The Elephant In the Room, Literally

Hey, guys, can I crash on your couch?

Well, wouldn't this make for an interesting day? A lost baby elephant wandered into a ranch house living room. Only ten
days old, she was hungry and dehydrated and had walked a long way--about thirty miles--before showing up in Francoise Malby-Anthony's home at the Thula Thula Private Game Reserve in Zululand, South Africa. See the full article and adorable photo in this article from The Telegraph.

After hanging around for a snack, the calf, called Tom by the ranch hand who found her, was reunited with her herd. Of course they were thrilled to see her, especially her mother, who'd been rescued by Francoise's husband Lawrence Anthony years ago.

That's not even the most interesting part--I knew I recognized Lawrence Anthony's name, so I did a search to find out why it was so familiar. There was a story I had in mind but had thought, "No way, that would be too weird." Yet there it was, the elephant "funeral procession" after Anthony's death in 2009.

Anthony was a conservationist was known as "The Elephant Whisperer" for his work with wild elephants in South Africa. After he died, two herds of elephants he'd worked with made an estimated twelve-hour journey to his house. They stayed around there for a couple of days before heading back to the wild. Before this event, these elephants hadn't been to the property for at least a year and a half.

There are plenty of examples of elephants mourning their dead, not only at the time the death occurs but when they come across bones of a former herd member. Making the long trek to pay respects after the passing of a human friend is even more fascinating. I mean, HOW IN THE WORLD DID THEY KNOW???

In answering that question, Rabbi Leila Gal Berner said, “A good man died suddenly, and from miles and miles away, two herds of elephants, sensing that they had lost a beloved human friend, moved in a solemn, almost ‘funereal’ procession to make a call on the bereaved family at the deceased man’s home. If there ever were a time, when we can truly sense the wondrous ‘interconnectedness of all beings,’ it is when we reflect on the elephants of Thula Thula. A man’s heart’s stops, and hundreds of elephants’ hearts are grieving. This man’s oh-so-abundantly loving heart offered healing to these elephants, and now, they came to pay loving homage to their friend.”

And somehow one of their babies knew where to go when she needed help.

7 Fun Facts From That Time I Met Bigfoot

This is my "I kind of hate myself, but had
 to see" look. Strangely enough, it's a little
blurry, like most Bigfoot photos.

Tuesday evening I went to the Alamo Drafthouse for the tour stop of Bigfoot hunter Rick Dyer's alleged Bigfoot corpse. Dyer is not well-liked, to put it nicely, by most of the Bigfoot community, but since I have a middle grade novel manuscript about a girl with cryptozoologist parents, I pretty much had to go. You know, research. And one of the characters in the book, Jethro Muggins, wants to hunt down and kill the Lake Champlain monster, so attending a presentation by someone who claims to have killed Bigfoot (with no regrets) seemed especially appropriate.

(So, I was there as a curious writer; I'm not a bigfooter or any kind of expert on cryptids, and there are plenty of people who are knowledgeable about the field who've written about Rick Dyer and his antics, and those are easy to find through an online search if you want to learn more).

The Q&A session was quite entertaining, lively, and unintentionally funny. Here are just a few of my favorite moments from the night:

1. I knew we were in for a good night when an announcement on the screen advised us that the presentation was "...strickly for educational purpose's." [sic that to infinity]

2. The manager told us before the show that few members of Dyer's Team Tracker weren't able to attend this leg of the tour, since they're in Dallas protecting a woman's house from a Bigfoot attack. This is probably the greatest thing I've ever heard.

3. Dyer says he was wearing only boxer shorts when he shot the Bigfoot, which was running away from him after taking the rack of ribs that he'd bought as bait from Wal-Mart.

4. Dyer's new Porche and his $100,000 RV are proof that his Bigfoot is real, because why would people pay him to see something fake? I don't see how any of us can find anything wrong with that logic.

5. When asked how he moved the 800-pound corpse after killing it, he says that he carried it to a rented freezer truck with the help of "several homeless people." Since he'd claimed an investor paid him $9 million for the body, the interviewer said that maybe it would've been nice to have used a little of that money to buy a house for those homeless people. Dyer thought that was pretty funny. On another note, those are the most ripped homeless people ever.

From there the corpse was hauled to a university for DNA testing. No word on what university or when he'll reveal the results of that DNA evidence.

6. An audience member asked Dyer why anyone should believe his claims, since he's been involved in hoaxes before, like this one in 2008 in which the Bigfoot he'd captured turned out to be a costume. He said that he really did have a Bigfoot body back then, but "the government" confiscated it. Then he got caught up in the hoax-y part, purchasing a Bigfoot suit so he'd have something to show people who'd been waiting to see the body.

Oh, and if you're wondering what branch of government shows up to take your Bigfoot corpse? "They arrived in black helicopters, and they wore black suits. So, The Men In Black."

Wait, does this mean Bigfoot is an alien? I'm confused.

7. After the presentation we got to view the body in its glass case. A man in front of me asked why the
fingers of the hands seemed fused together, and the Team Tracker attendant said that it's because of the resin used in taxidermy. "You know, like when you get a deer stuffed." I admit I'm no taxidermist, and I'm no hunter, but, um, what?

I heard later that Dyer tells a different story about the unifinger: Bigfoot uses friction to start fire with his hands, and his hands are scarred from catching fire. I imagine that incident going something like this:



So there you have it, just a few of the evening's highlights. Here's a parting shot from the big guy himself:

Darn you, honey BBQ sauce

Writing at The Lodge O' Death

Last month I attended a fabulous writing retreat in La Grange, Texas, with a group of Austin friends. Lots of fun yet productive, in a beautiful setting. The cabin, though, is affectionately known as "The Lodge of Death." P.J. Hoover had been before and has posted some great write-ups of the retreat.

Allow me to share some samples of the decor that give the cabin its nickname:

Yes, it's a fawn in it's natural habitat, a flower-filled rowboat.

...it's even better close up. Pretty sure it's smiling.

Every bathroom should have a baby doll in a teepee

...unless it's a bathroom decorated with camouflage paint and antlers.

We even had fancy robes.

Light fixture too plain? Add more antlers.

And that's what's been missing from my flower arrangements too.
Antlers.

I know that expression doesn't look natural, but this is how they look when they're giving a bleat-out to the ladies.

Kind of wanted to pull the glue off the raccoon's leg, but also kind of worried that was the only thing holding him together.

This makes the bedroom more cozy.
Who wouldn't want this staring at you while you try to sleep?

Oh I see, it's a book rack. A really inefficient book rack.

Wait, that's better.

This guy has not seen the inside of the cabin.

And yes, there was even a framed print of a dog smoking a pipe.

But this was my view where I wrote from the screened-in porch.

My own contribution, the taxidermied wasp.
Okay, it's dead wasp on an index card, but I'm pretty proud.

As you see, lots of character in the place. Sure, most of the characters were stuffed and mounted, but I can't wait to go back!

Field Trip: The Museum of Bad Art

For spring break this year, my daughter asked if we could take a mother-daughter trip to Boston. Last year we did a road trip around New England, so we were in many places for a short time. Since I loved what little of the city I got to see, and there are far worse things a 21-year-old can be doing for spring break, I said okay.

Despite being dressed like Houstonians in the surprise snowstorm, we had a fabulous time and visited a different part of the city each day. One of our favorite things was something we didn't even know about until we stumbled upon it--The Museum of Bad Art. We decided to see a movie at the theater in Somerville, and since we had some time to kill, we headed to the basement to see what the MOBA was all about. We were not disappointed.

It's exactly what it sounds like. Ever been to a garage sale and seen a hideous and/or unintentionally funny painting? Or perhaps made something like that yourself? There's a home for such artwork. The museum is "dedicated to the collection, preservation, exhibition and celebration of bad art in all its forms and in all its glory."

Here are a few highlights from our visit:

There were history lessons. Like this rendition of the Tiananmen Square protest:

I'd totally forgotten about the mariachi

And a tribute to our country's African-American presidents:

Presidents Obama, Beck, and Palmer

There were a couple of paintings inspired by famous works of art. The Mana Lisa, for example:

...and, uh, this:

I don't remember the name of this one, but let's call it "Girl With a Sunburn Crashing Van Gogh."

It's hard to pick a favorite, but I'm pretty sure mine is the ferret prostitute in a brothel:

I was a kit, I needed the money

So what's your favorite? There are many more paintings for your viewing pleasure at MOBA's website. It's a good reminder that art is pain.

Real-Life Writing Prompt: Carpool to Roswell

I mentioned in my last two posts that I attended the Kindling Words West retreat in Taos, New Mexico last week. I flew into Albuquerque with my buddy Crystal Allen, and we carpooled from there with Pam Bachorz since that would be more fun than the shuttle and it would allow us to stop at Trader Joe's for chocolate almonds and beverages.

While Crystal and I were waiting for Pam in the lobby of the car rental place, a woman approached us and asked if we were on our way to Roswell. If we were, she'd pay for half the car rental fee in exchange for a ride. She was visibly upset, like a chest-clutching, fighting back tears upset. Although that isn't where we were headed, of course we were intrigued. How does one just show up at a car rental lobby, suitcase in hand, looking to hitch a ride to Roswell? Apparently there's some giant new car rental tax the woman didn't know about, and her car for the week would cost more than her plane ticket had, and she was on her way to visit her mom. (No one else was flipping out about this tax, and ours wasn't that bad, so maybe it's something assessed if you don't reserve the car ahead of time. I'm not sure what the deal was with that).

Anyway, we started thinking about how this could be a fun story beginning. I know if we told thirty writers, "Strangers meet at a car rental desk and carpool to Roswell--go!" we'd get thirty completely different novels. Mine would a contemporary young adult novel with five different characters, each with a different reason they just had to get to Roswell, and their subplots would all become entwined somehow. Crystal was thinking of something more paranormal, in which the nice elderly couple offering a teenager a ride actually turns out to be aliens going to a reunion.

So, who would be in your carpool to Roswell, and why are they all going there? Why'd they show up at the same place without much of a plan?

Who knows, we might start a trend here. And in a few years we'll hear editors saying, "The market is saturated with novels in the Roswell sub-genre...".

5 Lessons From Toddlers & Tiaras

Toddlers and Tiaras is one of those shows I watch that simultaneously horrifies and fascinates me. I'm cringing the whole time, but I can't look away.

You can learn a lot by watching the show, and I'm talking about more than the creative spellings of the name Michaela. (Mikayla, Makayla, Micaylah, Mikaila, Mukayluh, Mikado, etc.) It's the pageant version of Gaddafi.

Mostly what I've learned has to do with how much I got wrong as a parent. I thought I did all right, but I had no idea what I was doing. So, as a service to you all, here are just a few of the lessons I've learned:

1. If your child is sleepy, give her Pixy Sticks and energy drinks.



And there was the six-year-old who drank Red Bull from a bottomless sippy cup. They bleeped out the brand name, but it was clear what she was saying:

"I want my Red Bull!"

"I'm on my fifth Red Bull!"

"Where'd all those spiders come from?!"

So, they're learning early that if you need a pick-me-up, grab a drink or a white powdery substance. This can't possibly turn out badly.

2. Children cry and throw themselves to the floor to show enjoyment.

Pageant detractors complain that parents are living vicariously through their children, and that the way they're raising their kids is borderline abusive. But over and over again we hear the parents argue, "We're doing this for her" and "She loves pageants."

Witness the joy:



3. Dress as a prostitute to be rewarded with jewelry and money.

I don't mean that they're just wearing skimpy outfits; I mean a contestant on this week's episode was dressed as Julia Roberts' character in Pretty Woman. You know, when she played a hooker. I wish I were making this up.

And it worked. This contestant went on to win the Grand Supreme title. Even more disturbing was her trophy for "Most likely to shack up with Richard Gere."

Say it with me, kids: "Big mistake. Huge."

4. I know nothing about investing.

Pageants give cash prizes! $1,000 sometimes! Yes, the dresses cost a few thousand, and there are coaches, entry fees, hair extensions, makeup artists, hairdressers, and custom made "flippers" to hide the hideous gaps created when kids dare to lose their baby teeth, but if it all comes together in a glittery harmonic convergence and your child wins the pageant, it was all worth it.

5. Babies should be tan.

Just look at this picture from when my daughter was a toddler:

I'm sorry, I should have warned you how terrifying that would be. I mean, look how pale she is. And that outfit does nothing for her figure. But I didn't know any better. I never took her to a tanning salon. It was a long time ago, and I feel comfortable telling you people now.

Here's what I should have been doing:



It's too late for me, but I speak out now to save the spray tans of the future. If I can save just one toddler from walking around with embarrassingly pasty-white skin, then my journey here has meant something.

And if my time here has been worthless, I have my Pixy Sticks and Red Bull to keep me company.

That's What (S)he said: Weekly Round-Up

I was planning on doing a post this week about all the awesome book covers that Apocalypsies members have been able to share lately, but Kimberly Sabatini did it so well that I'll just point everyone to her post! It's so exciting to see everyone's covers. (And I just got my first email from my editor last week about what kinds of book covers I like, so hopefully I'll see some cover art soon!)

I've done a couple of posts about Twitter--a tweetorial and one about lists--but I'm always finding things I didn't know. Galleycat had an article this week about the best times to post on Twitter, and I found some of it surprising, like that weekends are a good time to tweet. I don't usually tweet much on the weekends because it seems like Twitter's pretty slow then.

And in "News I find really weird and amusing," Anthony Weiner isn't the only one getting in trouble for sexting lately--even the Amish are getting in on the action. I can't help wondering what would bring about the shunning first--sending the naughty messages or sending them via cell phone. Am I wrong to be sort of impressed that an Amish guy figured out how to obtain and use a camera phone? Now I'm dying to see a bumper sticker that reads, "If this buggy's a-rockin', don't ye come a-knockin'."

Speaking of bumper stickers, I saw this one a few days ago:

Well, good to know they're not eating a cheeseburger inside the giant SUV.

And speaking of cows, here's a really smart one leading a bovine Great Escape:



For my weekly posts I'll start including some book recommendations. It seems like every day lately I've been reading a real book, an e-book, and listening to an audiobook in the car. Earlier this year I wrote about wanting to listen to more audiobooks, and I've found that they're a great way for me to catch up on some books I hadn't read when they were first released. (I'm not cleaning my house more often like I'd predicted, though.) Now I'm listening to Pretties, the second book in Scott Westerfeld's Uglies series. Last week I listened to Elizabeth Scott's Something, Maybe, and loved that one too--nicely flawed characters in a story I didn't want to end. Loaded on the Kindle app on the iPhone now is P.J. Hoover's fabulous novel Solstice, (Persephone in a global warming crisis). Favorites I've read in book form lately are Ashes by Ilsa Bick and The Near Witch by Victoria Schwab (who should give workshops on how to pick the best words to create the perfect image.) Those books aren't out just yet, but look for them when they're released later this year.

And how do you like my adorable new blog banner? The custom banner was an item I won in the Help Write Now auction, from Jessica of Urraca Studios. I keep looking at it like it's a new baby.

Have a great week, everyone!