Photo: Debby Hudson 

FIRST

My first publication came as a complete surprise.  It was something that hadn't been edited.  Something that hadn't been submitted.  Something I hadn't expected anyone would want to read.

The piece was actually an exercise for those of us enrolled in a class at the Carnegie Center for Literacy and Learning in Lexington, Kentucky.  Writing Practice was taught by artist and writer Laverne Zabielski.

For the exercise, Laverne instructed us to begin by writing on whatever came to mind for ten minutes without lifting our pens.  This practice was supposed to free our internal editor and to help us go with the flow.

We were encouraged to put down random thoughts and feelings.  At least, that was my take.

When we were given this in-class activity, I felt a little panicky and didn't know what to write about.  Writing off the cuff scared me.  And ten minutes seemed like such a long time.  What could you possibly write about for ten minutes straight?

Feeling pressured, I pressed my pen to the paper and began scribbling some random thoughts about my workplace.  In a short moment, the words began to form a pattern, a scene, and a theme which revolved around my relationship with a co-worker and the way she made me feel.

Class time was over when we finished, so Laverne asked us to leave our work with her.  As I left the building and walked down the sidewalk to my car, she hurried outside to catch up with me.  Laverne was smiling and all bubbly with excitement.  She waved my paper and said, "Randi, I want to publish your story."

Laverne was assembling an anthology of work from Lexington women writers titled A Sense of Place.  This became my first publication and it gave me the confidence to pursue my dream of writing as a career.  In fact, my piece was published in the same anthology as Crystal Wilkinson, the award-winning author of Blackberries, Blackberries and The Birds of Opulence.  My story was published as "Untitled."  At that time, I didn't understand the importance of titles.  Today, (slightly edited) it would be called "Rebirth."

                   UNTITLED

Photo: Chuttersnap

     It was an accident—a murder by accident.

     And the petals came floating in a free-fall from the apple tree covering the ground in a dappled white.
   
     Our friendship had soured.  Time after time, she tried to pull me deep down into her negativity.  And I needed to distance myself from her.

    We had worked together too long, known each other too well.
   
     I am who I am.  Not better than her.  Just different.  More positive.  Upbeat.
   
     This was something she couldn't grasp.

     Something she couldn't stand.
   
     It was an accident—a murder by accident.

     And the petals come floating in a free-fall from the apple tree covering the ground in a dappled

white.

   
     What made her follow me?  Her eyes on my back.

     Jealousy has no boundaries.

     And she was much too close.

     I whipped around, reached out to distance our bodies.

     How was I to know that a push would end so tragically?
   
     Away, away she fell.  It seemed like an eternity until she hit the pavement, awkwardly.
   
     And the petals came floating in a free-fall from the apple tree covering the ground in a dappled white over her hands and face.
   
     I felt more relief than panic.  Relaxed.  Calm.

     She was gone.
   
     Funny how a reaction ended one life, but renewed another.

✌ and ♥

To leave a comment, write to Randi Lynn Mrvos

                                                                                                                                                                                          Photo: Guillaume Bourdages

BUT I DON'T WANT TO BE A PIRATE RACCOON-CATCHER  

I'm a little prejudiced when it comes to the wildlife that wanders into our backyard.  I'm fond of foxes and frogs.  I can put up with possums.  But I'd rather not have any raccoons—even if the French word for raccoon (raton laveur, meaning young rat bather) is adorable.  

In the past, raccoons had been a nuisance.  About twenty years ago, a family of raccoons made a habit of raiding the garbage can every night, which prompted my husband to secure the bin with a bungee cord.  Since then, these masked raiders have not returned—until recently.   

Not long ago, a raccoon was lounging in the top of a neighbor's tree.  In broad daylight.  Raccoons are supposed to be nocturnal so, there's no telling what this critter was up to.  It might have been looking for food, but these creatures usually feed at night on nuts, seeds, fruits, eggs, insects, frogs, crayfish—oh, and sometimes tuna.  How do I know?

A few weeks ago, an enormous tomcat appeared in our neighborhood and terrorized my sweet stray cat Putt-Putt.  He attacked Putty twice in our yard.  One time, I was able to break up the fight.  The other time, I arrived too late—evidence of Putty's white fur lined the driveway.  So, in effort to keep Putt-Putt safe, I contacted the Humane Society.  An animal trapper by the name of Sarah suggested that I catch the troublesome cat and have him neutered.  She assured me the cat would become less aggressive.  So, I met Sarah and borrowed two steel traps. 

She instructed me to fill two trays with tuna, one for each trap, and then set the traps outside at dusk.  When evening rolled around, I placed one steel cage near the deck and the other in the backyard under a fir tree.  I checked every half hour, but by bedtime, the tuna was untouched and the cages remained empty.  This was discouraging.  I had given up hope of catching Putty's tormenter.    

The next day around 6:30 in the morning, I stepped out back to survey the cages, still feeling doubtful that an animal had been trapped.  But low and behold, the tomcat was in the cage by the deck.  And judging by the growling and the scowl on his face, he was not too pleased.      

I figured the other trap would be empty.  As I tramped through the dewy grass to the fir tree, I approached the cage.  The tuna had been eaten.  And staring right at me was what seemed to be a strange-looking cat with a mask.  It took me a few seconds to realize that I had trapped a raccoon.  The memorable line about a puffy shirt from a Jerry Seinfeld episode immediately popped into my head, "But I don't want to be a pirate"   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mPIqVOBFis  but in this case it was more like:  But I don't want to be a raccoon-catcher.

Photo: Anna Salisbury

When I called Sarah with the Humane Society, I told her of my luck.  She made plans to pick up the cat in a few hours, have him neutered the next day, and then re-released into our neighborhood the following day.  Sarah explained that feral cats need to come back to their neighborhoods because they have a homing instinct and if they are placed elsewhere, they would die.  She assured me that after his operation, he would be less of a menace.  

"And the raccoon?" I asked.

"We don't handle raccoons," said Sarah. 

"Wait.  What are you saying?"

 "You'll have to release him yourself," said Sarah.

I hadn't bargained for this.  All I wanted to do was keep Putty safe.  And now I had to find a way to release a raccoon and keep myself safe.  Lifting the locks and having my fingers close to an unhappy raccoon was not going to happen.     

There had to be a way to release this critter without both of us getting hurt.  I had time to think on this.  Since I needed to pick up weekly groceries, I figured perhaps my Kroger peeps could help me figure this out.  They were thoroughly entertained with my predicament—but they offered no sound advice. 

I returned home an hour later with bags of groceries but without any new ideas on freeing a raccoon.  It was worrisome and distractive.  I needed to edit picture book manuscripts, update my website, and work on marketing my book.  But I couldn't concentrate.  I went out back to check on our backyard guest.    

When I approached the trap, the area looked like a battle had raged.  The cage had moved ninety degrees.  The back part of the cage was filled with mulch and dirt.  The towel I had placed on top to keep the creature calm was torn to shreds.  To my surprise, the raccoon had vanished.  It had managed to slide open the ring locks and let itself out.  

You might think that after this episode my dislike for raccoons has grown, but actually, my heart has softened.   

Raccoons are kind of cute, that is, from a distance.  

They have an IQ higher than that of cats—which I learned while googling how to release a trapped raccoon.

And raccoons are blessed with nimble fingers and puzzle-solving skills (thank goodness)...because this writer would still be wondering and worrying how to release a tuna-loving raton laveur.    

✌ and ♥

Feel free to leave a comment at: Rlmrvos@gmail.com     
Comments:
I love your blog… interesting subjects and thoughts. Shelley D.
I enjoyed catching up with you on your blog post.  Nancy B.