Below is an excerpt from a book being written by Barry Schatz called The Pig Adventures.  The scene is written with a reverse perspective of the actual book.  This version is interpreted by a character other than the main viewpoint character.  

 

   Falling out of the tree wasn’t what bothered Harley.  It was landing on the ground that made the hair on his arms tingle.  If he didn’t die, he would surely have an eye poked out by one of the thick weed stems that grew out of what was supposed to be the Huggins’ lawn.  Harley picked at a dried scab on his ankle as he studied the sprawling tree branches above him.  He was so intent on finding the best way to climb the tree, he wasn’t aware that one of the needle sized punctures had started to bleed again. 
     A gray cat was sprawled in the sun just beyond the shade of the tree.  “What?” Harley said to the cat.  “If I had claws like you, climbing would be easy.”   He wiped his bloody fingers on his jeans and pushed his shoulder length red hair out of his eyes.   “If I get my hair stuck in the leaves, you’re the rescue team Jerry.  It’s not like Dad will be able to climb up to help me.”  Harley knew the cat didn’t understand him, but he talked to him like he did. 
     Harley scratched the itchy scabs on his left ankle with the shoe on his right foot as he looked at the first row of branches.  Most thirteen year olds wouldn’t think the branches were that far from the ground.  To Harley however, he might as well hang from a flag pole on top of a skyscraper.  He was five feet tall and anything five feet-one inch above the ground was considered altitude.  He actually had nightmares about growing taller.  
     He reached for a branch that stuck out of the tree just above his head and in one swift move, kicked his feet up to an adjacent branch.  He felt like a human hammock as he hung suspended awkwardly from the two branches before wrestling his left shoulder over the first branch.  He wiggled his waist until his left hip rested on the second branch, then pushed himself up into a sitting position and grabbed the trunk of the thick tree.
     “See Jerry?” Harley yelled.  His cheek was pressed tight against the trunk of the tree.  “No problem.”  His arms shook as he slowly pushed away from the tree into a sitting position.  He was surprised he could see so far down the road from the tree.  He thought nothing of the person peddling a bike toward him as people road bikes through the harbor association all the time.

     Looking back at the ground made Harley slightly dizzy.  He grabbed the tree with a firmer grasp and scanned the ground for Jerry.  He found the cat and watched him carefully choose his steps as he set off to explore the ditch that separated the Huggins’ front yard with Kauffman Road.

     Harley lived in Presque Isle Township which was a village in Northeast Michigan.  With Lake Huron to the East, Grand Lake to the West, and trees everywhere, Presque Isle was a vacation community.  There were a lot of year round kids in the neighborhood, but Harley preferred the company of the kids that came up to their family cottages for the summer.  They didn’t judge him in the same way as his schoolmates.    
      “Slow down!”  The sudden scream came from the road and snapped Harley out of his thoughts.  The distraction almost caused him to fall off the branch he was sitting on.
     Glancing toward the voice, Harley saw a girl riding a bike toward him and she was coming fast.  “Jerry!” Harley shouted.  The girl wasn’t just joy riding, she was chasing his cat.  Harley quickly searched for a safe hand hold to lower himself to the ground.  
     Before he could find a safe way to climb out of the tree, the cat crossed the ditch in a single graceful jump.  Intent on chasing down the cat, the girl road her bike straight for the deep ditch.  Her scream sounded joyous like a wicked witch chasing a child.
     “This is gonna be bad,” Harley mumbled to himself as he watched the front tire of the bike slam into the side of the ditch opposite the road.  The girl flew across the bike's handlebars landing, THUD, on the ground directly below him.
     She didn’t move for several long seconds.  Harley figured the best thing to do was to go find his dad and tell him a dead girl was laying on their lawn.  He knew if he didn’t hurry, the Blue Creeper would snatch the girl up and bury her next to her dead husband in the basement of Creeper Castle.
     “Ouch,” the girl mumbled.  She wiggled one leg, then the other.  After discovering both her hands worked, she reached up and touched her head.  “I can’t see.  I’m blind!”
     “Try opening your eyes.”  Harley spoke the words without thinking.  The girl slowly opened her eyes and focused on Harley.  "Are you a cat hater or something?”
     “No,” said the girl.  “I don’t hate any animals.”
     “Yeah, right.  I watched you try to run Jerry Garcia over with your bike.” 
      “It was my dog’s fault,” the girl said.  “And who’s Jerry Garcia?”
      “Jerry Garcia is our cat, my dad’s cat actually.”  Harley looked around.  “I don’t see a dog.” 
      “Why do you keep smiling?” asked the girl.  “Are you laughing at me or something?  Do you think it’s funny that your stupid cat made me crash?”  She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position.  
      “I’m not smiling,” said Harley as he carefully lowered himself out of the tree.  Once safely on the ground, he grabbed the girl’s elbow and pulled her to her feet.  Her face turned scarlet all at once as she stared at him.  Harley figured she was embarrassed because she crashed her bike.  “So where’s your dog?”  

     She paused before speaking.  “He ran away.  I figured I could cover more ground  on my bike but because it's new, I don't know how to ride it very well yet.”
     “I can see that,” said Harley.
     “Anyhow, I must have scared your cat.  When he jumped, it freaked me out.  We scared each other is what I mean.”   The girl stepped back from Harley.  “I’m Becky Bows.  I just moved here.”
      “I’m Harley.” He stepped into the ditch and retrieved a white bike covered with black polka dots.  “My dad had an old Schwinn like this when he was a kid.”  He gave the front tire a spin.  “Polka dats eh?"
     “Harley!”  The voice came from inside a garage farther up the driveway.
     “That’s my dad.  "He's a mechanic and can check out your bike to make sure you didn’t trash it.”

It's October which means more Halloween haunting and less writing.  I'm guilty of not posting here.  Click on the link (real life Presque Isle) at the right to visit my other blog to see what I've been up to.

Barry

     What happens when a Navy Dad brings a real camel home to his 12 year old daughter? 

     Navy Seabee John G.I. Bro was in charge of loading cargo planes in the Middle East when he was informed it was his time to go home.  Having been gone for several months, he wanted to bring home a special gift for each of his two daughters and his wife.  As the plane loader, it was possible to stow Bruce in the cargo hold.  I said possible, but not easy as stow away is a full grown two hump camel. 

     To keep a camel in your back yard in Flint Michigan wouldn't be easy under normal circumstances.  With Bruce, it was extra hard as he's allergic to everything.  (Picture camel drool and snot on the kitchen window) 

      I wrote this story when my brother John was stationed in Spain during the current golf war.  His daughter Coryne wanted me to write her a story.  When I asked her what she wanted the story to be about, she gave me the typical pre-teen answer, "I don't know."  I asked, "How about a story about a camel?"  She quickly agreed. 

     I did some quick camel research and learned how how playful camels were.  The real life antics of the these creatures made writing this story fun.  Watch for Bruce On The Loose to be posted here soon. 

                                          Barry

     If you enjoy words spun together in an entertaining way, visit my Cousin Amy's blog.  (Click on the link at the right)  If you would like to put your own creative mind in action and do some creative writing, play Fantasy Family at her site.

Barry

One of my favorite P.I.G.'s is my daughter Kyla.  The first photo was taken at The Portage Restaurant located at Presque Isle Harbor.  I removed the class covering from the candle on the table and took the picture through the end of it.  The second is taken through my water glass.

This story is based on a real dog who was owned by some friend, Phil and Diane. 

 

What’s My Name

By Barry Schatz

     “Get out of the road mutt!”
     The chubby black lab slowly lifted his heavy eyebrows and focused on a man driving the blue car.  He was often called names like Stupid, Idiot, and Road Kill by people in cars.  It was enough to confuse any dog. 
     The man in the car pushed on the steering wheel to make the horn honk.  The noise was annoying enough to make the dog roll to his stubby legs and waddle to the edge of the road. 
     “Every time I drive by here, you’re laying in the middle of the road.  I’m surprised you haven’t been run over by a car for real.  Your name has gotta be Lucky.”  The man shook his head and drove away.
     “Lucky?  The dog sat down and sighed the kind of sigh dogs do.  Another name to add to the confusion.  It seemed everybody called him something different and he didn’t know his real name.
     It didn’t help that most of the people in the neighborhood were seasonal residents and didn’t know his real name.  Everybody just called him something different.
     The growl that came from the dog didn’t come through his muzzle.  It came from his round belly which was telling him it was time so start his rounds.  He licked his muzzle once, then waddled down a gravel driveway.  His first stop was a small log cabin that sat at the edge of Grand Lake.
     “Flea Bag’s here,” a woman shouted as she pushed the screen door open.
     The dog looked up at her and licked his muzzle again.
     “Well get in here if you want breakfast.”
     With a bit of effort, the dog climbed the one step into the house and flopped onto the kitchen floor.
     “He doesn’t like to be called Flea Bag,” came a gruff voice from the next room.  An unshaven man in purple boxer shorts and a white tee shirt walked into the kitchen.  “His name is Chester.”  The man grabbed a plate piled high with pancakes and walked into a the living room.  “Come on Chester, the news is about to start.”
     The dog sat on a couch and spent the next 60 seconds gulping pancakes, burped once, then stared at the TV.
     When the news was over, the dog pushed the screen door open and went back outside.  He bit the stem of a daisy and carried the flower past several cabins until he reached a red house.
     “My prince has come and brought me a flower.”  A white haired woman bent over and took the daisy from the dog.
     The dog waddled into red house and listened patiently while the woman explained what was happening on her daytime drama.  It was always worth the wait because she gave him a snack when the show ended.
     “I made oatmeal cookies last night Prince.”
     The dog approvingly slapped his tail against the checkered tile floor. After gobbling down a plate of cookies, he continued his journey down the lakeshore.
     The next stop wasn’t his favorite visit but the food made it worthwhile.  A woman in a pink bathrobe and thick glasses was waiting on the porch of a stone house.
     “Where have you been Richard?  She’s been waiting inside and is getting sassy.” 
     The dog swallowed hard and sat on the porch.
     “My hairdresser’s name is Richard too,” the woman told the dog as a prissy white cat pushed through a tiny cat door.  The dog sighed, licked his muzzle, and began to wash the cat.  He looked around often as if to make sure another dog from the neighborhood wasn’t watching.
     When the cat was thoroughly soaked, the woman set a bowl of greasy sausages in front of the dog.  There was nothing better to get cat taste off one’s tongue than spicy meat.  When the plate was licked clean, the dog rolled in the gravel driveway to clean the loose cat hair off himself before continuing his rounds.
     “Hi Dusty,” a woman shouted from her deck as the dog hurried past her house and down the Grand Lake shore to where a gray bearded man waited on a pontoon boat.
     “It’s about time you got here Skipper.  I was about to think you weren’t coming today.”
     The dog curled up on a padded bench seat as the man pushed the boat away from the dock.  The gentle rolling of the boat rocked the dog to sleep within minutes.
     The next thing the dog new, he felt a gentle slapping against his muzzle.  He opened one lazy eye and found himself having a stare down with a very big fish. 
     “Do you like walleye Skipper?”
     Since they were back to shore, the dog turned his back on the fish and stepped onto the dock.
     “Apparently not.”  The man reached into a cooler and pulled out some food wrapped in wax paper.  “I’ll give you half my peanut butter sandwich since ya don’t like fish.  It’s extra gooey.”  The man threw the sandwich onto the dock.
     The dog bit into the sandwich in one gulping bite then spent the next twenty minutes licking peanut butter off the top of his muzzle.  During his walk home, he considered his morning.  He had already been called Mutt, Lucky, Fleabag, Chester, Prince, Richard, Dusty, and Skipper.  What was his real name?
    The people the dog lived with were waiting for him on the porch.  The dark haired woman held a small plastic bag in her hand.  The man was standing over a bowl filled with dog chow.
     “Why aren’t you eating your food?” the man asked. 
     The dog sat down and looked at a full pan of dry kibble. 
     “We have brought home every brand of pet food we can find and you still won’t eat.”
     The woman stroked the dog’s ears.  “You’re sure chubby for a dog that never eats.”
     The dog thumped his tail on the porch floor once.
     “I’ve got something for you,” said the woman.
     The dog only had enough ambition to move his eyes as he studied the bag the woman was holding in front of him.
     “I bought you your very own I.D. tag.  Now when you wander off, people will know your name."
     The dog stood up for a better look.  His tongue hung to one side of his muzzle as he looked at a small piece of metal in the shape of a bone.
     “It has our phone number on this side.”
     The dog licked his muzzle as he anxiously watched the woman turn the tag around.
     “And on this side, it says Dufus.”
     The dog accidentally kicked over his food bowl as he danced in a circle. He didn’t know what the name meant but figured it was something grand.
     The woman attached the tag to Dufus’s collar.  He couldn’t wait to make his rounds the next day.  All his friends would discover the grand name of the most popular dog on Grand Lake.

 

Author's note:  Dufus was in fact a real dog that liked to sleep in the middle of East Grand Lake Road in Presque Isle.  I often drove by Phil and Diane's house and thought saw Dufus laying in the middle of the road.  I thought he had finally met his end.  There were several people on that part of the lake that had their own name for Dufus.  This story is dedicated to the memory of Dufus who got out of the house one day and mysteriously disappeared. 

     One day during the summer, my (then still in grade school) children received a challenge from their mother to look at a picture and write a story about it.  Her goal was to keep their minds active during the summer break from school.  She showed them a photo of a carousel similar to the one below.  The challenge sounded fun and I wanted to give it a go. (Even though it wasn't summer break for me)  Having read the kid's stories, the rest of the family agreed I had to do something totally different.  I sat down for about an hour and roughed out a quick draft about a guy named Gordon that changes all the light bulbs in his hometown.  

 

Gordon Granger The Light bulb Changer

By Barry Schatz

     Whoever gave Wood Haven it's name did it perfectly.  The small town was like an oasis in a forest that stretched on for what seemed like forever.  In the square at the center of town was a small eating place called The Just Try It Diner.  

     Sitting at a table by the window was young Burt Bows.  Burt was about to eat a piece of strawberry pie when a fly flew by.  As he waived his hand to shoo it away, a man at the next table got up, walked over, then sat down across from him.
     “What can I do for you?”
     “Excuse me?” asked Burt as he again batted at the fly.
     “You waved me over.  I figured you wanted some company.”
     “I was just trying to get rid of this fly so I can eat my pie.”
     “I see,” said the man.  He stared at Burt for a moment before speaking again.  “How many people do you think it takes to change all the light bulbs in Wood Haven?”
     The unexpected question made Burt pause.  “Dunno.  I never would have thought about it.”
     “One,” said the man. 
     Burt wasn’t sure what the stranger was getting at.  He stared at him for a few seconds, then pulled his pie closer to himself like a dog guarding a bone.
     “That’s what we always ask strangers in Wood Haven.  It’s a way to strike up conversation.”
     Burt stabbed his fork into the pie and quickly shoved a piece into his mouth.  Since talking with one’s mouth full of food was rude, this was the best way he could think of to stall and figure out what to say.
     The man continued talking.  “Yep, one person changes all the light-bulbs in town.  His name is Gordon Granger.  He’s got all kinds of bulbs too.  He’s got big bulbs, little bulbs, fancy bulbs, blinking bulbs, clear bulbs and colored bulbs which are real popular during the Blossom Festival.”
    “Are you saying just one person changes all the light bulbs in town?”
     “Yep.”
     “You mean for everybody?”  Burt swatted at the fly when it flew past his ear and accidentally slapped himself in the head.
     “Yep.  Gordon’s real good at it too.  Doesn’t usually even need a ladder.”  The man suddenly looked out the window and grinned.  “There he goes now.”
     Burt looked out the diner window and saw a boy about fourteen years old bouncing on a pogo stick in the middle of Main Street.  He was dressed in blue jeans, a red and white checkered shirt, and a yellow baseball cap.  He wore a green leather bag over his shoulder.  
     Gordon bounced higher and higher until he could reach a street light.  On one good bounce, he pulled the light bulb from the lamp.  On the next bounce, he shoved a new bulb where the other had been.
     “He’s good,” said Burt.  He threw three dollars on the table and hurried outside. 
     Gordon Granger was still hopping on his pogo stick but was halfway down the block.  Burt watched as he pulled a skateboard out of his green bag, jumped on it, then skated up to a blue car with a burned out brake light. 
     Burt ran to keep up as the car moved forward. In a squatting position, Gordon held onto the car’s bumper with his left hand and worked on the tail light with his right.  The skateboard rolled along Main Street clickety-clack as Gordon changed the bulb.  Before the car reached the end of the next block, both brake lights glowed red. 
     Gordon looked to be in a hurry as he skateboarded down the street.  Burt forced his tired legs to keep moving as he ran as fast as he could to keep up. 
     The buildings along Main Street got smaller and finally gave way to a park.  A large red circus tent looked like a mountain in the center of the park.  With newfound strength, Burt ran a fountain featuring two kids, each holding a thick fire hose and  having a water fight.
     Two rows of carnival rides, food wagons, and game tents created a midway that ended at the large tent.  Burt immediately spied Gordon Granger talking to a clown by a food cart.  Trying to gel close enough to listen to what they were saying, Burt decided to buy something something to eat.
     “You’re just in time, Gordon.  Most of the bulbs on our carousel are burned out.” 
     Gordon Granger tipped his yellow ball cap and hurried away. 
     Tucking a large plastic bag of pink cotton candy under his arm, Burt ran after the bulb boy.  He caught him just as he arrived at the carousel.  Gordon flicked the GO button on the control panel and the carousel began to move.  He jumped on the spinning ride, grabbed the reins of a gray horse, and climbed up until he stood on it’s red saddle.
     There were rows of lights above each pair of horses.  Most of the bulbs were burned out or missing making the carousel look junky.  Each time Gordon’s horse rose up, he either pulled or replaced a small white bulb.
     The carousel music tooted as the horses chased each other in a circle.  Instinctively, Burt tore a piece of his cotton candy from the bag and pushed it into his mouth.  It felt like biting into cloud covered with sugar. 

     The carousel continued to spin and each time it made a complete circle, Gordon was on a different horse. Sometimes he stood on two horses at once.  He looked like he was dancing a silly jig in slow motion as one long leg went up and the other went down.  By the time the ride ended, every bulb on the carousel glowed. 
   Burt dropped his bag of cotton candy when Gordon Granger vaulted the fence and landed at his side.  He pulled a small yellow light bulb from his green bag.
    “The next time a fly bothers you while you are eating pie, put this anti-bug bulb in a lamp nearby.”
     After Gordon glided away on his skateboard, Burt hurried back to the diner for another piece of pie.  As he sat down at a table, he heard a woman behind him talking to the waitress.
     “I’m new in town and haven’t eaten here before.  What would you recommend?”  The waitress suggested pie and hurried off toward the kitchen.
     Burt turned around and smiled at the woman.  “How many people do you think it takes to change all the light bulbs in Wood Haven?” 
     The woman shrugged her shoulders. 
    “Just one,” Burt said with a smile.

This is what's happening in my world of fantasy fiction.  I've written a two Pig Adventures and started the third. 

The first adventure centers around Becky Bows, a twelve year old girl who lives with her Air Force mother.   When her military mother gets sent to the other side of the world to support a war effort, Becky has to go stay with her nearest living relatives.  She has no living relatives on her mother's side so that leaves her paternal grandparents.  She has had no contact with her father's side of the family for the last ten years.  She comes to Presque Isle (They say write what you know) to stay with her grandparents and thinks they're nuts.  Grandma Lou walks across the squeaky wooden floors without making a sound.  Grandpa Burt talks to trees.  While in the forest behind her grandparent's house, she meets a one armed boy that gives her a magic dog.  With the magic of the unpredictable dog at her command, she beings an adventure to unravel several mysteries involving the strangers that call themselves family. 

But where's the complete story? 

I'm currently working with woman associated with The Institute Of Children's Literature to prepare the book one of the Pig Adventures.  I'm about to submit the middle third of the book for editing to her.  I hope to have the final third ready to send down before Thanksgiving.  When I'm ready, the institute will assist me in sending query letters to publishers. 

What's the name of the book?  

I think, The Pig Adventures - Becky And The Magic Dog sounds kind of weak so I'm still working on it.

Look for future teasers for this story in future postings at this blog.

I said I had two books written!

Book two, a sequel goes back a couple generations and explains where a magic dog comes from.  It is an adventure involving the original P.I.G.S. which are Becky's Grandpa Burt and Grandma Lou and a couple of there friends when they were kids.   That book will be called, The Pig Adventures - The Other Side Of The Forest.  I wanted a back story so I wrote this story first, then worked on Becky's adventure.

Book three will probably be called - The Pig Adventures - The Last Treep.  I think the series will be a trilogy.  I want to continue scratching out book (which takes over where book one left off) this winter.     

If you have any thoughts, comments, or opinions about this blog, please send me an email to,

barry@pigadventures.com

Visit mypresqueisle.com

Author's note: This is a short story written for friend's of my family who lost their infant son shortly after birth. 

OUR FATHER
WITH ART IN HEAVEN

By Barry Schatz

     A small cloud of dust surrounded the shoes of a boy in a pinstripe uniform  as he kicked at the infield dirt of a little league baseball field.  He had a mouth full of pink gum and tried to blow a bubble, but the sticky wad of goo flew out of his mouth and landed in the powdery soil by third base.
     The boy scooped the soiled gum up with his ball mitt and scowled as he studied it.  He was about to toss it in the grass, outside the playing field, then found his mother’s eyes watching him from the bleachers.  He immediately slipped it into his  pocket.
     “BATTERS UP!” yelled the umpire. 
     The entire crowd watched the action on the field except for one young boy sitting in the top row of the bleachers.
     “Grandfather, do you see that boy standing over there with the blue team?”  The elderly man nodded as he watched the next batter wait for his turn.  “He doesn’t look as happy as the other kids.”
     The elderly man took a deep breath and sighed.  “Well Artie, it’s the bottom of the 9th inning of the little league championship game and the blue team is down by one run.  See that boy standing on second base?”
     “Yeah.”
     “If he can score, the game will be tied.  The only problem is, there are already two outs and the next batter, the boy you asked me about, hasn’t had a hit all season.  He doesn’t believe in himself and is afraid to let the team down.”
     Artie blocked the sun with his hand as he looked up at his Grandfather, then turned back to field.   
     “Come on Raymond.  You can do it.”  The other boys in the blue uniforms cheered. 
     The boys on the other team however began to celebrate their victory by tipping their hats to each other.  They knew Raymond couldn’t hit.  The infields stood relaxed and made faces at each other.
     A woman sitting next to Artie and his Grandfather looked to the overcast sky and whispered, “Please God, let him get a hit.”
     The old man leaned down and whispered to Artie.  “That’s Raymond’s Mother.”
     Artie stared at the woman.  There was a tear stuck in the corner of her eye that refused to run down her cheek.
     “Strike ONE!” shouted the umpired.
     Artie looked up at his Grandfather.  “Can’t we do something?”
     “You could go down there and talk to Raymond,” said the Grandfather.
     “I don’t know what to say,” said Artie.
     “All Raymond needs is a little encouragement.  Just go down there and talk to him.”
     In a blink, Artie found himself standing next to Raymond.  “It’s just a game.  Try to have fun.” 
     Raymond looked like he didn’t hear Artie as he watched the white ball sailed by, THUD into the catcher’s mitt.
     “Steeee-rike Twooooo!” the umpire shouted.
     Raymond stepped out of the batter’s box and wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his blue, cotton shirt.  Artie could see Raymond’s bottom lip quiver as he looked for his mother in the crowd. 
     Expecting to see his Grandfather sitting next to Raymond’s Mother, Artie saw he wasn’t there.
     “You have to believe in Raymond, but you have to believe in yourself too!”  Artie turned and saw his Grandfather beside him.  “Move around so you can see his eyes.”  He gave Artie a wink, then nodded for him to move.
     Artie stepped directly in front of Raymond.  He ignored the catcher and umpire.  Home plate was anchored in the ground between them.  The bat rested on Raymond’s right shoulder.
     “Ray,” said Artie with a soft reassuring voice.  “This is your chance.”  Raymond looked down at his feet.  “You are one swing of that bat from feeling joy like you wouldn’t believe,” he continued.  Artie suddenly felt the batter’s fear and drank it in.
     A cool breeze cut through the humid air and caressed Raymond’s brow.  He took a deep breath and shook his shoulders.  Stepping up to the plate, he planted his feet in the dirt.”
     “You can hit that ball Ray,” said Artie.
     With a renewed look of determination in Raymond’s eyes, he lifted the bat from his shoulder and stared down the pitcher.
     Long black hair stuck out of the pitcher’s pin striped cap at odd angles.  He tipped his cap in celebration to the third baseman.  One more pitch, one more strike, the game would be over.  The pitcher dug the ball out of his mitt and gripped it tight.
     When the baseball left the pitcher’s hand, it seemed to move in slow motion.  Eyes open wide with excitement, Raymond focused on the ball  without fear.  He stretched his arms out and swung the bat in a wide arc.
     A loud PING, surprised every player on the field as the ball exploded off the metal bat.  It missed the pitcher’s left ear by two inches as it sailed past him. 
     Not expecting Raymond to hit the ball, the center fielder had moved in and was standing only a few feet behind second base.  He was in such shock as he watched the ball fly past him into an empty center field, he hesitated for a long second before he ran after the ball.
     Raymond dropped his bat and bolted for first base.  Dust fluffed into the air as his feet pounded the dry, infield dirt.  When he rounded second base, he saw his entire team cheering along the third base line. 
     Raymond didn’t see the outfielders collide with each other as his coach jumped up and down and waived him home. Raymond’s Mother cheered the loudest from the stands as she wiped tears from her cheeks.
     “You’ve just performed your first miracle Artie.  That memory of that hit will stay with him for a long time.”  The entire blue team surrounded Raymond at home plate and gave him high fives.  “Raymond’s the hero on his team and his newly found confidence is going to change his life.”
     “I can feel Raymond’s joy,” said Artie.  “It feels good.”
     “You did well Artie.  Want to try another miracle?” 
     “Is there another baseball game?”
     “Not baseball this time.  You’re going to prevent some skinned knee’s.” 
     Artie immediately found himself standing in a parking lot next to a small white, country chapel.  A steeple as tall as the trees that formed a backdrop for the church grew out of the roof.  In the paved parking lot, a plump man breathed heavily as he ran behind a young boy on a red bike.
     “Are you still holding on to me Daddy?” the boy shouted as he concentrated on steering the bike.
     “I’ve got you Taran!” the man yelled as pinched the boy’s blue tee shirt between his fingers.
     “Don’t let go,” Taran yelled nervously over his shoulder.
     “All Taran needs is a little encouragement Artie.  Just remember what you did with Raymond.”
     Artie suddenly found himself sitting on the handlebars of the bike, facing Taran and his father who was still running behind the bike. 
     “You can let go now,” said Artie.  The man stopped running and watched his son ride away.
     “Taran!  You’re doing it!  You know how to ride a bike!” the man yelled.
     Panic wash across Taran’s face.  “Don’t worry Taran,” said Artie.  “I won’t let you fall.”
     The bike wobbled for a few minutes before Taran began to ride with confidence.  A smile stretched across his face, revealing two missing front teethe.  His father pumped both his arms into the air and cheered his son on. 
     “Don’t get cocky!” Taran’s father yelled out as he watched his son steer for his sister.  “Kyla, make sure you stay out of his way!  Give him plenty of room!” 
     Artie watched with his Grandfather as Taran rode his bike with a newly discovered pride.  “Was that another miracle Grandpa?”
     “Ohhh, the boy just needed a boost.  He would have learned to ride eventually, but you certainly saved his family a few band aids today.  We don’t always have to perform big miracles Artie.  Our job is to share our father’s love.  Look at the smile on that boy’s face.  It’s hard for people to hate when they are having fun.”
     “Can we do another one?” Artie asked with enthusiasm.   “I want to help somebody else!”
     “How would you like to go fishing?  It’s easy to get through to people when they’re fishing because they’re relaxed...usually relaxed anyhow.”
     In a blink, Artie found himself sitting on the bench seat of a pontoon boat next to his Grandfather.  The boat rocked gently in the water as they watched a frustrated man trying to teach a young girl how to fish.
     “What do we have to do?” Artie asked his Grandfather.  “These people don’t look like they need help.”
     “This one is just for fun Artie.  One of the most memorable things for a child is when they catch their first fish.” 
     Artie moved closer to the young girl and watched.
     “Daddy, do you think worms taste good to fish?”
     “I’m sure they do Sweetie.  I bet they taste like a big ole…umm…like a big cream filled donut.” 
     “Daddy, do fish have to brush their teethe after they eat a worm?”
     “Oh, I suppose they don’t after every meal Princess.”
     “I wish I was a fish so I didn’t have to brush my teeth,” said the girl.
     “You would have to eat worms then Sugar.”
     “Eieeww!  I don’t want to eat worms!”
     “And fish have schools,” said the man.  “You would still have to go to school.  Here, let me cast your fish line out for you Honey.”  He took her fishing pole and with a flick of his wrist, sent a red and white bobber sailing until it landed, PLOOP in the water. 
     “What kind of a fish should we have her catch Artie?”
     “A real big one,” said Artie with a smile.   
     “O.K. Muffin,” said the man.  “When you see the bobber go under the water, pull up on the fishing rod really hard.”
     “What’s the bubbler Daddy?” the girl asked.
     “That’s the bobber floating on the top of the water.  Can you remember what you are supposed to do?”
     “Yep.  When the little red and white ball goes under the water, pull up on the stick and spin this clicky thing until I catch a fish.” 
     “That sounds perfect Cupcake.  Now listen, you watch the…err…little red and white ball while I set up a crawler harness for myself.”
     “Did you use one of those things on me before I learned to walk Daddy?”  She stared up at her father with large blue eyes.
     “Did I use what?” the man sighed.
     “A crawler harness.” 
     “Just watch the bobber Sunshine and quit asking questions.”
     The man wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing when he spoke with his daughter and poked himself with a fishhook. 
     “Ahhhh!”
     “He’s starting to lose patience Artie.  I think now would be a good time to do help out.” 
     “O.K.,” Artie said.  “Here goes nothing.” 
     “Daddy?” asked the girl.  The man ignored his daughter while he tried toe wiggle a fishhook f rom his thumb.  “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”
     Irritated, the man looked up.  “What do you want Snookums?”
     “My bubbler is gone,” the girl answered sheepishly. 
     The man looked up as the reel on her fishing rod began to unwind rather rapidly.
     “Munchkin!  Grab the rod and start turning the…the umm…ahh…the clicky thing!”  He tripped over a cooler as he raced to the front of the boat.  “Keep the tip of your pole up!”
     It took 5 minutes for the girl to reel the fish close to the boat.  In his excitement to help her get the fish in the boat, the man caught his foot in the net and fell into the captains chair. 
     “Hold on Precious.  I’ll help you just as soon as I…get this…hold on…and I’ll…net…don’t let him get away now.”
     “You know Artie, it’s going to be a miracle in itself if this guy can net that fish.”
     “Should we…” Artie didn’t get a chance to finish his question as he saw his Grandfather shaking his head.
     “Sometimes, it’s better to let them learn on their own.”
     The man finally got the net in the water and lifted the fish into the boat. The fish flopped on the floor and splashed water on everything within 5 feet.       “That’s the biggest bass I’ve ever seen!” the man said to his daughter.  He could barely contain his excitement.   
     “I thought it was a fish?” said the girl.
     The man wasn’t listening as he struggled to remove the hook from the slippery fish.  “This is so typical.  I don’t understand how it happens and it always works out this way.”  The man looked to the sky and continued to talk.  “I have hundreds of dollars worth of fishing equipment at my end of the boat and I can’t catch a simple pan fish.  Give a kid a $14.00 fishing pole and a worm…and…and…they catch the biggest fish.”
     “Daddy, the fish can’t breath.”
     “It’ll be fine Sugarplum!  THAT…is a trophy fish.”
     “I thought it was a bass.”
     “I’ll have him mounted and we’ll put him on the wall in…”
     “We gotta put him back in the water Daddy.” 
     The man looked down at his daughter with a look that suggested he was about to scold her.
     “Grandpa, she’s going to get yelled at,” said Artie.
     “Just watch.  It doesn’t always take an angel to make a miracle.  Behold the power of love.”
     “Daddy, this fish probably has a family.  Maybe he went to work this morning to bring home some worms for his fish kids.  If he doesn’t come home, they will miss him tremendously.”
     “Tremendously?  That’s a pretty big word for somebody your age.”
     “I would really miss you tremendously if you didn’t come home from work Daddy.”  The frustrated look on his face turned soft and his eyes got moist.
     “Well…I supposed that’s a good point.  How bout if I take your picture so we can show Mama.” 
     The little girl strained as she leaned to her left to hold the fish up with her right hand.  After the man took a picture, he gently lowered the fish back into the water.
     “Goodbye Puppy,” said the girl as she waived to the fish.
     “Puppy?” the man sniggered.  “Did that fish tell you his name?”
     “Nope.  I made it up.  I like silly names for some reason.”
     Artie was no longer watching the man and the young girl.
     “Can we go over there Grandpa?”  He pointed to some people fishing in another boat.
     “I was wondering when you were going to notice them Artie.” 
     “The man in that boat looks…familiar.”
     “He’s your Daddy Artie.”
     Artie stared for a moment.  “He’s sad.  All the people with him are sad too.”  Artie stared again before turning to his Grandfather.  “Grandpa, why couldn’t I have stayed with my parents longer?”
     “People are born onto earth to grow and better themselves.  They need to learn wisdom and unconditional love.”  The old man knew he hadn’t really answered the question.  “You were born perfect Artie.  There wasn’t anything else for you to learn and our father needed you.  Heaven can never have enough angels after all.  Besides, you don’t have to leave your parents.  You can watch over them.”
     “Will they know I’m there?”
     “Absolutely.  They’ll feel a warm sensation inside their bodies when you are with them.”
     “Will I get to do more miracles?”
     “Absolutely.  You see Artie, for every child that has a bully on their bus, has to deal with peer pressure, or maybe needs a boost in their confidence, there’s an angel looking over them.  Just like today, there will be other kids that will need help hitting a baseball, riding a bike, or will want to catch a fish.”
     Artie grinned.  “You know Grandpa, that fish the girl let go is still out there.  My Dad looks like he needs to catch something really big.  Do you think that would cheer them up?”
     “It would be like a hug.” 
     Fifteen minutes, Artie’s dad netted the biggest bass he had ever caught on Grand Lake...and he felt a little better.

     This story is dedicated to my friends Art and Diane who lost their infant son a few days after his birth.  As I grieved for them, I tried to make sense of their loss.  I envisioned a baby angel providing simple miracles.

When I sat down and started writing the story, it only took me a few minutes to write rough it out.  I could relate to what it was like to be one of the last kids picked for a team sport.  Like Raymond, I had been to home plate when the whole team was counting on you to hit the ball, but didn’t think you would.
     The day after the Artie’s funeral, my son Taran went solo on his two wheeled bike in the parking lot of the Grand Lake Chapel.  Also that weekend, Art told me the story of the huge bass he caught in Grand Lake while fishing with a couple of his relatives. 
     Art and Diane lost Artie in August.  In my heart, I asked why, and found comfort in believing God needed more angels. 
     The following month, terrorists attacked the World Trade Center in New York City.  Instantly, millions of people in our country and other parts of the world were stunned.  Perhaps the angels that watch over our families gave all of us the encouragement we needed.     

During my freshmen year at Davison (Michigan) High School, I had my whole life ahead of me.  I remember sitting in Mr. Shepherd's Geometry class and knew I never wanted to be an insurance agent.  I also knew I didn't want to be a writer.  Twenty years later, I was working as an insurance agent and discovered I liked creative writing.

How did it happen?

After graduation, I was offered a job in insurance by a friend's father.  Having no career aspirations, I accepted the job.  A couple years later, I took a job working for AAA Michigan and have been with them for over twenty years.  That's quite a run for a guy that didn't want to sell insurance.

Back in the year 2000, our office was open until 7:00 P.M. on Thursdays.  It was a drag as most of our customers assumed our office closed at 5:00 P.M.  At the time, I had just read the first four books in the Harry Potter series and having read them back to back, I was in Potter withdrawal.  It was going to be a while before the next Potter Book would get issued and of course, wanted to know what happened next.

My daughter Kyla (a Potter fan) was 5 months from her 11th. birthday.  I wondered what kind of adventures Kyla and her friends could have with Harry and his friends if he came to visit our home in Presque Isle Michigan.  The idea that I could get my Potter fix by creating my own story sounded interesting.  

Since I never wanted to be a writer, I didn't know how to start the story?  What would it be about?  I figured the logical place to start would be to continue J.K. Rowling's series at the end of book four.  I started typing and discovered that I actually liked writing.   It was thrilling because like a reader, I didn't know what was going to happen next.  I just followed Kyla, Harry, and the rest of the kids around and wrote down what happened. 

I ended up with a 25 chapter book that takes place over a one week period of time.  Harry and company come to Michigan to recruit help from the American Ministry Of Magic in the fight against Lord Voldemort.  I enjoyed blending the Harry Potter universe with real Michigan people and places and my own fiction. 

I finished the rough manuscript in time for Kyla's eleventh birthday.  During the time of writing the book however, I enrolled in the Institute Of Children's Literature to learn how to do what I was doing better.  There were several revisions of The Presque Isle Princess before I abandoned the project. I didn't want to spend a lot of time on the book with Harry Potter as a principle character.  The book was written, I just didn't want to spend a lot of time working on something I wasn't going to publish. 

I have since set out on creating the P.I.G. Adventures which is an original story I can call my own.  When people ask what it's like, I tell them I'm writing to the Harry Potter audience which covers young readers as well as their parents and grandparents.  So think Fantasy Fiction. 

Look for future postings on this blog regarding the Pig Adventures.