Lewis Carroll

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.


I Am a Little World Made Cunningly (Holy Sonnet V)

John Donne

I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic spright,
But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
My worlds both parts, and oh! both parts must die.
You, which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more:
But oh! it must be burnt; alas the fire
Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler; Let their flames retire,
And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal.

This shows the effects of a forest fire some ten years on.

photographs (c) 2011 R Harrison

FrankenKitty 7 #wewriwar #amwriting



Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.  This is a sample from my work in progress, “Frankenkitty”, and I hope you enjoy it.  It started out as a young-adult superhero book, and well, you’ll see. The week before last they met Mrs. Jones, nee von Volkstein. Despite the premature reports of her death, Mrs. Jones was still alive. Last week they started in on making the surprisingly powerful “pink solution.” This week Jenny and her father meet Mrs. Jones and arrange for an exchange student to visit.

When they knocked on the door, Mrs. Jones answered; her voice was beginning to reflect her frailty, but her joy when she greeted them was unmistakable.

“Velcome, come in please.”

Jennifer’s father began, “I’m so sorry, we thought-”

“Jennifer explained it to me this afternoon; these things happen.”

“Still, I’m sorry.”

“Vell, it’s just as good that you’re here; my grand-niece Gertrude is looking for a place to stay as an exchange student; she’s about Jennifer’s age.”

“Jennifer, it might be fun to have a foreign student here; for how long and what do we have to do?”

“All you have to do is sign the paperwork and my nephew, her vater will handle the rest, including the costs.”

Jennifer’s father asked to see the forms and Mrs. Jones handed him a thick sheaf of papers, some in German, but mostly in English. A yellowing black and white photograph of a teenage girl was stapled to the upper left corner.

This is a work in progress. In other news, I’ve become a booktrope author, but more on that latter. It has meant a change in pen-name. The week before last  is here,  last weeks is here, and you can read the whole last chapter if you’d rather.

I’m also looking for reviewers for my nearly ready book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven”

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To celebrate the release of Book 3 in the Grand Master’s Trilogy, Book 1 will be FREE the weekend of November 28-29.


One young woman challenges the super psychics ruling the galaxy, and finds an impossible love.

Young empath, Violet Hunter, achieves her dream of exploring planets by becoming the pawn of one of the twelve Grand Masters, despite her forbidden psychic talent. She believes her secret is safe because the Grand Masters never appear in public and communicate through avatars.

When life-threatening cracks in the vast web of interplanetary portals disrupt civilization, Violet agrees to investigate the cause. At the same time, her trusted tutor, Mother Tingu, explains that her father’s death twenty years ago was no accident. Tingu suspects the perpetrator of both crimes comes from within the ranks of the Twelve, perhaps even Violet’s own obnoxious Grand Master. Violet must penetrate their curtain of secrecy to identify the culprit. Her challenges escalate when she meets the enigmatic man behind the griffin avatar. Armed with only her erratic powers and a mishmash of allies, she must challenge the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TP1N5PM


The raft shot towards the top of the waterfall. Taranis stood, balanced on his toes, and stared ahead from the vantage of his full height. He glanced back at Violet, and shouted above the crash of the water, “The drop is too steep. We must abandon the raft!”

Violet staggered to her feet and stared at the rocky shore. Dubious, she shook her head, “How? The current is too fierce to swim to the river bank, and I can’t jump that distance.”

Taranis stepped carefully across the raft, took the pack from her grasp, and tossed it onto the rocks at the edge of the water. “Get ready! I will throw you onto the land.”

She gulped, wide eyed in alarm. How was she supposed to prepare?

Without further warning, he caught her round the waist and flung her from the raft. Violet shrieked. She flew over the water, twisting with cat-like agility to land on her hands and feet. Her hands stung from the impact, but she was safe on the shore. She turned to watch Taranis.

He ran with the pole in his hands to the edge of the raft, stuck the pole into the water and vaulted to the rocks. He staggered on a slippery stone, and Violet grabbed his wrist and tugged to prevent him from falling. Instead, she slammed against his body with her face pressed against his bare chest, tingling with psychic power. Immediately, she felt foolish.

She lifted her head to break the sizzling contact. They stepped apart, and he stared down at her from those unreadable black eyes in his solemn face. “Sorry!” she muttered. She lowered her eyes and reddened with embarrassment. Was this athletic man really her Grand Master? The one she had taunted as too decrepit to participate in a mission.

He patted her on the back. “It was a wild ride. You are fearless!”

The Grand Master’s Trilogy comprises:

Book 1, Grand Master’s Pawn: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TP1N5PM

Book 2, Grand Master’s Game: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0104OFJJ8

Book 3, Grand Master’s Mate: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B018EHAA7S

What reviewers say about this Trilogy:

“Exciting and vivid sci fi/fantasy/adventure, grounded in real emotions and fully realized characters…”

“..a complex and extraordinarily powerful story with masterful battles and constant dangers for our two main characters…”



My career in science involves plenty of writing facts for research articles. But, I’ve imagined exciting adventures in weird worlds for as long as I can remember. For many years, life intervened. Now, I have achieved my life-long ambition to publish novels. My published works include science fiction and fantasy with romance and a sprinkle of humor. I was born in the UK and live in Atlanta with my husband, a dog and two cats to sit on my laptop. My hobbies, besides reading and writing, include outdoor activities like watching wildlife, hiking and canoeing.

Media links:

Blog: http://AuroraSpringerNovels.blogspot.com/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Aurora-Springer/e/B00K2C4NL8

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Aurora-Springer/885945434752937

Twitter: http://twitter.com/AuroraSpringer

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/101087717415198221200/posts

Pumpkin Pie

I make a wicked pumpkin pie, and the basic recipe works well with sweet potato or any similar filling.

Pumpkin pie is basically a vegetable and spice flavoured custard in a pie crust. You bake it in a moderate oven (375 F, 205 C) until it sets. Then you eat it (at least if you can get there before your family’s pie monster finishes it).

I’m going to give my recipe in the order that is easiest to do, which means start with the crust, make the custard, roll out the crust, put the custard in the pie and bake it.

  1. Pie crust step 1
    • 2 cups plain flour
    • 1 stick margarine (1/4 pound or so)
    • 1 tablespoon sugar (for a sweet pie, omit for meat pies)
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • Work the margarine into the flour, sugar and salt. I use a mixer, but forks and pastry knives are almost as easy. It should be coarse – sort of like corn meal- possibly with a few small chunks of the margarine left.

      Put it in a bowl in the freezer to chill and rest.

  2. The filling
  3. This is basically the same as most cans of pumpkin have on the back, but with a minor twist.

    • 1 can pumpkin (1 lb per pie, don’t bother with the “pie filling”) The equivalent is about 1 1/2 cups mashed cooked pumpkin or sweet potato.
    • 3 eggs
    • 1 can condensed milk (about 1 cup)
    • 1 tablespoon corn starch – this helps the custard to set. You won’t find this on the standard recipe.
    • 1 cup sugar
    • 1 teaspoon salt
    • 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
    • 1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
    • 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

    Mix the eggs, sugar, salt, corn starch and spices. It should be a creamy yellowish mixture. Add the condensed milk and mix thoroughly. Finally add the pumpkin and mix. Set aside.

The Churning, Justin Edison



By Justin Edison




In Justin Edison’s second novel, Persian-American soccer star Arman Hessabi wakes in chains in a house of enemies. Driven in part by an abusive older brother, the hero feels his life is complete with the glory, women and riches afforded by a Premier League striker’s lifestyle. But he meets his match in Fat Man, Captain, Huck and Kay—men who hold him in thrall somewhere in Europe. Through trials, Hessabi comes to question his own ego and position in life. But is it too late for a soccer star with no apparent power over his own fate?

Author Bio

Justin A. Edison has been writing fiction and stories for twenty-odd years. A graduate of the Evansville and Hamline writing programs, he counts among his adventures a rocking semester at Harlaxton (in the British Midlands) and a tour of the Czech Republic. His pursuits include hiking, Web site design, trying to fix the world (in too many ways) and playing soccer (rather poorly). He lives in the Seattle area with his wife, two energetic kids and a vocal cat.

The Churning is his second novel.


Author Links

To contact the author: edisonchurning@gmail.com





Justin Edison Blog Tour Poster


Edith Sitwell

Amid this hot green glowing gloom
A word falls with a raindrop’s boom…

Like baskets of ripe fruit in air
The bird-songs seem, suspended where

Those goldfinches—the ripe warm lights
Peck slyly at them—take quick flights.

My feet are feathered like a bird
Among the shadows scarcely heard;

I bring you branches green with dew
And fruits that you may crown anew

Your whirring waspish-gilded hair
Amid this cornucopia—

Until your warm lips bear the stains
And bird-blood leap within your veins.


Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?
At rich men’s tables eaten bread and pulse?
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?
And loved so well a high behavior,
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,
Nobility more nobly to repay?
O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!


Fall Birds

I wanted to try an inexpensive mirror lens with a 2x extender for nature photography. It’s not bad, but not great either. The acuity is not as good as I’d like, and the depth of focus is paper thin. But when it works it’s pretty good.

These seagulls were hunting shad on the far side of the lake, about 700 meters away.

The flat field of focus can be really nice. I like this back-lit grass and weeds.

all photographs (c) 2015 Robert W. Harrison

She Walks in Beauty

George Gordon Byron


She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.


One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.


And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!


(c) 2014 Robert W Harrison

To my favorite walking partner, seen above in the beauty of the New Mexico dessert.

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