The Sheepish Scribe

Rejoice in the day as we celebrate God's love for us, that He sent His only Son to pay the price for our salvation. Praise God! The Babe in a manger, our Savior, Jesus Christ the Lord!

Our family enjoys Christmas. The birth of our Savior is a time for rejoicing! It's a time for family, friends and traditions.

We enjoy playing the songs of the season and favorite old movies. Cutting our Christmas tree is a special event that we look forward to, laughing among the snow laden pines while we work to discover "the tree" for the year.

Christmas Eve service is our favorite part of the holiday. We love to participate in the music.

Time spent with the extended family includes playing board games, laughing and eating too much while savoring every bite.

Sometimes we do silly things, just for fun, like putting antlers on the Border Collie. Why? Because it's Christmas!

Mingle jumped as the heavy, sliding door rumbled shut behind her. She pushed her way behind Nip's ample backside and peered around the older ewe. Nip gave a snort, pulling her head out of the hay feeder and giving the youngster a cross look.

"Why did she shut the door?" Mingle asked.

"There's a storm coming." Nip mumbled around a mouthful of hay.

"She's never closed the door before when it stormed."

"You haven't seen this kind of storm before." Nip tipped her nose towards the door. "That little bit of snow on the ground is nothing compared to what's coming."

"How do you know?"

"When you've been around as long as I have, you just know." Nip reached back into the feeder for more hay.

"But how do you know?" Mingle nudged Nip for more attention.

Nip sighed, frosty breath making a cloud around her head. "There is a difference in the air. It's hard to explain but you feel it."

Mingle tipped her head to the side and thought about how the air felt. "It seems... lighter?"

Nip nodded and asked, "What do you smell?"

Mingle crinkled her nose and blew a few wuffling breaths. "Hay mostly."

"Come over here." Nip lead the way to the now closed door. "Try again."

Mingle gave the older ewe a dubious look but tried again. Her eyes popped open and she took a few more sniffs, pressing her nose to the door's edge. "It does smell different. Fresher, kind of."

Nip nodded and walked back towards her breakfast. "Remember both the feel and the smell and you'll know when a storm is coming next time."

"What's the big deal about a little more snow?" Mingle asked, following behind.

"Youngling, you ain't seen nothing yet!"

I've been following Chip MacGregor's blog for awhile now. It's always good reading, but today, he almost cost me a couple of ribs.

He wrote about a book that "won" the title of worst self-published book on the market. The title is "How to Good-bye Depression" with the catchy subtitle of "If You Constrict Anus 100 Times Everyday. Malarkey? or Effective Way?" He didn't make this up! The book is on Amazon.com.

With a title like that, I had to go look at it. Once there, I got sucked into reading the comments left by people who actually spent money on this book. I can't remember when I laughed so hard! If you need a good laugh, by all means, check out these reviews on Amazon. Just wait until you're in a room by yourself because, really, you don't want to have to explain this to anyone else!

Do you want to stop all conversation going on around you? Do you want all eyes in the room focused on you? Do you want people to take a step back and give you some space? This is easily accomplished by uttering a simple little sentence, "I need to get home and cut up a deer."

Our son brought home a nice sized spike buck last Tuesday. Being the thoughtful young man that he is, he hung it up in the garage before beating a hasty retreat back to college. The usual collection of friends and neighbors stopped by that first night to "ooh" and "aah" over this particular example of nature's bounty. The next night, however, there was nobody in sight. It was time to start cutting and wrapping.

Perhaps people are too squeamish these days to lend a hand cutting up a carcass. Or perhaps they are leery of a wild-haired, empty nesting, menopausal woman wielding a large knife. It's hard to say.

In the murky, purple-gray before dawn, he felt his way into the thicket. Every move was precise, every step calculated to make as little noise as possible. Wispy fog draped the brush that grew thick along the swamp's edge to his right. Ahead loomed the dark ridge where a tangled nest of brush and branches awaited him. He climbed to that higher ground and reached his deer blind.

Turning to the east, he saw the first streaks of angry orange moving up the horizon over the lake. He filled his lungs with the damp, chilled air. His hand ran along the length of his rifle, absently noting the safety was on. He lowered himself to the rickety, wooden chair he hoped would last another season and blew out a soft breath when it didn't creak beneath his weight. Flipping the covers off his scope, he drew the rifle up and squeezed one eye closed as he looked out over the swamp. It was too dark yet.

A light breeze toying with dried cattails murmured in the background. He waited. Angry orange gave way to pinkish light that danced off the dissipating fog. Behind him a bird called out its first greeting of the day. In front and to his left a small, black squirrel poked its head out from around a young, leafless oak tree. The day came to life around him. Sitting still, rifle relaxed but ready in his hands, his eyes roved the landscape. He watched and waited.

He heard a noise off to his right, just a rustle in the dry leaves that carpeted the ridge. The muscles along his back tightened. He breathed shallowly, ears straining to catch another sound. There was movement. His eyes could make out a vague shape through the thick forest brush, but nothing more. He waited. He listened. He hoped.

This is something of a hot topic among writers now. Changes in the industry combined with our sagging economy have caused traditional publishing houses to cut back on the number of books they publish per year. Naturally, that mean fewer writers are getting their books accepted for publication.

Many are opting to self publish. This means that they take complete control of their book. They write, edit, design and print, owning the entire process themselves. It's an intriguing notion for several reasons.
1. You don't have to make changes to please an editor.
2. You have full control of the final product.
3. You make more money on each book sold.
4. You decide how many copies to print and when.

The down side of self publishing is what is keeping me from jumping on this band wagon. In short, you're on your own. In some respects that sounds good, but on the other hand...
1. You have no editor to review and help polish your manuscript.
2. You have no publishing house to help with distribution.
3. You have no marketing department to help with promotion.
4. You have no "name brand" to add credibility to your book.
5. You pay all the costs, everything, with no money coming 'up front' to help.

I can see self publishing working in some genres better than others and I can see it working for people who don't have a "day job" or two. But I don't see it working for me, not at this time, not as it is happening now. It will be interesting to see what changes are coming down the pike with e-books and such. For now... I just need to write!