit of milk to go with it, if you don’t mind. Tea would go nicely with the brownies. Extra gooey I made them. I’m not one to skimp on the ingredients.” She glowed with pride. The inspector picked up a brownie and took a bite.
“You certainly don’t. This may be the best brownie I’ve ever tasted. I won’t be long,” said the inspector. Miss Rochelle fanned her face, which had turned bright red with the compliment.
“No sugar, though,” she said as he was walking away. “I’m watching my weight.” Those were the exact last words of Abigail Rochelle.
Inspector Brown sauntered over to his old desk, rummaging through the drawer and found a handful of pens. “Surely, one of these will do the trick,” he muttered to himself.
Routine habit led him towards the teapot, but he suddenly remembered his new position, and made a sharp detour towards the clerk’s desk. “Ralph, if you would be so kind as to bring two cups of tea to my desk, along with some milk.”
Upon returning, he found Miss Abigail Rochelle slumped over in the seat, half a brownie still in her mouth. Nigel Brown’s first day as Chief Inspector was not going well at all.
The one bright spot was they were close to the morgue. Poisoning was ruled out. He had eaten a brownie himself and suffered no adverse effects. That was one blessing if one could call it that. The inspector was not a religious man. Logic drove him, as did a rugged ambition towards not letting a case rest until it was marked solved, which is what got him the promotion. On the opposite side of the coin, his stubbornness in not letting a case rest for even a moment often placed him in the doghouse with Mrs. Brown.
“It was that butler fellow that did it. Robbed me blind of ten thousand pounds.” It was Miss Rochelle’s first and only proclamation pertaining to a crime as she entered his office, and it was the closest thing to a statement she uttered before fate played its hand. Other than her address, he knew she made some mighty fine brownies, if not deadly. She took milk with her tea, and she blushed at compliments. Not much to go on.
* * *
The autopsy ruled that Miss Rochelle hardly had any passable arteries left. This did not surprise the inspector after contacting and conferring with the next of kin. Miss Rochelle had lived alone for many years and had no one else but herself to eat her fabulous confections.
Nevertheless, before her untimely death at the ripe age of fifty-one, Miss Rochelle had somehow been duped out of her life savings of ten thousand pounds.
Being a man with a reputation for thoroughness, Inspector Brown could not have a blemish on his record with the first case under his charge. He owed it to the dear departed woman. Of course, how dear she might be was yet to be determined. Before this was over, Inspector Brown decided to make that and every aspect of Miss Rochelle’s life his business—whatever it took to bring justice. He pictured the doghouse, once again, in his immediate future.
The inspector’s first order of business was the questioning of Albert Rochelle, brother to Miss Abigail Rochelle. He and his family lived in London, an hour away by train. Mr. Rochelle had been out of town on business for the entire week in question and had only returned home on the morning of the death.
Miss Rochelle’s sister-in-law was much grieved to hear the news. She was already nervous and anxious, fretting over this and that. Her youngest was leaving for college she explained to the inspector. “I have been in such a tizzy, getting everything ready, you know. Well, Inspector, I should have called to check on Abigail, but I was just so busy—absorbed wholly in getting him ready. And, too, I guess I’ve been a tad depressed. Empty nest, you know.” She looked at her husband who sat rather stoic and stiff with his spine firmly positioned against the back of the chair.
The inspector offered solace for their loss and for Mrs. Rochelle’s state of mind over her son going off. “I have two boys of my own,” he said, “although they won’t be leaving for college for a while.”
“Well, you should treasure each moment with them,” she said leaning forward in her chair while turning towards her husband. “My husband is away on business quite a lot and has missed so much of their growing-up years.” Her husband squirmed in his seat and cast his eyes to the floor. “And now, his sister dying. Poor Abigail. Well, just a sad situation.” She grasped her handkerchief and crumpled it as if to wring out every drop of sweat coming from her hands. “It reminds us how short life is. Wouldn’t you say so, Inspector?” Mr. Rochelle had settled back into his chair, easing back into his same reserved manner except for lowering his eyes a tad. The inspector made a note on his pad—a possible sign of regret. Check out Mr. Rochelle’s financial solvency.
“Yes, yes, you are absolutely right.” The inspector tried not to betray his own guilty face to Mrs. Rochelle. The matter of not spending enough time with his own boys was another item that irritated Mrs. Brown. He vowed to himself, right after this case, he would do better. After all, he had people under him now. What was a new position for if he couldn’t use it to his advantage?
The inspector made careful notes, continuing to question Mr. and Mrs. Rochelle. Neither had heard anything about a butler, she explained to the inspector, having discussed the sad and strange turn of events earlier with her husband. They both concurred that this must have been some new development.
“Inspector, it was so unlike Abigail. Abigail wasn’t one to even go near strange men. She was shy around the opposite sex, never even had any gentlemen callers. I asked my husband. He had never heard of any suitors.” She turned towards her husband. “None at all. Is that right, dear?”
Mr. Rochelle mumbled, as if embarrassed for his sister, “No, dear, none that I’ve ever known of.”
“No, Inspector, she read and baked,” Mrs. Rochelle continued. “Yes, that’s what poor Abigail did. Oh, this whole incident is just so dreadful.”
“Um,” said the inspector as he continued to write.
Inspector Brown noted that Miss Rochelle’s brother was on the weighty side. Must be a family trait. Mrs. Rochelle, on the other hand, was as thin as a string bean, much like his own wife.
“Poor Abigail, such a messy person,” she said shaking her head. The inspector saw that Mrs. Rochelle’s place was spic and span. “My husband and I just couldn’t believe how neat everything was, everything in its place, not a speck of dust, so unlike Abigail. Well, inspector, we were in shock, I tell you, in shock, but then, this whole episode has been such a terrible upset. Isn’t that right, Albert?”
“Yes, dear,” he responded. The husband was definitely the silent type. It was apparent that Mrs. Rochelle was the spokesperson for them both.
The inspector scribbled away between questions. “Do you think she might have hired a butler?”
Mrs. Rochelle eyed her husband and then looked back at the inspector, divulging a troubled face. “She must have. We are at a loss, Inspector Brown, just at a loss.” Mrs. Rochelle had a habit of repeating herself.
“What about the bottle of wine and wine glasses?”
“Sir, my sister didn’t drink,” Mr. Rochelle stated resolutely, moving forward in his chair as he did so. “One drink of any form of alcohol would put her under the table. No, sir, she was a teetotaler.”
“Hm, most curious,” the inspector said as he continued to make notes, notes that weren’t connecting any dots thus far.
“Yes, Inspector, Albert and I found that most curious as well.”
* * *
Albert would have been the sole heir to his sister’s estate; however, Albert was a successful businessman and had no need of a meager ten thousand pounds. He had checked on Miss Rochelle’s brother’s finances and found him to be on an upward spiral as far as money went. He was indeed solvent. Nor would her house and possessions have been any great inheritance, not that her death was in question. Despite its new cleanliness, it was quite run down and in much need of repair. If anything its disposal would place a burden on the Rochelles.
Upon further investigation, Inspector Brown found Miss Rochelle’s bank account to be devoid of funds. She had only the day before her untimely demise closed it out.
“I do remember Miss Rochelle.” The teller placed special emphasis on the word do. “A short, round, plump woman, her head not coming too much above the counter. She came in alone,” the teller related to the inspector. “Well, how could I forget her? She offered me a cupcake. I passed, making the excuse I was watching my weight. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I could tell how proud she was of her baking. And she should be.” She leaned across the counter, closer to the inspector, and said almost in a whisper, “It wouldn’t be professional to be eating at my teller window. Let me tell you, though. They were indeed tempting. A true artist she was, such fanciful decorations.” The teller rolled her eyes, looking over at the doorway of her boss’s office. “Sticky pound notes are not something my boss would appreciate.” Her voice returned to a normal pitch. “Anyway, everything was in order. I counted out the notes and said good luck with your home repair. I think it was home repair. I’m sorry. I can’t be certain. So many customers, you know. Can’t remember every thing they tell me.”
The inspector thanked the teller for her time, placed his notes in his satchel, at the same time mulling over in his mind what he had learned up to this point. Not much, he concluded, as he walked down the street towards his office, mumbling to himself and stroking his mustache, while glaring off into the distance.
* * *
The inspector’s next course of action was to question neighbors and acquaintances. This was not an easy task as there were few of both. Miss Rochelle’s house was at the end of a cul-de-sac, hidden from view by a row of evergreens and a good half-mile away from any other houses. The neighbors rarely saw her out.
The inspector, being the man of logic he was, deduced that with all that baking, Miss Rochelle must have been in need of deliveries—eggs, milk, butter, and such. Would not the butler be taking care of this for her? Someone must have seen him.
The fingerprints he had obtained had not matched up to anyone they had on file. A description might be all that was needed to find this alleged butler.
One by one, he spoke to each delivery person. Miss Rochelle was a good customer, they all agreed. They were sorry to lose her business. She handpicked everything. She was meticulous about her baking; only the finest ingredients would do. None of them had seen a butler or a man for that matter. There had been a few smirks on the matter of a man.
The mailman told a different story. “She loved romance novels. She ordered them in bulk. The name of the publisher on the brown paper wrapping gave them away.” The mailman, wanting to be as helpful as possible, added, “She liked to enter a lot of contests.”
“Contests, hm, you don’t say? What type of contests? Did she ever win any?”
“No, she didn’t win that I know of. She sent stories and manuscripts to publishing contests.”
“And how exactly do you know that she didn’t win any prizes?”
“Thin envelopes. Rejection letters are always thin,” he said with an authoritative glance.
The inspector wasn’t sure what bearing this had on the case, but his motto was never to leave a stone unturned. One might not know where it could lead.
The inspector confirmed that Miss Rochelle had an entire walled-bookshelf filled with romantic novels. The inspector studied his list, trying to make sense of it. She was lonely. She had some money. She was off the beaten track with her only relatives an hour away by train. She was the prime target for a con artist, a romantic con artist who liked to clean. But how did he happen upon Miss Rochelle? Was he a traveling salesman? Inspector Brown ruled that out since none of the neighbors had reported one. So, how did he know Miss Rochelle? She had belonged to no clubs. She more or less kept to herself, baking and reading. There had been no other reports of middle-aged women in the area being taken in by a con man. But then, a con man, posing as a butler, would not be so stupid as to work in the same area.
Miss Rochelle received a weekly newspaper. Paperboys are out early. If anyone had seen the elusive butler, it would have been him. The lad appeared frightened. He swore that he saw nothing strange at No. 1 Rochelle Lane. The boy’s nervousness bothered the inspector, but then young chaps were often nervous around the law. He thought back to his youth, remembering his own scrapes. His parents were both shocked and pleased that he went into law enforcement. He made a note to come back later and question the boy again if need be.
Inspector Brown concluded the man in question had been there less than a week and had kept himself scarce upon seeing other people. Maybe he was truly a butler. Maybe he was as shy as Miss Rochelle. More than likely, he was practiced in the art of keeping out of sight, especially if he were playing some sort of con game. The next course of action would be to visit estates and find out if there was any word about new butlers being hired or fired.
* * *
Another week passed. Inspector Brown was becoming more perplexed. A workload of files flooded his once immaculate desk. He shoved them all aside, in favor of stamping case number 1101, that of Miss Rochelle, closed. He stared at the notes before him and rapped his knuckles almost to the point of blood against his desktop. His wedding band echoed like a drum against the wood and left a dent. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth as he looked at the opened file in front of him and the stack of files surrounding it. His boss was hounding him. More importantly, his wife was becoming disagreeable. He had broken his promise of not bringing his work home. Sweat dripped from his brow. A bouquet was in order. Yellow roses were her favorite.
Although the flowers brought a temporary smile to Mrs. Brown’s curved downward lips so prevalent over the past week, they fell short of their intended purpose. So short that he could feel them drooping towards the floor while still in his hands. The weekend was at hand. She insisted that he take her and the children on a train ride into London as he had neglected them so. For the sake of his marriage, he conceded. A break would do him good. He was getting nowhere on the case.
“Dear, I heartily agree. A train trip it is.” This brightened her mood. Upon saying the words, he felt something heavy lift from him. The thought of a weekend get-a-way brightened his outlook as well. It would be good to leave the frustration of the case and the neglected workload on his desk for a while. Yes, this would do the both of them good. “Dear, I promise. I will put this case out of my mind during our trip.”
“Nigel, I’m not that naïve,” Mrs. Brown said as she rolled her eyes.
“Yes, dear.” He could hear Mr. Rochelle in himself. Perhaps this was the way of all husbands.
On the train, Mrs. Brown chatted on about all the shops she would visit while the inspector played a game of cards with his boys. The oldest was winning. The inspector’s concentration was off. As much as he tried not to, he found he was replaying over in his mind the information he had on case number 1101. He fingered his mustache and rubbed his thinning hair in disgust.
The youngest, aged ten, tugged at his coat sleeve. “Papa, can we go to the new bakery in London?”
“Yes, yes, I suppose we can,” he said distracted. “What is the name of this new bakery?”
“Abigail’s, I think,” said his son.
“All right, if it is okay with your mum.”
A light bulb went off. The inspector jumped to his feet, knocking the cards in every which direction and bumping his head on the overhead bin.
“Nigel, what on earth is wrong?” his wife asked in both pity and disgust.
Inspector Brown registered the two words—Abigail and bakery together. “Tell me Jonathan, how do you know about a new bakery in London?”
“My friend at school told me.”
“Who is your friend?”
“Daniel. He was delivering newspapers. A man on his route told him about a dandy bakery that would open soon, and that he should visit it when he was in London.”
The puzzle pieces were starting to fall into place. “What else can you tell me?” Inspector Brown almost screamed with a wild look in his eyes, while placing his hands on his son’s shoulders.
“Nigel! Whatever are you doing?” Mrs. Brown shrieked.
“I’m sorry, son,” he said removing his hands from the lad and taking a deep breath to calm himself. “This is important.”
“He won’t get in trouble, will he?” his son implored with widened eyes.
“Get in trouble? Son, who do you mean?” Inspector Brown gripped his son’s shoulders firmly once again.
“Daniel’s older brother.”
“Why would Daniel’s older brother get in trouble?”
“Because he asked Daniel to take his paper route. He had got sick from drinking and smoking with some other boys the day before.”
This information hit the inspector like a ton of bricks. No wonder the lad was so nervous when questioned.
“No, son, he won’t get into trouble,” the inspector smiled to reassure his son and broke into a laugh, removing his hands.
“I know the street it is on,” his son said with relief and pride in pleasing his father.
“We will go there first thing.”
His wife’s eyes iced over, and her mouth protruded downward once again, aware their holiday had taken a detour. The inspector recognized that look and grew uncomfortable. “Cupcakes for everyone!” He shouted which brought cheers from the boys.
* * *
The paint was still fresh. A pale pink. An Opening Soon sign hung on the door. The children’s mouths dropped but not Inspector Brown’s. He studied the sign that hung over the window—Abigail’s Confections. Inspector Brown banged on the door. As he did so, he apologized to his wife who stood there with folded arms. “Dear, this won’t take long, really. I promise I will make it up to you.”
Within a short while, an older gentleman with a paintbrush in one hand cracked the door. “We are not yet open for business.”
The inspector whipped out his badge. Mrs. Brown rolled her eyes, jealous of this man who had usurped their family outing. Inspector Brown’s sons, disappointed that they were no longer getting cupcakes, fidgeted behind him. The man with the paintbrush gave a puzzled look and let them all in. He put down his brush, wiped off his hands with a wet rag, and extended his damp hand toward Inspector Brown. “I’m Charles Butler. How may I be of service?”
Inspector Brown gasped. How could he have been so negligent in missing this possibility? All the while he had been looking for a manservant or someone disguised as a manservant. He observed Mr. Butler whose face registered surprise but not a trace of guilt.
“Mr. Butler, are you acquainted with a Miss Abigail Rochelle?” He used the present tense when presenting the question to Mr. Butler. He didn’t want to cause any alarm right off.
“Why, yes, I am. Do you know her? I hope you will not spoil how great this place is turning out. I want her to be surprised.” Mr. Butler’s face was glowing. Inspector Brown was accustomed to men who perpetrate crimes. Mr. Butler was clearly not this type of man.
“Mr. Butler,” the inspector continued, “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of, well, some information.”
“Is Abigail all right? I left in such haste. She was quite groggy, half asleep when I told her of my plan, our plan, I should say. She seemed so thrilled with it all.” Mr. Butler’s face turned a bright crimson. “We made quite merry the night before. We consumed a whole bottle of wine. We talked of making repairs to her house. She insisted on using her savings to do it. I calculated the materials needed and their cost, and Abigail withdrew the money from the bank. But, then after a good night’s sleep, a most brilliant idea came to me. I sat at her bedside and told her before leaving.” Blushing again, Mr. Butler looked over at Mrs. Brown in apology before continuing, “Our relationship was all above board, I assure you. When I told her of what she should do with the money, she gave me her blessing. She loved the plan, Inspector. She was still groggy, mind you, but she definitely loved it.”
“Yes, this shop. I planned to call her tonight. I tried a couple of times but could never catch her at home. I was glad she took my suggestion.”
“Yes, Inspector. I encouraged Abigail to get out more. She hardly ever left the house. I have made such progress. I took leave from work and have worked day and night on this place. Have you ever tasted her baked goods, Inspector? They are incredible.”
“Yes, I have. And they are scrumptious. And, Mr. Butler, I can see you have poured your heart and soul into this place.”
“I’m sorry I’ve rambled on. I’m just so excited. I bought the ring today.”
“The ring?” The inspector’s eyebrows arched.
“Well, yes, I plan to ask for Abigail’s hand in marriage.”
The inspector looked over at his boys. He reached into his pocket and gave them each some coins. “Why don’t you go next door and buy yourselves sodas? Your mum and I will come over shortly.”
“Inspector, what is this information?” Mr. Butler asked.
The inspector waited for the door to close behind them. “Mr. Butler,” the inspector said with hesitation. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Something has happened. Mr. Butler, there is no easy way to say this. I’m afraid Miss Rochelle has died.”
Mr. Butler’s smile vanished as he moved backward and turned pale. He looked like a man who had been run over by a double-decker bus.
Mrs. Brown stepped in. “Please have a seat Mr. Butler. Let me get you a glass of water.” She walked over to the counter and poured him a glass. Mrs. Brown walked back over and placed the glass in his still damp hand, more so with sweat now.
“How did you and Miss Rochelle meet?” Inspector Brown asked in a most apologetic voice.
Mr. Butler sipped on the water and stared off into space before he was able to form words. “She entered a contest. You see, I work for a publisher here in London. She didn’t win. But I was so enthralled by the way she put forth words on paper. I have the manuscript here. Would you like to see it?”
“No. Not now. Later?”
“Yes, of course. Well, anyway, I just had to meet her. So, I took it upon myself to go see her.” Mr. Butler took the ring from his pocket, eyeing it over. “You see, Inspector, I fell in love. Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Inspector Brown looked at Mrs. Brown. “Yes, Mr. Butler, indeed I do.”
“How did she die?” Mr. Butler asked in a broken voice.
The inspector explained the whole situation to Mr. Butler, leaving out the part where Miss Rochelle had thought he might have robbed her blind. Now he saw it was a total misunderstanding.
“Mr. Butler, did you know that Miss Rochelle has a brother in London?”
“Yes, she has mentioned him and his family. She told me his wife is quite the baker as well.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Mr. Butler, I will need to call on you again. Will Monday be okay?”
“Yes. That will be fine. I will have to figure out what to do. I guess I’ll need to sell the establishment. I put most of my savings into it along with Abigail’s. There is even an apartment above the shop. I had been getting that ready as well. I thought it just right for the two of us.”
As the Browns left the shop, Mrs. Brown took hold of her husband’s hand. “An incredible love story,” she said, grasping his hand even firmer.
Nigel planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “As is ours, dear, and if this has taught me anything, one shouldn’t waste a moment. Life is too short.”
* * *
Early Monday morning, the inspector once again took the train into London where he visited Miss Rochelle’s brother and wife relaying the odd circumstances. Together, Mr. and Mrs. Rochelle and the inspector paid a visit to Mr. Butler. Upon meeting him, they found no reason to press any charges. It was such a shame that Abigail didn’t have a clue.
Mrs. Rochelle was elated with the little shop, so much so, that she and her husband agreed to buy out Mr. Butler’s part. A bakery was the perfect thing to keep her busy since both her sons were now away at school.
Inspector Brown marked case 1101 solved.
Once someone told me that could do an excellent impression of me. That took me by surprise. I don’t even think I could do an impression of me. I said, “Okay?”
He said, “Why, why, why?”
I guess he had me pegged. I do question everything. For me life is a mystery. I have so many questions, but I guess the big one is why am I here. But, then, a string of other questions arises from that one.
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On some days the fish are under ice and on others they are swimming around. The Koi are more sluggish during this weather, but the goldfish remain hungry. We’ve only recently discovered they will eat most anything. They seem to love the carbs such as bread and rice better than the fish food.
This is a reblog from one of my latest book reviews. The review is provided by Jasmine of How Useful Is It at WordPress. Many thanks for her review.
Synopsis from Goodreads:
Sybil has dreams; the prophetic kind, although interpreting them correctly is another matter. Her latest dream involves her sister Emerald, who wants to pursue her art once more and move on with her life after losing her husband. John, once felt he was making a difference as an ER doctor, but finds himself slipping away in his Manhattan practice as well as in his marriage. Allison, John’s wife wants to change her ho hum existence with John into something spectacular. Mark, Allison’s brother, a struggling musician, wants to quit rambling in life and find his purpose.
The cold changes everything.
About: The Color of Cold and Ice is a fiction novel written by J. Schlenker. This book was published on 7/20/16 by CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform. This book is the author’s second novel and her first was called Jessica Lost Her Wobble which was published…
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byJ. Schlenker(Goodreads Author)
Sometimes life is absurd. Sometimes life is serious. Sometimes life is sad. Mostly, life is a mystery. This collection of short stories, along with the author’s whimsical art work, humorously explores the absurdness, the seriousness, the sadness and the mysteries of life, or at the very least causes us to pause and think, and maybe even laugh at ourselves. The lead story, The Missing Butler, received Honorable Mention in the first round of the NYC Midnight Competition.
Availability:1 copy available
Giveaway dates:Dec 16 – Feb 16, 2017
Twelve degrees this morning (feels like zero according to the weather app – who decides that). But, still for the challenge of it, or to prove our manhood or womanhood, or for the sheer stupidity of it, we dipped in the pool…that is after breaking up the ice on top, slowly, as it feels like sharp glass.
Getting a pool wasn’t even on our radar, but we thought it would be easier than ice baths. You may ask what instigated this madness? Back in October of 2015 my husband and I began taking the Wim Hoff online course, also known as Innerfire. After over a year we still consider it to be one of the best things we’ve ever done together. It consists of breathing exercises, yoga exercises and immersing yourself in the cold. The cold is still not my bosom buddy, but at least we are somewhat on friendlier terms.
And later for lunch, a warm meal — vegetarian rueben and baked fries with hot tea.
Also, the experience has given me writing ideas. “The Color of Cold and Ice” was inspired by this cold adventure. The short story, “The Mermaids” from “The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries” was inspired by the pool. As they say, write what you know.
Book Review of my first book: Jessica Lost Her Wobble
Fiction, Adult, Contemporary
“J. Schlenker’s debut novel, “Jessica Lost Her Wobble,” a finalist in the 2014 William Faulkner – William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition.
“Jessica Lost Her Wobble” is psychological in nature. At mid-life, Jessie, the main character, after many upsets, moves to an island for contemplation of her life and to make a new start. While there she reflects back on her beginnings in the early 20th century in England, her move to New York City and marriage at a young age while making friends with a girl half her age. This friendship opens up a new world for her and helps her explore her own soul. Jessie becomes a part of the island, otherwise known as a local as she re-invents her life there and finds love. But all is not as it seems.”
Jessica/Jessie: She goes through a…
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- Publication Date: November 16, 2016
- Sold by: Amazon Digital Services LLC
- Language: English
- ASIN: B01N41RJP7
My Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
When I first started this book of short stories I was immediately interested in how J. Schlenker draws such amazing pictures with her words, then I was taken by the actual drawing that accompanied the stories. Each story was rich in detail and there were some delightful images to go along. Frogs, mermaids, beets, all vivid and colorful and unique in their beauty.
The stories were thick with life, The Missing Butler was a story that showed me how much we can misconstrue if we are not careful and thoughtful in our mental processes. It was a great mystery with lively characters and a bittersweet feeling throughout.
One of my personal favorites concerned Oscar and his retelling of his past. He kept me on the edge of my seat just as he did his little listener. Again the pictures were perfect for the story and just as engaging and the tale.
One after the other the tales made me grin, laugh, smile and feel sadness, and compassion. It made me relive moments with my children when they thought I was being odd and unreasonable. There is something for everyone in this book. Some of the comments that the characters want to say are funnier than anything they actually do say. And she has some very funny characters in here. Another personal favorite is the couple in the Conjoined Twins Caper. I can see them in all stages of life and I resembled a few of their moments. My favorite illustration was Master of the Stacks. Loved the image as much as the story.
The stories cover so many different moods andmany characters in various points of their life. It was fresh and it was delightful. The anthology of short stories is beautifully written with words that stirred emotion, there’s nothing better that can be said about a book than that.
Pick up this book and read it slowly, running the words through your brain. Take your time capturing the nectar of each one. There are truly some tasty treats in this colorful book.
Where to Find, The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries:
This colorful book is available as Kindle and Nook, by clicking the links below.
I was challenged by my friend, Willena Jeane Belden, to post a painting a day for seven days. This is digital art. I just published “The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries” (A Collection of Short Stories). These are illustrations from that book.
Day 7: Skipping ahead to the last story in the book – The Red Geraniums – A young girl runs away from her incestuous father. She finds refuge in an orphanage run by nuns. She only wants to stay and become a nun, and never have to deal with her fear of men again, but the head nun insists she must leave at age sixteen and take a husband.
Yesterday, I goofed, and entitled my post Day Seven, when it was only Day Six. But, this is the last day of the challenge.
I was challenged by my friend, Willena Jeane Belden, to post a painting a day for seven days. This is digital art. I just published “The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries” (A Collection of Short Stories). These are illustrations from that book.
Day 6 – Auld Lang Syne – (sixth story in the book) A middle-aged woman meets her ex-lover in the local grocery store.
(Note: This is an okay drawing. Capturing melons was hard for me, considering I love melons and not beets so much and the beets came off excellent. At least I think the beets is one of my best works. One day I will try again on the melons.)
Funny true story, which I wrote into the story – I stopped by a roadside stand about 15 years ago and was looking at the cantaloups. I asked, “Are these organic?”
His response was, “No, dear, these are cantaloups.”
I was challenged by my friend, Willena Jeane Belden, to post a painting a day for seven days. This is digital art. I just published “The Missing Butler and Other Life Mysteries” (A Collection of Short Stories). These are illustrations from that book.
Day 5 – the fifth story – The Wickham Just your average field trip for a trio of teenagers from the planet Roma. They visit earth in the 1960’s (earth time) to retrieve the planet’s most authoritative piece of literature. They find it in the unlikeliest of places, the set of Star Trek. Star Trek meet Pride and Prejudice.