Jim is the host and gave us this picture and the word, cold. Here goes…
Poor, cold cat (Cat in the Hat fan fiction)
And now he was back. The Cat in the Hat And even though cold, he ne’r worried bought that He worried ‘bout green cheese and even green eggs He worried ‘bout spiders and all of their legs He came well prepared, that Cat in the Hat He came with some bug spray and his big baseball bat He told the kids stories that his pop told him Even ‘bout working, which sometimes were grim But he smiled and nodded to keep the mood light Or else these two kids would end up in a fight Then mom would be mad that the Cat came to call She’d make him leave quick with his stories and all She’d make him run far and tell him not to come back ‘Cause common sense manners their mom did not lack She’d tell him to stay away far from her house “I’ll call the police! You dirty old louse!” So the cat kept on walking, even now in the snow ‘Cause home was the only place he knew to go.
The Cat in the Hat and the Lorax too sat with the guy who invented it all today was his day and when he arrived everyone laughed and they had a great ball. They ate cake and ice cream, Heavenly Hash, popcorn, salty chips and soda galore Seuss was encouraged by the attention Happy to know they didn’t think him a bore. Singing loud and with all the effect this whole party was getting real fun when it was over and day turned to night they all realized the party was done.
The song I chose for this week is a favorite of mine. I used to sing it at karaoke at the Elks Lodge when my dad would bring me for dinner. I usually got a good laugh out of the folks there, as many of them were used to hearing Tony Bennett or Nat King Cole. It was fun. It is more about death than anything except if you pay attention Wanda finally found life! I guess I also loved this song because my mom’s name was Wanda!
I am not new to Song Lyric Sunday as a reader, but I am as a participant. Having fun with it last week I wanted to join in again. Here is my take on the theme…the first song that popped into my head
“Give Me One Reason”
Give me one reason to stay here And I’ll turn right back around Give me one reason to stay here And I’ll turn right back around Said I don’t want to leave you lonely You got to make me change my mind
Baby I got your number, oh, and I know that you got mine You know that I called you, I called too many times You can call me baby, you can call me anytime You got to call me
Give me one reason to stay here And I’ll turn right back around Give me one reason to stay here And I’ll turn right back around Said I don’t want leave you lonely You got to make me change my mind
I don’t want no one to squeeze me, they might take away my life I don’t want no one to squeeze me, they might take away my life I just want someone to hold me, oh, and rock me through the night
This youthful heart can love you, yes, and give you what you need I said, This youthful heart can love you, oh, and give you what you need But I’m too old to go chasing you around Wasting my precious energy
Give me one reason to stay here Yes and I’ll turn right back around Give me one reason to stay here Ooh and I’ll turn right back around Said I don’t want leave you lonely You got to make me change my mind
Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why I should stay Said I told you that I loved you And there ain’t no more to say
I’m thrilled to share the beautiful cover of another exciting Botanic Hill Detectives mystery! This one is called Walnut Street: Phantom Rider and its coming late this Fall!
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Walnut Street: Phantom Rider (A Botanic Hill Detectives Mystery)
Expected Publication Date: November 9th, 2021
Genre: MG Mystery/ Middle Grade (For fans of Nancy Drew type mysteries)
Objects of value have been disappearing from the Mayfield family’s rural California horse ranch. The Botanic Hill Detectives—Moki Kalani, Rani Kumar, and twins Lanny and Lexi Wyatt—are hired to come for a week to investigate.
Legend has it somewhere on the Mayfields’ forty-acre property is a long-lost gold mine. It was supposedly staked by thirteen-year-old Ben Mayfield’s five-time great-grandfather, “Papa” Mayfield, in 1875.
Adding to the excitement, a nervous Ben reveals a frightening secret to the detectives. At the ranch, he alone has seen a threatening black-clad figure on horseback whom he calls the Phantom Rider. Who is this mysterious person? Is he responsible for the thefts? Where is the lost gold mine? And what’s going on in the nearby, snake-infested ghost town of Rainbow Flats? The four intrepid detectives aim to find out.
About the Author
Sherrill Joseph will be forever inspired by her beautiful students in the San Diego public schools where she taught for thirty-five years before retiring and becoming a published author.
The author has peopled and themed her mysteries with characters after her own responsible, role-model students, of various abilities, disabilities, races, cultures, and interests. She believes that children need to find themselves and those unlike themselves in books for developing accepting, anti-racist world citizens.
Sherrill is a native San Diegan where she lives in a 1928 Spanish-style house in a historic neighborhood with her adorable bichon frisé-poodle mix, Jimmy Lambchop, who blogs.
Her books are recipients of two Gold Awards from Mom’s Choice Book Awards, a Gold Award from Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards, three awards from Story Monsters Approved, and numerous other children’s book awards. She is a member of SCBWI, the Authors Guild, and Blackbird Writers. Watch for many more adventures with the Botanic Hill Detectives!
The Wivesby Tarryn Fisher is a twisted mystery leaving you wondering if you, as the reader, or the characters are the ones who cannot keep the story straight! Who is Thursday and how is she intertwined with Monday and Tuesday, or is she Seth’s one and only true love?
Thursday is the narrator and main character in this perplexing mystery. The author explains the situation very well from the beginning of the story so you can follow who is who, but their roles become muddied as Thursday becomes more curious about her Polygamist husband’s other wives. From the beginning, Thursday was always okay with the arrangement between her and Seth; he had other wives and she would keep her curiosity at bay, knowing she was the one “legal” wife, and the most loved. But as she digs deeper into Seth’s other relationships, she realizes she might not be the most important and she is starting to understand why. Will collaboration with the other wives help answer some of her questions? What will Seth do when he finds out she has contacted the other wives?
I give this story 4 out of 5 stars for its intricate and intriguing plot. Throughout the story the reader is left rooting for each wife for varied reasons and the author sends you on a twisted journey. There are a few times later in the story that it is hard to differentiate between the real and the imagined and to know whether this perplexity is set up purposely by the author or just the reader being confused. In the end, this book is worth reading and I would read more from Tarryn Fisher.
Welcome to the book tour for supernatural thriller, Murder: It’s All in Your Head by Cynthia Hilston!
Murder: It’s All in Your Head
Publication Date: December 5, 2020
Genre: Supernatural Thriller/ Horror
Someone has been getting away with murder for over 100 years in the small town of Hurston, Ohio. But the wrong person has been convicted of those murders every time. In 2018, Cassie Meadows is on her way to school when a bright flash comes out of nowhere, and she wakes in millionaire Randy Davis’s body with blood on her hands…the blood of Randy’s wife, who lies in a pool of crimson in the bathtub with her throat slit. Meanwhile, an old man everyone calls Jimmy Williams raves that he’s the real Randy Davis as he lives out his days in a ward for the criminally insane. In 1914, young Helen Hawkins is unloved and repetitively abused by her father, who is also the town’s pastor. Her only escape is in her dreams, where she wakes in others’ bodies, living other lives, but when her dreams turn out to be reality, the tables are turned on her father. In a story where no one is who they seem, how can Cassie, the latest victim accused of a murder she didn’t commit, end the cycle?
Cassie pedaled her bike faster to school as thoughts of staying home alone on senior prom night plagued her. A flash of light blinded her. She shielded her eyes. Horns blared and tires squealed, and the whole bike shook to a stop.
When she opened her eyes, a wall of old books stared back. She rubbed her eyes and blinked rapidly, taking in her surroundings. Gone was the familiar tree-lined street with rows of 40-year-old ranches and split-levels. Sunlight filtered in through parted drapes. Unlike her house, where dust danced in light beams, this room sat still.
Her sweaty hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. A chill jolted up her spine and extended down her arms, freezing her in place. She gazed across the room. Marble pillars flanked an archway to another room across the vast library.
A faint noise came from another part of the building. Curiosity claimed her caution as she took a step. Realizing her fingers were wet, she glanced down and nearly fell over. Blood covered her large hands all the way to her thick fingertips!
Cassie gasped. She reached for her throat. A sharp intake of breath.
“What?” she croaked in a foreign voice.blo
A dream. This must be a dream. Her voice rang through her mind, but when she opened her mouth to speak again…
“This can’t be happening.”
Cassie’s hands grasped her throat, in a failed attempt to excise the vocal cords responsible for this new voice. When her fingers grazed whiskers, she raked them over the jaw and cheeks.
“No. N-no.” What the hell?
She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a long, slow breath. Okay, okay. Calm down.
When her eyes opened yet again to this new reality, Cassie gave a shuddering gasp. She felt like she was doused with ice water, the burn throbbing through her body. She tried to step again, but she wavered in this oversized body that wore like a linebacker’s uniform. The large feet lumbered with a clumsiness contrary to her agile body. For a girl who had taken gymnastics since she could walk, the dragging, teetering movement of this form almost stopped her efforts. But Cassie willed herself to move. One step at a time.
Just do the best you can. Her mom’s words echoed through her mind.
Her steps were short-lived as her dad’s advice died. She halted. A trail of red on the spotless marble floor led to an archway. Her nerves fired in overtime, and her head spun. She followed the path and exited the elaborate room into a hallway.
The sound was louder now. The unmistakable sound of running water.
“What’s going on?” Cassie whispered. She tried to ignore the voice. Really tried.
Something moved out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head to the right and landed on her reflection, only it wasn’t her face. A tall man of about thirty stared back. She ran her hands through the trim brown beard that contoured the strong jawline, confirming what she felt earlier. Liquid brown eyes under thick, wavy hair and a deep brow held confusion, panic. A sleek black business suit covered her well-built frame—fit for an executive who dined on caviar and champagne and rode in chauffeured limos. But against the black of her suit the blood extended, weaving an unknown horror story.
She shook her head. “This is impossible.” Yet the voice told a different story.
Her body trembled, and her whole being felt different. Cassie’s eyes fell on a picture frame below the mirror. Her fingers fumbled to pick it up. A younger version of the man in the mirror gazed out of the photo. He smiled, his face next to a gorgeous auburn-haired woman. The woman’s hazel eyes crinkled around the edges, her freckles standing out against her fair skin in the sunshine. It was a happy couple’s wedding photo.
Cassie returned the picture to its place, the frame now coated in blood. A drop of crimson marked the floor every few inches. This body must have come from the opposite direction through the house, for how else could she explain the blood everywhere? She rested a hand on the railing at the base of the stairway and gazed up the twisting steps. The running water came from upstairs. She took the first step and steadied herself. Something drew her toward the source of that sound.
Cassie reached the landing and glanced behind her. Her mark was on the railing, another path of blood. The tell-tale trail continued, decorating the floor in a macabre design, as she went down the hallway toward the sound. Her knees wobbled as a dizzy spell overtook her. She steadied herself with a hand to the wall and blanched at the red print she left.
Call the cops.
I don’t know what the hell’s going on.
She pushed herself from the wall and arrived at the bathroom. Water leaked under the door.
The knob slid under her slick hand. She used the end of her sleeve to grip it and pushed the door open enough to peek inside. Pink water flooded the marble floor. Her gaze traveled to the bathtub. Water spilled over the tub’s edge. A woman lay sprawled in the tub, her vacant eyes staring at the ceiling, her mouth open in a scream. Her head lay at an odd angle, her neck nearly cut in two. Blood ran from the gaping gash into the water.
Cassie tried to scream, but her stomach tightened. Bile rose and she vomited into the pooling water and blood. She slammed the door and collapsed against the outside, pulling her knees to her chest. Water soaked her pants, making the fabric stick to her clammy skin. The tall frame of the man’s body convulsed with the sobs of a teenage girl as she cried into her hands. Hands that weren’t hers.
“I want my mom.”
She couldn’t get the dead woman’s face out of her mind. As the scene replayed through her head, Cassie realized where she’d seen the woman before. In the photo. She had been this man’s wife.
Cynthia Hilston is a stay-at-home mom of three young kids, happily married, and lives in the Cleveland, Ohio, area. Writing has always been like another child to her. After twenty years of waltzing in the world of fan fiction, she stepped away to do her debut dance with original works of fiction.
In her spare time – what spare time? – she devours books, watches Supernatural and Outlander, pets her orange kitty, looks at the stars, drinks wine or coffee with good friends, and dreams of what other stories she wishes to tell.