Adventures Of A Feral Wild Tiger

Surprisingly, lately, I found myself sitting on a pasture with the greenest grass I have ever seen. (Not that I saw too much grass in my life, but that’s beside the point).


I saw that movement from the corner of my eyes and instinctively crouched lower, sneaked closer, and with every single step, I felt the grass blades below my feet.


Again I discovered the movement… and then I saw it. It was actually smaller than I thought it would be. In a flash of brown, gray, and pink, it disappeared into the ground.


Carefully I tiptoed closer and found the entrance of its house. I was a bit irritated. Why crossing my path and then disappearing? It smelled, in an odd way, intriguing. I used my nose, felt my muzzle move from one to the other side, my whiskers trembled. I had barely ever realized how wonderful my whiskers are. My ears turned forward and back, trying to catch that shooing sound it makes when it walks. Still crouched, I decided to wait at that hole for a while, my nose and ears working constantly.

Picture courtesy of Dreamstime.com

And then it shot out of another spot in the ground, not even six feet away, and ran. It was fast… I jumped up and followed… there was no more hiding. I sprinted after it. My feet were feeling every single crumb of dirt, every bumpiness. My eyes registered how fast the surroundings passed; it was like a blur. I stretched, gained speed. And then, it started panicking and turned to the right… just when I took another angle, it changed back, even speeding up. I jumped forward, a leap, another leap, calculating where it would be next.


And then, when I took the last leap, I knew I had it. I jumped, further than I ever did, higher than I ever did….. and I dove down on it. I could see it. I could almost taste it, only half an inch, the fraction of a second…


And then I woke up…


Mommy laughed and then picked me up, hugged me, and caressed me. She’s always sweet. She takes good care of my two sisters and me. But she can’t replace the glorious adventure of hunting a mouse.


And that’s, what Mommy said, makes her laugh… when I sleep, with my ears turning forward and back, flat to my head, with my nose twitching, my whiskers trembling, my feet moving… to her, I’m just fidgeting, but to me, in my head, I’m instinctively checking my surroundings, following my prey. I’m on a hunt. Maybe only in my dreams. I’m still glad Mommy feeds me. I’m not sure I would know what to do with the mouse once I catch it. But it’s nice to imagine anyway, to be an instinct-driven, feral, wild tiger.

(Short Story Copyright A. J. Alexander, May 2021)

My Mirror, My Face and I

Dear face,

After all these years of our cooperation, I thought I’d send you a letter. Just in case you’re asking yourself what the reason for this outpour is, there are several.

First, I’d like to say that I know it wasn’t always easy with me. Sometimes I have wanton neglected you, provided you with too much sun, too much snow or salt water. I let you experience dirt, mud, heat, ice, height, wind and air that cold, you nearly froze. I withheld the cream you needed, the humidity and once in a rare while, I paved you with makeup.

We both have come a long way together, and you went through so much with me, I felt I owe you an apology.

It’s time to realize; we’re facing the time when we aren’t silky and smooth anymore.

I discovered one thing today: you provided me with laugh lines. Nobody knows better that I love to smile and it shows. Thank you for them!

You don’t make me look grumpy and old – you make me look radiant, no matter what I put you through.

And I promise you something: no matter how deep these laugh lines get: I will never try to hide them by filling them with powder. There’s no reason. You show my humor. This bone flour is nothing but an agricultural damage.

You and I will be together for another very long time, and my laugh lines will get deeper. Maybe gravity will kick in. (Believe me, you’re not alone; the rest of the body is in that process too.)

But no matter what we’re going to face together, I hope we’ll never be losing our smile, our laughter, the sparkles in our eyes and our laugh lines.

I know I wasn’t always happy with you. But I figure, all in all, I could have gotten it worse.
I want to say thank you for going all the way with me – and I wish us both good luck for the future.

********
(Copyright: Aurora Jean Alexander, June 2017)

Published before: June 14, 2017 on ‘Writer’s Treasure Chest’

Picture courtesy of: http://www.google.com

Goodbye Traditional, Hello Indie (Part I)

I think sharing experiences like this is important to many writers, not only to new, hopeful ones like me. Thank you very much, D. Wallace Peach for telling us your story.

Myths of the Mirror

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I’ve begun the process of reclaiming my 6 traditionally published books and republishing them myself. I thought it might be useful to document my reasons, particularly for those writers dawdling at this fork in the publishing road, trying to decide which way to go.

I published through a small press, and I don’t want to give the impression that this was a bad deal or that the publisher did anything wrong. It was, in fact, a valuable learning experience, especially for a new author and one as clueless as I. A small press may be the perfect publishing solution for many authors, especially if the words “traditionally published” carry personal weight.

Before I dig in, it’s important to state that – with a few exceptions – this was my experience. It reflects my personality, expectations, and quirks. What worked for me might not work for you and visa-versa. In…

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