Arkansas river pipeline (Diamond pipeline) post by my wife

I wish I had the President's phone number, I would like to ask him and his wife if they care as much as I do, about the fate of their children and their grandchildren. I just found out tonight that the Diamond pipeline is going under and around the Arkansas river along with 500 watersheds! This can't be allowed! Everyone knows that eventually that pipeline will break and kill everything, including us! Why are we risking our drinking water? We won't be able to drink it, I stand with my brothers and sisters in North Dakota who are fighting this same battle, this pipeline will be the death of us all! The pipeline companies think by hiding it under the river we will never know where it leaks, and put the blame elsewhere. Pipelines have leaked and polluted the waterways, beaches and oceans, and the death of fish and birds. So why is the government continuing to allow what we know is wrong? Being self sufficient is one thing, being self destructive is another. I am ready to stand up for what is right for my children, grandchildren, friends and citizens, will you join me? I'll stand in front of a earth mover to stop this! God help us all, Sammi Jo Moye

Wildoats here again. the rest of my story

Hi, I am Wildoats from the book Saddle Spur, due out next year. I wanted to pick up where I left off in the last post.  Alone, hungry and scared, I found refuge in John's barn. I told you about his voice, to me it was soothing and made me no longer afraid. What I really want to mention was when he touched me for the first time. I came over close to the rail that separated where I was and the rest of the barn. After weeks of his just talking to me, I felt like he was a friend and was in no danger of being locked in this barn. I stuck my head over the rail as he spoke to me while placing new hay in my area for me to bed down each night. He put down his pitchfork and came over to me, still talking words of comfort. Then he touched my muzzle and gently stroked it. I started to back away, but it felt so nice I stayed, allowing him to do this for a few minutes. He put his arm around my neck and held me close. I never felt so loved in my life since my mother was forced to leave me. I just stood there enjoying the closeness. Finally he released me even though I would have preferred to stay forever. "I have to go into the house for supper." He gave me a couple more gentle pats then took the lantern going out the other way. Each night I looked forward to our time together, when it warmed up, I followed him around outside all day long. As I grew and became stronger, John loved to watch me run. In the spring, I was with him when he plowed the fields using the mules. He had four and switched them out, using two in the mornings and the other two in the afternoons. The first time I got in trouble was when I ran through a freshly planted field, I learned not to after he scolded me. Even that night we had quality time together. Once when a young dark skinned boy that worked the fields with John swatted me, John scolded him for even touching me. The older dark skinned man out there never had anything but kind words for me. The dark skinned young female and I sort of became friends, she would sneak me something she called carrots. I like them! When the next cold time came, John started teaching me things. The first thing he taught me was to answer yes or no. He would bob his head up and down for yes, then shake it side to side for no. The first question he asked me to be sure I understood was "Do you want more oats, yes or No?" I bobbed my head up and down, so he gave me more oats. He began teaching me different things, such as how to open a barn door. I watched him use a pump to get fresh water. Soon I was able to pump my own clean water when I wanted it, unless it was frozen. John worked during that winter at a leather shop but was home each night after dark. I wasn't allowed to go with him. One day he brought home a  halter, bridle and a used saddle. The bridle and saddle I didn't like wearing but accepted them because he was my pal. Even though I did try to buck the saddle off, it stayed put.
I will talk more on the next post about our friendship and love for each other.
Talk back, the blogger is listening!   

HI,, my name is Wildoats. I'm a horse so they tell me.

I'd like to tell you a story about how I came to be in book called "Saddle Spur" and John's best pal. My story began when I was just a foal (young colt).  I wasn't even weaned yet  from my mother's milk when she was taken off to war, what ever that is.  I was locked up in a round pen with other newborn foals, their mothers went to war also. One day the human that fed us didn't secure the gate properly and we escaped. I didn't know what the others were going to do, but I saw the direction my mother had taken when she left me. I was going to find her. My legs were still a little wobbly, but I was determined. I knew she went in the direction of that bright object in the morning sky. There were fences I couldn't jump over so I followed the wide dirt path my mother did. I found plenty of water near the path, but none of the food appealed to me. Whenever any human came along, I would run and hide, afraid they would take me back.  

On the third day, cold, wet white stuff came from the sky and blocked my detection of the morning sun. I wasn't sure if I was going in the right direction or not. The water that had been plentiful was now frozen solid. I couldn't get at it. My hunger was getting worse also, I was about ready to give up and just lie down when I heard the braying of mules. They would have water and food, so I cut across a large barren field heading toward some buildings. I didn't care if I was penned up again, just as long as I was warm, fed, and my thirst quenched. The buildings were all closed up except one small door. Taking a deep breath, fearing the unknown, I poked my head into the door. The smell of the mules, hay and other familiar scents greeted me. This was like home. Weak, cold and tired, I entered the dwelling. I instantly felt warmer getting out of the wind, even my meager coat wasn't enough to prevent me from getting cold.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw a trough with the frozen top cracked up, allowing me to drink the water. Two wooden rails prevented me from going into the barn any farther, but I could reach the water and used my muzzle to push aside the floating solid part and drink my fill. Once my thirst was quenched, I looked around for something to eat. Some hay from above littered the floor. I munched that, then a familiar smell led me over to several bags of oats, one was open. I dug right in eating as much as I could. Full, I laid down and slept for the first time since my mother was taken away.

 "What do we have here?" Was the first time I heard John's voice. He came in as I struggled to rise. My legs were wobbly and unsteady. "Don't be afraid, I will not harm you."

John made his way past me without coming close, allowing me the open door to flee if I wanted. He then carried the oat bags through another door into another room. I went out the door but turned around, putting my head back inside out of the cold wind. John brought a metal container with some oats, sitting it on the floor near the other door he went in and out of. John then climbed over the rails and soon fresh hay was raining down from above to the area where I slept last night. Afterwards, I could hear John doing the same, throwing hay into the mules' stalls. When John left by another door, I went back inside.

Later John returned but made no effort to come in where I was, instead, he leaned on the rail and talked to me. For some reason, his voice had a friendly, calming effect on me. 

"What should I call you?" he asked, looking at me as he thought. "How about Wildoats, you are wild and love oats." I never answered him then. I didn't know how. 

Each day for the next month or so, he came daily to talk to me and give me some oats. Not once did he ever try to close me in or put a rope on me. When the weather warmed, John came less for me, instead took the mules out. Since I was free to come and go, I soon started following him just so I could hear his voice. Later his touch.

This is Wildoats, the blogger said I will have to wait until the next blog to tell the rest of my story. Tune in and learn. 

Debating all day on this post

With the social media being full of the American Presidential debate and that tape, it was hard to do a post on writing, but I finally settled down and hit the keyboard. Writing can be tedious, trying to stay focused and pick up where you were at. Typing on Word has one advantage in rewriting, it will take you back to where you left off, the only thing it can't do is pick your brain as you try to get yourself back into the emotions and other aspects of your character, especially during a scene you half typed before being distracted. Since I write the story in my head, I have to find my thoughts no matter how fleeting they became when I was sidetracked. How do I get back into that frame of mind? I asked myself. So to pick up where I left off, I went back and read what I wrote a couple of pages ago. That seemed to help the flow a lot better and soon I was in the book, writing again. For those that don't know, I am writing my first western called "Saddle Spur" featuring John and his wonderful horse named "Wildoats," who keeps trying to steal the show. For those that read the book when it comes out, I discussed the antics and abilities of Wildoats with actual trainers and other horse lovers. So I know you are going to love Wildoats. For those that wonder what he looks like, he is solid black except for a white forelock and tail. He is taller than the average horse and very smart. John never owned him, he became John's pal when he ran away from the mare birthed him unusually, in the dead of winter. He came into John's barn searching for food as a foal. John spoke to him as if he were human and never tried to enclose him in the barn. Soon, Wildoats became less afraid of him and followed him around like a dog. Time and love bonded him to John, his pal.

Talk back, I'm listening. Have a great day as always.

Getting back to what I do best-writing, I think?

I know that I have been spending too much time on the American 2016 Presidential election. It has cut down on my writing time and I need to get back to making writing the most consumable of my time. This post has a slightly political statement but that is not the full intent. You will note the book cover I posted here, it is a story set in the aftermath of a nuclear war. Read it is you want to learn about the world if Trump let's his fiery temper get out of control. This series is not what I am writing on currently. I am writing a western that is difficult at best for me trying to make sure all the scenes are realistic even though it is a fiction book of a fictional character and his horse "Wildoats" who keeps stealing the spotlight.
In time I will finish the story, if I quit rewriting it over and over. I think I am just over halfway through the third rewrite and still plan on having it out this year.
What are you writing this year or has the election some what distracted you?

Go ahead and talk back, I'm listening as always