Greetings, Dear Readers!  In case you missed it, my latest novel Catherine Over Water has arrived in the world!  It was published this past week by She Writes Press in Berkeley, and is distributed by Simon and Schuster.  It is available at various online outlets here, as well as your very own local book store.  If you don’t see it there, please ask for it.  You may read more about Catherine Over Water here.

This weekend I will be hosting a Launch Party on Sunday afternoon at Wild Sisters Book Company on Folsom Blvd. in Sacramento.  You are most certainly welcome to come if you can!  Learn more here.

Now I’d like to share with you a brief excerpt from the novel.  Catherine Over Water has two narrators:  Catherine, a mythology professor who feels she is living in a grief-filled limbo ever since the disappearance of her tween daughter; and Veronica, a crow, an actual crow, who becomes Catherine’s companion.  This excerpt is Veronica’s description of the two humans she has recently befriended.

A Personal Essay, by Veronica, a free crow

I have befriended two humans.

         My first friend is Marielle, but she likes me to call her Mari.  She lives with the rather diverse flock of humans that prefer to roost outdoors, just as we do.  She is tall compared to other human females, and her limbs look strong.  She has a round face and big brown eyes.  Her spiky black hair looks like feathers on a fledgling.  She used to sleep beside a man and a big yellow dog in the bed of a pick-up truck.  But one evening last May, they began speaking in loud voices.  I often heard them, but I’d never paid much attention before.  “They’re spitting angry,” my mother said, and I swooped to a lower sycamore branch to see what I could learn about anger.

The man was moving things around in the truck bed as he yelled, things like bottles and cardboard boxes and cartons of noodles from the restaurant with the neon dragon in the window.  I didn’t know her name then, but Marielle stood on the sidewalk, yelling back at him.  She swayed like she was sleepy or sad, I’m not sure which. She held a carton of food in her hand too, a wet carton, probably soaked through with sweet and sour sauce, or maybe with grease from chicken or pork.  I love to find a carton like that in the garbage can.  To be honest, her holding onto that carton, it was one of the reasons I was watching her.  Waiting for her to toss it out.  Mari and the man often tossed food containers right under the wheels of their truck. 

Mari had a plastic fork in one hand, but she wasn’t eating with it.  She was waving it in the air like a magic wand, mostly pointed toward the man.  Point, point, point and her voice sounded boom boom boom!  “Shut up!” the man yelled at her, and bam!  Just like that:  I understood.  I knew what he was saying.  But Mari didn’t shut up.  Again her voice went boom boom boom.  “Shut up!” he yelled.  But Mari:  boom boom.  Boom! Boom! Boom! 

Just then a bottle flew out of the bed of the truck.  Maybe he’d aimed it at her head, I don’t know, but she ducked and it crashed onto the sidewalk, shattering into three big chunks and dozens and dozens of tiny little splintery chunks.  Mari screamed, and then she sobbed, and then she was on her knees, blubbering and crying.  The man yelled, “I had enough of your nonsense.”  He tossed her sleeping bag down onto the pavement beside her, then he got down himself onto the street side of the truck.  He climbed inside the cab, fired up the engine and drove away.  Just like that.  I was stunned.

My mother flew down to perch beside me and ordered me back up the tree.  She was worried I would go down to check out the broken bottle.  Truth be told, I was seriously considering it.  It might have been Pepsi or Mountain Dew, and I do love me some sweet soda.  But I’m not sure.  The bit of liquid still clinging to that broken glass looked red and it smelled kind of musty.  Doesn’t matter.  If my mother orders me away, I come away. 

I flew up higher, but I still watched Mari.  I was worried about her.  She sat on the pavement and cried for a really long time in the dark.  Eventually she picked up her sleeping bag, and walked half a block to the alley.  I followed at a distance and watched as she huddled between a dumpster and a white stucco wall.  I dropped in close to her.  “Are you okay?” I asked.

She didn’t look startled at all.  Perhaps she had befriended birds before.  “Hey Birdie, Birdie,” she said, and her voice sounded like a whistle. 

“You sound okay,” I noted.  “But you don’t look okay.” 

“I’m not, I’m not okay!” she squealed, her voice tearing.  “But I will be.  I will be in the morning.  Thank you, Birdie, for your concern.  For you taking the time to check up here on Marielle.  I am grateful.”

“Marielle,” I repeated.

“Yes, Birdie, I am Marielle.  But you may call me Mari.”

I bowed my head, honored to be trusted with her name. 

 

My second friend is Catherine.  I’m not sure where Catherine roosts, but she arrives in a small red car when she comes to our neighborhood.  She is not so tall, certainly shorter than Mari, but probably no shorter than a lot of human females.  Her skin is very pale, much like the color of sycamore bark.  Her eyes look pale gray, like dove feathers, though in sunlight they seem to match the blue sky.  Her limbs look very thin which worries me for her.  There seems no purpose in it.  We birds have thin bones and it helps us fly.  But a land animal like a human should have thick bones so they may pad across the dirt and the stones and the pavement and the asphalt without any concern for safety.  I worry Catherine’s bones might crack if she tried to run too fast.  I think she is an elder, because her skin on her arms is like thin wrinkled paper, and her face seems etched with deep lines around her eyes and mouth.  But she does not carry herself with the confidence we birds associate with the eldest of our kin.  Most days she walks with her chin lowered and her shoulders hunched.  She treads slowly and almost too cautiously, staring down at her feet, as if she is afraid she will fall on a crack in the sidewalk or a raised tree root.  I don’t know where she roosts, but I hope she will invite me to see it.  I am very curious. 

I hope this whets your appetite so you’ll be eager for more.  I think if you enjoyed Remarkably Bright Creatures, it’s a good bet you’ll also love my novel.  Remember the holidays are right around the corner, and I’d be honored if you choose to buy copies of my book for family members or friends.

Thanks so much for all your support.