E - Jumbo the Elephant

You've probably heard of Jumbo the Elephant, a legendary African Bush Elephant, born in Sudan in 1861 who ended up in PT Barnun's circus in 1882 after stays in French and British Zoos. Jumbo was the headliner of Barnun's circus for only a few short years, but was so famous that our modern word "jumbo" - meaning really big - actually comes from him.

But do you know how Jumbo died?

There are a few conflicting stories as to exactly what happened, but here are the facts: Jumbo died after being hit by a train in the Canadian town of St. Thomas, Ontario on September 15, 1885. The elephants were being led back to their enclosures after a show when the tragedy stuck. The precise details of the tragedy are open to interpretation.

The most colourful and dramatic version of the story, supposedly by Barnun himself, is that another, smaller elephant named Tom Thumb was on the track and Jumbo threw himself in front of the train to save it, derailing the train in the process.

Newspaper reports of the day neglect to mention the derailing, but did mention that a second elephant suffered a broken leg. Another story claims that Jumbo had actually tripped on the rails and impaled himself on his tusk, killing him instantly. The train then arrived unexpectedly and ran over the body.

The most heartbreaking version of the tale says that Jumbo was seriously injured by the train, and that his long-time trainer could do nothing but sit with him and comfort him while he died.

Jumbo statue located in St. Thomas, Ontario.

Whatever the case, Jumbo's legacy lives on. A life-sized statue of Jumbo was erected in St. Thomas in 1985 to celebrate the 100th anniversary of his death. His skeleton was donated to the American Museum of Natural History in New York. His taxidermied hide was put on display at PT Barnum Hall in Tufts University in Massachusetts. The hide was later destroyed by fire but a few pieces of it still remain on display, and Jumbo remains the school's mascot.

My A-to-Z Blogging Challenge theme for 2017 is Weird Canadian Facts and History. To see more blog posts, click here.

How to Write a Classic Story: Buy a Bear

"Left Port Arthur 7 a.m. In train all day. Bought bear $20."

That's an actual entry in the diary of Harry Colebourn, a Canadian soldier from Winnipeg who was travelling to Valcartier, Quebec to undergo training on his way overseas in 1914. He bought the female bear cub from a hunter who had killed the animal's mother. Now, Colebourn was a veterinarian by trade and I could absolutely understand him wanting to take the animal from some weirdo random hunter, but he then proceeded to take the bear with him to training camp.

Even better, when Colebourn shipped out to England... HE STILL KEPT THE BEAR. It became his unit's unofficial mascot.

I've never served in the military and I don't know a whole lot about army practices and regulations, even less about those in effect during World War I, but I had no idea they were so cool about their soldiers keeping giant wild animals as pets. I mean, were people back then so badass that no one was worried about A FUCKING BEAR wandering around their base? And no one thought it was odd when the dude brought the thing with him ACROSS THE OCEAN to hang out with him in England? I mean, I would imagine if a soldier asked to bring his dog with him that would be a flat-out no. But a bear's okay?

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this and what this has to do with writing, so stick with me a moment (if you haven't figured it out already).

Colebourn wasn't a complete jerk; when he shipped out to France he finally decided to leave the bear behind. Apparently the trenches at the front line were not the place for a bear cub, though I'm sure if she had been full grown they would have slapped some armour on that bastard and brought it along.

Way deadlier than any WWI-era tank.

He left the bear at the London Zoo, where it became a favourite of guests, in particular to an aspiring writer and his young son, who loved the bear so much he named his teddy after her. Did I mention that Colebourn had named the bear "Winnie" after his hometown of Winnipeg? It all makes sense now, right?

A.A. Milne wrote the Winnie the Pooh books for his son, Christopher Robin, based on his toy bear that was in turn named after a real bear that Major Colebourn irresponsibly dragged halfway around the world.

(For anyone who caught that, yes Colebourn was eventually promoted to the rank of major despite  - or maybe because of? - the fact he irresponsibly dragged a bear halfway around the world.)

So what is was my point in this ridiculous story? My point is that A.A. Milne became famous because some dipshit bought a gawd-dang bear off a crazy hillbilly in a small town in backwater Ontario. That, my friends, is the secret to literary gold. Ursine trafficking.

Being super creepy-looking apparently also helps.

So if you too are an aspiring writer, if anyone ever offers to sell you an orphan bear cub, snatch that up right away and wait for your book deals to start pouring in.

Or, alternately, I'll become famous writing about you getting eaten by a bear. Either way, someone wins.

My new story Tentacles Under a Full Moon - now available here - doesn't have anything to do with Winnie the Pooh, but it does contain a giant murderous werebear, which is probably much better.

GUEST POST COVER REVEAL: Piper Morgan Joins the Circus by Stephanie Faris

Stephanie Faris is a children's author and all around great person. Her latest book, Piper Morgan Joins the Circus, will be released soon by Simon & Schuster. Stephanie asked me to help show off the snazzy cover for the book as well as get people hyped for what looks like a really fun new kids series.

So without further ado, here's Stephanie & Piper!

The Cover!

Cover illustration by Lucy Fleming.

The Book!

When Piper Morgan has to move to a new town, she is sad to leave behind her friends, but excited for a new adventure. She is determined to have fun, be brave and find new friends.

And after learning her mom’s new job will be with the Big Top Circus, Piper can’t wait to learn all about life under the big top, see all the cool animals, and meet the Little Explorers, the other kids who travel with the show. She’s even more excited to learn that she gets to be a part of the Little Explorers and help them end each show with a routine to get the audience on their feet and dancing along!

But during Piper’s grand debut, her high kicks and pointed toes don't go quite as planned. After causing a dance disaster, she has to prove to everyone--especially queen of the Little Explorers, Lexie--that she belongs in the spotlight.

The Author!

Stephanie Faris knew she wanted to be an author from a very young age. In fact, her mother often told her to stop reading so much and go outside and play with the other kids. After graduating from Middle Tennessee State University with a Bachelor of Science in broadcast journalism, she somehow found herself working in information technology. But she never stopped writing.

Stephanie is the Simon & Schuster author of 30 Days of No Gossip and 25 Roses, as well as the upcoming Piper Morgan series. When she isn’t crafting fiction, she writes for a variety of online websites on the topics of business, technology, and her favorite subject of all—fashion. She lives in Nashville with her husband, a sales executive.

The Links!

Website

Blog

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

We're going to the Zoo... how about you?

Actually, we just got back from the zoo. You missed it. Sorry.

This past weekend the wife and I packed up the kids and traveled to our old stomping grounds of Toronto to visit friends and check out the Toronto Zoo. I love the zoo and haven't been in many years, so it was great to go back and revisit old favourites like the polar bears and tigers, as well as check out the new additions like the giant pandas. I don't think the 4-month old really appreciated it, but the 3 and a half year old really enjoyed certain parts. The jelly fish tank was a big hit, as was the camel ride.

I think his favourite part of the whole weekend was the elevator in the hotel, though. He's 3 and a half, what are you going to do?

Here's a few pictures. I wish I had more but it's tough to juggle a camera and a toddler.

I love tigers. The zoo has 2 that they keep in cages on opposite sides of the walking trail. The first time I went many years ago the female was in heat and the male was trying to get at her through the cage. It was both awesome and terrifying.

Look! We're riding a camel. For reference, camels are way more uncomfortable than horses.
I have no idea how someone can spend weeks crossing a desert on one of these things.

This one's my favourite. Credit goes to my good friend (and photographer extraordinaire) Jason Salvatori.

Random zookeeper with an owl. She told us not to come too close or it would bite us.
And they let these things deliver letters to children???

Panda sighting! I actually have a better picture but I can't find it, must be on my wife's phone.
Anyway, pandas are the laziest f***ing creatures on the face of the planet. They just look like fat guys in furry costumes sitting around eating all day.

This is from the hotel room. My son has decided he likes Dungeons & Dragons and Magic the Gathering.
He mostly just dumps the cards and dice into piles, but it's a start!

So how about you? Have you been to a zoo recently?

Characters You've Never Heard Of: TOYMAKER

“Seventy-fourt' floor,” The old man Clive announced as the elevator reached the designated level.  “Please enjoy yer stay in de storeroom of de Forbidden Gifts.”

“Okay, we’re looking for a portal," said the boy. "We don’t know what it looks like but we’re pretty sure it’s down here somewhere.  Do you know where it is?  Where we could find it?”

“I’m sorry, but not'ing down 'ere is mapped or catalogued,” Clive said sadly.  “It’s impossible to know wore anyt'ing is fer sure.  Only The Toymaker knows wore evert'ing is."

“What in blue blazes is the Toymaker?”

“De Toymaker used to own dis factory before de fairy queen.  'E made all de guardians, and all de Forbidden Gifts, too.”

“So he just sat around all day making these monstrous things?”

“Oh, no.  Most of what ‘e made was beautiful, and nice, and brought joy and ‘appiness.  ‘e just gave all of dose away.  De t’ings dat ‘e could not give away were left ‘ere.”

“I guess no one wants a bloody pair of human lungs,” Mookie said, sniffing at a very soggy-looking but brightly-wrapped box.

“Actually, an ast’matic would love a pair of fres’, ‘ealt’y lungs,” Clive corrected.  He adjusted his silly hat.  “People asked for all de gifts dat got left down ‘ere, ‘e just couldn’t give dem to dem.  Dat's woy der ‘Forbidden.’”

“So let me get this straight,” the girl said.  “There’s this Toymaker, and people ask him for presents, and he gives them to them just because he can?  Who is he, Santa Claus?”

“Dat’s wot ‘e’s called in some worlds, aye.”

The boy and girl froze.  Mookie looked unimpressed.

“We’re in Santa Claus’ toy factory?” The girl asked.

“Formerly ‘is toy factory, aye.  As you already 'eard, he’s not 'ere anymore.”

* * *

The Toymaker is one of the antagonists in "The Revenge of the Sugar Plum Fairy," one of the books I wrote for my family (in case it's not obvious, it's the Christmas-themed one). In this one our heroes (my wife, myself and our pets) end up on a frozen world ruled by an evil fairy queen who has enslaved the true ruler of the world - the aforementioned Toymaker - who on the surface appears to be Santa Claus but turns out is an vile and unrepentant asshole. You see the whole reason he's trapped at the North Pole and forced to give away gifts to bring good to the world is because he's actually a monstrous demon who is being punished for his wickedness. Our heroes have to defeat both the queen and the Toymaker in order to get out of this nightmarish world.

I'm not afraid to say that this is perhaps my favourite thing I've ever written. It's ridiculous and over-the-top and more clever than I can generally imagine myself being. The Toymaker has a pair of bumbling demon lackeys called Sprocket and Wingnut who constantly screw up and get killed in progressively dumber and sillier ways (but are immortal and keep coming back). The reindeer are a bunch of jerk jocks who get into a fight 8 on 1 against the fat orange tabby cat. There's also an epic battle with a kaiju-sized snowman that I won't spoil here. I really am happy with it but it will probably never see the light of day because, again, it's about my wife and I and our talking magic elf cats. 

Oh well. It was still fun to write.

Characters You've Never Heard Of: MOOKIE BOOTS

The King was an old man, wizened and more than a little senile.  He was mostly cared for by his beautiful daughter Beatrix, who was just waiting for the old fart to keel over so she could inherit the throne.

Mookie (standing precariously on his hind legs in gaudy red boots) was presented to the king, with Hercules sitting attentively by his side.  The miller's son stood off to the side trying to blend into the ornately ugly wallpaper. The knights showed the king the brace of rabbits the animals had poached.

“You were stealing my bunnies?” asked the king, his voice frail and annoying.

“No, your majesty, they are a gift,” Mookie explained, thinking quickly.
“What?”

“A gift, father,” said Beatrix, sitting at her father’s side.

“Oh, I like presents,” nodded the old man.

“I caught them for you, your majesty, in the name of my master, the Marquis de, um, er, Mill.

“Oh, yes, de Umbermill,” said the king, nodding.  “Fine young fellow.  He’s French, right?”

“Yes, yes, as a croissant in a striped shirt.  He has lands bordering on yours.”

“Really?  What a coincidence.”

“Father,” interrupted Beatrix.  “There are no Umbermill’s with lands bordering ours.”

“Oh, dear, there are so many uprisings and treasonous murders I can’t keep track of everyone.  If he says they have lands I’m sure they do.  Anyway, my good sir, I do appreciate your gift but unfortunately I’m not so fond of rabbits.”

Mookie saw his opening.  “Really?  That’s too bad.  Then what does my liege crave?”

“I am partial to partridges.”

“Consider it done, your majesty.”

“Excellent!”  The king clapped his hands like a giddy little school boy.  “If you can bring me a partridge, I shall reward you handsomely!”

“Father!” snapped Beatrix.  “You can have all the partridges you want!  Why would you…”

“Shut up child before I send you back to the brothel with your mother.”

-from the unpublished short story "Mookie Boots"

* * * 

A play on Puss-in-Boots, Mookie Boots is a cat in my fictional universe where my wife and I travel to other worlds going on all manner of adventures, including fighting goblins and dragons, battling zombies and pirates, dueling faeries and ghosts and matching wits with an evil Santa Claus. Basically all the stories involve us fighting some manner of magical creature with the help of our magical pets.

Mookie is a small black talking elf cat that can cast magic spells. He's a huge jerk but he's our jerk, which is why we keep him around. He's also very handy in a fight and wears red boots, hence the name. His "brother" Sam is a fat orange talking elf cat, who is dumb but kindhearted. We're also joined by our Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Hercules, who can't talk but has supernatural, Incredible Hulk-like strength and can fly.

The story of the five of us has spanned five novels and a half-dozen short stories. I doubt anyone will ever read them besides my family unless I do some major re-writes, but they're there in The Closet and may some day see the light of day.

The real Mookie, my cat that Mookie Boots is based on, passed away suddenly last year after 14 years with our family. We had him from a kitten (a very tiny kitten - the place we adopted him from gave us an undersized runt and told us he probably wouldn't survive) and he traveled with us back and forth across the country and lived with us through many ups and downs. I haven't written any more stories about the animals since then and I don't know if I will. I'm having trouble distancing the "character" Mookie from the "real" Mookie. They kind of exist as the same person in my head now. I'm still waiting for Sam to tell me he misses his brother.

Hey Look I Found Something Else to be Afraid Of

This cute little bastard is called a belostomatidae, colloquially known as a giant water bug. I found this little guy on my front porch a few nights ago and though it's hard to tell from the picture, this "little guy" is actually over three inches long.

Those of you living in warmer climates may not be particularly surprised by seeing large bugs, but living in Canada (and growing up on the sub-arctic island of Newfoundland), I can say without hyperbole that bugs are NOT SUPPOSED TO GET THAT BIG.

Why I'm Afraid of Millipedes

Millipedes (class Diplopoda) are myriapodous arthropods that have two pairs of legs on most body segments. Each double-legged segment is a result of two single segments fused together as one (the name "Diplopoda" comes from the Greek words διπλοῦς (diplous), "double" and ποδός (podos), "foot"). [...] The name "millipede" is a compound word formed from the Latin roots mille ("thousand") and pes ("foot"). Despite their name, no known millipede has 1,000 legs, although the rare species Illacme plenipes has up to 750.

-from Wikipedia.

Seriously? You need an explanation why I'm afraid?  Just LOOK AT THEM.

Why I'm Afraid of Eels

Click here for the nutritional facts on cooked eel.  They're a pretty good source of protein, but very, very high in fat and cholesterol. And of course they're horrifying.

Eels are mythical, un-killable creatures from the black abyss. I know this as true and absolute fact, and for that I fear them. If ever they should develop intelligence and rise up against us, we are doomed to be their landlocked slaves. Or dinner.

Why I'm Afraid of Ants

Myrmecophobia (from Greek: μύρμηξ, myrmex, "ant" and φόβος, phóbos, "fear") is the inexplicable fear of ants. It is a rather specific phobia. [...] This fear can manifest itself in several ways, such as a fear of ants contaminating a person's food supply, or fear of a home invasion by large numbers of ants. (From Wikipedia)

When I was about 10 years old I was playing in the yard of the house across the street from my grandmother's place. I was crawling under a fence when I noticed my hand was itching something fierce. Glancing down, I discovered I was leaning in an ant hill, and big-ass red ants were crawling up my arm and biting my tender childhood flesh.