I was looking at the blog and realized that I had not posted in quite a while. My apologies, but I've been working on putting together my current work in progress. As the Owl Flies is a collection of spiritual stories and poems for all ages. Currently,
Emily Hurst Pritchett is hard at work on the cover and 12 illustrations, one for each story. My wife, Stephanie Shaughnessy is also working on the four illustrations for the poems will accompany the stories.
I have received the pencil sketch drafts of each of the twelve illustrations, and I will one here. I am also sharing a story from the book to give you a little taste of what the book will be like. This book will be a leap outside my usual genre, and I hope that some of my current readers will take that leap with me. I any case, I would appreciate any feedback in the comments section.
Once there was a large forest. In this large forest there was a lake. In this lake there lived a family of
beavers. They lived out in the middle of
the lake, and it was their job to maintain the dam that kept the water of the
lake from flooding the forest.
Every morning Father Beaver
would go out and inspect the dam. Then
all the beavers would set to work; cutting down trees to replace rotten
sections of the dam, preparing mortar to plug holes and seal cracks. The beavers were also the forest's early
warning system. If there was danger,
they would smack their large, flat tails in the water to alert everyone.
All the beavers loved their
work. All that is except the youngest,
Jeffrey. He hated the dam, and he hated
his job. Most of all, though, he hated
being a beaver. For one thing he could
not stand his teeth. He had two front
teeth that were big and square and stuck out over his lower lip. They were very useful for gnawing wood, but
they made him feel awkward. Then there
was his tail. It was long and wide and
flat. It was perfect for packing mortar
into the cracks in the dam and for steering when swimming, but on land it
dragged him down and made him feel clumsy.
Besides all that, beavers were also fat.
The fat was useful in keeping them warm during their extended time in the
water, but he wished he could be slim and limber like his cousins the
otters. On the whole, Jeffrey decided
that being a beaver was about the worst thing someone could be.
One morning, Jeffrey decided
that he did not want to be a beaver any more.
He had been watching the birds near the lake and was fascinated by the
way they soared through the air and skimmed over the water.
"I think that I shall be
a bird," said Jeffrey. "It
must be wonderful to fly. They don't have
a care in the world. They can fly
anywhere, any time they want."
Looking around, he saw an
outcrop of rock about three feet high.
Climbing to the top he spread his front paws and prepared to fly.
"I hope I'm doing this
right," he muttered. "Maybe I
should get a bird to show me the proper way to take off."
He took a deep breath, closed
his eyes, and jumped from the top of the rocks.
For a second, he had a free feeling as he floated through the air. Then his stomach lurched, and he felt himself
plummet down to the ground. Dazed and
confused, he lay senseless for a few minutes.
"Oohh," the young
beaver groaned as he rolled over and looked at the birds flying in the sky
above him. "I guess flying is
harder than it looks."
"Haw, haw! Caw, caw!" cackled a voice.
Jeffrey propped himself up on
his elbows and looked around. There on
the rocks above him a crow was laughing at him.
"What's so funny?"
asked Jeffrey.
"Caw, caw! Flying is the easiest thing in the world if
you're a bird," laughed the crow.
"Well, I want to be a
bird. I want to fly."
"Where are your feathers
and your wings?" asked the crow.
"Do you need
those?" asked Jeffrey.
"Of course you do. You can't fly if you're not a bird. It's something birds do. You're a beaver, you can't fly."
"But I don't want to be
a beaver," said Jeffrey.
"Well, you can try, but
if you do you'll wind up killing yourself," the crow warned and he flew
away.
"I guess he's right
about that," said Jeffrey as he stood up.
He winced and rotated his shoulder.
He was going to be in pain in the morning. Jeffrey decided that, while he might not be
cut out to be a bird, there were other animals he could be that were just as
interesting and exciting. He thought a
lot about what animal he wanted to be for the rest of that day. By the time he was ready for bed he had made
up his mind.
The next day dawned bright
and sunny. Jeffrey awoke stiff and
sore. He stretched and dove into the
water. He swam out from under his house,
and by the time he had reached shore he felt more like his old self.
Jeffrey had decided that he
would be a great hunter and stalk his prey.
He wanted to be a wolf. He also
decided that he would go right to the source and learn firsthand the ways of
the wolf. He would ask the advice of Old
Gray. Old Gray was the oldest wolf in
the forest. He kept to himself because
of his age and was ignored by the rest of the wolf pack. Jeffrey was a little intimidated by the
wolves, but he thought he would be all right with Old Gray. Jeffrey waddled deep into the forest until he
came to Old Gray's cave. Gulping
nervously, he peered into the cave mouth.
"Hhello? Old Gray are you home?" asked Jeffrey.
"Who wants to
know?" a deep voice growled.
"It's me, Jeffrey
Beaver."
There was movement inside the
cave and a large gray wolf came into view.
He moved slowly, as if his joints ached.
He was very thin. He looked
Jeffrey over with piercing blue eyes.
"Well, so it is. And what may I ask is such a young beaver
doing so far away from the lake?"
"I don't want to be a
beaver. I want to be a wolf."
"Ha, ha!' Old Gray chuckled as he took a step closer to
Jeffrey. "And why would a beaver
want to be a wolf?"
"Wwell," Jeffrey
gulped. Old Gray was making him more
nervous than he anticipated. "I
want to be a great hunter, you see. It
would be much more exciting than gnawing trees."
"I suppose it
would," Old Gray's eyes narrowed, "But why would a vegetarian want to
hunt?"
"Oh, you know, for the
sport of it, the thrill of the hunt."
It seemed to Jeffrey that the wolf's eyes had a hungry gleam.
"It
is very exciting," the wolf took two more steps toward the little
beaver, "I love a good chase."
Jeffrey was now having
serious doubts about consulting Old Gray.
Maybe it would have been better to try to be a wolf on his own, after
all.
The wolf sighed and shook his
head sadly, "But beavers are too fat and slow to be good sport, even for
one as old as I. Besides, there is not
enough meat on you to make more than a mouthful. I am too old, and my time is almost
done. Go home, Jeffrey. Go back to your lake. You are not a wolf, you are a beaver. Go before I change my mind and eat you after
all, fat or no fat."
Jeffrey turned and waddled
away as fast as he could. From behind he
heard Old Gray give a long howl that made him run all the faster. He had been silly to want to be a wolf. He would have to think some more. There must be something that he could be,
something other than a beaver. By the
time he got back to the lake, he had another idea. He went to bed that night thinking that he
had the perfect solution.
The next day Jeffrey made his
way to the edge of the forest. At the
edge of the forest was a tall mountain that was called, oddly enough, Tall
Mountain. At the foot of Tall Mountain
was a blacksmith's shop that was the home of Hallo the dwarf. Hallo had dug a mine into the side of the
mountain that provided him with all sorts of ores and precious metals for his
work. He forged many useful tools and
implements. He also crafted many
beautiful things of gold and silver.
That was what Jeffrey wanted to do, be a smith and make all sorts of
beautiful and useful things.
Jeffrey entered the
smithy. The air was hot and had a heavy
metallic smell. The only light came from
the fire of the forge at the far end of the room. At the forge was Hallo. He was about three and a half feet tall and
had a long red beard. He wore no shirt,
and his heavily muscled arms wielded a hammer and tongs as he fashioned what
looked like a knife blade. The clangs of
hammer hitting metal rang throughout the smithy. Jeffrey walked up to Hallo and tapped him on the
shoulder.
"Aaihh, what
the...?" exclaimed the startled dwarf.
"Oh, hello Jeffrey, my lad.
Don't sneak up on me like that. I
could have smashed my hand."
"I'm sorry, I didn't
know how else to get your attention."
"That's all right,"
said Hallo with a chuckle, "It's good to see you. What's so important that's made you come out
all this way to see me, eh?"
"Well, I was wondering
if you would take me on as an apprentice.
I'd love to be able to work metal into beautiful things."
"That's a fine
aspiration Jeffrey," conceded Hallo, "If you're a dwarf. But I don't know if it's a good idea for a
beaver."
"Couldn't you let me
try? I know I'll be good at it if you
give me a chance."
Hallo laughed, "You're a
game little chap, I'll give you that.
Okay lad we'll give it a try."
So, Hallo demonstrated to the
little beaver the proper way to hold the hammer and tongs. He showed him how to heat the metal until it
reached the proper temperature for hammering.
Hallo showed Jeffrey how to hammer iron and beat gold.
After the lesson, it was
Jeffrey's turn to try. The little beaver
tried to pick up the tools, but his paws could not grip them properly. Even if he could have gripped them, he was
not strong enough and his arms were not long enough to use them.
"I'm sorry lad, but it's
my opinion that you'll never make a smith," said Hallo.
"Then what will I
be?" asked Jeffrey.
"What's so wrong with
being what you are? Why don't you want
to be a beaver?"
"Because beavers are so
ordinary. We can't fly, we can't hunt,
and we can't make beautiful things. We
don't do anything special or useful," said Jeffrey dejectedly.
"What do you mean
beavers are not useful?" asked Hallo incredulously. "Are you daft or something? If it weren't for you beavers my house would
be flooded. Without your dam half of the
forest would be under water. By cutting
down trees you create open meadows in the forest where animals can come to
graze. When there is danger, like the
fire we had last year, you warn everyone in the forest by beating your tails in
the water. So you see you do serve a
purpose and what you do is special. No
other animal in the forest can do what the beavers do."
"Gee, I hadn't thought
of it like that before. I guess what we
do really is important. Thanks,
Hallo."
"Don't mention it,
lad. Now run on home before your parents
start to worry."
Jeffrey
said good-bye to the kindhearted dwarf and returned to the lake. He found new pleasure and satisfaction in his
work. All in all, he decided, being a
beaver was a good thing. It had taken
him a while to realize it, but although the things he did seemed mundane and
boring to him, they were important to everyone else in the forest. And that was something that he would never
forget.
