Hawk Dancer

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Development of the next Book
Follow the author as he writes, illustrates and prepares his next book


Birch Clump Village Reader #8
Just starting book eight. No title yet

Joshua Seidl, Sarg T Douglas
New stories in the making
 
    Sarge and me: This story has the real me interacting with some of my fictional characters. the setting is at Black Castle, Turkey about an hour from Adana in 1973.
    Sarge was already in Turkey, according to earlier stories, when I arrived. (I actually did serve in Turkey while in the Air force.) I combined four photos to produced the illustration above. I am wearing the glasses.
    Sarge and I are considered to have easy going, passive natures. We are good friends. However, an unanticipated accident, provoked a fist fight between the two of us.
    The others found our fight intriguing in that we were perfectly matched and equally unskilled in fighting. They were delighted that there was no clarity during the entire fight as to who might win. Even I, as the author, did not know what the outcome would be as I wrote out the scene.
    As for Sarge and me? We were both shocked to find ourselves in this situation as  well as being too scared and angry. 
What Would You Do?
    Some of of the characters in another upcoming story witness a customer swipe the tip off another table on his way out. 
   One of my Birch Clump Village e-Newsletters solicited readership to give me some feed back on what would they do, or what would they like to do if they witnessed a patron taking a tip  from another table. I made the commitment to utilize one of their prompt or suggestions into the story. (See the above illustration of a person in a  jacket taking the tip off a table.)
Mamma said I could
A mostly true story
two boys fighting
When your the new kid:
   It's pretty cool being the new kid in school or in the neighborhood; most of the time. Classmates took an interest in me when I was the new kid in fifth grade. I enjoyed the attention and their friendship.
    Our family moved closer to the new school the summer following fifth grade; I was twelve. Most of  what I am writing of that summer is true,
    I pulled off a stunt that I thought was kind of funny. A kid down the block didn't see it that way. We argued about it. He pushed. I pushed back. Kids began to gather, eager to see a fight.
     My mother and another neighbor lady arrived at some point to ease the situation. Dale McDonald (real person, fictitious name) and I were straining against each other, hands to each other's shoulders at arm's length. Our legs were spread out as one or the other of us was forced backwards a step or two at a time. We were looking for some advantage over the other. He insulted the two women trying to break up the fight. Bad mouthing my mom made me angrier than anything directed at me, but Mom disapproved of fighting.
    I was surprised to hear her finally  say, "Go ahead. You have my permission to clean his clock."    
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