Timothy C. Davis's Blog

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Thank you, Beverly, whose novel Telling Stories������Stories lie. Truth hurts. Secrets can be deadly.������is NOT for children. Beverley, I enjoyed your blog post at http://bevjoneswriting.wordpress.com, so I wrote up one like it. But something strange happened last night�������something I don't understand and can���t explain. It seems that 10-year-old M-Man and 7-year-old T-man (Story Boys http://storyboys.wordpress.com/2012/10/25/sea-cutter-by-timothy-davis-book/) got in email contact with Nathaniel Childe. I���ve called M-Man and T-Man, but they won���t say a word about it. No doubt Nat made them spit on their hands and shake on not telling. Don���t take my word for it. I managed to hit ���print screen��� before it disappeared���.
M-man: What was it like to grow up without a dad?
Nat: My heart felt hollow and aching. The nights hit me hardest. I tossed and turned through nightmares about Father. He clung to a beam while the sea washed him to an unknown island. He called, ���Nat! Nat! Nat!��� while Mother and I stood at his plaque, saying, ���He���s dead. He���s dead. He���s dead.���
T-man: What was it like going to sea for the first time?
Nat: Father must���ve had the salt sea in his blood and passed it on to me, for I could feel my own blood sing in our rhythmic rise and fall over the sparkling swells that stretched in unbroken splendor to all horizons. The tang of the salt wind that whisked over my face was more delicious than the aroma of any spice. The splash of our bow, the snap and rustle of our sails, the creak of our mast, all seemed the loveliest music.
M-Man: What was your favorite place in New Bedford?
Nat: The docks. They always swarmed with men: ship owners in satin frock coats, tough-looking sailors covered with tattoos, and expert whalers with their favorite harpoons slung over their shoulders. Some sailors swapped stories over their long clay pipes and talked about newly discovered trade routes. Others scrambled up masts, dangled from the rigging, and even dived into the water to clean the submerged hulls. Their shouts, commands, and coarse laughter competed with the screaming gulls.
T-Man: What was the scariest part of your journey?
Nat: A pistol shot rang, an impact hitting my back. Time slowed. My dagger fell, flipping leisurely. Then the green water slowly came to meet me as I tumbled over. The sunlit roof of water closed above me like slow curtains. The bullet in my back throbbed as I sank deeper into the darkness. Then I remembered what lay at the bottom of that darkness���Snake���s corpse. My foot hit sand and, terrified, I shoved myself upward. A cold dead hand gripped my ankle. The last of my air went out in a silent scream.

And there you have it, Beverly. By the way, Sea Cutter is now out in paperback through Amazon (http://amzn.to/RkseQX), and I'm giving away a signed copy . To enter the drawing, just leave any type of comment . I'll pick the winner from a hat on Friday, Nov. 9.  

Now I have the great pleasure of handing The Next Big Thing Blog Hop over to fantastic children���s novelist Michelle Isennhoff http://michelleisenhoff.wordpress.com.

<!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Times; panose-1:2 0 5 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;} @font-face {font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝"; mso-font-charset:78; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1791491579 18 0 131231 0;} @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:-536870145 1073743103 0 0 415 0;} @font-face {font-family:Tahoma; panose-1:2 11 6 4 3 5 4 4 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} a:link, span.MsoHyperlink {mso-style-priority:99; color:blue; mso-themecolor:hyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed {mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; color:purple; mso-themecolor:followedhyperlink; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"ＭＳ 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page WordSection1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.WordSection1 {page:WordSection1;} </style> <br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Thank you, Beverly, whose novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Telling Stories–</i>“</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stories lie. Truth hurts. Secrets can be deadly.”–</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">is NOT for children. Beverley, I enjoyed your blog post at </span><a href="http://bevjoneswriting.wordpress.com/... style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">http://bevjoneswriting.wordpress.com&... style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">, so I wrote up one like it. But something strange happened last night­­–something I don't understand and can’t explain. It seems that 10-year-old M-Man and 7-year-old T-man (Story Boys <a href="http://storyboys.wordpress.com/2012/1...) got in email contact with Nathaniel Childe. I’ve called M-Man and T-Man, but they won’t say a word about it. No doubt Nat made them spit on their hands and shake on not telling. Don’t take my word for it. I managed to hit “print screen” before it disappeared….</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">M-man: What was it like to grow up without a dad?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nat: My heart felt hollow and aching. </span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The nights hit me hardest. I tossed and turned through nightmares about Father. He clung to a beam while the sea washed him to an unknown island. He called, “Nat! Nat! Nat!” while Mother and I stood at his plaque, saying, “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.”</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">T-man: What was it like going to sea for the first time?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nat: Father must’ve had the salt sea in his blood and passed it on to me, for I could feel my own blood sing in our rhythmic rise and fall over the sparkling swells that stretched in unbroken splendor to all horizons. The tang of the salt wind that whisked over my face was more delicious than the aroma of any spice. The splash of our bow, the snap and rustle of our sails, the creak of our mast, all seemed the loveliest music.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">M-Man: What was your favorite place in New Bedford?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nat: The docks. They always swarmed with men: ship owners in satin frock coats, tough-looking sailors covered with tattoos, and expert whalers with their favorite harpoons slung over their shoulders. Some sailors swapped stories over their long clay pipes and talked about newly discovered trade routes. Others scrambled up masts, dangled from the rigging, and even dived into the water to clean the submerged hulls. Their shouts, commands, and coarse laughter competed with the screaming gulls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">T-Man: What was the scariest part of your journey?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nat: A pistol shot rang, an impact hitting my back. Time slowed. My dagger fell, flipping leisurely. Then the green water slowly came to meet me as I tumbled over. The sunlit roof of water closed above me like slow curtains. The bullet in my back throbbed as I sank deeper into the darkness. Then I remembered what lay at the bottom of that darkness—Snake’s corpse. My foot hit sand and, terrified, I shoved myself upward. A cold dead hand gripped my ankle. The last of my air went out in a silent scream.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And there you have it, Beverly. By the way, <b><i>Sea Cutter</i></b> is now out in paperback through Amazon (<a href="http://amzn.to/RkseQX">http:/...), and I'm <b><i>giving away a signed copy</i></b>. To enter the drawing, <b><i>just leave any type of comment</i></b>. I'll pick the winner from a hat on Friday, Nov. 9.  </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now I have the great pleasure of handing The Next Big Thing Blog Hop over to fantastic children’s novelist Michelle Isennhoff <a href="http://michelleisenhoff.wordpress.com...

Sea Cutter won 1st Prize in the International Digital Awards for short YA fiction. Here are links to the reviews of the two finalist judges, Calisa Rhose and Anna Kittrell. Thank you, IDA!

The first four Chapters of Sea Cutter, a tween (9+) historical adventure novel, are up on the web! Go to http://www.timothydavisauthor.com/ .

I woke in blackness, the Sea Cutter tossing every which way, while the bell rang with a mad clatter. Lightening flashed and thunder roared. I'd left Wayland alone to sail the storm! I dashed up the companionway, forgetting to tie the line about me, just as a vicious wave broke over the Sea Cutter. "Nat!" Wayland let go of the tiller and leaped toward me. A freezing giant hand slapped my body off the boat, knocking my air out. It crashed me down into the roiling water, twisting and turning me as if it were a cat playing with a mouse. Fireworks exploded in my lungs. I kicked and clawed at the wave, but it sank me head over heels. The fireworks turned to cannon shot. In another moment I'd breathe water. A line rasped across my side and I grabbed it. I flew yards in the air, the Sea Cutter yanking me out of the wave. I drew in a breath like a bellows. The line thrashed down into the trough of a wave, then flung me in the air again, the furious giant snapping his whip to flick me off. I held on, my hands burning, my shoulders aching, the ocean plowing into my face, the rain pouring over me. Lightning flashed, and I caught a glimpse of the Sea Cutter.  "Wayland! Wayland!" I screamed. He couldn't hear me above the roaring waves and wind. I pulled myself forward on the whipping line inch by inch, until one wave finally bruised me into the Sea Cutter's side. "Wayland!" No answer. He wasn't pointing the Sea Cutter's bow into the waves. She broached aimlessly, the waves hitting her at dangerous angles. One banged me against the side of the boat so hard that for a moment all was a spinning darkness. Another smack like that would knock the line from my grasp. I pulled myself upward, crying "Ah!" at the top of my lungs, and with a last effort tumbled over the gunwale just as a bolt of lightning made everything brighter than day. The tiller thrashed from side to side. Wayland was gone.

Jack C. Davis (1923-2011) was an abstract expressionist artist, who painted until the day he died. You can see his work at http://www.glowingstar.net/jackcdavis/ . He lived in Connecticut and we live in San Francisco, but we spoke on the phone two or three times a day. He had a great sense of humor. We miss you, Dad.

BTW the C. stands for Coville in his name, my name, and in my son's name. This tradition of giving the middle name Coville to the eldest son of the eldest son goes back in my Dad's family for generations.

In my teens, as I was doing one of my cross-country runs, I decided to hitchhike through Canada to the East Coast.One sunset, I had my thumb out on a Modesto, CA highway, but the cars kept zipping by. Looking around for some sign of hope, I spotted the Modesto Airport. Why not fly? I went in, asking the pilots if any were heading north."You want to go north?" asked a lanky, sallow guy, without smiling. "I'll fly you to Seattle.""Hey! Great! Thanks!" I enthused.We walked out toward a lovely Cessna, but went right by it. Behind it was the oldest, smallest, plane I'd ever seen. Its canvas cockpit was faded like an overused tent. "Your door doesn't really lock," he said, as I slid onto the miniscule ripped seat. "You'll have to hold it closed."He fired her up and we bounced along the runway, the plane starting to take off and then jolting down again."Interesting plane." I said. "How long have you had it?""I just got it today," he answered, finally pulling the contraption into the air."Oh, that's great!" I tried to hide my alarm. "How long have you been flying?" "I just got my license today," he replied. Oh. I sat paralyzed, half from the numbing cold that poured in my door, and half from fear. Things couldn't be any worse.Abruptly he clutched his chest. "Geez. I've been having these pains."Criminy!  Worse?  What if he died?  Where would that leave me?Trying to sound casual, I began quizzing him how to tell where an airport was among all the lights on the ground, and then how to fly and land the plane.You'd think he'd be delighted to share his knowledge, but he was a suspicious type. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. "Are you planning to push me out?"Now we each flew in fear, and I made no protest when he said he needed to stop for the night. He swooped down at an airport. But we were going much too fast. I closed my eyes. "Oops. Not this time," he murmured, and up we went again. He tried again. Same thing. On the third try the plane came bouncing to a stop. My door flew open.             That was the last of my airport hitchhiking.

 
"Now is the time," I whispered, slitting Snake's bonds with my knife.  "You go overboard and you also tell me where the letter is.""I understand," whispered Snake.With my knife at his back, I made Snake climb up through both hatches and drove him to the side of the Sea Cutter."Now tell me where the letter is, then jump off," I whispered.  "Don't try to get back on.  By the time you swim to shore, we'll be gone."Snake turned around and folded his arms against his chest, looking at me with a cocky expression.  "I've changed my mind," he said."Changed your mind!" I whispered fiercely.  "You can't change your mind!""Well, I do.  I can't swim.  I'd rather face Wayland," Snake said."You're not going to see Wayland," I hissed."I could shout for him," Snake said."Go over." I held the knife up to his chest."You see, Nat," Snake grinned, "we really are alike.  You're ready to force an unarmed man to drown—to murder me.  You're a murderer just like me.""I'm not at all like you!" I cried in an infuriated whisper, and I hit him across the jaw with the flat of the knife.Snake's head snapped back, his eyes rolled up, and he fell backward into the water.  It closed above him and all was still.  I bent over the water.  A minute passed.  Two minutes passed.  Three.  Snake wasn't coming up.My fury vanished.  What had I done?  I had knocked a man unconscious, sending him into the water where he would surely drown.  I didn't want to be a killer, but in moment of rage I had done it.  Perhaps I was no better than Snake.Suddenly a pistol shot rang out and I felt a stinging impact in the center of my back.  Things seemed to slow down.  I saw my knife fall out of my hands and flip twice before it plunged into the water.  Then I saw the green water slowly coming up to meet me as I fell.  The sunlit roof of water closed leisurely above me like a curtain at a theatre, and slowly rose further and further above my head.  The ache in my back throbbed with slow pulses.  Little by little, my lungs told me I was out of air as I sank deeper and deeper into the darkness.Then I remembered what was down at the bottom of that darkness—Snake's dead body.I clawed at the water but continued to sink toward the body.My foot hit the bottom and I frantically shoved myself upward, but just as I started up, a cold dead hand gripped my ankle.The last of my air went out in a silent scream.

Hi Kids & Parents. Sea Cutter is blogged on "Time to Review Books". Until Oct. 15, Sea Cutter is free at Timothy Davis - Author . 

Hi Kids & Parents. "This Kid Reviews Books," a blog written by a 9-year-old, has reviewed Sea Cutter. See it at http://thiskidreviewsbooks.com/2011/09/10/sea-cutter-book-i-in-the-chronicles-of-nathaniel-childe/ .

Sea Cutter is FREE at my website until Oct 15: http://www.timothydavisauthor.com/index.html