A farm-themed snippet from DWARFED 2/2/14 #WeWriWa

The Weekend Writing Warrior and Facebook's Snippet Sunday are blog hops that provide authors with a fantastic opportunity to support one another, promote their books, and just have a good time. Each week authors post 8 sentences from WIPS or published works. It's lots of fun.

This week I pulled a 9 (sorry moderators) snippet from my contemporary manuscript, DWARFED. This collection of sentences picks up where last week's left off. It's a scene that could only take place on farm.

DWARFED is a YA story about Grace, a fictional teen with achondroplasia dwarfisam who currently finds life a little tougher than she ever dreamt possible. 

When you're done here, take some time and read some of the great snippets that other participants have published. You'll be glad you did!

            Luke sits in a farrowing crate, his back braced against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. There’s a steel bucket half full of strange-looking, small, pink blobbish things and a plastic container full of hypodermic syringes wedged against his hip, another syringe is stuck between his  teeth.

            His left hand snakes out, snagging one of the piglets. He ignores its ear splitting squeal and pins it between his elbow and rib cage. With one hand he swaps a patch of skin with what looks like a cotton swapped that has been stained with some sort of reddish brown substance, I’m guessing iodine. His right hand pulls the syringe out of his mouth, and in one smooth movement, pokes the needle into the piglet and depresses the plunger. He tosses the now empty syringe into the plastic box and picks up a giant crayon and draws a slash mark between the piglet’s shoulder blades.

            The entire process takes about two seconds.

            “What are you doing,” I ask again, raising my voice.

Thanks for reading my snippet!

B is for Baby Food

I live in the baby food capital of the world. I bet you didn’t even know such a place existed. It does. Not too far from where I live right now, the Gerber family whipped up their very first batch of baby food, and a dynasty was born.

When they first got started, the Gerber family made a deal with the local farming community. In exchange for the produce needed to make the baby food, the family gave the farmers shares of the company. This turned into a very lucrative deal for everyone. 

The Gerber Baby Food Company can trace its roots all the way back to 1901. In those days it was called the Fremont Canning Company. In the late ‘20’s the company shifted its focus to baby food.

There is a National Baby Food Festival (though it might be formally called Gerber Days, I can’t remember) It’s pretty much like every other small town festival. Main Street gets shut down, some games and carnival rides come in, and there are a couple of concerts. Several years ago when country singer Mark Wills performed at the festival, he also took part in the baby food eating contest.

The entire town always smells like whatever type of food Gerber happens to be cooking. During harvest time the combination of baby food and corn dust is quite homey.

It’s common knowledge that some of the baby foods (the desert flavors) Gerber produces make an excellent grown up snack. I’m fond of the Dutch apple and blueberry buckle.

A is for Asparagus

 I'm participating in the A to Z blogging challenge this year. The rules are simple. I'm supposed to update my blog each April day, until I've worked my way through the alphabet. For the sake of my sanity, I'm not sticking to a particular theme.

If you want to get on my Dad’s good side, ask him about his asparagus. He planted a partial acre a few years ago and he figures if nothing else it’s been a learning experience.

Interesting things he (and the rest of the family) have learned since he opted to start this project include:

·         There’s money to be made selling young asparagus plants, hence the reason he only planted a partial acre

• ·         Asparagus doesn’t create as many headache inducing problems as daughters and cattle
• ·         The tasty vegetable is a member of the lily family
• ·         Digging the trenches the young plants require by hand in the Upper Peninsula’s rocky soil is not much fun
• ·         Asparagus in one of the four perennials native to the state of Michigan. (according to my dad, I'm to lazy to look it up) 
• Asparagus should be 3 years old before the first harvest, this isn't a crop for those of us who are impatient. 
• Until the government stepped in and mucked things up, Oceana County, Michigan was the world’s largest producer of the vegetable.
• The ancient Greeks enjoyed asparagus
• ·         There’s only 30 calories in a single cup of asparagus, assuming you don’t cover it in Hollandaise sauce, drown it in butter, or deep fry it.
• ·         It’s a dioecious plant, meaning there’s male plants and female plants making self-pollination impossible.
• ·         It’s pretty in the winter  
• 

Snippet Sunday and #WeWriWa

It's Sunday again, which means Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday! Also, Happy St. Patrick's Day.

I spent last weekend and most of last week fighting with internet problems. As a result I was unable to visit as many blogs as I would have liked, hopefully I'll make up for that this week.

This week I found out that my YA manuscript, Dwarfed, made it to the Amazon Breakthrough Novelist quarterfinals! That's not quite the same thing as a publishing contract, but I'm a big believer in celebrating all accolades.  Amazon even posted a link to my excerpt (okay they posted all the quarter finalist's ) It served as a reminder that I've focused all of my snippets on Grace, Luke, and a piglet, but have somehow managed to ignore Grace's pet duck Adelaide. It's time to correct that oversight.

I crest the hill separating the house from the giant pond. Below me, ducks float on the pond, like a living Monet painting.

I let myself into the pen and walk to the shoreline. Standing on the slight decline, I’m careful to keep my feet well away from the disgusting clumps of algae, feather, soggy pieces of straw, and duck droppings congealing where water and land collide. Rippling V’s spread over the water, as the ducks turn and paddle to the far edge of the fenced in area.

“Adelaide.”  Several white ducks look at me.

            I ignore them and try again, gentling my voice. “Adelaide?”

Source: tammyferrenphotography.com via Soni on Pinterest