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I’m going to draw the curtain on the Marcie Saga with this photo from Pennsylvania. Her forever Mama sent it to me a day after taking her home and it’s endearing to see Marcie thriving in her new home alongside the toy bell mouse we bought for her. A toy she chased enthusiastically all over the basement! We feared Marcie’s reaction to the long car ride, but she settled into the trip very nicely.
I now have a taste of what foster parents might feel when a child moves out of their home. That was always the plan and there’s great joy in knowing the child is happy and healthy. I learned that a caring foster parent can’t help but feel the empty space left behind, longing for reassurances that the child is doing well. We’ve gone through that.
A few days ago I opened the back door to give food to Tabitha (Marcie’s birth mama) and one of the orange kittens. He let me pet him about seven or eight times while he gobbled his food and quickly broke into a satisfied purr just like Marcie’s. Tabby watched with interest but kept her distance—she’s a survivor.
By the way, a couple of newsletters ago I set up a vote to find out your favorite image of Marcie for a children’s picture book. At the the time I joked that it was good preparation for the national elections. THAT was well prophesied! It was a dead heat between A, B, and C at 30% each with the original photo capturing the last 10%. Haha!
I hope you exercise your right to vote if you haven’t already. I did.
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I need to go create a poster for the high school play I’m directing, so I’m making this short. The cast of Elsewhere will perform on November 1st & 2nd and would appreciate your positive vibes for a successful run.
TTFN!
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If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com. A free story awaits you there.
Marcie met her forever Mama today and Debbie and I said our good-byes before she drove off to Pennsylvania. Our next door neighbor and her husband actually live in PA not in their house next door. It’s a long story. We really like them and hope they move back soon.
I’d gotten used to our little rescued ragamuffin warming my lap as I typed one-handed at my computer, my other hand cradling her behind to prevent her from sliding off and plopping onto the floor. Cats land on their feet and this little kitten developed her agility in the wild climbing trees and wrestling with her siblings, but she’s also bumped her head against my desk a couple times.
A few days ago I woke Marcie up by coming downstairs and she mewed at me about twenty times. She’d finally found her voice, but what did she want? She was purring fervidly so I knew she was glad to see me. Eventually I asked her if she had woken from a bad dream and she pressed her nose against my lips. That was a yes. We sat quietly together for a while after that.
I’ll miss the daily routine of visiting her four times a day.
I’ll miss Marcie’s spectacular leaps at my hand weights while I’m working out.
I’ll miss finding Marcie on the couch downstairs in her favorite napping place.
I’ll miss the warm spot in my lap where she used to curl up.
Aw, shoot. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.
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We were planning to rescue one or all of the other three kittens, but Debbie did some research and learned that no one wants more cats. Not the Cat Cafe, or PETCO, or the no-kill shelters. Now we’re thinking about a catch-and-release plan to get them spayed and neutered. We already have an indoor cat who needs an insulin shot every twelve hours, with a feeding schedule to match.
Wherever you are, I urge to consider adopting a cat or dog if have any room in your home, your budget, and your heart. They really could use your love and attention. And your love will be generously repaid with interest.
In the spirit of the election season I thought I’d give you a chance to practice your democratic rights in the lead-up to our national election.
Don’t worry about registration, you qualified when you signed up for this newsletter.
Politics aside, I’d like to know which version of Marcie you think would make the best model for a children’s picture book.
I’ve researched the categories and my target appears to be for “Ages 4–8: Early (easy) readers.” I envision each page with an illustration having a short paragraph. Three sentences tops.
Having played around with the filters on the app, I’ve learned that Marcie’s appearance will never be duplicated from one photo to the next, so I’ll need to find an illustrator to provide consistency and characterization. I’ve included the original photo I took (Option D) both for your reference and for the option of just using real pictures.
Do you have children in your family? Do you have access to your inner child? I’d welcome your feedback on why you think one version would be the better choice.
My new subscribers may want to read Marcie’s story that started this project. You can find it in last week’s Margerumalia, October 4th. It’s on my website, ericmargerum.com, under POSTS.
Which version would be the best for a children’s picture book?
A – the Cartoonizer
B – the 3D cartoon
C – the watercolor
D – the original photo
(If you’re reading this as a blog post, you can send a reply. I don’t know how to duplicate the poll contained in my email newsletter.)
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I’m also directing a play called Elsewhere at our local high school written by Don Zolidis. I’ve chosen to produce several of his plays not only because of his wit and characterization, but also because of his flexibility in cast size and gender. You can learn more about his plays and novels at donzolidis.com. (I haven’t read his novels but I admire and trust his his writing skills and wouldn’t hesitate to give one a try.)
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I think I may need to create a children’s picture book.
We’ve been feeding an outdoor cat on our back deck for about a year-and-a-half. Her brother, too, until he disappeared in early spring. Tabitha has been showing up faithfully every morning—as has Rockie Raccoon—to get her bowl of cat food. We’ve seen her grow wide with pregnancy twice. The first litter never made it to our house but this summer she brought over four adorable kittens: two orange and two calicos.
We immediately ran out to buy kitten food!
Over the next few weeks we discussed how to capture and rescue them. Our neighbor saw the kittens follow Tabitha across the street on her security camera and declared that she wanted one!
Meanwhile, Rockie had also given birth and started bringing her three babies to our house for some of that delicious cat food.
When we went out of town, the woman coming to feed and give insulin to our indoor cat reported that there was a bit of a kerfuffle between the cats and the raccoons after which the cats stopped showing up. Several days after we came home, Tabitha returned but with only three of her four kittens.
We were sad about the lost calico. Our back yard falls away to a heavily wooded ravine and we’ve seen foxes and coyotes slink through our back yard. The kitten was very likely prey to one of these carnivores. We also felt guilty about not having rescued them before we left.
Several days later the two orange kittens disappeared. Now we were only feeding Tabby and the last calico. If only we had captured them before they became coyote food. I started standing guard for the early morning feedings to keep the raccoons, at least, well away from the cats.
A few days ago, the remaining calico was all alone on our deck, clearly waiting for her mother, mewing for her, looking for her. She had fallen asleep in an empty flower box when her mother showed up, so Debbie went outside to wake the kitten, suddenly realizing she was within arm’s length. She could grab her!
“Eric” I heard her cry, “get the cat carrier!”
I ran upstairs, grabbed the cat carrier, and rushed to the back door. Debbie stood there with bloody arms holding the kitten by the scruff of the neck. We quickly shoved her in the carrier, locked the cage and Debbie went inside to wash up and apply antiseptic to her scratches. (She would later get a tetanus shot and antibiotics just to be on the safe side.)
Debbie was a hero!
I shared a look with Tabitha on the stepping stones in the yard and she looked at me. I got the distinct feeling she was saying, “Okay, you’ve got her. I understand. You take care of her.” She had been pushing, even swatting, the kitten away from the cat bowl so she was already pushing her out of the nest, so to speak.
I had named the two calicos “Marco” because they each had an orange mark on their foreheads: mark-o. Did you know that only one in 3000 calicos are male? I didn’t. Our daughter’s fiancé suggested changing her name to Marcie.
Marcie warmed up to us immediately, purring like crazy every time we visited her little quarantine downstairs. Then we gave her a bath in the sink using gloves and Dawn dish soap. After that bit of trauma we subjected Marcie to a flea bath and though she struggled she never tried to bite, and has always purred ferociously every time we’re with her. She loves being petted! So affectionate.
Soon we took Marcie to the vet for her kitten shots, blood draw, mani-clawi*, and worming medicine. She was officially pronounced healthy and adorable. We took her home, gave her the run of the TV room, and later, the basement. She loves her toys and running freely.
As for the picture book, we now have dozens of cute kitten pictures, and I thought it could serve as a metaphor for children who are fostered and then adopted, to give them comfort by seeing a version of their own stories. (Marcie thinks so, too, she just trotted into my office in full purr mode, batted a paw against my ankle, and leaped into my lap.)
The story’s not over yet. We still need to hand her over to the neighbor when she gets back in town.
AND, there’s a huge plot twist!
Debbie held Marcie up in the tall windows of the TV room the other day so Tabitha could she see her baby and know she was taken care of. Tabby stared for a long time. Marcie did, too. So guess what happened the next night.
We were watching TV and I heard the rattle of the ceramic bowl outside. The raccoons. It was getting time to take in the cat food. I stood up, looked outside, and saw…
Tabitha and her THREE kittens!
I’m guessing you’re asking all the questions we were and, of course, we don’t know the answers! It had been over a week since we saw those kittens last. Where had they been while Tabby was showing up every day? Did Tabitha bring them back for us to rescue?
Next on our list is the other calico. She’s clearly getting pushed aside by the others.
Maybe I’ll have an update for you after a week or two.
TTFN!
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*You’re right, I made up another word! I’ll define that as an animal’s mani-pedi.
Last week I should have given credit to my wife Debbie for taking the original picture from which that anime picture was created. She also took the author photo that I’ve been using on my website. Thank you, My Love.
Like last week, I ran Debbie’s original picture through a filter for this newsletter which you see above. I did try to use the anime filter again but it removed my glasses and gave me a goatee, so I used the watercolor option instead.
The anime picture from last week brought up a discussion with another creative artist about the ethical use of AI. I assured them that it was from a photo run through a filter, not a completely new AI creation.
Why is this important? A filter is a tool for altering creative work, like turning a photo into B&W or enhancing the colors of a sunset. An original AI creation is actually an amalgamation of many creative artists scraped together to create something “new” by imitating their talents. They don’t get credit and they don’t get paid.
I belong to SAG-AFTRA who decided to strike over this very issue in 2024. The studios were prepared to catalogue actor’s images by paying for them once and then reusing them in perpetuity. Forever. For free. Not only would it have been a massive pay cut for performers, it could easily be abused in any number of ways (sex and violence top the list).
Production companies spend a lot of money to hire, direct, costume, apply make-up, and transport actors. And many of these actors are earning their way toward qualifying for medical insurance and benefits.
The strike was resolved when the studios agreed to pay for each use of an actor’s image AND get consent for its specific use. The benefit to the production company is that they can use AI to quickly direct, costume, and apply make-up for crowd scenes or other purposes. The benefit to actors and other performers is getting paid for their images and their talents.
Actors, dancers, singers, are performing artists earning money from their images and voices. The watercolor of my face above is used with my consent and the original photo was shot by my wife. The AI filter is a tool for changing the image, but not a completely new creation. I fear that distinction will get muddier by the day and I wonder where it will lead us in the creative arts.
Some of the portals that I use to submit short stories are quite adamant that no AI generated stories are submitted, and rightfully so. But grammar-check and spell-check are tools that I use frequently and I assume they’ll be tasked to an AI program soon if not already. I hear there are AI critiques that writers can buy to improve their story telling. Do you see the muddy parts ahead?
I don’t have the answers here, but I do plan to conscientiously consider what I do and how I do it. I think everyone should.
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In honor of Banned Books Week I encourage you to read a banned book just to be able to make up your own mind. Some of the more famous choices include Mark Twain, Stephen King, Toni Morrison, and even Judy Blume.
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I had my first close encounter with a middle grade MAMLA reader recently. As I said last week, my wife and I were out of town seeing family and my book had been gifted to a 12-year-old family member I’d briefly met a year ago—let’s call him Max—and I could tell at the picnic that he wanted me to see him reading my book. Earlier I had watched him solving a Rubik’s Cube at warp speed and knew he was a pretty darn smart 12-year-old. I found my way over to Max and asked him if he had gotten to the section about the Circle Room yet.
“You mean the big room with all the mini-games?” asked Max.
I should have called them mini-games! That’s straight out of Mario Party. Thanks to our Gen-Z daughter, I’d played plenty of mini-games on her Game Cube.
“Yes!” I said enthusiastically. “Which one was your favorite?”
“The one with the ball pit,” he answered immediately, “and then that maypole where you run around it and swing in a circle.”
“I love that one, too” I agreed, sounding a bit like a 12-year-old myself.
Max and I agreed that Tornado Alley was a bit haunting. Creepy, I think he called it. Then he described how the people inside ran away and the tornado wiped out their town. Max totally understood why Ryan didn’t take the gold coin and said he wouldn’t have taken one either. It felt wrong.
Nailed it, I thought. He completely got it.
When we talked about Eveningwhere I showed him how the dog on the book cover just happened to match the photo of Angel on my phone. He thought that was really amazing.
Currently Max was reading about how Maria and her mother were visiting the Cloud King, just having met the Cloud Carver.
“Here’s something fun to know,” I told him. “I needed a name for the Cloud Carver and I thought of one of my favorite short story writers, Raymond Carver, so I gave him the name Raymond.” Max thought that was really cool.
Later, Max gave me a detailed demonstration of how to solve the Rubik’s Cube, having me hold the puzzle and patiently explaining how to determine what I was looking for and telling me what row or column to rotate and why. It’d probably take me the rest of my life to master that puzzle but he never made me feel dumb. What a gift!
I felt like I could confide in Max about my plans to develop The Most Amazing Museum of Chicago, and he had several great suggestions based on his love of STEM in school. He quickly embraced my suggestion to adapt STEM to STEAM by including the arts and we were off and running with even more ideas for MAMCHI. (Get out your score cards, because I’m officially adding that word to my lexicon of new contributions to the English language.)
Who knew talking about my book would be so much fun?
By the way, I’m in discussions with a school librarian in Crawfordsville to schedule a reading and discuss my writing process. My chat with Max was an excellent warm-up!
My wife and I will be traveling to see family this week so I thought I’d share a Facebook post with you from a year ago. Tony Bennett had just died and I remembered a shaggy dog story that I had heard years ago and wrote it up from memory. Enjoy!
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I heard this one about 50 years ago. Time to dust it off and give it another run.
When Anthony died he found himself standing in front the Pearly Gates greeted by Saint Peter.
“Welcome, Anthony,” Saint Peter beamed, handing him his harp. “You’ve led a remarkable life and we’re all proud to welcome you into Heaven.”
Anthony hesitated. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, and I’m so very happy to be here…”
“But…?”
“But today is my birthday and my dear friend Sam Frank is throwing me a big party tonight at his disco. He invited everyone and I promised him I would be there. I really don’t want to start the afterlife on a broken promise.”
Saint Peter thought about the situation. “Sometimes exceptions can be made in special circumstances. You can go to the party under two conditions.”
“I’ll do anything!”
“First, you must return by the last stroke of midnight. And, second, you must bring your harp with you to get back into Heaven.”
“I will. I will. Oh, thank you!”
With that the Pearly Gates faded away as the voice of Saint Peter reminded him what to do.
Anthony found himself standing in front of the disco where the doors opened wide and all his family and friends greeted him with open arms. Sam Frank embraced his friend, wished him a happy birthday and the party was under way.
It was the best, most memorable occasion for Anthony full of joyous reunions and warm remembrances. And it was all over too soon when Anthony heard the chiming of the clock counting down to midnight.
He hurriedly said goodbye to everyone and thanked his friend for the celebration of a lifetime. Rushing to beat the stroke of twelve, he arrived at the Pearly Gates just before the last chime.
“I knew you would be here on time,” Saint Peter smiled. “Now all you have to do is pluck your harp to open the Pearly Gates.”
“Oh, no!” Anthony wailed.
“You didn’t—”
“I left my harp in Sam Frank’s disco!”
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A couple of Facebook friends only replied with a groan, which I think is entirely appropriate. A good pun is often measured by the size of the groan.
TTFN!
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I’m signing books at Barnes & Noble again tomorrow and looking forward to meeting more people and connecting with them about The Most Amazing Museum of Los Angeles. Free mazes and bookmarks to anyone who wants one.
This is in Lafayette, Indiana, if you’re local, and I’ll be there from 11:00 to 4:00.
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Meanwhile I want to recommend a middle grade novel called The Circus at the End of the Sea, by Lori R. Snyder. I feel like it’s cut from the same tapestry of creativity and enthusiasm as MAMLA and it takes you for a wildly imaginative ride.
Maddy Adriana is an orphan being transported once again to another home—a group home this time—and she despairs of ever finding a real family. The pull of magic she felt throughout her life often got her in trouble for running away, but she was only following that magical tug that promised to show her where she belonged.
When the LA County bus breaks down and all the children are told to get off, she quietly slips away on her skateboard into Venice Beach. Soon murals come to life, magical dancers appear and disappear, and waiting for her at the far end of the Venice Pier is the Circus at the End of the Sea.
Where the sea ends, the magic begins.
This is only the beginning of Maddy’s adventure. The wayward performers feel a lot like home to her broken heart, and she offers to help them by finding their long-missing Ringmaster to bring the circus back to life. She makes friends along the way who give her aide and confidence, but ultimately she must face her own fears in order to succeed.
It’s a delightful romp and heartfelt in so many ways.
After the last chapter, Snyder gives a brief description of eleven points about Venice Beach that inspired many elements of the story. Some are historical, some are sights that can still be seen today. I remember some of them from my days in LA.
On a side note, I discovered this novel at Small World Books in Venice Beach about a year ago when my wife and I were showing our daughter and her partner the restaurant where we had brunch on our first date. I saw the sign for the book and knew I had to buy it.
You can also buy a copy by visiting her website at: lorirsnyderauthor.com
I recently sent a brief email to the author and she replied with an invitation to meet for coffee next time we’re in town. Maybe I will. And she plans to read my book as well, so we’ll have plenty to talk about.
May each of you meet someone who inspires you to pursue your dreams and push yourself beyond your comfort zone toward the magic inside of you.
No, I didn’t make up a new word this time, you can put away your score cards. But don’t throw them away all together, I’m bound to invent more in the future.
Apostrophizing is “to punctuate a word with an apostrophe.” And since Grammar Girl has discussed this issue on her podcast twice in three weeks, I thought I’d add my two cents’ worth. (Note the apostrophe after “cents.”)
The sign in the photo has been hanging on the family home for at least ten years, maybe twenty, and the apostrophe has been getting my goat all this time.
As a theatre professor teaching in liberal arts colleges for many years, I corrected hundreds—my wife says thousands—of student papers. Supporting a Writing Across The Curriculum dictum, it was my job to assign papers, give corrections, collect rewrites, and grade them. I got really good at spotting errors and deciphering what the students actually meant to say. There was a lot of teaching going on in those exchanges!
So what’s wrong with the Margerum sign? It’s beautifully crafted and a lovely gift to my parents that I’ve kept hanging by the front door just for the aesthetic, but that apostrophe is all wrong.
This is a house that holds more than one Margerum. So the sign should simply say “The Margerums” without an apostrophe.
If you argue that the implied concept is that it’s the house belonging to the Margerums, then the possessive apostrophe belongs at the end: The Margerums’ House. In its current location the possessive would be the house of only one Margerum. That has never been true in the history of this domicile.
I’ve seen a crayon-type of wood filler sold in many different wood shades which could potentially fill in the offending punctuation mark, but it’d still be visible. Kind of like applying White-Out to a scribbled out misspelling on a birthday card. We all see it.
So live and let live, I guess. Maybe the Grammar Police won’t come pounding on our door…or door’s.
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I highly recommend Grammar Girl podcasts as well as her books and website. She’s very accessible and explains grammar with genuine enthusiasm and a sense of fun.
Her episodes on the apostrophe are #1006 and #1009.
That’s my Dad raising a glass to family and friends. My brother shared this photo last week in commemoration of his passing five years ago. It goes by so fast! In honor of his life and his work, I’m sharing something about stories that I learned from him.
Dad was a Professor of Chemistry for 54 years. That’s not a typo. Fifty-four years! He loved teaching and really loved research because it generated endless questions to be answered and problems to be solved. He even worked with a Nobel Prize winning chemist, taking the whole family on two sabbaticals to Germany to be able to work with him.
But let’s rewind his story to the 1940’s when he was a teen in Missouri and got a job with his Local Parks & Recreation telling stories to the kids. The future chemistry professor was hired to make up stories that would keep the children engaged and interested on a hot summer afternoon. (I always pictured them sitting under a shady oak tree.)
Later, when he had his own family Dad treated my brothers and I to stories he invented for us around the campfire. They were serialized stories that continued throughout the camping trips and he had us rapt with attention. He often added aspects of the trip to the stories: hiking the Grand Canyon, canoeing the Boundary Waters, searching for stones and fossils… Such adventures!
When I moved to Los Angeles I toured with a children’s improv group and would later teach a course in improvisation as a theatre professor, but doing a solo story-telling gig would’ve been another level all together.
It was when I was teaching at Carthage College in Wisconsin that I had a revelation about his story telling. Dad was often invited to colleges and universities to give a lecture about his research and he offered to do the same at Carthage. They took him up on it and my wife and I sat in on a talk that opened a window in my understanding.
Dad wasn’t just taking about chemistry, he was telling a story about his research group. They began by trying to solve a problem, researched the issue, set up an experiment to answer some questions, and pushed forward to make new discoveries with new experiments to see if they could solve the original problem. I sure didn’t understand the nitty gritty of the science, but I was rapt once again by his story of the process.
It’s classic story structure! I had been primed for storytelling from an early age. (I must also credit Mom for reading us countless books during long drives. I still enjoy audiobooks and have even recorded a few.)
So I’ll be raising a glass to Dad’s storytelling skills and his contribution to my creative urges in theatre and in writing.
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Another MAMLA review! Nice! Thanks for lending me a hand.
If you received this email because it was forwarded to you by a subscriber, welcome. You can subscribe as well by following the link on my website: ericmargerum.com
Eric Margerum 