Nancy Scidmore

Book samples

Since the day he was born, he was taught to fight as a warrior in the art of baby kungfu martial arts unknown to unsuspecting mothers of newborns in the hospitals. Everything was a weapon. A baby rattle, perfect when used in the right way with skills that one only gets at birth. A rattle that doesn't rattle because, with swift arcs and hammer motions, harmony is not disrupted so that stealth is maintained and the secret is kept. Anything handy could be used as a missile or projectile. Whatever that plastic thing was that they kept sticking in his mouth allowed him to perfect his aim and his pitch. He could squirt a baby bottle like a sniper or pull his diaper off and pee with amazing accuracy. When no one was watching he did baby push-ups or practice front or side kicks. He would practice punching a stuffed animal or would use choke holds.

His mother would look down on him with a loving glow transformed into a stern glare and she would whisper, “You little shit, you better shape up or I'm going to blister your hide so you won't be able to sit down for a week and don't think for a second I won't do it just because you are a baby. Oh! And never forget, you are the President's son”.

-- Excerpt from President's Son, a short story book in the Five Points Crossing series

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The funerals were quick and each had a grave in a beautiful cemetery on the edge of town that had gentle green grass and weeping willow trees. The kids were away at college and the lonely empty homes didn't take long to be sold. The sisters felt they needed to get out of this cursed farm town quickly and start new lives in California.

Everything was sold off or put in storage with one big exception. There was no way they could part with their pick-up trucks each equipped with gun racks loaded with rifles and shotguns mounted over the cab windows. Each sister was in her own truck taking a final drive slowly through town. As they followed each other west to the edge of town, they pulled off the road. They had one more thing left to do. One by one each sister ripped the rear-view mirror off the windshield tossing them out the driver-side window.

-- Excerpt from Three Sisters, a short story book in the Five Points Crossing series

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Imagine for a moment that you were dropped off onto Earth and you knew nothing about Earth but you were on a mission to find out what human beings are all about. Imagine for a moment that you really know nothing about people on earth or things or technology developed by humans but you are starting off with a blank slate. Let's say aliens from outer space sent you here and gave you just enough information to get you started, pretty much any of the information you really need, nothing more, nothing less. They taught you or programmed you to be courteous and kind and to be very patient. Let's say you got dropped off in northern Wisconsin and you found out that you were not just tasked to find out more about human beings but all living creatures on earth. You're also tasked to find out what natural resources could be exploited by aliens from outer space. You find out that you are not alone, you are just one of many, many humans created by aliens and dropped on the planet Earth. People seemed to be completely unaware of your presence. This story is about that person and his adventures and what he learned about the human race. 

-- Excerpt (preface) from I Come From Outer Space, a short story book in the Five Points Crossing series

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Into the deep dark German forest on the other side of the Tunis mountains, I set out on my mountain bike for just a short ride with the wind at my back and with effortless pedaling that magically pushed my bike and me deeper and deeper, farther and farther into the mystical woods. The sun went down; and, of course, it started raining. Yet, I found a paved road and fled home in the downpour. Frantic drivers with fast-braking cars started freakin’ out cause I had no lights on the bike, so I quickly turned onto a logging road, pedaled to the steady patter of falling rain; and, with the mystic mist, slipped into the darkness of the deep woods. I didn’t know where I was or if I would make it home that night. Soaked to the bone, a calm came over me when the rain slowed and I finally found an old friend, a German bombed-out building so I knew where in the wooded mountains I was. Then the front tire went flat and it reminded me of cycling buddies in Texas who called me Flatman for my reputation with frequent and repetitive flat tires. I didn’t have a spare or pump so I walked the bike 10 miles home. I had started the ride at 3 p.m. and made it home at 9 p.m. Miles traveled? 40 miles riding the bike and 10 miles walking the bike. Good ride.

My travel notes for November and December. I wrote these things while I traveled. My three options were: one, throw these notes away and pretend they never happened; two, try to rewrite them so they made some sort of sense and try to follow the laws of grammar and proper English. And/or, three, leave them the way they were ‘cause maybe they're not worth my time.

-- Excerpt from EUROPE ONE, in the About Wandering series

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What is the most asked question you are asked? Where do you sleep? 

What do you tell them? Well, at night, I first look around for a cheap motel – seldom found – then maybe a state campground, if not, then any cheap 

campground followed by anything that looks like a camp spot or settling for a patch of grass or weeds and when all else fails, I just tie myself up to a tree and

hope I’m still there in the morning.          ...

The path to Russell Woods is perhaps best traveled by Brickville Road and I leave the other details for those who seek them out on their own. But, for

those who like the smell of cow patties and Chicago smog, there are few better roads.          ...

Celebrating my accomplishment of biking from Illinois to Wisconsin, I walked the bike and trailer to Sharon to get some lunch. Sharon is a kick-back and

take a snooze kind of town with a couple of cafés, bars, stores, and a library – Perfect. Navigating with my stomach and after making nervous glances at a storm

cloud following me down the road, I got a damn good burger at the Coffee Cup Café on Baldwin Street. I decided to stretch back in the café chair to soak in my

glory and take in the meaning of this small step but giant leap I’ve just taken this afternoon. I’m no longer the same but have transformed myself into a world

traveler, a new me.          ...

Tragedy Strikes

A beautiful morning and the park at Brunet had cleared out because as one departing camper told me, they had jobs. I packed up gear that knew, very well,

the routine and I looked for certain items as I took inventory and discovered almost all my rechargeable AA batteries, batteries worth over a hundred bucks, were

gone. Thinking back I realized I must have left them at the motel back at Ladysmith. I felt like someone just thrust a sword into my gut. I fell to my knees and tore

at my clothes screaming, "Why? Oh, why? No!" I tried to recount the steps I must have taken where I might have made this lapse. I thought about going back 

and trying to retrieve them because I hate leaving soldiers behind. I thought about calling the child who runs the motel to see if she might have noticed them in

my room. What I did was sit on the picnic table next to my packed rig, close my eyes for a long time, and mourn their loss. I knew I would heal with time. I just

needed time.

To cheer up, after such a huge loss, I decided to buy a little happiness with the best breakfast I could buy in Cornell so I asked the lady at the grocery store

where could I get a great breakfast in town. She told me the place across the street at the Jon Henrys was her favorite. Though I went there having doubts

about her advice, I found she was dead on correct. The food met my two criteria, cheap and really good. With a belly full of good grub and a bright sunny August

day, I tried to forget the batteries and carried on down the Old Abe Trail without them.

-- Excerpt from WISCONSIN ONE, in the About Wandering series

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