It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.
Henry David Thoreau
Henry David Thoreau
Here I am with my sister Susan, who initiated my love of books by reading aloud from The Secret Horse. We're Soup and Salad. I now live on a farm near the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia with my husband Mark, three dogs, two horses, and six barn kitties. Besides being a constant gardener I am reading all the time and writing quite a bit. www.amazon.com/author/sallypfoutz www.smashwords.com/profile/view/SalGal53
On a hillside, dreaming, as the sun rose in the sky, a sister and brother and their granddad, imagine wild animals they could be: zebras running with the herd; a cheetah, whose leaping quick strength dazzled the forest like a fiery rocket; songbirds, a seagull, a great blue heron; a lion, and a Bengal tiger, and finally smooth fish, lovely fish, snazzy, dazzling trout fish. Most of the animals so magnificently illustrated by painter, Doris Weeks are endangered, or suffering loss of habitat.
Missing Person was first published in hardback by Viking in 1993. It is still on accelerated reading lists nationwide. "The harrowingly suspenseful tale will keep readers spellbound." FROM HORN BOOK 1994 "Missing Person is a scary piece of fiction that seems to jump right off the pages of the newspaper." FAMILY ENTERTAINMENT DEVELOPMENT INSIDER "Carrie's single-handed efforts to solve the mystery will keep readers turning the pages." PUBLlSHERS WEEKLY "Readers will welcome more from a novelist who has capably created people caught in an intriguing web of relationships." KIRKUS REVIEWS
Missing Person is now available as an ebook and soon will be available as a paperback. Thank you, Amazon KDP!
A murder mystery buried within a tale of lust and love, revenge and redemption, Red-tail illustrates how life turns on a dime. Yet it's possible to find your way, whether you're a teenager who cuts herself, a married man yearning for his youth, a married woman searching for love, or an elderly man who causes a terrible tragedy; as long as you can forgive yourself and others. Red-tail was first issued as an original paperback in 2002.
My friend Linda just sent me this picture. She is with her mother in NJ and her mother had just finished the book she was reading so Linda gave her mine, and this morning Linda found my book on the dining room table with this post-it note.
Dying to Live: An Amish Man Fakes His Death
to Find his Life Now Available in Paperback 5* review
This is a very entertaining book about a young Amish man who left his community and went out on his own. The character is well developed and believable and his thoughts about the big changes in his life are very engaging. It was hard to put the book down. There are a lot of very interesting facts about the Amish included in the book. The section of the book describing how the author met the "real" character and heard his story was an unexpected and enjoyable surprise.
This novel is based on the true story of my friend and farrier, Levi Hochstetler
Augusta, Wisconsin 1996
Late one August night in small white frame house in a very strict Old Order Amish community that does not have electricity, running water, or telephones, a man starts a bloody trail across the bedroom floor next to the double bed where his young wife sleeps soundly. The blood trail snakes down the narrow staircase through the kitchen out onto the front stoop and onto the gravel drive where it ends in a pool, so that Levi Hochstetler, age 21, will appear to have been taken violently from his bed.
After awhile something wakes up Levi’s wife Rosanna. Perhaps it is the putrid smell of blood, or the barking dogs outside. She assumes her husband has gone to the outhouse but even in darkness she can see something on the floor. She sits up in bed, switches on the flashlight and discovers the blood trail leading to the stairs and down. Shocked and horrified, she climbs out of bed and steps cautiously over the splashes of blood, escapes outdoors, and races across the dark yard to the house next door where her in-laws hear her urgent cries for help. After tearing through his son’s house to see the blood trail with his own eyes, her father-in-law, Joe, must run across a cornfield in the dead of night to call the police on the neighbors’ phone.
When the police arrive, the house and driveway are immediately strung with alien yellow crime tape. Levi’s wife, parents, siblings, friends and neighbors are questioned exhaustively. At the break of day, police and bloodhounds search the farm buildings, grounds, and surrounding woods and cornfields. An aerial search ensues.
Levi is missing and presumed dead.
In the picture below, Levi is working on my retired racehorse, Zanzy, in 2012.
My poetry collection is now available in paperback from Amazon. Originally published as a chapbook in 2011 by Wild Leaf Press, this paperback is reissued with permission of the editors.
My niece, McKenzie, asked me this summer
which of my books I liked the best, or which
book was I most proud of, and I said I didn't
know. I have always had trouble deciding
between one thing and another. I decided later,
as I often think of what I should have said long afterwards, that it is my poetry. Because just as being a mother is when I have felt closest to my truest self, writing poetry is when I have come closest to saying what I really feel.
“Runnin' a race with a shootin' star.”
The girl dismounts and crawls into a crate.
You watch from the kitchen window
immobilized by silent thunderheads
as her horse stands by, reins dangling in the dirt.
“I’m in the middle of frying chicken,” you call out.
“I can’t come get you right now.”
In the bedroom you hear her tune the ukulele.
“My dog has fleas.”
In the cellar she tunes her violin.
“God damn anarchists everywhere.”
At the piano her fingers glaze the keys from memory.
“Sheep May Softly Graze” escalates into “Solfeggietto.”
Softer then louder, slower then faster,
fingers fly and rip the notes to smithereens.
Yesterday the yard filled up with loose cattle,
runaway heifers & wayward calves
till the farmer came round to herd them into a tractor-trailer
and buzzed up dirt clouds with his giant rubber trike.
Today the girl sleeps soundly as sheep softly graze
and chicken bones litter the walkway.
The cat got into the trash.
You play and sing for nobody all the doo dah day.
(Inspired by a well-known magazine)
Forget about which side the fork goes on
you can’t lose with these great ideas
from the junkyard. Place two dumpsters
side by side for candelabras. Oil drums
will be the main course. There’s a tractor
tire in Father’s place. A park bench filled
with loose brown leaves for Mother.
Spidery, torn, flapping wings set the mood.
Try a crab net over a swan planter.
You be a dry-docked boat in a body bag,
I’ll be a hoodless car with four flat tires.
Say the blessing: Except for the severed post
tethered to the gash, hearts awaken.
Let the reminiscing begin. Why do you curl
your hair when it looks better natural?
Does your house still smell like mothballs
and mildew? Will your half moon hands always
play the famous composers loudly and furiously?
Is our father there shouting at you to quit pounding
on the goddamn piano? What about our brother?
Is he crouched behind the couch giggling
as he shoots rubberbands at your arched back?