C. Lee McKenzie

Young Adult and Middle Grade Author

Punxsutawney Phil Says…

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#IWSG
Join Us Today

…join the IWSG parade and meet a lot of writers/readers. Oh, and Phil also says that spring will be early this year.

Every month, we announce a question that members can answer in their IWSG post. These questions may prompt you to share advice, insight, a personal experience or story. Include your answer to the question in your IWSG post or let it inspire your post if you are struggling with something to say.
Remember, the question is optional!
The awesome co-hosts for the March 6 posting of the IWSG are Beverly Stowe McClure, Erika Beebe, and Lisa Buie-Collard! 

March 6 question – Whose perspective do you like to write from best, the hero (protagonist) or the villain (antagonist)? And why?

Today I’m answering the question over at the IWSG site and propping it up with one of those pithy quotes I like so much. Hope you’ll pop by. There’s so much happening this EARLY SPRING for all IWSGers. And speaking of things happening here are two new books!

Music Boxes by Tonja Dreker
AMAZON . B&N . KOBO

VIDEO

Twelve-year-old Lindsey McKay’s biggest dream is to be a famous ballerina. But after moving to New York, she ends up at the Community Center with a teacher who’s a burly bear in tights.When she meets Madame Destinée, the teacher of a top dance school who offers her classes for free, Lindsey can’t believe her luck. In exchange, she must perform in the school’s exclusive midnight shows, ones sure to make her a star. But something’s not right…One by one, the other dancers disappear. Each time they do, a music box with a figurine just like the missing ballerina joins Madame Destinée’s growing collection. If Lindsey doesn’t discover the truth about the dance school, she might end up a tiny figurine herself.

There’s a GIVEAWAY, but it ends midnight EST, March 15th. Better sign up now. If you have questions, you can contact Tonja HERE

Buy Now

Jackson Stone is sick of ghosts. With his love life in shambles, he heads to Romania for a horror writers’ retreat, hoping it will be a break from the supernatural and breathing space from his relationship with medium Kate Carlsson.

But as his fellow writers begin disappearing or losing their minds, he realizes he needs Kate’s help. 

When Jackson loses his own memory, Kate’s love is the only thing that can bring him back. But she’s falling for the man responsible for the evil in Romania. A man who claims to be her soul mate. Will this master of wraiths forever break Kate’s bond with Jackson?

Here’s some BIG news about #IWSG. We’re now in the top 50 blogs for writers at the UK Writers Hub.

50 Best Writing Blogs in 2018

This month my Email Connect gives a little history about a few of those pesky grammar rules that sometimes give us fits. Hope you’ll join me and receive your free story as a thank you.

The February WEP was another whooping success. Please congratulate the intrepid writers who entered and give those who won some kudos.

See you over at IWSG. What did you think about the UK Writers Hub news? Did you check out Tonja’s video? How about J.H. Moncrieff’s ghostly tale? Did you enter the WEP last month?

February The Big Heart Month

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#IWSG
Join Us Now

The co-hosts for the February 6 posting of the IWSG are Raimey Gallant,Natalie Aguirre,CV Grehan, and Michelle Wallace!

Thanks for hosting, everyone.

The Question of the Month: Besides writing what other creative outlets do you have?

Does hiking or gardening count as creative? Well, maybe gardening. Here’s a pictorial answer to the question. A BEFORE and AFTER garden visit.

[Read more…] about February The Big Heart Month

June WEP The Unraveled Yarn

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I’m not much of a poet, and I have no idea where this one came from, but I do know that I’ve always had a special place for cats. I see them as my comic relief.

I’ve only knit one thing in my life and that was a big mistake; my solo attempt was quickly unraveled and the yarn (along with those treacherous needles) donated to a knitting maven. The misery of that one experience cast all thoughts of the craft from my mind until this month’s WEP showed up.

Somehow the jester-cat and my fledging knowledge of knitting (accompanied with a failure’s dislike) came together. Feel free to unravel it and donate the remains to a real poet.

Knitting With Yarn 101

Dropped stitches.
Mistakes. Oh so many.
Search them out. Fish them up. Is that how it’s done?
Gram knew;
then Mom.
I never understood dropped stitches.
No yarn in my life.

Bring in the Cat.
Tangled. Smug with success.
But those were other days.

Before.

Gauge and tension.
Problems. Oh, so many.
Find the larger needle, the larger the yarn. Is that how it’s done?
Gram knew;
then Mom.
I never understood gauge and tension.
No yarn in my life.

Bring in the Cat.
Crouched. Tense with expectation.
But those were other days.

Before.

Casting off.
Endings. Oh, so many.
Two stitches. One over the other, then off the needle. Is that how it’s done?
Gram knew;
then Mom;
then one ebony day that skein fell into my palm, unraveling.
And there was yarn in my life.

Bring in the Cat.
Stretched long with acceptance.
These are the new days.

After.

Write, Edit, Publish. REUNIONS!

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I love joining in the WEP. It’s a fun and creative hop. I couldn’t do it last month, so I was delighted when I could spin a short yarn this month. The theme is Reunions. I hope you enjoy my contribution, and I hope you’ll visit the others who have shared their stories today. The link to find others is at the bottom.

 

[Read more…] about Write, Edit, Publish. REUNIONS!

Heads Up! WEP Ahead

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The August Write It! Edit It! Publish It! is almost here. On August 16 those who signed up on the Linky will be posting their stories about this month’s theme, REUNIONS.

Amazon

Is marketing sucking the joy out of your writing life? Then read what
The Insecure Writers’ Support Group Book Club is reading. Our new book selection is based on survey results that showed this area was the biggest challenge for writers. [Read more…] about Heads Up! WEP Ahead

WEP December Challenge, Utopian Dreams

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Our lovely hostesses are Denise Covey and Yolanda Yenee
What to play? Click HERE and find the Linky to other posts.
Utopian Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, but what better one to share with someone than perfect love. If only you’ll love me, life will be a dream. 
Shaboom! 
Magic!

Brandon didn’t hear the faint knock on the door, but Lilly did, and her sharp bark alerted him to the visitor. She waddled to the entry and waited expectantly, dragging her tail across the floor. Brandon opened the door and faced the mirror image of himself.

The slump-shouldered, wispy- haired man, clutched a hat to his chest. He smoothed a few strands of white hair into place and waited until Brandon spoke.

“Bailey?” he had to search for his brother’s name, but found it lodged behind some fifty years of trivia and television re-runs.

“It’s me, all right.” Bailey wiped his feet on the welcome mat and waited, but Brandon didn’t invite him in.  Bailey looked away, rolling the brim of his hat then smoothing it again. “I came to tell you Lilly’s dead.”

Lilly cocked her head at the familiar syllables, and Brandon did a quick glance at her. Dead? And then it came to him. “Oh, yes. Lilly.” He’d forgotten Bailey’s wife’s name was the same as his Spaniel and, for a moment, the reason he’d named all his dogs Lilly. “How’d that happen?”

“Heart. The doc said it sort of shriveled up.”

Brandon dredged up the memory of the dark-eyed girl with the swishy pony tail and dove gray eyes. She’d captured the hearts of all the senior boys in the class of ’56, but she only had those eyes on him, Brandon DeForest. Now he tried to imagine that young girl’s heart wrinkled and contracted. Still.

“Condolences,” Brandon said, wanting to be done with this conversation, but not knowing how to end it.

“She said she was sorry. I came to tell you that. She asked me to.” When Brandon only nodded in silence, Bailey put his hat on and stepped away from the porch. “I’m sorry, too, if that matters anymore.” At the sidewalk,  he turned and waved.

Brandon waited until his brother was out of sight, then he closed the door and leaned his back against it.  Lilly. They’d planned things together. They’d dreamed things together. They were the perfect couple. Once.

He opened the music cabinet and took out a well-worn record, blew across the black disc, then set it on the turntable. Lilly whined to be held, so he gathered her onto his lap and drummed his fingers in time to the song, his and Lily’s song. Then, with his eyes closed, he dreamed again until the music stopped.

Life could be a dream, life could be a dream
Do, do, do, do, sh-boom
Life could be a dream (sh-boom)
If I could take you up in paradise up above (sh-boom)
If you would tell me I’m the only one that you love
Life could be a dream, sweetheart

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Hello, hello again, sh-boom and hopin’ we’ll meet again

The Surprise WEP Entry

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Source
 The Surprise

C. Lee McKenzie
I knew the meeting place was going to be creepy. I didn’t think it would be a moldy crypt guarded by avenging angels, swords drawn.
     The thick door grinds open when I press against it, and a musty air brushes over me and into the October twilight I’m about leave. When I step inside, the door seals behind me with a solid, dull thud. Then silence. I blink until my eyes adjust to the darkness. And there he is perched on stone just as I’d imagined, but smiling. Not as I’d imagined at all.
     “You’re late,” he says, yawning. 
     I wasn’t expecting the yawn anymore than I was expecting the smile. Not pretty. I choke and put my hand over my mouth. “Traffic,” I mumble.
     The silence that follows unsettles me more than I am already.          Then he says, “Shall we begin?” 
     Like I have a choice? I’d say this to him, but I know better. I read the contract. I signed it, but before I understood what this was really about. I was twenty, for chrissakes. I never thought this far ahead. And I still had years before I had to think more about the terms. 
     This early expiration was all Fred’s fault. No. In all honesty, it was mine. I’d let him become a friend and not just my chief communications officer. When the call came, I’d been at his desk chatting, and he didn’t pick up. That call was meant for him, not me, and he knew it. He’d held up his Reese’s Pieces and mimed “Peanut butter fingers. Can you get that?”
     The minute I picked up the receiver, I knew I’d been had. Fred sprinted to the men’s room, and I was left holding the bag–technically, a phone made heavy by the voice and the message it delivered. 
     “Ah, Stephen. It’s you. I expected Fred. Fate has intervened. It’s time we met.” 
     I heard two things after that, the lonely sound of an old digital clock’s second hand and, “Six p.m. tomorrow.”
Photo by Pierre J.
     Now, at just a quarter past six the next day, that voice comes at me again, only up close and with smelly breath. 
     “How do you see all of this playing out?” he asks.
     Again, he’s put me off balance. I wasn’t ready to answer a question like that. 
     “Surely you’ve thought about it.” He adjusts his position only slightly, and I flinch. “Nerves are understandable.”
     When I don’t respond, he says, “Hmm. So you don’t know how you’d like this to happen? Too bad. With contracts like yours I usually give choices. In your case, I guess it will be a surprise.”
     My voice finally returns. “Can I ask when,”–I have to swallow–“to expect the . . . surprise?”
     He seems to consider my question while staring blankly at me. 
     My leg jiggles, an old tick from pre-game jitters. Then for a moment I’m twenty and in my bedroom surrounded with my college baseball trophies. And I’m remembering why I signed that paper. The major league contract. The no hitter games I pitched–one after the other. The baseball hall of fame, only six years after my last game. Baseball Commissioner.  All before I was forty. That’s what came with a stroke of my ballpoint.
     His voice snaps me back to the dank space. “If I told you when it’s going to happen, that would ruin everything. That’s part of a surprise. You know that.”
     “Do I get some kind of warning?”
     “You don’t want a warning. Warnings only make humans edgy.” He strokes his bony chin and the sleeve of the cloak slips back. 
     I don’t want to see under that cloak, but I can’t stop staring at his whiteness. A thin drizzle of cold sweat slides down my spine.
     He rises slowly, almost as if he’s tired. “Bye. Bye,” he says. “See you soon.”
     With a terminal thud, Death’s door swings closed behind him. And I’m alone. 
     Waiting.

    This is the best I can do. I’m totally “hopped” out, and I almost didn’t join the WEP this month. However, common sense didn’t prevail, so here it is–my stab at the macabre. I really need to leave this kind of topic to Lexa and Holli. They know macabre. 

No critique, please. This is as far as The Surprise will ever go into the world. No thanks necessary! 


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#WEP August Garden Delights

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When you say the word garden, you immediately have an image of lush ferns, stately trees and bountiful harvests of fruit, vegetables and flowers. When I first stood looking at the land in front of our house, the only things I saw were the remains of a burned down house and an industrial sized crop of weeds growing through the old debris.

Well I love a challenge or I would write books now, would I? I knew I couldn’t let this three-quarters of an acre defeat me. So I started in one corner and kept moving until I got to the next one. It took a few months, and ever since I first started shoveling and digging, I’ve seen my garden through many seasons. Some lush. Some dry. Some fallow. But always a reward when I walk through it or have a quiet moment to sit in it.

In the picture below you can see a cement foundation post. 

Here’s  the same foundation post, but it now has a birdhouse perched on top, and something green instead of brown around it. 
This is the back corner with the foundation wall. Before.
I like after so much better. That’s a giant dragonfly perched on top of a stubborn rebar thing that I couldn’t get rid of. Nobody sees the rebar now; they just see the dragonfly. 

And across from this I put the first pond. Digging for that pond took me three days. Do not mention rocks to me. Ever. But it was worthwhile. Lots of critters visit my little pond all year.

After I cleared this part, I found my Griffin to stand watch over the garden.

He’s such a good Griffin.

Some of you have seen my editing spot before, but I’ll post it again because it’s by my bigger pond and one of my favorite spots in the garden. It faces the canyon and on cool days you can hear the creek below. 

The fish are always there to greet me. “Whatcha editing today?”

I’ve written tons of things in this garden space. In fact, I have a whole collection called Garden Lessons. I always meant to publish those, but maybe these lessons are only for me. But here’s one thought in haiku form that I enjoy.

A day of spring:
                        a hamlet where not anyone
                           is doing anything. 
Shiki 
So there it is. My #WEP contribution to gardens. I’m looking forward to seeing other contributions about gardens on your blogs. 

Corpus Christi and WEP-February Challenge

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Check out their Website

I’m off to Corpus Christi, Texas in a few days to be at the Teen Bookfest By the Bay with a lot of other YA authors. Some writers from UnCommonYA. and of course, my fabulous crit partner, Yvonne Ventresca. I always get excited when I’m going to meet other writers, especially those I share my writing process with. Yvonne is the only crit partner I haven’t met in person, so this is going to make the event very exciting. I’ll post about it.

Now I’ve decided to jump into Yolanda and Denise’s February WEP, Valentine’s Lost and Found. This is a bit early, but hope it’s okay because I’m still trying to stick with my Post On Mondays Only policy. 

Denise Covey and Yolanda Renee

Jolly was my first dog. He is still the dog that has my heart and always will. We grew up together. I remember when I got into serious trouble with my gram and Jolly would stand at my side while she scolded me—her corporal punishment was shaking her finger in my face until my eyes crossed. Then I had to go to my room for decades. Well, not decades, but at eight, the hour of confinement was long enough for world wars to be fought and won or lost. 
Jolly stuck with me during those decades. He’d say things like, “You’re my girl. You’ll be just fine, and all is going to be great in a short time. Besides, I’m here with you. Let’s just cuddle.”
So we did. 
Then when I was thirteen, my mom and gram decided I needed to visit the homeland. They shipped me off to Kansas where their roots were, but where I was the stranger in a strange land. I wrote and called home a lot—mostly about not being a fit for Kansas and missing Jolly. It wasn’t natural being away from home or him. 
In each conversation with Mom and Gram they said all was well, not to worry. 
“He’s a bit mopey, but gram and I are walking him.”
”Jolly’s fine, honey. Enjoy your visit.”
“I brushed him today and told him you’ll be home in a couple of weeks.”
When I made my last call, the news wasn’t that cheery. Jolly had some problems. I begged to come home immediately, but my return airline ticket was already purchased. I could come back in a few days, just not that day. 
When I finally set foot on native soil again, I ran up the ramp and to my family. I fully expected they would smuggle Jolly into the airline terminal, but there were only two humans to greet me—two humans with grief all over their faces.
They didn’t have to tell me I’d never hold Jolly again, that he’d never curl up next me with warmth and encouragement. I knew. I also knew they’d done their best to save him, but I had this terrible gash inside me that none of my family could ever stitch up.
All I could think was that his girl hadn’t there when he needed her, and his girl has always regretted that. 
This is for Jolly, the dog I loved and lost. His name suited him. 


Quote of the Week: “A man is only as good as what he loves.” Saul Bellow

My Schedule for October-November

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Hi Everyone! I have to pull the plug on this blog for a while. Sometime life happens, and so this is when it happens for me.

However, because I have some IMPORTANT PEOPLE and IMPORTANT HOPS  and it my favorite HOLIDAY MONTH that I said yes to, these are the days I’m  here.

The WEP was here on Oct 21, and my contribution is HERE. 
The IWSG will be here on Nov. 4. I’ll be late in my comments, but I’ll be around.
Stephen Tremp will be here managing things on November 9. Hat’s Off to Stephen!

A Little Dab of Horror in Honor of Halloween

If all goes well, I’ll be back December 7. Sooooo if you are launching a new book or want to do a special giveaway in December, email me and I’ll put you in the Hat’s Off Corner.


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My Quote for the Week: “The difference between successful people and others is how long they spend time feeling sorry for themselves.” Barbara Corcoran, Real Estate Mogul