Buzzard Blessings

Buzzard Blessings

~~ Musings from The Pipeline by Jan Fix ~~

I met Alva Harris as a freelance editor through his ex-publishing company.  I guess it’s been almost a year now, and I continue to be enraptured by his charming character. From New Bern, NC, where all great authors seem to blossom (think Kenneth Capps, Sharon Phennah, and Nicholas Sparks), Alva Harris is a fine wine to be savored, as is his book Born on a Buzzard’s Stump.

I wrote the following blog on his publisher’s page recently to support Alva in his marketing efforts, but more so because I just want everyone to read this book.  Everyone.

So here I recycle the  post and roll it down The Pipeline for our followers at thewordverve.

Keepin’ Up with the Buzzards
I love samples. Moisturizer samples. Perfume samples. Samples of sushi on a stick. And then of course, I love words. Playing with them, stacking them this way and that, twirling them like sushi on a stick.

So just imagine the double-passion punch for me when sampling words. A sneak peek of a book’s interior. A free chapter or two. A glimmer of a book to come.

I’m like a large of bird of prey, hunting for word food on the wing.

Speaking of word food, I implore you to sample the entire hunk of Born on a Buzzard’s Stump by Alva Harris. This author, a savvy adventurer and superior artist of literary imagery, has seen some things.  I mean, he has . . . Seen. Some. Things. Luckily for us, he’s a natural storyteller, and with that, he embraces the imperative balances of embellishment, humor, self-deprecation, and goodwill. “Welcome to My World. Proceed at Your Own Risk.” There is a sample on his website ( where he shares the entire chapter of “KASKA THE MAGIC LAKE INDIAN.” It’s a riot.  But I won’t repeat that one. Here’s a fresh piece o’ meat:

 Listening to his laughter, and assuming I might escape unharmed, my confidence returned. I asked a very foolish question. “Does Mister George understand just how well you’re protecting Snowflake?”

The red-bearded giant switched demeanor, picked his gun up off the counter, and slowly faced me. “If I thought for a cat’s whisker tonight’s happenings would enlighten his understanding, your ship would sail minus one sailor. Are we clear on that?”

All next day, the weather moderated to above freezing, and ice fell from the riggings, aided by the blasting of water from fire hoses. Prudence whispered in my ear to stay aboard ship and fold my hand in the dangerous game played between Snowflake and her poaching watchdog.

Besides, many Snowflakes flutter and melt in countless ports, waiting to kiss my ilk with forked tongues. God bless ’em, one and all.

If writers like Alva are hatched on buzzards’ stumps, then I think we need to reconsider our whole take on buzzards in general. Thar’s gold in them thar stumps! Buy this adventurer gold here:


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