"I grew up in Townsend, Massachusetts, the youngest of nine children. I had two sisters and six brothers. We'd go camping on Cape Cod during summer vacations. I always had an interest in drawing and writing mostly science fiction and fantasy. Sometimes I would draw small images of the Cape on white clamshells. I also liked designing all my own greeting cards. Most everything I made as a child is gone, but mom still has a still life painting I did of flowers in a vase. I took Graphic Arts at Greenfield Community College, but had no real interest in the subject. I completed a two-year correspondence course through the Long Ridge Writer's Group in Connecticut, concentrating my studies on fiction. The first piece of writing I ever sold was a seven word slogan for $35 to a novelty company in Oregon. Since then my one-liners have earned me hundreds of dollars, and I think they're a great outlet for venting my opinions of society. I write haiku poetry, horror haiku, and scifaiku. My first illustration was sold to Promart. My short stories, poetry, and artwork have appeared in several online and small press zines. Who knows where my slogans have shown up? My illustrations keep finding themselves on Promart's e-zines. I never want to become famous, and wouldn't know how to be rich. I'm in this for the pleasure, creative challenge, and friends it brings me. I now live in Tyngsboro, Massachusetts. My husband works in business administration. He plays guitar and keyboard and likes model railroading. I work as a Vendor Source Inspector. Our son is eighteen years old. He lives on pizza and chocolate milk, likes Anime, manga and video games. He also writes and draws well. I like taking care of my boys, and my personal interests: reading, research, writing, and drawing."
MY FAVORITE THINGS ~ The Bible, my unabridged dictionary, sci-fi anthologies, Haiku poetry, Spy vs.Spy...BC...and ghost story comics, British and standup comedy, The Little Rascals, Bugs Bunny, the Pink Panther, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Antonio Vivaldi, Pink Floyd, blue grass, Spanish guitar, Live and Pearl Jam, Fantasia, Star Wars, the Nutcracker Suite, Oliver Twist, King Arthur, Alfred Hitchcock, Peter Ustinov, David Warner, Tim Curry, Dustin Hoffman, Vin Deisel, pasta, fresh corn on the cob, naked cheese cake, cobalt blue, fairies, kaleidoscopes, big flea markets, wooden roller coasters, camping, house parties, thunderstorms, and autumn.
MY AMBITIONS ~ To publish a book of my writing and/or artwork.
MY LEAST FAVORITE THINGS ~ Being photographed, tidal waves, skunks, silverfish, mildew, women's magazines, the Barbie aisle, the lottery, gossip, shopping carts with one wonky wheel, dead worms on hot pavement.
MY PET PEEVES ~ Women who wear housecoats and slippers while driving, telemarketers, people who walk backwards in crowded places, tattered or filthy American flags, car stereos that shake the ground, tension.
TRAITS I ADMIRE MOST ~ People who are good conversationalists, open, honest, modest, funny, graceful, helpful, generous, inspirational and reliable.
~ gothic haiku ~ horror ku ~ fantaiku ~
the ugly minstrel
sings love songs - what would he know
stroking only strings?
~ scifaiku ~
scratches at my door
a face from another world
seen through the peephole
~ cinquain ~
bedtime
a lullaby
blankets tucked under chins
soft kisses and sweet dream wishes
"goodnight"
Touching my ears, the defiant voice of home stirs my blood and fills my heart. Only by lying quietly can I pick out the slightest of these forest sounds. The sun-swayed flowers whisper softly as their petals open and close with each passing glimpse of sunlight. Drowsy infants yawn blissfully while nestled near mothers' warmth. A leopard's whiskers quiver and tap the underbrush, giving away his hiding place.
This is what I know of life in the rainforest and of my life as a mountain gorilla. I am a silverback male, the largest in my band, and this is my territory. I claim the land from the east ridge to the west river, and from the north cliffs to the south where the edge of the world is. The younger gorillas sleeping in the branches above me are all members of my band. The babies nursing from their mother's breasts are all my descendants; the youngest is two-weeks-old. It is my right to have these lands and a large family. They are mine to protect from the leopard, from the cold, and from anything that threatens our existence.
Every sound within these my boundaries have always been well known to me. But lately there have been new voices coming from the south made by two beasts not of our world. Mornings are the time when their long groans and warning shouts overshadow all other forest voices, especially the slight ones. I can no longer hear the flowers sway, or the cats prowling. Together, the strange beasts gnaw away at the edge of the world. They eat the forest from morning till dusk when finally they rest. Their evening nests continue to move north, causing their woeful threats of death to grow louder with each day. With a harsh roar, they awaken.
I sit up and stretch my limbs in the cool air. The other gorillas, upon hearing the beasts, begin to stir from their well-guarded slumber. They are accustomed to my morning patrols to the south, and are not surprised or alarmed when I leave them. The second oldest male, nearly a full-grown silverback in his tenth year, is left in charge. He should not have any trouble, since no other gorilla bands are in this part of the forest, not like years ago. He and the others can groom without fear; the mothers can nurse their young.
I move cautiously toward the beasts, fearful of how far north they progressed during the previous day. Each morning's journey is shorter than the last when I reach the edge of the world. The danger they pose to our forest is real, and yet most of the other creatures that live here choose to ignore it. I have seen what happens to those who stay in the beast's path rather than run. I try to imagine my ignorant neighbors fleeing to safety at the last minute, but their fate will be no different. Already, I know our home will be devoured and them with it, but what can I do?
My band senses I am worried for their safety and wonders why I have not moved them to another territory. It is our custom that I should force my way into another silverback's boundaries by beating him in a show of strength. I never allow my family to wander off to the south, so they are unaware of what is happening there. I could show them what the edge of the world looks like, but I know such a sight would frighten them. I could show them that I am willing to challenge another male, but I know there are no others left for me to face. I have seen the fringe of another lush forest above the cliffs to the north, but I never learned how to get up there. And the river to the west is far too wide and fast-moving to cross. Beyond the ridge to the east lies my father's territory. I have thought to try there for the sake of my band, but I still remember the pain and bear the scars he sent me away with when I was in my twelfth season. I hesitate to meet up with him again.
Once, I tried to scare off the hungry beasts in the south, but they stood their ground unimpressed by my displays of strength. I saw the larger ones trample over entire trees. The smaller ones would then feed off the branches once they were low enough for them to reach. This is a habit I cannot understand. Surely they realize the other mountain dwellers rely upon the forest for food and shelter. They must understand, too, that without the trees dropping fruit there can be no new trees to replace the ones they have trampled. I wonder if perhaps they are both insane.
Today, I reach the edge of the world too soon. The forest I ran freely through earlier this year has vanished. Angered by the loss of territory, I leap out from the tree line and into the dead clearing. The larger beasts are too busy consuming trees to notice me, but I startle one of the smaller ones by my sudden appearance and great size. I show him all the sharp teeth set within my powerful jaw and I pound my chest with clenched fists. He doesn't back away. I decide to charge at him. He falls to the ground and looks straight at me when he should flee or cast his eyes down. This angers me, for he is too small to be so bold and so hungry. Doesn't he realize I could easily kill him? He must be insane. I lift his frail throat and growl down at his toothless face. He cries out. The large beasts keep eating and moaning, but more of the small ones come into the clearing. I let go of the one I have, charge and roar at the others, but they stand their ground and shout back at me. Why don't they run away? There is a loud cracking sound. I feel a hot sting in my left shoulder. Rearing up, I scream in pain and anger and flee into the forest, back to safety.
I let out several low grunts warning my band there is danger. Several cracking sounds warn me that I am being chased. I keep running and sounding the alarm till I reach the other gorillas. My bloody shoulder and frantic behavior cause the females to instinctively gather our young. I tell them we must leave this place forever. Any attempt to cross the broad river to the west would be a disaster, so I head east. But I know I cannot challenge my father with only one good arm. I then turn north toward the cliffs, determined for my band's sake to find the way up. The females see where I am taking them and holler their complaints behind me. They will have a hard job climbing with babies. I understand we may lose some of them by such a difficult retreat, but the painful cracking sounds persist. I refuse to change our course or to slow down.
When we reach the base of the cliffs, I see that its face is not as steep as I had once thought. There is a winding path forged by the runoff of rainwater and many footholds; this is good. Gradually, we scale the uneven rocks or pull ourselves up with the sturdier, deep-rooted vegetation. We clear the canopy, gaining a safe distance from the insane beasts below. I take some comfort in the fact that their cracking sounds have stopped and that the larger beasts are not bred for climbing. Still, I press on without looking back.
The adult gorillas are quiet now except for their labored breathing. The babies cling instinctively to their mothers' fur, screaming with fear and discomfort, wanting the journey to end. Their mothers hear them, but can do nothing except hold on tight and obey my wishes. They know I have my reasons for moving the band, and do their best to keep up. At one point, the newborn and his young mother slide back down the slope where she drops him off a ledge. Luckily, one of his aunts catches him before he hits the hard rocks. His mother is upset but not hurt. The pause is brief. Our midday feeding comes and goes without notice.
Finally, by late afternoon we reach the top of the cliffs. I allow the band to rest near the path we had climbed. All are relieved to see that no members are missing. My youngest one reawakens in his mother's trembling arms and yawns widely. His birthplace and this day will not be remembered by him as they will be by the rest of us. I permit him to swat my nose for letting him go hungry. With the family safely intact, I instruct them to forage for food in the nearby trees but not to wonder off too far. We may still have need of the cliff paths in order to flee from any new dangers.
I will wait to eat once I have patrolled the area for other gorillas and leopards. Moving in a wide circle, I sniff the air and look for signs of other large animals. I see that the cliff top has much to offer a family of our size. The sounds and plants are not quite the same as those below, but the food and nesting sights are plentiful. The area looks to be unclaimed. A panting sound from behind me reveals a prowling cat moving upwind of the band. As weak as I am for such an encounter, I charge through the underbrush to stop squarely in front of him. He is an older cat who hadn't expected to see any gorillas today much less an enormous silverback. He may be capable of killing one-year-old and infant gorillas but is powerless over me. Horrified by my sudden appearance, he curls back his lips and hisses then runs back to wherever he came from. He is old but sane. I have noted his scent for future reference.
Following along the edge of the cliff, I find a patch of unfamiliar flowers swaying in the open sunlight. They whisper faintly in the breeze. I will have to quiet my pounding heart and strain my ears to hear their voices. Lying among them, I close my eyes, and breathe in deeply. Their strange fragrance is powerful, but pleasing to my nostrils. They tell me to open my eyes and to look over the cliff. I do this and behold a view like none I have ever seen before. Far below me is the dense canopy where many nests are built above as well as below it. Beyond the shrieking canopy birds to the south there seems to be a whole other world, a vast area that lies past the broad patch of bare land where the hungry beasts live. But this other place, unknown to me, is really just another part of this world, and yet it stretches further than my squinting eyes can see. I had no idea there were more lush lands beyond the forests where I had always lived. I had no idea the world was without edges, not to the south, not anywhere. It appears to go on forever in all directions. I envy these cliff flowers for having such an incredible view, one that may hold no significance for them, but means a great deal to me. My head spins from weakness, excitement and revelation.
At first, this new knowledge of the world's true size makes me think my territory also has no boundaries, but then I realize that it does. For the river to the west is still too wide and fast-moving to cross. My birthplace to the east, I can only hope, still belongs to my father. And although the hungry beasts may in fact be of this world and may possess a large territory along the south, they haven?t devoured all of it. The world has no sharp edge of death as I once thought. The insane beasts had merely formed a barrier. These cliffs also serve as a barrier against dangers from below; perhaps the last southern stronghold my band has left. Behind us to the north are the mountaintops, also a good barrier. This new forest will make a fine home.
The sharp pains in my shoulder and the damp streak of blood down my fur tell me the wound there is deep, not mortal but serious nonetheless. One day soon, the second oldest silverback will challenge me for the right to lead our band. Surely, I will lose my privileged standing with the females and be forced to live on the fringe of the family until my days run out. This is as it should be. My predecessor will need to defend this new territory, so that our descendants may join their voices with those of the other forest dwellers. But for now, I will watch over what is rightfully mine. I will especially keep a wary eye toward the south from this cliff of sun-swayed flowers, the edge of my world.
