Authors! Here are some things you should never do

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Writing can be glorious. However, the business aspect of being an author, not so much. Here are some things to think about.

I’ve been writing books for over 30 years. Today, I have six traditionally published novels, which means a publisher paid the bills for editing, proofreading, internal design, cover art, and, on occasion, advertising

However, authors must participate in marketing and promotional campaigns, including creating websites, attending book signings, eliciting reviews, writing blogs, appearing on podcasts, and coordinating media appearances, on top of having a robust social-media footprint. The manuscript writing required of an author pales in comparison to the public relations aspect of the job.

That said, I’d like to address some traps some of my peers stumble into. First, let’s look at those moments when authors scream “Best Seller!”, in an effort to get their book to pop on posts or when courting reviewers.

It used to be that a best seller was a book that racked up a lot of sales during a specific time frame and appeared on one or more of several well-known lists published by the New York Times, U.S.A. Today, or Publishers Weekly, for example. Of course, today there are many more outlets that issue such lists, like Amazon which defines a best seller as a book that appears in the top 100 in a specific genre category. If one’s book is so honored, the author can certainly lay claim to that accomplishment. However, all too often, the source of the “best seller” accolade remains a mystery. Is it a New York Times best seller? Is it a bestseller in your home town of 600 people? Is it a best seller because it sold more copies than any other book you wrote? Or is it a best seller because the author felt the need to gin up attention?

I mention this because I am a big believer in truth in advertising. If you can’t say exactly where your book was a best seller and why, it’s simply disingenuous to use the phrase in marketing.

Then there are reviews. I’ve seen posts that boast glorious verbiage: “Fantastic!” “I loved it!” 5 Stars! “A real page turner!” Then the source is revealed as “Amazon Reviewer.” I’m not saying the reviews aren’t real, but without a name, website, or media outlet, the reviewer could be the author’s mom or no one at all.

And speaking of reviews, it is never okay to ask friends and family members to review your book. I mean, geez, they love you, yes? Understandably, they would never admit your book is really bad, so any reviews from them would be disingenuous at best. Also, don’t say to a fellow author, “I’ll review your book, if you review mine.” That reeks of quid pro quo and is just plain awkward. And never be tempted to purchase fake reviews. Remember, Amazon and other media outlets have their own fake-review police, and you never want to find yourself squaring off with them. Yes, finding strangers who will take the time to read and review your book is a difficult and sometimes disappointing task, however there is no way around it.

I realize a lot of people have an idealistic and rather romanticized version of what being an author means. I’m just saying writing is like any other business where there are responsibilities and rules that need to be respected.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

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Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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What am I thankful for? The gift of curiosity

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As often happens this time of year, we are called upon to consider that for which we are thankful. And while I am of course grateful for family and friends and a roof over my head and food in the fridge, I’ve been leaning toward adding to that list, and it’s something that might come as a surprise.

Curiosity.

When I was a teacher, part of my job was helping teenagers prepare for the future. “What do you like to do?” I’d ask, hoping to steer them toward planning for a profession they might enjoy. But way too frequently, the answer would be, “Nothing.”

“How about sports?” I’d press. “Or hobbies?”

“Sleeping.”

I would try not to roll my eyes.

“Shopping!” many girls would pipe up.

These conversations routinely frustrated me, because I liked to do so many things. In fact, I still do. Which got me wondering why I run out of fingers when counting up subjects I find fascinating and why many of my students did not.

Turns out the answer is curiosity, something all humans are said to have in varying degrees. According to a Columbia University/Zuckerman Institute study, “At its core, curiosity evolved as a survival mechanism. It encourages living things to explore their environment, learn what is safe, and find resources.”

Consider ancient hunter-gatherers who came across an unfamiliar plant. I’m sure the puzzled about whether it was eatable, good for healing, or useful in construction of some kind. And so the experimentation began. Thanks to curiosity, they might have located something that could potentially enhance their survival.

Jacqueline Gottlieb, a PhD and lead investigator of the study, explained that humans can be curious even without the possibility of obvious rewards. “Curiosity entails a sort of enthusiasm, a willingness to expend energy and investigate your surroundings. And it’s intrinsically motivated, meaning that nobody is paying you to be curious; you are curious merely based on the hope that something good will come when you learn.”

Which had me wondering again why some of us seem to be innately curious and others are not. It turns out that curiosity is a skill, one we can learn and improve upon. But how do we do that?

This is where parents and teachers come in. We can encourage young people to develop curiosity in numerous ways. We can model curiosity by wondering aloud. “Wow! That shooting star was beautiful! Where do you think it came from?” or “Why do you think ancient people built those pyramids?”

We can take children to museums and libraries, parks and natural habitats, and let them explore, noting what they might be instinctively drawn to, subjects we can build on. For example, I’ve been a rock collector since I was in elementary school—I have about 400 specimens in my living room alone— a hobby that often prompts the question, “Why?” I finally realized it was those trips to the Museum of Natural History in New York where I was fascinated by the gem and mineral collection, and the camping trips where I’d find rocks strewn in forests and streams. Note that when I was 12, my parents gave me a geology science kit for Christmas, containing, among other things, a book with colorful pictures of rocks, a tiny hammer, and a collection of mineral samples. I was charmed. Perhaps today I would not be a rock collector, a hobby that gives me immense joy, had my parents not exposed me to them at such an early age.

I’m hoping my grandson Adrian might one day love rocks as much as I do.

I realize in today’s frantic world some parents just don’t have the time to explore with their children, so supporting such efforts at school could be the answer. Those field trips you might recall from your youth were learning experiences chosen to broaden your horizons, events to prompt questions, and, yes, boost curiosity.

And while we must do our best to instill a sense of curiosity in the generations that follow, we shouldn’t forget ourselves. I’ve learned that, as we age, we are often no longer able to do some of the things we love, which is why it’s so important to be curious. We should never stop looking into new subjects and hobbies. Nor should we forget that “Why?” is a beautiful gift, one for which we should all be thankful.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

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Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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The legacy of painter Bob Ross

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I opened my desk drawer recently and noticed a palate of paints and a book of canvas paper. I bought them a while back believing I would learn to paint, spurred by one of those TV artists who ever so gently instructed me on the simple nuances of painting a landscape. It wasn’t the famously coiffed Bob Ross, still like the legendary TV oil painter known for his warm delivery and the of-course-you-can-do-it attitude, I was encouraged to believe that I too could paint like Monet or van Gogh.

As anyone who’s ever watched those shows can attest, that will never happen. And yet, some estimates say Ross’s program, The Joy of Painting, at its peak attracted up to 80 million viewers worldwide on a daily basis when it was broadcast on almost 300 PBS stations from 1983 to 1994. And the funny thing is, it’s suspected that the vast majority of those viewers never picked up a paintbrush.

So, why watch? There are a number of theories. One is the Zen-like quality of the show. Ross’s soothing voice and messages of self-confidence charmed his audience, especially when a splat of paint would go awry and he would correct what he called a “happy accident”, leaving the landscape even lovelier than before.

Ross could produce an oil painting in 27 minutes, and yet his show was a calm island in a frenzied world. Today, long after his death in 1995, Ross remains a popular icon, with his show appearing on YouTube and Twitch, where a whole new generation of viewers are succumbing to his quiet demeanor and colorful strokes, paintings that evoke feelings of tranquility and peace.

It’s interesting that few believe Ross was a great artist. However, his idea that anyone could be a painter endeared him to many. If you don’t believe me, watch one of his shows and tell me whether, at the end, you feel that twitch to grab a paintbrush, since Ross made it all seem so easy. And his fans loved him for that.

I have been thinking about Ross because three of his pieces went up for auction recently where those “not so great” paintings garnered over $600,000—more than twice as much as pre-sale estimates—funds that will go directly to public broadcasting stations, which are suffering from the government’s recent funding cuts. And there are 27 more Ross paintings going on the block, a boon for public television that needs all the help it can get.

I can’t bring myself to discard those painting supplies in my drawer. Maybe, someday, I’ll sit down, take a breath, watch Bob Ross work his magic, and be inspired.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

TV football coverage could be better: Here’s how!

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While I love watching football the broadcasts need some updating. (Photo Courtesy All-Pro Reels Photography)

I love football, but I think broadcasts could be improved on various fronts.

First, I realize those in charge are in a collective tizzy to shorten games. It seems younger folks don’t have the attention spans needed to stick around for anything longer than the average Instagram reel, so keeping them engaged is a monumental issue. In case you’re wondering, studies show that Gen Zers and Millennials can stay focused eight  and 12 seconds respectively, while Baby Boomers can pay attention for between 25 and 30 minutes. (Talk among yourselves.)

Since we older folks are dying off,  the NFL has been scrambling to make rule changes regarding timing and game pace, all to keep broadcasts under the golden three-hour mark. (Not sure why that’s the sweet spot, but there you have it.) Clearly, dumping some of the commercials might help, but I’m guessing that’s the last thing the league wants to do.

With all this in mind, the NFL decided that those pesky officials were not capable of speedily determining whether the ball had reached the line to gain. So, the guys on the sidelines holding the chains were told, “No more!” I know what you’re thinking. “But, Anne, AI is so much more accurate in regard to measurements.”

As a former amateur football referee, I’ve stared at the space between the ball and stick on myriad occasions. Note here: Not rocket science. It’s simply that the machine does it more quickly.  So now those sweet moments of anticipation preceding the ref’s announcement are gone, a bit of football pageantry eliminated. All in the interest of shaving a little time off the clock.

A better option is eliminating the two-minute warning, a rule that is archaic and completely unnecessary with all those clocks pasted onto our stadiums and screens. I’ll let my AI friend handle it here:  “The two-minute warning is a legacy rule that remains because it provides a scheduled commercial break…” There is also something about it building game-end drama and a shift to endgame rules, none of which I’m buying. So, if only advertisers would miss it, why not dump the two-minute warning and save some time?

Another change I’d like to see involves reporters on the sidelines, which of course is the most useless “sportscasting” job there is. The only reason the position exists is so the networks can point and say, “Look how diverse our crew is!” That’s because it’s mostly women manning those mics. I say give those girls a shot in the booth or as commentators on those pre-halftime-and-post-game shows. Here’s where you’ll remind me that there are women on those programs and you’d be right. But why are they generally the ones asking the questions and not those giving the answers? Do the networks doubt women can provide pithy, clever comments about football? And don’t say it’s because they never played football. There are plenty of male sports reporters who never played either. That said, the only real reason to have announcers on the sidelines involves player injuries. So I say scrap the reporters, grab a few nurses, mic them up, and let medical professionals do the updates.

Don’t get me wrong. I love watching football, but the broadcasts can be better. Here’s hoping someone is listening. I’ll let you know whan I have some more good ideas.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Amazon

The day a spider saved me from an angry coach

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Some people felt I didn’t belong officiating football, and they didn’t hide their displeasure at seeing me. Then, one day, a spider helped change that perception.

I retired from officiating amateur football six years ago, after throwing flags since 1979. As a women in stripes, there were often issues with my presence inside those white lines, as many felt I didn’t belong, which brings me to the day I was rescued by a spider.

One afternoon, upon arriving at the field, I got what my crewmates referred to as “the look”, a noticeable squint from a head coach. The “Couldn’t they have sent a real referee!” expression announced his displeasure at me wearing the white hat, feelings he made loud and clear on just about every play.

The coach, who resembled someone who might have been sent over by Central Casting—well-over six feet, arms folded over a big belly, hat pulled low over his eyes—complained constantly. Note that no official wants to toss a coach, because it gives the impression that we’ve lost control of the game, and though he hadn’t yet crossed the invisible line that would have had me saddled with paperwork following the game, I was worried that I might have to eject him.

Then, late in the first half of the game, my line judge ran toward me, frantically blowing his whistle and waving his arms overhead to kill the clock. “Tarantula!” Phil stared wide-eyed and pointed downfield where a large spider inched across the field.

The barrel-chested coach spotted the creature, grinned, and crossed his thick arms. “What are you going to do about it?” he yelled in my direction.

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It wasn’t until later that I learned tarantulas are gentle creatures who get a bad rap. As long as you don’t frighten or harm them, they won’t harm you.

Phil and I ran over to investigate and soon crouched over the meandering orange-and-black beast. I envisioning some hapless kid with a fist-size spider wriggling from his facemask. I bit my lip and glanced at the players who eyed me from midfield. Phil and I stared at one another, then he raised both palms up.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“What are you going to do?” he mimicked the coach.

I took a deep breath and watched the hairy animal inch forward, moving all eight legs in a silent ballet.  Then I glanced at the coach and saw he was laughing. At me.

Without thinking, I shot my arm into the tarantula’s path, and cringed as it crawled onto the back of my hand.

Phil stood and backed away.

The tarantula seemed to pick up speed, as it crossed my wrist and headed up my arm, its fuzzy feet tickling my skin.

I stood up slowly. “Please don’t bite me,” I silently pleaded over and over, as visions of old horror movies played in my head. I walked carefully toward the end of the field and when I reached the outer edge of the track I bent over, shook my arm, and dropped the creature near a patch of rocky desert. The tarantula landed upright and marched on.

I swallowed several times, pasted on a confident look, and trotted back upfield as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred. I herded the players to the line of scrimmage, took my position behind the quarterback, and blew my whistle to put the ball in play.

But no one moved.

Phil’s whistle sounded. He signaled time-out and doubled over. I thought he might be ill, but then I saw he was laughing.

“What?” I stared as he ran toward me.

He leaned in and looked around to make sure no players were nearby. “The coach said…” Then he started laughing again.

“What!” I glanced at the coach who was now looking at me in an entirely a new way.

“The coach said, ‘She has a pair hangin’ and they ain’t tits.’”

I eyed at the coach, who nodded toward me, deferential, all remnants of his previously condescending attitude having disappeared with the spider.

For the rest of the game, no matter the situation—whether a flag went for or against his team, whether he agreed or disagreed with a ruling—the coach only addressed me with two words. “Yes, ma’am,” was all he said.

No ejection. No paperwork. And I owed it all to a spider. And it wasn’t just the coach. For years after that, fans would come up to me and smile, a gleam in their eyes that seemed to signal acceptance. Then they’d ask, “Are you the tarantula referee?”

And I’d smile back and say, “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

The adorable pumpkin

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This is Bob, my pumkin man, who along with his friends often joined me at Halloween

Did you know that pumpkins are a fruit? Actually, a berry called a pepo because they contain seeds and develop from a flower.

I sometimes wonder what those first Europeans thought as they rampage through what would become the Americas when they discovered the indigenous folks cultivating those eye-catching orange gourds, a habit the locals had been practicing for about 9,000 years. In fact, those marauders didn’t even have a name for the hue pumpkins sported. It wasn’t until the 16th century, after the Portuguese introduced oranges to Europe, that “orange” become an officially recognized color.

All that said, this is the pumpkin time of year so their presence invades many aspects of our lives. First, we add them to our diet: pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin ravioli—yes, it’s a thing—pumpkin seeds, and the ubiquitous pumpkin spice latte, to name a few.

The good news is pumpkins are a healthy addition to one’s diet, discounting all that lovely butter, sugar, and cream we sometimes combine it with. Here’s what my AI friend told me: “Pumpkins are very good for you, offering a range of health benefits due to their high content of vitamins A, C, and E, fiber, and antioxidants like beta-carotene. These nutrients support vision, immune function, heart health, and healthy digestion, while the low-calorie, high-water content makes them excellent for weight management. Pumpkin seeds also provide beneficial fats, protein, fiber, and minerals.”  

But pumpkins as food is not enough. We so love our pumpkins we add their sweet-spicy-earthy smell to candles and soaps and face creams. And we hold pumpkin contests where we build contraptions to see who can hurl one the farthest and others where the point is to grow the most gigantic pumpkin possible, some of which approach 3,000 pounds.

But, best of all, it is the pumpkin that signals Halloween. Note here that my ancient Celtic ancestors originated the jack-o-lantern thing, even though there were no pumpkins in Ireland. Those people were forced to carve faces into potatoes and turnips, which couldn’t have been easy, so imagine their delight upon meeting a pumpkin, which improved those jack-o-lanterns exponentially.

When the kids were still home, we liked to dress up on Halloween. (In case you’re wondering, I paid hommage to Boudica, the Irish warrior queen who, for a time, managed to defeat the Roman invaders. Sadly, they eventually caught up to her, but her legend remains.)

It’s probably no surprise that as a descendant of all those red-headed revelers Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Though I was never very skilled at carving, I was enthusiastic, which had me cutting a lot of those little guys for the big day. When the kids were at home and not quite so grown up, we made a party with all those pumpkins. We even built a pumpkin man called Bob, that frequently freaked out the local children.

The point is, no matter what you do with pumpkins, it’s clear many of us find them adorable. So here’s to the pumpkin! May it ever color our lives.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

Ginger witches, black cats, and nonconforming women

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If I were actually a witch, I’d cast a spell and look like this. (A girl can dream.)

While I sometimes worry about our turbulent times, I often reflect on the fact that things could be significantly worse. Consider the late 1700s, for example, when I probably would have been running for my life. My crime? I’m a ginger. In fact, the first thing the doctor said to my mother as I was zooming out of the womb—I say zooming because I came precariously close to being born in the backseat of a cab—was, “It has red hair!”

We who are gingers were considered rather suspect several centuries back, the bright hue of our locks sparking ideas that we might consort with the devil in our spare time. While there are no exact records, it’s estimated that many thousands of gingers were executed between the 16th and 18th centuries.

But we redheads were not the only ones targeted as witches, and another motive for securing one’s neighbor to a stake for a barbeque might surprise you. While the usual religiosity sparked witchy rumors, many of the accusations were of a more fiscal variety. The vast majority of those accused of sorcery were, of course, women. No surprise there. But many were widows. It seems that back then women could only own property if they inherited it from their husbands, and sometimes they held the titles to nice farms and shops and maybe the local pub, possessions that sparked envy in others in the community. So, if one could get say an impressionable young girl to swear that a woman had tried to bewitch her, the pitchforks came out in force. When said witch was convicted and executed, her property was taken by the authorities and offered for sale. Hummm?

You’re probably wondering, in the absence of convincing testimony, how the locals could prove a woman was a witch. My favorite was the old tie-her-up-and-throw-her-in-the-water test. It seems the defendant was bound and heaved into the nearest stream or lake where the townsfolk stood and watched…waiting. If the woman in question managed to undo her bonds and escape, she was clearly guilty and would be burned at the stake. As for the ones who drowned, they were pronounced innocent of practicing witchcraft with the locals giving themselves an oopsy.

I suppose I shouldn’t worry about any of this, as my red locks have faded and no longer stand out. But there’s also the issue of freckles that some believe are “witch’s marks”, so called evidence that I’ve made a pact with Satan. Gosh! There’s no hiding those. (Note here that I prefer to think of my freckles as chocolate chips, but I digress.)

And then there’s the black-cat thing. While I’m currently down to one such kitty, I’ve had a bunch over the course of my life. But you non-cat folks shouldn’t feel too smug because you’re not out of the haunted forest yet. It was once believed that anyone with a pet of any kind was suspected of sorcery.

Then there are those of us who exhibit clearly nonconformist behavior. I’ve spent my whole life speeding down that particular highway: sports reporter, umpire, referee. If there was a place I didn’t fit in, I’d find it and set up housekeeping.

Under the circumstances, I’m glad I live in today’s world where people are kind and accepting and give one another the benefit of the doubt.

Oh, wait.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Universal Book Link

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

“Ass to the grass!” A useful phrase when driving

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See all those bits of blue? Those are places where one must drive on the left side of the road. It takes a little practice, but the phrase, “ass to the grass” helps immensely. (The green dot is the little island of St. Croix where I have a home.)

A while back, I stared at my 90-something mother who was looking up through the steering wheel of her Ford Fusion. My father had, of his own accord, prudently decided to quit driving, but Mom was holding on. Finally, I bought the car and with no vehicle to drive the problem was solved.

I didn’t get the big deal back then, but I do now. While I’ve been driving since I was 16, for the past four years I have been chauffeured around à la Miss Daisy whenever my sweetie pie and I were on the island of St. Croix where we have a home. The reason? Simple. We rented cars and to add another driver would have cost an extra $25 a day. Since we stay for months at a time that adds up, so I resigned myself to riding shotgun.

Until now. The local Avis rental facility was having a fleet sale, and after a modicum of deliberation, we drove off in a cute, shiny blue Nissan Kick, a sort of baby SUV. We needed nothing big—since the island is only 28 miles long and seven miles wide—and there’s no point in buying a fancy car when one lives beside the sea. While the view is lovely, the salt spray eats vehicles in an inordinately short amount of time.

When Ryan handed me my set of keys, I felt a tingle of excitement and maybe just a bit of anxiety. My apprehension was understandable when you consider that on St. Croix people drive on the left side of the road, like they do in England and 75 other countries worldwide, mostly due to the legacy of the British Empire.

Here’s my new car. Isn’t she cute? Now I can drive around St. Croix. The only thing is the steering wheel is on the left side and we must drive on the left. It takes a bit of getting used to.

In case you’re wondering, Americans prefer the right side because back when horses were pulling wagons, the driver generally sat on the left side of the buckboard to better see what was coming their way. So, when cars started populating the roads they took up the right side. Old man Ford of the Ford Motor Company—ever the entrepreneur—started producing automobiles with the steering wheel situated on the left side to accommodate the new American drivers, and it is those cars that populate my little island. So we drive on the left side of the road while also manning the vehicle from the left side.

Admittedly, it takes a little getting used to. Those right hand turns in traffic—or what passes for traffic here—can make one pause. In any case, I feel as if I’ve got my mojo back. There is a certain sense of freedom in picking up the keys and saying, “See ya!” But as I buckle up, I have to remember that useful little phrase when driving on the left side of the road: “Ass to the grass!”

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

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Social-emotional learning: What’s the problem?

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A child in crisis needs more than than classroom lessons. They need to learn how to handle their emotions.

I’ve been thinking about social-emotional learning lately and wondering what all the fuss is about. I say this as a person who entered the classroom at 45 with little understanding of my job.

I became a teacher following a reporting career where absolute professionalism was required 100% of the time: dependability, competence, punctuality, and strong communication skills were compulsory every minute of every day. So it’s perhaps not surprising that I required the same of my high school students. I truly believed I was preparing them for the “real world” and had no doubts about holding them accountable.

When a colleague pulled me aside and pointed out that I was dealing with children and could perhaps be a bit nicer, I scoffed. That most of my students hated me was obvious, still I believed I was right.

I finally began to understand the day I dragged a habitually late student from my first period class. As I was lecturing him about how he would fail in life if he couldn’t manage to be on time, he stared at his shoes. Then the 14-year old stared up at me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Montgomery. I had to sleep on my uncle’s couch last night and I don’t understand the bus system from there. And I don’t know where I’m going to sleep at night and…”

And…that’s when the lightbulb went off. I was haranguing a homeless child. I instantly realized that punctuality and school work might certainly take a backseat when one is homeless. Note here that I taught in a Title I school where the vast majority of my students lived in poverty, so many dealt with hunger, abuse, gangs, neglect, foster care and all of the other ills that often live in that realm.

And what does this have to do with social-emotional learning? Everything. A child in stress needs both physical and emotional assistance. At my school we fed hungry children and provided clothing, shoes, back packs, and toiletries to those in need. We also listened. I made it a point to get to know all of my students to determine if there was anything I could do to make them more comfortable in the classroom. And, when my limited skills were not enough, I called in our social worker, who worked tirelessly behind the scenes helping kids in crisis.

So, while the role of a teacher is to impart subject matter to students, we can’t do that effectively unless children are able to manage the stresses in their lives. We have to help them acquire the skills and understanding to manage the many emotions they face in healthy constructive ways. Because if we don’t, some might give in to despair and one day pick up a weapon.

And that is social-emotional learning.

So tell me, please, why do so many people think this process is inherently evil?

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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Designer pets: Let’s stop breeding them

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All my dogs, including Sadie and Bella, came from the streets or shelters. And I can’t believe they would have been better pets if they were some special breed and not plain old mutts.

I read the newspaper every day. The actual paper one. (For those who don’t understand, google it.) Note that because I worked in the sports world most of my life, I always begin with the sports section and I’m always dismayed when I turn to the last page, because that’s where the pet ads are. I always flip past these blurbs, because, well, they depress me.

Does anyone really need to spend thousands of dollars on a puppy or kitten? Before I go on, yes, I understand that in certain circumstances dogs with specific capabilities are warranted. Working dogs that can sniff out cancer or alert their owners to an oncoming seizure. Animals that assist the police and rescue workers and ranchers. I get that. But, people, do you really need to obtain the most popular breed of the moment? Is it so important that you have that squatty little French Bulldog to show off?

This is where I’ve annoyed quite a few of you and if we were facing one another you would politely detail all the wonderful characteristics of your designer pet. I’d especially like to talk to those of you who think it’s just fine to breed deformed cats with short little legs. Creatures that can be easily injured by jumping and climbing who have little chance of survival in the outside world, but they are so dang cute in those social media posts we manufacture them anyway.

I am completely baffled by all of this. I have had a dozen dogs over the course of my life and tended to at least 40 cats. Every one of them came from the streets or shelters, abandoned by pet owners  who figured they were disposable or the product of people who felt neutering and spaying are just not that important.

Morgan and Westin, two of the forty cats I’ve tended over the years, were animals no one wanted. I can’t tell you how much joy they gave me.

Last year 5.8 million animals entered shelters nationwide. Though 4.2 million were adopted, 607,000 animals were euthanized. Note this last fact was a kindness. People can blather all they want about no-kill shelters, but eventually animals, especially dogs, gets depressed and there are no other alternatives. Keeping them alive in cages is just cruel.

Imagine, then, if we stopped propagating dogs and cats for their “special” looks and visited those shelters instead. For one thing, if you take your time and look around, you might find the breed you’re looking for since some pet owners are prone to dumping their animals when they’re no longer cute little babies. Large breed doges especially fall into this category. But the best thing you’ll find at the shelter are mixed breeds, those beautiful sometimes awkward-looking creatures who, thanks to the diversity of their genes, are healthier overall than animals who’ve been bred. And please don’t keep focusing on puppies and kittens. Older dogs and cats are less needy and much easier to deal with.

But remember to think twice before making that commitment. Make sure a pet is right for you, because once you take that animal home, it’s yours for the life of the creature. Worried about that new baby? There’s a possibility you might have to move? You’re very busy and might not have the time needed for a pet? You’re struggling with your finances and might not be able to handle veterinary expenses? Please think before bringing that animal home, because there’s nothing sadder than a dog or cat that’s just been locked in a cage, abandoned by its family.

Wolf Catcher

Anne Montgomery

Historical Fiction

In 1939, archeologists uncovered a tomb at the Northern Arizona site called Ridge Ruin. The man, bedecked in fine turquoise jewelry and intricate bead work, was surrounded by wooden swords with handles carved into animal hooves and human hands. The Hopi workers stepped back from the grave, knowing what the Moochiwimi sticks meant. This man, buried nine hundred years earlier, was a magician.

Former television journalist Kate Butler hangs on to her investigative reporting career by writing freelance magazine articles. Her research on The Magician shows he bore some European facial characteristics and physical qualities that made him different from the people who buried him. Her quest to discover The Magician’s origin carries her back to a time when the high desert world was shattered by the birth of a volcano and into the present-day dangers of archeological looting where black market sales of antiquities can lead to murder.

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes and Noble

Google Books

Rakuten Kobo

Bookstores, libraries, and other booksellers can order copies directly from the Ingram Catalog.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon