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Here are some excerpts from my writing notebook. If you'd like the whole story, click the link following each passage, and send me one dollar via PayPal to cover paper and postage. (Some excerpts are more than $1.)

Please type a keyword from the title into the Special Instructions text box. Include your postal address. If you'd like more than one sample, please make one payment and type all titles into one box. Thanks!

1) Title: BUBBLE BATH BEACH PARTY
Word count: 737, fiction
For readers aged 6-9

"Time to clean up!" Momma Bear called from the garage. "All these toys need to be picked up and put away."

Brandon didn't feel like cleaning. He wanted to watch cartoons. He came out and looked at the mess.

"Those are all Beauty's things. Why do I have to do it?"

"We need to teach Beauty. That way she'll learn how to do it herself," replied Momma. "Go find her. She's probably out back."

Brandon bolted through the family room. He could see Beauty from the window. She was in the sandbox.

"What a mess! Are you okay?"

"Wee! Pie! I make pies!" Beauty took soil from the garden and mixed it with water and sand.

"Yeah, but you're not supposed to eat them!"

"Mm, good!"

"I don't think so," said Brandon. "Let's go wash up at the hose."

Brandon was always taking care of his little sister. Beauty was always getting into trouble. And Brandon was always the one getting her out of trouble....

[Click BUBBLE BATH to read more.]

2) Title: BEETHOVEN'S "DID YOU EAT?"
Word count: 634, plus 80-word Glossary, "faction"
For readers aged 7-10

Jackie was hungry, but she couldn't stop now.

She was playing Beethoven's "Fur Elise," every kid's showoff piano piece. And it needed more practice.

Sister Cindy made an announcement: "Since I'm the oldest, I'm going to make sure everyone eats."

"YAY!" cheered Jackie's younger sister and brother, in a television trance.

Here we go again - time for force-feeding, thought Jackie.

Cindy called from the kitchen, "Jackie, did you eat?"

Jackie laughed. "Of course, I ate a horse!"

Cindy asked again, but Jackie was lost in thought.

Let's see. Right hand pinky and ring finger step back and forth between two neighbor keys: white, black, white, black, white...

She sang the finger numbers, starting with the pinky on E: "Five, four, five, four, five - OUCH!"

Her fourth and fifth fingers needed to get stronger, so said her piano teacher. I guess I must practice until they break off.

Jackie played Beethoven's famous opening line: E, D-sharp, E, D-sharp, E, B, D, C, A. As she repeated it, she sang, "Deedle, deedle, deeda, dee-da dum."

Hey! This is easy, she thought. I can keep playing it over and over: Deedle, deedle, deeda, dee-da dum. That is, if I can stand it...

[Click BEETHOVEN'S to read more.]

3) Title: THE LOST FINGERNAILS
Word count: 672, fiction
For readers aged 8-12

At my piano lessons, my fast-growing fingernails sometimes get me into big trouble.

"Oops. Wrong key," I start again from the beginning.

My teacher, Mrs. Winkinsense, rolls her pencil between her hands, clunking it against her many rings.

"Don't go all the way back to the top," she says. "Let's say you're vacuuming the rug and miss one small spot in the middle. You don't start all over again from the doorway now, do you?"

"I guess not."

"It's those long fingernails of yours, Jackie. We must play the keys properly - with the fingertips." Mrs. Winkinsense demonstrates, and I imitate.

"I hate the sound of clicking fingernails on my ivory keys!" she says. "Like high heels on a glass floor! Click, click, click!"

"I promise I'll cut my fingernails by next time," I say. But I know Mrs. Winkinsense would never understand why I keep stalling...

[Click FINGERNAILS to read more.]

4) Title: ANIMAL TALK
Word count: 301, non-fiction
For readers/listeners aged 2-5

Dr. Doolittle isn't the only person who can talk to the animals. You can, too.

Do animals talk? Do they sing? Take dogs, for instance. Listen.

Our neighbor's collie wails, "Woo-woo-woo!" Maybe she's saying, "I hear a fire engine!"

Our German Shepherd shouts, "Bark-ark-ark!" He might be asking, "Who's at the door?"

The little Chihuahua upstairs yells, "Yap-yap-yap!" I think he means, "Hey, let's play!"

Mama Cat says, "Meow."

Her kittens cry back to her, "Mew-mew!" Everybody understands.

How do animals learn to use their voices? They listen. They copy their parents and siblings. They learn from their friends, just like you do.

Try it. The easiest sound to make is "Mmm." Close your lips and hum. That is how to make the M sound. Now open your mouth and let your voice out: "Ah!"...

[Click ANIMAL to read more.]

5) Title: MOSQUITOES BITE
Word count: 348, non-fiction
For readers/listeners aged 2-5

"Zzzzz!" Here comes another mosquito!

Swat! I'd better get her before she gets me.

"Splat!" goes the mosquito.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. But I'm so happy I didn't get another bite. My arm is already swollen with red, puffy itches.

Lady mosquitoes like to poke people. Their mouths are like little needles. They find nice, soft skin to stab. Then they inject their saliva into the skin. The saliva helps them suck a small amount of blood. It's the saliva that itches...

[Click MOSQUITOES to read more.]

6) Title: THE MYSTERY OF THE WAH-WAH
Word count: 737, fiction
For readers aged 4-7

"Waaa-Waaa! Waaa-Waaa! Waaa-Waaa!"

"What is that?" Willy Walter asked his sister. He turned off the cartoons. Strange wailing noises filled the house.

"It sounds like a giant clown baby," said little Cindy Sarah. "But I can't tell if it's laughing or crying."

"A giant clown baby with a thumping beat, 1-2-3-4," added Willy Walter.

"Creepy!" said Cindy Sarah.

Big brother Randy Ray, the freaky teen, was busy studying. His rock band practice was over. Dad was helping Mom outside in the garden.

"Waaa-Waaa! Waaa-Waaa! Waaa-Waaa!"

"It sounds like outer space!" Willy Walter put his ear to the wall. He heard nothing. He listened at the heat vent. No wah-wah here.

"Maybe it's in the furnace," he said.

"Let's find out," said Cindy Sarah. "Get a flashlight."

Willy Walter and Cindy Sarah ran down to the dark basement. The moldy smell hit their noses. Gooey cobwebs stuck to their jeans. They knocked on the furnace, 1-2-3-4.

Cindy Sarah cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Anybody home?"

The metal furnace boomed back: "Anybody home?"

A loud bang suddenly crashed inside the furnace...

[Click WAH-WAH to read more.]

7) Title: A TALENT FOR TRYOUTS
Word count: 972, plus 156-word sidebar, fiction
For readers aged 8-12

Vicki wasn't sure she could go through with it.

If only I had the confidence, she thought as she gazed up at the poster.

Marcy's voice broke Vicki's trance. "Hey Vick, are you going to try out for the spring talent show again?"

Vicki squirmed with embarrassment before passing the question back. "Are YOU?"

Vicki Miller and Marcy Granger were best friends. They loved playacting "American Idol" with the karaoke machine in Marcy's rec room.

"I asked you first," teased Marcy. "Maybe we could put together a duo."

"Why should I? They didn't pick me the first time. I don't have any talent. Besides, I can't sing."

"What a lie! You're the best singer I've ever heard! You just need more confidence."

"And WHERE am I going to get THAT?"...

[Click TRYOUTS to read more.]

8) Title: SIX KEYS TO ACING A SUCCESSFUL MUSIC THEATRE VOCAL AUDITION
Word count: approx. 1,400 plus sidebars and bibliography, non-fiction
For teen/adult readers

Are you tossing coins into a fountain, wishing for a fulfilling career in music theatre? Instead of just dreaming about it, spend your energies preparing for a great audition. When you know what to do and how to do it (and also what not to do), you feel more confident. And your confidence can lead to success.

Whether you are trying out for the school musical, or are ready to get started on the professional circuit, take these six steps to a successful music theatre vocal audition...

...How do you ace a music theatre audition? Success is not necessarily measured by getting the part you want, but by knowing you've done your best and enjoyed yourself in the process.

Study, organize your materials and make smart choices. When you know you've prepared well, there's no more work to do. Just go out on stage and have fun!

[Click AUDITION to read more. 27 pages, $5]

9) Title: THE TRUTH ABOUT GETTING LAID
Word count: 738, plus four sidebars, non-fiction
For teen/adult readers

Getting laid or such words as LIE, LAY, lying, laying, lied or lain to work well in a sentence can be confusing. But it's a titillating topic!

How do writers do it?

When Bob Dylan sings this command, "Lay, lady, lay; lay across my big brass bed," is he using correct grammar? Not on your life!

Even though "lay, lady, lay," speaks (and sings) more trippingly on the tongue than the grammatically correct command, "lie, lady, lie," it's still wrong.

Dylan doesn't get an A+ in verb use. Instead he romances his lady with the literary devices of alliteration (the repetition of initial consonant sounds in successive words) and assonance (the repetition of the same internal vowel sounds in successive words).

In popular music, the laws of colloquial grammar supersede those learned at the knee of your schoolteacher. However, if you want to score well, you need to consider usage, tense and meaning...

[Click LAID to read more. 12 pages, $5]

10) Working Title: SUSANNAH'S QUESTION
For teen/adult readers
Word count: Full-length Young Adult novel

[From Chapter One] ...Later, when Brennan arrives, I grab her hand, and we run upstairs to my bedroom where music booms from behind the door.

"Ella!" Brennan opens her arms as if greeting a favorite aunt.

Ella Fitzgerald is my American jazz idol, a star back in the nineteen-forties and fifties. But her voice could pass for someone from our own time. I've been singing along to her records since I was five. Plus, I've been taking group voice lessons for three years. Brennan's my biggest fan.

"Bren, she recorded this when she was practically our age, like, a hundred years ago! A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket!" My voice swings in unison with Ella, as I snap my fingers on the off-beats.

Brennan gasps and beams at me. "You sound so cool!" ...

[Chapter Six] ..."Hey, everybody," says Corey, "this is Susannah Anderson. We met at GRLZ POWER. You should hear her sing."

"Yeah," says a girl in a London-style black leather newsboy cap and long, bleach-blonde hair, "Corey told us your band was performing for us tonight."

"She said you do jazz," says another in a black beret with nothing but a fringe of red bangs sticking out of the front. "Is that like Louis Armstrong?"

I feel like saying, "What's with all the black hats? It's the middle of summer," but I don't. Instead I just start singing one of Armstrong's biggest hits: "Hello, Dolly. Well, Hello Dolly; It's so nice to have you back where you belong!"

Red Fringe glances sideways at the other girl as if to communicate she thinks I'm a nut.

"The truth is - I couldn't get my band together for tonight."

Corey jumps in. "Bummer! Bobby was so great at the camp."

"He said he wanted to come," I say, "but his family was going out of town this weekend."

"Where?" asks Corey.

"Louisville, I think." I say all this as if it's true, but I'm just making it up as I go along. I wish Brennan were here with me...

...I let them talk me into singing and find "Misty" on the karaoke playlist.

I begin: "Look at me..." I love wavering my voice on that long me-note. "I'm as helpless as a kitten up a tree." I try to reproduce my usual imitation of Sarah Vaughn, but the key is a little high. I mean, I can get all the notes and everything, but I don't sound as cool as I do when I sing in that lower part of my range.

At the end, Blondie calls out, "Wow. You sound just like a girl version of Johnny Mathis!"

"Who's that?" asks Reddie.

"Oh, he's a singer from the old days," says Blondie. "I think he might be dead now."...

[Chapter Ten] ... On Friday, Bobby phones about a wedding gig. I can't believe it. We're only teenagers, but here's our first professional job!

"My cousin is on leave from Iraq - home to marry his sweetheart. They're having an informal ceremony and picnic in the bride's parents' back yard in two weeks." He's talking a-mile-a-minute. "They'll set up a party tent with air conditioning. Whaddaya say? Feel like practicing?" Bobby's animated voice reminds me of how much I used to love to perform. Lately, since Corey's been distracting me, I haven't much felt the urge.

"What about Kirk and Kevin?" I ask.

"We don't need bass and drums," says Bobby. "Let's go as a duo."

I whine, "Can't we just go through our book of songs?" I'm not in the mood to practice beforehand. Plus, it's too hot.

"I think we should prepare. Can you rehearse this weekend?"

"Um, maybe. Brennan's coming back from Louisville - but only for a few days. I want to save enough time for her."

"Okay." Bobby sounds a little disappointed. "How about Monday? I want us to sound good."

"I'll have to see," I say. "We can at least meet and decide on a song list."

"Yeah, sure." His voice sounds curt. I'm afraid he'll hang up.

"Oh, what the hey! Can we do it right now?"

"Great!" says Bobby. "I'll be right over."

I don't know what I was waiting for. By the time Bobby's on my living room piano, copping the grooves, and I'm wailing along, I know there's nothing else in this whole wide world I'd rather be doing. My head is ringing with the sound of my own voice. I can feel a buzz across the bridge of my nose and on the inside of my lips. I guide my voice like electric silk through the chromatic melodies. As I wrap my facial muscles around the words, it feels like I can even mold my cheekbones into new shapes - shapes to carry colors of resonance that shoot out of my face like lightening bolts. Who needs drugs?!

"Susannah." Bobby has stopped playing, and he's looking up at me with a dull stare that slowly morphs into a grin. "Your voice is killer. I think you should make a CD."

I'm entranced with the gospel-style lick I just threw in at the end of "Over the Rainbow," so I keep singing it over and over like an echo. I realize I should feel flattered by what Bobby's said, but I'm lost in the moment and instead prefer to indulge in my sound.

"Susannah!" Bobby waves his arms over his head to get me to stop. "Let's do it!"

"Do what?"

"Make a recording, Dummy!" His face is radiant.

"Okay." I smile sheepishly. I'm cool with Dummy...

[Chapter Eleven] ... Bobby and I make our way up to the family room. He plunks down a few chords. "Good. It's in tune."

I walk up to the microphone and say, "Sh" to test it, telling Bobby, "You're not supposed to tap a live mike." I plug the cord into the jack marked mic and test it again. This mic is hot!

Bobby says, "Do you want to run a few numbers?"

"Okay. Or at least some openings and endings."

We start with "Just the Way You Look Tonight."

I snap and count off, "One. Two. Uh-one, two, three, four - Someday, when I'm awf'ly low, When the world is cold, I will feel a glow just thinking of you and the way you look tonight."

Bobby stops playing, shifts his eyes to the side and gives me that special smile which says Susannah's the greatest! Hearing the reverb on my voice through the system makes me feel like a real professional. I sound like Ella! This is going to be a grand night...

[Chapter Twelve] ... It's Bobby's idea to start with some instrumentals. This gives me a chance to eat and go wash my hands. I realize I'm hungrier than I thought. People aren't paying attention to us yet. They're chatting together in the food line and finding seats. Bobby's so brilliant; he can talk to me while he's playing.

"So," I say, "what happened to your brother?"

"Football." Bobby rolls an arpeggio and holds it with the pedal. "Darling football. He's not sure, but he thinks some guy stepped on him during a play."

"Did he break his leg?"

"Oh, no. Just an ankle sprain, but a really good one. He swelled up pretty bad. He's not supposed to put any weight on it, but the coach still wants him to observe practices."

"The game must go on," I say, twisting the usual phrase about show business. It's a sarcastic way to express my dislike for the sport, while at the same time making fun of our own self-importance as performers. There've been plenty of times I've sung with a sore throat.

"You know me, Susannah. I'm not a sports booster at all," Bobby says.

"Right. Me neither."

We go through all the songs in Bobby's notebook, taking our time. It's so cool hearing a fluttering of applause after certain numbers. From the family room, I feel like I'm performing on the high stage of a fancy supper club, the kind you see in old-fashioned movies. But it's even better, because we're just background music - a lot less pressure than having to present a show to an audience ogling you.

After a swinging rendition of "Tea for Two," one of the ushers raises his glass as if to toast us. I wave back at him and kick up one heel like a flirt, knowing my spot from the house keeps me safely removed…

... I can't decide where to sit. My feet are killing me, so I take off my sandals and perch on the arm of Bobby's sofa.

"So, Susannah, where did you learn to sing like that?"

If Marc weren't looking up at me with a coy smile and a twinkle in his eye, I'd say this would be a pretty intimidating question. I often feel grumpy when people ask if I take voice lessons. Like, duh!

"Well?" He breaks my habitual circling thoughts. "Were you just born like that?"

Why had I never noticed his shining white teeth before? He has a bit of a lisp, but it doesn't make him seem weird. Cute, in fact. I wonder if he thinks I'm cute.

"Born like what?" I say quickly, so he doesn't think I'm a space cadet. And are there ever right answers in this kind of interview?

"With that great voice and that great style!" Marc seems to be snorting and coughing out his words. I guess my greatness is all obvious to him, and he's wondering why I'm so clueless about it myself. Brennan's boyfriend has been checking me out and is now flirting with me. What to do...

[Chapter Fourteen] ... The next week, my mother and I find ourselves sitting on a very old-fashioned sofa (the teacher, Mrs. Tetrazzini, called it a "divan") in a rather cramped and musty room upstairs from the grand piano showroom downtown. After a little conversation, Mrs. T., who looks about a hundred years old, invites me to sing a song of my choosing.

At the wedding, I felt on top of the world singing "Tea For Two." So I pull out the sheet music and hand it to the teacher.

"Oh, I remember this one," she says with a look of amusement. She yanks open the dusty, velvet drapes, revealing a delightful view of a brick wall next door, squeezes herself onto the piano bench and begins to play. It sounds like dorky, circus music under her fingers. I sound a little square myself. When we're done, she says, "That's a nice little ditty. Do you have anything that shows more of your voice?"

"I can sing "Misty." I try to sound enthusiastic.

She frowns. "I'd like to hear you sing something more classical in nature"

I know you can really impress a new teacher by rising to their challenge. But I was running out of ideas.

Mom comes to the rescue: "Susannah, you were in My Fair Lady last year. Maybe you could sing a song from that show."

"Oh, goody," says the teacher. "I've got the sheet music here somewhere." She gets up and starts pulling ancient books off her shelf one at a time: faded, worn covers held together with yellowed tape. She licks her fingers and starts turning pages. The old cellophane binding crackles in her hand, the only sound in the room. "Can you sing 'I Could Have Danced All Night'? That has a nice, sweeping range."

All I know was how Jessica Schultz sang that song as Eliza Doolittle - her high notes glowing; her low notes strong; her long, sustained phrases showing so much confidence; the crowd cheering afterwards. I couldn't sweep that with a broom!

"How about 'Wouldn't It Be Loverly'?" I suggest quietly. "I'm more of an alto."

"Oh, are you now?" The teacher squints one eye at me, which brings all her sagging skin on that side of her face sliding upwards to her ear. "You're aware that these two songs are sung by the very same character, aren't you?"

I feel like she's erasing everything I've ever known about singing. I clear my throat and want to run out of there. I give Mom a nervous look.

"Oh, you sound great on 'Loverly,' Susannah. Sing it for Mrs. Tetrazzini."

The circus-like accompaniment sets in motion. I jump in, but halfway through the song, I feel like choking on my tears...