Children’s Book Announcement – Mommy Made a Beastie (But I Love Her Anyway)

Today, our new children’s book, Mommy Made a Beastie (But I Love Her Anyway), is available on Amazon. Two years ago, after the success of our first children’s book, Daddy Doesn’t Purr (But I Love Him Anyway), I set about working on the sequel. After several months of brainstorming with Kisaki – the elder cat authoress of the book that became Beastie – we hit upon the idea of telling the story of John Adams’s birth from her point of view. ‘Saki was the first person to know that Nancy was pregnant. She climbed upon Nancy’s belly while she slept (something she never normally would do) and scowled disapprovingly at her mommy with this look of, “What the hell have you done to us?” That sentiment lingered long after John Adams was born.

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Cover art by Michelle McNally, cover design by Maryann Brown

The events of the book are all true. Kisaki loathed her baby brother at first and went out of her way to muscle him off Nancy’s lap, take focus from him and put it back on herself where she felt it belonged. When John Adams moved and then talked, hers was one of the first faces he saw (due to her constant proximity to Nancy), and he instantly fell in love with her. She did not return the sentiment. He would see her and light up, giggle, smile, wriggle, and all manner of verbal and non-verbal gestures to get her approval. She was not amused.

When nothing that ‘Saki tried gained her exclusive access to Nancy, she became visibly irritable and despondent for a time. Like so many children, she just didn’t want to share her favored parent’s affections with any other child. Finally, in either desperation or conciliation, Kisaki sidled up to her brother, plopped her butt against him and claimed him for her own. It seemed that if she couldn’t have exclusive access to Mommy, the next best thing was to make peace with the Beastie who had her attention. From that point forward, grudging acceptance turned to icy affection, and with a little help from her overly zealous brother, that affection turned into love. Until the end of her life, the two became inseparable.

Yes, I did drop that bomb here: Kisaki has since passed away. She died two years ago due to complications of mouth cancer. Despite his age (he was only fifteen months old when she passed), John Adams has not forgotten about her. It would seem he imbued a little stuffed black and white cat that rests on his bed with his best memories of his sister. The cat was given to him by a friend of ours, “so that he would always remember his sister”, and it seems to have worked. He refers to the stuffed animal as ‘Saki, and we often talk about her joy-riding in Daddy’s White Car, my car that broke down a few months ago. Daddy’s White Car has become the “Farm Upstate” metaphor of the Michael Family. It includes ‘Saki, Snaky, Annie and Dorothy (two goldfish), and a particularly favored and contentious piece of orange cake Nancy threw out. But I digress.

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‘Saki in her ‘Cover pose.’

Mommy Made a Beastie is now the second book in a planned three book ‘Love Anyway’ series. In Daddy Doesn’t Purr, Duke is shown to love me despite our differences. In Beastie, ‘Saki learns to love and accept John Adams despite her jealousy. In the planned third and final (?) book, The Nix, our Manx cat born genetically without a tail, learns to love herself despite being born different from the norm. In all three, embracing love as your primary motivational guide is the key to a happier existence. Love anyway, despite differences, emotional insecurities, and unexpected life changes; despite self-doubt and outward ridicule from others. Out of this notion the happy accident of the ‘Love Anyway’ series was born.

Both books retail for under $12 on Amazon and can be bought both there and on CreateSpace where we receive a better share of the royalties. As added incentive, roughly 1/3 of the sales price of each book is donated to either animal charities in Virginia, or to another as of yet un-chosen animal charity in the U.S. If you’re looking for a Christmas or Holiday present that also benefits animals in a small way, please consider checking out our books. If you’ve read Daddy Doesn’t Purr and you enjoyed it, please consider leaving us a review on Amazon. These books have been labors of love for me, Francie and Michelle McNally, Nancy, Maryann Brown, and, of course, Duke and ‘Saki. Please check them out if you have a moment. And remember: when all else fails…

Love Anyway,

Jason

Here’s the Amazon link to the book: Mommy Made a Beastie

Here’s a link to my Amazon Author page: Jason on Amazon

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‘Saki and John Adams – BFFs

Something Wicked and Wonderful

I started reading Ray Bradbury’s 1962 highly acclaimed dark fantasy novel Something Wicked This Way Comes at the beginning of this summer. Previously, I’d finished his The Martian Chronicles, The illustrated Man, and Fahrenheit 451, so, to my way of thinking, I was rounding out my knowledge of his most celebrated and familiar works. I had had mostly positive experiences with the three previous works; Martian and Illustrated are short story collections woven together with loose framing devices, and Fahrenheit is short and considered a “must-read” on many lists. All three were taut and accessible with frequent payoffs and didn’t put much pressure on the reader to enjoy or engage in them. I also had a faint positive memory of the 1983 Disney film of the same name that I had seen in the theater but not since, and of Jason Robards being great at something in it, but I couldn’t remember what exactly. Disney has announced plans in the future to re-shoot Something Wicked for the screen, so there’s no time like the present to read this significant novel. So I began…and it was like landing in some kind of literary bizarro hell right from the start.

Archaic, muddled, or just absent grammar; metaphors that seemed to run for pages; a muddied narrative that left me wondering “what the hell just happened?” and a loose story that seemed to never get started for chapter after chapter. I could make out that there were two boys; a salesman; a spinster teacher; and a kindly, wise, and weary father of one of the boys. I gathered that a carnival of freaks came to the Midwestern town, led by the ominous Mr. Dark, who was also their Illustrated Man (and may or may not be the same man from the eponymous novel), and people started disappearing. There was also a carousel that if run forward made one age rapidly, and if run backward made its passengers “youth-en” to fetal stage. The story slowly, joltingly, almost grudgingly un-spun itself in page after page of vivid, obtuse imagery that left me uncertain and angry as to what Bradbury was trying to say. I read each chapter and put the book down in frustration and apathy. ‘This feels like a short story strung out to novel length,’ I would lament to Nancy (which indeed is true). ‘I feel like Bradbury is just padding his prose to hit a word count. I don’t know what the Dust Witch is? Is she dead? What just happened?’ And on and on and on.

My relationship with the book soured early, and I turned to reading other things rather than grind through its flummoxing narrative. I never gave up on it. I just set an agenda that I would read one chapter at a setting and then set it down and pick up something else that I was truly enjoying. I rewarded myself for stomaching it and for keeping my promise to myself that I would read this mess? trash? critically praised opus? And so almost five months went by with me every couple of days peering back into the arcane head of Ray Bradbury, unsure of what would come out. Now finished, I can honestly say I’m glad I did.

Great literature makes us no promises. And I don’t know if Something Wicked This Way Comes is great literature. But it certainly is difficult in places, good, and meaningful.  Once the story had all but played itself out, the villains vanquished, the heroes triumphant, Bradbury in an eloquent, quiet denouement breathed the following exchange into his characters:

“Dad, will they ever come back?”
“No. And yes.” Dad tucked away his harmonica. “No not them. But yes, other people like    them. Not in a carnival. God knows what shape they’ll come in next. But sunrise, noon, or at the latest, sunset tomorrow they’ll show. They’re on the road.”
“Oh, no,” said Will.
“Oh, yes, said Dad. “We got to watch out the rest of our lives. The fight’s just begun.”
They moved around the carousel slowly.
“What will they look like? How will we know them?”
“Why,” said Dad, quietly, “maybe they’re already here.”
Both boys looked around swiftly.
But there was only the meadow, the machine, and themselves.
Will looked at Jim, at his father, and then down at his own body and hands. He glanced up at Dad.
Dad nodded, once, gravely, and then nodded at the carousel, and stepped up on it, and touched a brass pole.
Will stepped up beside him. Jim stepped up beside Will.
Jim stroked a horse’s mane. Will patted a horse’s shoulders.
The great machine softly tilted in the tides of night.
Just three times around, ahead, thought Will. Hey.
Just four times around, ahead, thought Jim. Boy.
Just ten times around, back, thought Charles Halloway. Lord.
Each read the thoughts in the other’s eyes.
How easy, thought Will.
Just this once, thought Jim.
But then, thought Charles Halloway, once you start, you’d always come back. One more ride and one more ride. And, after awhile, you’d offer rides to friends, and more friends until finally…
The thought hit them all in the same quiet moment.
…finally you wind up owner of the carousel, keeper of the freaks…
proprietor for some small part of eternity of the traveling dark carnival shows….
Maybe, said their eyes, they’re already here.”

― Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes, 1962

I was blown away. The elegance, the simplicity, the profoundness of the allegorical novel hit me all at once in one great rush. The novel was a cautionary tale about the gradual creep of evil into our lives; how we allow it through laziness, through neediness, through caving to addiction, through apathy, through ethical and moral ambiguity through not exercising our agency and industry. The novel is deliberately obtuse, for only through patience and diligence can we separate the wheat from the chaff, find the diamond in the rough, find the light at the end of a sea of darkness. Evil clouds our mind with extraneous questions and temptations that take us away from our charted endeavors. I found that my experience of the novel was no different. Bradbury made me work for the payoff, and I balked and bitched and hesitated for months because it was hard, because it wasn’t instant gratification, because it wasn’t “The Real Housewives of Ray Bradbury!” I was elated and ashamed, victorious though it be hollow, battle scarred but alive to live and learn another day. I had, in fact, experienced the greatness in good literature.

I am reminded of those memes that show up on social media every so often about how Lord of the Flies or Huck Finn or The Good Earth ruined someone’s summer. The implication is that the reader struggled through the book and got nothing but pain and lost pleasure out of it. It makes me wonder how many people of that opinion finish but don’t really listen or let it in, or skim, or read the Wiki entry, or just give up and glaze over while turning pages. I was right there with this novel until the carousel stopped and confronted me with my own wickedness, held the mirror up to nature, and made me dislike what I saw. We only grow in adversity. And the road less traveled makes all the difference. Only one in ten Americans actually read a book after high school, and even fewer attempt to crack truly worthwhile works of literature. Do me a favor: help me raise that percentage. It’s worth it. Really. You’ll see.

Now off to crack open Walden….again.

Namaste,

Jason