Wednesday, September 1, 2021


 My latest story submission! Have a read and  when you get to the the bottom, follow the prompts to vote for my story, "Kara's Tears" (Link to page)

Thanks, Love Lana

Monday, September 1, 2014

“The Legend of Schwarm Hollow”

By Lana Butler

Once upon a time there was a toad that lived in the meadows at Schwarm Hollow. His name was Theodore Templeton Blogger the 3rd, Teddy for short. The legend about his fore-fathers, he had heard them from his neighbours, Hare Bonnet and Kneehigh Crickity. All the Teddys had met ill fate in the meadows of Schwarm Hollow during the lowlander storms. Teddy the 3rd never thought much of it. He figured they were only trying to scare him into staying close to home.

When Teddy the 3rd got scared he would take a big breath in and hold it. This would fill him with air like a giant puffer fish. It was quite spectacular. He felt safe from harm then. This is something that all the Teddys learned to do.

The Legend goes that each of his fore fathers were found flattened to the width of a fall leaf. Teddy the 1st, rumoured to be crossing the meadow from home to the neighbours, was found in the middle of the grassland. Legend had it that Teddy the 1st had been sucked into the eye of the storm. The wind was so powerful it pasted him flat to the ground – leaving him there, deflated and helpless, unable to recover. Teddy the 2nd was found further from home, said to be flattened while chasing flies in the evening dusk, across the rockland.

..... Stay Tuned to see what happens to the 3rd Teddy..  

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

How About Some Poetry???  hmmmmm? Here you go!

First Light 
Sailors gather at harbour’s first light.
With shared anticipation, they wend to a new land.
Cool nights and long watches
ETA thirty days.

Days, nights, blur to weeks, then a month.

Dawn breaks; day thirty-five.
Night watch is at end.
Sun warmed air
Breezes build.
Salient waves push up from the sea.

Sinking into damp bunk, awaiting sleep;
my inner light abrades.

Dusk demands a new watch.
A meal shared.
Cupped hands scoop fresh filtered water to parched lips.
Small sups, rations hold.

All hands on deck pan seas where skies meet.
Eyes ache with want.
Hopes unravel.
Off-watch disappears below.

Night world is distinct.
Sight muted – sounds engulf space.
Waves lap aggressively against complacent hull.
Wind through rigging echoes where an hour ago, lay silent.
“Pop” – sails balloon over each wave crest.
Sanity within earshot; out of reach

Surf down wind, whether helm or bow.
Fifty feet; not far enough to achieve separation.
No privacy on a floating villa.
No room for free will.
Listen intently to the night.
On guard to its oddities.

White dawn bursts.
We eat up our own shadow.
Dark departed, forgotten.
Exhausted - communal meal, escape to hide below.

All aspire to spot first port.
Mirage? Reality?
Beckon new watch!
All eyes on horizons peer.
Wind holds breath tight.

Silence explodes.
Garrulous crew spew speculations.
Mirage is reality!
Warm tickle of delight envelops.
Spirits inflate.
Land across a body of water,
Inspiration to coalesce.

Summer is busy.. will try to get back soon.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

....something to think about...

Children learn extremely well through modelling and encouragement. 

If they can see, touch and play with their learning tools, they will learn more fully and wholly.

If we are not allowed to play with our work, experience its abilities and limitations;

we will not learn about our own abilities and limitations. 

We are not born judgmental, of ourselves or others - 

younger children need encouragement to accept their work, whether they feel happy, sad or indifferent toward it;

older children (and adults) need encouragement as well, but even more importantly,

they need to learn how to ask their "inner judges" to take a holiday.

I believe that everyone has creative talent and can learn if they are nurtured, supported and

given the opportunity to practice.

Teaching in the arts is special as you can encourage and nurture people to reach inside themselves;

and have them pull out their creative energies while giving them tools to express and play with.

Art allows us a forum to play with color, form and energy in a way that can be fun, healing,

and sometimes profitable.

Children need to learn that being an artist can also be a career choice.

Friday, August 1, 2014

Mrs. Perrycratchet  ...the conclusion

“Prince Edward Island,” I started – gotta start somewhere. I was felling loads of sympathy for all those kids who lived in the United States. Twelve places were bad enough.
“New Brunswick,” that’s the first place off the ferry – The Mainland. First stop on our way to Ontario.
“Ontario!” .. now what’s in between? Montreal, no that’s not the province, Quebec City, Oh Ya!
“Quebec,” Now, I missed some of the maritime provinces – cape Breton.. um.. um
“Nova Scotia,” and who can forget our Island neighbours.
“Newfoundland,” Now the hard part – West. Start at the coast. Vancouver Island, No that’s not the Province – Oh no, maybe a Prairie Province. Wait, don’t panic. How many more?
“How many more please?” I inquired.
“Four more provinces and two territories,” Mrs. Perrycratchet informed me.
Go to the territories, I tell myself – Yukon Korneilous!
“Yukon Territory,” and North something – closer to BC, Aha!
“British Columbia” That’s west – so it’s got to be…
“North West Territory,” just the prairies left. They’re the worst. Ok, I can do it – remember the code. Uncle SAM. S.A.M. S first, easy.
“Saskachewan,” I was getting dizzy. I wondered if I was remembering to breathe. Two more to go. A – got this one.
“Alberta,” One more to go – I could see it there in my mind – smack in the middle, M, M, the man in the middle! Ya!
“Manitoba,” I exhaled and smiled – wiped my hands on the sides of my dress.
“Well done Wanda,” Mrs. Perrycratchet beamed.

I couldn’t believe it. I passed the test – I did it. I could proudly finish my grade three year with the knowledge that I would pass into grade four knowing all the provinces and both territories. I tried not to think of my sister practicing all the capitals and how I would have to do it next year.

As I sat down, Betty stood up and prepared to recite her ticket into the forth grade, or so it seemed to us. I felt how unfair it was that I had to go first. Then as I heard her voice quiver – I felt renewed sympathy for her and crossed my fingers, silently rooting her on.

... stay tuned for more random readings...