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Fall 2019

New Fall Hours Tuesday & Wednesday 10:00 am - 5:00 pm Thursday 10:00 am - 8:00 pm Friday & Saturday 1:00 pm - 9:00 pm Sunday 1:00 pm - 6:00 pm Closed Mondays

Table of Contents Lisa Acerbo

All About the Alexander T. Pattison House .......................................................4 Helga's Literary Edinburgh Adventure ...............................................................6 A Visit to the Simsbury Free Library ..................................................................8

T.J. Banks

Come Meet an Author at the Storyteller's Cottage .......................................... 11 Excerpt: "Twelve Months of Awkward Moments" by Lisa Acerbo ....................12 Excerpt: "The Age of the Child" by Kristen Tsetsi ............................................14

Kristen Tsetsi

Excerpt: "A Time for Shadows" by T. J. Banks ................................................16 Excerpt: "Through Wild Eyes" by Cadence Houser .........................................18 Poetry Selections by Hannah Smelter ............................................................. 20

Cadence Houser

Book Review: "A Tiger in the House" by Jacqueline Sheehan ........................ 22 Book Review: "Embracing the Fool" by Dawn Leger ....................................... 23 Author Interview with Kati Mockler "Magnets & Glue" ..................................... 24

Kati Mockler

Literary Unleashed Column "An Autumn Reset" by C. Flanagan Flynn .......... 26 Writing Retreats & Workshops ......................................................................... 28 Storyteller's Cottage Fall Literary Events ......................................................... 30

Hannah Smelter

Storyteller's Cottage Fall Youth Events ........................................................... 34

All About the Pattison House

The Storyteller’s Cottage is known for bringing literature to life through its mystery rooms, writing classes, and other literary events. But the Victorian house that now serves as the venue for all of these events has its own fascinating history before it became the home to all things literary. According to the Simsbury Historical Society records, Judson Wilcox purchased property from J.O. Phelps in the mid 1800s to open a general store called Wilcox and Company. After Wilcox died in 1879, the executors of his estate hired Alexander T. Pattison to work in the store and he eventually became its manager and married

one of Wilcox's daughters. Pattison was described in his obituary as a man held in high regard and esteem, and a man who served faithfully in any position he was placed in. As the manager of Wilcox and Company, Pattison was able to make the store successful by expanding it. Under his management, Wilcox and Company was not only a general store, but also sold coal, lumber, and tobacco. The tobacco came from his own tobacco and dairy farm, Pharos Farm in Simsbury. After launching this farm, Alexander was inducted into the Connecticut Agricultural College Hall of Fame as the

from March 28, 1896, the upper stories were finished in cypress. The parlor, on the main or lower floor, was finished in cherry. The hall and dining room were finished in light quartered oak. Lastly, the sitting and sewing room were finished in ash. As expected, there have been renovations to the house since 1896. For example, the kitchen has been completely largest individual grower in the state. With Pattison’s success in business also came his active role in the community. He served for four terms in the Connecticut General Assembly, during two of which he was a senator. He also served as the President of Trustees for the Simsbury Free Library, as well as the director of The Simsbury Bank and Trust Company and the chairman of the town’s board, among other positions. Six years after starting his successful business management career with Wilcox and Company and becoming an active member of the Simsbury community, he married the late Wilcox’s daughter, Ella Ruth, and decided to build their home. Their home would many years later become The Storyteller’s Cottage. The house was designed by Melvin. H. Hapgood, who was a prominent Connecticut architect. He also designed The Simsbury Casino, where the Eno Memorial Hall is today, as well as the Simsbury Free Library across the street. According to the Farmington Valley Herald

redesigned and an addition was made to the back to connect the house to the Fiddler's Green property. When the Storyteller's Cottage was launched, additional changes were made to enhance the historic details of the house. For example, the wallpaper in the Steampunk Library, as well as the furniture is meant to be in the style of the Victorian era to take visitors back to that time period. Additionally, there are antiques, china, and silver in the Jane Austen Regency Salon and vintage luggage racks in the hallway. But while there have been many additions and renovations to the house, much of the original construction has been preserved. For example, all of the fireplaces in the house are a part of the original construction. The fireplace in the English Country Kitchen has the original overlaid wood design, as well as ceramic tile for the hearth and surrounds. The Storyteller’s Cottage has a unique and rich history, and visitors will have the opportunity to create their own unique story here as well. By Hannah Smelter, Creative Writing Intern


Edinburgh Adventure Our faithful literary traveler, Helga the Hedgehog, spent an exciting week in a book-lover's paradise, Edinburgh Scotland. Known for its ancient castles, Edinburgh is also the home of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, as well as a wide variety of charming independent bookshops and tea shops. Helga particularly enjoyed taking tea at the Signet Library, hiking to Arthur's Seat, the fabled location of King Arthur's Camelot, and participating in a literary pub crawl, complete with actors debating the relative merits of Edinburgh's historic authors.

The Simsbury Free Library The Simsbury Free Library is the picturesque yellow building across the street from The Storyteller’s Cottage. The Library, often called the Gracious Yellow Lady, was designed by the wellknown Hartford architect, Marvin H. Hapgood and was donated by notable Simsbury resident, Amos R. Eno. It was established in 1874 and built in 1890, it served as the public library in Simsbury until 1986, when the town opened the Simsbury Public Library. The Simsbury Free Library is a great resource for members of the Simsbury community. It is home to the Simsbury Genealogical and Historical Research Library, the William Phelps Eno Memorial Center, the Ensign Bickford Corporate Archives, and The Martin Luther King Memorial. The Genealogical and Historical Research Library provides in depth records of past Simsbury residents. Some of these records are local family speci ic, and are comprised of birth records, death records, probate records and even the letters and belongings of past Simsbury residents. For example, they have a Bible belonging to the Case family (an important family in Simsbury) that lists all the generations past and present, including marriages, children, their dates of birth and the days they died. There are some of the original collection housed there as well, such as a children’s book called History of King Philip, the irst of its kind purchased by the library in 1890. They also have letters written by Alice Eno. These resources are particularly useful for people who want to learn more about Simsbury’s history and use it in the future. The William Phelps Eno Memorial Center is a museum area of the library that is dedicated to William Phelps Eno, the son of Amos R. Eno and Lucy Phelps Eno. He established many of the national traf ic rules and regulations that are still in place today. After witnessing the chaotic traf ic in

New York City throughout his youth, he dedicated his life to applying sound principles to transportation systems. In 1903, the rules of the road that he pushed so hard for the government to adopt were implemented. These include speed limits, right of way, rules at intersections and rotaries, pavement markings, one way streets, stop signs, and turn signals. This section highlights how the actions of a local resident affected American history, and can inspire and motivate current residents to advocate for something they are passionate about. The Ensign Bickford Corporate Archives holds the records for one of the oldest ammunition companies in the country. The iles include comprehensive information in various primary sources about the company such as their purpose, the department descriptions, historical employee lists and tasks, as well as company success metrics. The archives are great for local aspiring

entrepreneurs who want to understand how to run a business in Simsbury effectively. Lastly, the Simsbury Free Library is the future home of the Martin Luther King Memorial. Please check out the website In the summer of 2010, the Simsbury Free Library worked with Richard Curtiss, a Simsbury High School history teacher, and a group of local students to prove the rumor that Martin Luther King spent time in Simsbury in his youth. The group was able to ascertain that he did come here as a Morehouse College student to work in the tobacco farms to earn tuition. The students created a successful documentary ilm about Dr. King that was featured at the State of Connecticut Martin Luther King Holiday Commission’s Black Tie Gala in 2011, as well as at the of icial Martin Luther King Day celebration at the State Capitol in 2011, and on Eye on America with Steve Hartnet The success of this documentary led students to continue the celebration of Dr. King and his civil rights movement .

While the Simsbury Free Library distinguishes itself as a genealogical and historical library, it is also proud to be a community center. The Library provides a wide range of educational and cultural programs for the community, and welcomes anyone to come in and use the reading room and wi i as a comfortable place to work or read. To learn more about the Simsbury Free Library and the fascinating resources available, please visit their website at By Hannah Smelter, Creative Writing Intern

Authors and Writing

Meet an Author at the Storyteller's Cottage September 12 / 7:00 pm Tina Angeli "We Are Angels" September 15 / 5:00 pm Dinner with Marilyn Simon Rothstein "Lift and Separate" September 15 / 7:00 pm Author Night with Marilyn Simon Rothstein September 22 / 3:30 pm Serene Hackel "Skippy Goes to War" September 26 / 7:00 pm Mary K. Savarese "Tigers Love Bubble Bath" September 29 / 3:00 pm James Chesbro "A Lion in the Snow October 6 / 12:00 pm Author Networking Brunch October 10 / 7:00 pm Shelby Davis "Everything My Parents Taught Me in Six Steps" October 12 / 2:00 pm Allia Zobel Nolan "Laugh Out Loud" October 17 / 7:00 pm All Access Authors (meet 3 local authors, TBD, $10) October 23 / 7:00 pm Book Launch, Penny Goetjen "Murder Returns to the Precipice" (free) October 20 / 2:00 pm Jonathan Rosen "The Untold Tragedies of Ethan Morton" October 22 / 3:00 pm Judith Sumner "Plants Go to War: A Botanical History" November 3 / 1:00 pm Chuck Radda "Absolute Truth" November 24 / 3:00 pm Charles Veley & Anna Elliott "The Sherlock Holmes & Lucy James Mysteries" Author Talks are just $5 and include light refreshments afterward Please register at


Twelve Months of Awkward Moments by Lisa Acerbo

Lisa Acerbo is a high school teacher and adjunct instructor at Norwalk Community College. Her previous novels have been published through a variety of indie presses including Rem e by Digital Fiction and The Sweet Life by Limitless Publishing. She has a short story “Carnivorous” in a horror anthology titled Carnival of Nightmares and “Karny Valle” in Carnival of Strange Things. When n writing or teaching, she spends time with her family, friends and pets. She also fosters dogs to help them find their forever homes.

Shaded under the dim porch light, Shami sits outside in a black jacket at a picnic bench near his apartment. He’s surrounded by a few friends but stands out as he is a good head taller than those around him. I’m confident as I saunter toward him in leather pants and strappy wedge sandals that highlight my long legs. My jacket is unzipped, exposing my lace-trimmed tank top. A bathroom run before leaving the bar showed my long hair remained under control, no frizz. “How was the bar?” he asks. “Good, you should have joined me there.” I run a hand through my hair for show. “No car.” He smiles sweetly. “So sad.” I grin. The two cans of hard cider leave me less than drunk but give me a bit of an edge. I feel good, which usually leads to trouble, and consider switching to beer. I hate the taste, so I’ll drink less and remain more in control. Small talk swims like a school of minnows as we catch up. I pose the question I really want the answer to, and I realize why I need the hard cider. “What happened after our date?” I really mean, “Why didn’t you text me?” He squirms over, and his movement reminds me of a caterpillar. I work hard to stifle my giggle. His hand finds my leg. “I had to go to Israel and was traveling.” “Really? You couldn’t text from there? Or once you got back?” “I guess I should have. Sorry.” Silence invades for long seconds. I’m out of conversation topics and sobering up. I close my eyes as the brisk night air pushes against my cheeks. I hear the bench squeak as we adjust ourselves on the uncomfortable wood seats. I taste the awkwardness of the moment in my mouth. Finally, we throw out questions to each other to cover the disconnect. Shami stands and stretches. “You have a car, right?” “Yes.” I’m reluctant to say more, realizing where this is heading. “Let’s go for a ride.” His white teeth shine in the darkness.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’ve had a couple drinks.” “I haven’t. I’ll drive. Plus, it’s super close.” He holds out his hand. I hesitate, but then dig through my purse and hand him the keys, already understanding I’ll hate myself in the morning for doing this. We take off. I’m relieved Shami is a capable driver, but I smell his excessive cologne. To my overstimulated senses, it reeks. The fact he is in control of my car makes me feel like a cornered animal, yet I did this. I’m confused when we enter the dark parking lot at McDonalds. Shami cruises into a spot in the far corner away from the entrance. An awkward silence ensues as he remains in his seat. With the heat blasting, the interior of my tiny Toyota Matrix warms quickly, and my leather pants stick to my skin. Shami takes his jacket off, revealing a gray T-shirt underneath. His hand slithers to my thigh, and I ask myself where the polite, sweet college student who held the door for me at the Hookah lounge has gone and who has replaced him. “What are you doing?” I ask as I remove his hand from my leg, placing it none-too-gently on his side of the car. “That’s why we’re on this date, right? You want to hook up, right?” He touches various parts of his own body. “I see the way you’ve been appraising the Shami. You want this.” The muscles under his Tshirt flex. Now I’m repulsed. His third-person reference to himself sounds stupid, conceited, and immature. “What I want is to get to know you.” I eye the McDonald’s sign and wonder if “The Shami” takes all his super-fun dates here. “You got me. I’m the best thing at the Connecticut Central State College.” He leans over and tries to kiss me. I give him my cheek and then jerk back. “I’m beginning to doubt that.” “You’re not giving away any sugar?” I feel my eyes bug out, wide open. “Here in the parking lot? Are you kidding me? Who does that?”

His cocky expression sours. Clearly, he knows I’ve called him a male slut because he seems to like lurking in dark corners of fast food joints. “You’re turning out to be a drag. Man, I’m hungry.” He focuses on the building. Shami opens his car door, and the scent of fries wafts through the air. Without a word, he leaves me in the passenger seat. I wait, unsure of what to do. I want to leave. Unfortunately, he took my keys with him. The jerk. The hopeful part of me perks up. Maybe this date will be salvageable. He probably darted inside to get us milkshakes. I’m almost correct. Shami arrives with a milkshake, fries, and quarter pounder for himself. I watch as he devours them. My stomach growls. “That put me in a good mood,” he says as he finishes his food. His snake-like hand embraces my arm, but I am certain he was aiming for another part of my anatomy. He squirms closer. I scoot away, my butt colliding with the door. He doesn’t notice. I attempt to avoid him as he angles in for a beef and onion-flavored kiss. It’s sloppy at best. I shove him away. My stomach growls again. “We could go out for drinks and dinner?” “I just ate.” I smell the pickles and special sauce as he talks, his lips transforming into a dour frown. “Listen, if this isn’t happening tonight, I think I’m going to hang with the boys.” “I think that’s an excellent idea.” We drive home in silence. In the parking lot, he hands me my keys and heads off without a backward glance. I sit in the car, stunned, and realize I get to look forward to an entire year of running into him in the complex and on campus. My life is just one happy merry-go-round of fun. As I make my way back to my apartment, I felt a cool breeze on my thigh. I gaze down to witness the long split in my leather pants. All I want now is to inhale some left-over veggie Pad Thai, curl up under my comforter, and cry. The crazy part? This isn’t the worst date I’ve been on. Want to read the rest? This book is available through the Storyteller's Cottage online shop.

Excerpt Millie had expected the evaluation process to be easy. She had good references. The right parents. The right friends. She’d been wrong.

The Age of the Child by Kristen Tsetsi

Kristen Tsetsi has been an adjunct English professor, an instructor of expository- , play-, and screenwriting, a town news reporter/feature writer/columnist at the Journal Inquirer, a Women’s eNews correspondent, and editor of the literary journal American Fiction (New Rivers Press). She has an MFA in Creative Writing from Minnes a State University Moorhead.

The bureau counselors sitting before Millie wore matching lilac suits. Baby rattles decorated their green ties. A soft yellow ceiling lamp shined a cone of light over their shared desk and two brushed nickel name plates. One read WILLARD. The other, MAXINE. “We don’t expect perfection,” Maxine said. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you do expect,” Millie said. “With all due respect, of course.” Willard said, “It’s a simple question, Ms. Oxford. This is an enormous responsibility with any number of potential outcomes. Not all of them are…pleasant. You might have regrets, later down the road.” “Yes, regrets,” Maxine nodded. “Some people report feeling depressed,” Willard said. “Some experience anxiety. Drinking. Not as much now as there was before, thanks to licensing, but uncertainty is a tricky little demon, isn’t it, and it just loves to hide behind denial. Are you in denial, Ms. Oxford?” “No.” “Do you drink?” “No,” she lied. “You might start. Do you smoke?” “No,” she lied again. “There are also medical risks to the carrier pre-childbirth,” Maxine said. “Ectopic pregnancy. Placental abruption. Gestational diabetes.” “Despite all your best efforts—and I’m sure you’d put forth your best efforts—your child could be born with special needs,” Willard said. “The demands on you could be…demanding, and for all the years of your life. Yet, here you sit.” He looked at a tablet on the desk. “What’s more, you’re involving others, asking them to commit their time and energy to this future child. What we want to know—again, Ms. Oxford—is why.” He leaned back in his chair. “Some tragedy in your childhood, maybe.”

“Tragedy?” Maxine squinted. “Abuse?” Millie sad, “No.” Willard said, “Alcoholism.” “No, sir.” “I understand these questions may seem offensive,” Maxine said. “Non sequitur: It’s been two years since the death of your mother, and you’ve been on the wait list since that time. It strikes me that your initial request for an evaluation might have been influenced by grief, which is transitory, or by an oath you made to your dying or dead mother who, as you know, won’t be here to witness whether you have a child. Does either reason sound legitimate to you?” Millie wasn’t sure whether Maxine meant legitimate as a reason or legitimate as a guess. She thought of her mother lying in bed with a dwindling roll of paper towels in her arm to catch the red phlegm, and the only thing she had said about parenting since Millie was young: “It may have been unfair of me to shape your perspective of childbearing, but it was necessary. It comforts me to know that if you do have a child some day, it will be your conscious intent and not what many so ludicrously reduce to a biological imperative. In rational, thinking human beings, if you can imagine.” She took a shallow breath, and then another. She looked at Millie—straight at her, for the first time since Millie was a teenager sitting at the kitchen table—and Millie waited, steeling herself for something she suspected her mother must have been saving for when she was close to death. A sentence that would explain the last twenty-seven years. Just one, because her mother had never offered more than one sentence at a time (unless lecturing about the media), and Millie hardly expected dying to change her completely. Knowing that did nothing to stop the rush of hope that her mother would tell her she was proud of the writing she’d done and that she’d always loved her “quite a bit.” The short, unbidden fantasy made Millie’s face so hot her cheeks itched. Her mother said, “—Or an immature impulse, as it was for your father. Have you heard from your father?”

Millie had handed her mother a new paper towel sheet for her bleeding cigarette mouth and said no. She hadn’t heard from him then, and she hadn’t since. Maxine said, “Ms. Oxford.” Because she couldn’t think of a single logical reason to want a child, Millie told Maxine and Willard what she’d once heard Lenny’s mom say: It was a feeling. A very strong feeling. Something “deep in her belly.” She’d simply always known she wanted to be a parent. “Oh, you want to be a parent,” Maxine clapped. “Why didn’t you say so?” “Your application says biological only,” Willard said. “I’m sure she didn’t know she could check both boxes if she wanted to, Willard. Did you know that, Ms. Oxford?” Millie did know that. She shook her head no. She had no intention of downgrading to adoption, which would mean never impregnating, which would mean never being seen while impregnated. Want to read the rest? This book is available through the Storyteller's Cottage online shop.


A Time for Shadows by T. J. Banks

T. J. Banks is the author of A TIME FOR SHADOWS, CATSONG (winner of the 2007 Merial Human-Animal Bond Award), DERV & CO., HOUDINI, & SOULEIADO. A Contributing Editor to LAJOIE, she has also worked as a stringer for the Associated Press and an instructor for the Writer's Digest School. She has received awards for her fiction & non-fiction from BYLINE, the Cat Writers' Association, & THE WRITING SELF.

The influenza stole in upon like a sneak thief in the night. It prowled the white-washed halls of the [hospital], snatching up lives where it pleased. Iris had, of course, seen the grippe before. But this was a far stronger, more malevolent version of what she’d heard Mrs. Banning call “the old person’s friend.’ It fed indiscriminately upon the inhabitants of the hospital. One of the men it took was Abraham Wagner: Abraham had fought for all he was worth, but his already damaged lungs had made it a losing battle almost from the start. Tim, who’d befriended the gentle black man, wandered the corridors, totally bereft…. ”He’s the one who’d died, and it’s me what’s feeling like a ghost,” he said wearily to Iris one afternoon…. She worked over Fritz, [the German prisoner of war,] like a sinner trying to expiate her sin. She didn’t neglect her other duties or Archie – who, of course, had ceased to be a duty to her long ago. But every spare moment she had, she gave over to Fritz’s care. She bolted down her rations and barely slept. There were days when her vision was so blurred, she could barely distinguish one person’s face from another. Other times, usually at night, she saw with an eerie clarity the shadow behind the shadow, the soul within the most commonplace of things. She was, Iris sometimes thought, between worlds, neither of the living nor of the dead. Early one morning, just before dawn, she felt a cold, gentle touch on her

shoulder while she sat, half-dozing, at Fritz’s bedside. She jerked her head up and found herself staring up into Abraham Wagner’s deep-set brown eyes. He smiled at her, then at the boy, who was still after having been thrashing about most of the night in a fevered sleep. Iris looked up at the dead man fearfully, but he only smiled and, taking her hand in his, placed it on Fritz’s forehead. Iris gasped: he was still hot but no longer burning up. Suddenly, Fritz sat up. His eyes looked beyond Iris. She turned and saw Abraham, still smiling, move toward the open doorway, where a woman stood waiting for him. The woman’s features were blurred, but she felt familiar somehow, just as the man outside the gates had. And there were other presences, more shadowy still, out in the hallway behind her. Like Abraham and the woman, they were silent; but Iris felt their pain and fear give way to wonderment, and her heart broke open inside as she felt some of that wonderment wash over her. Fritz slumped back down onto the cot, but Iris knew from his breathing that he was going to be all right now. She sat there, exhausted but humbled and thankful for what she’d seen. “Miss Amory.” The hand on her arm this time was warm and living. Iris jerked her head up from the counterpane. Dr. Blaine was gazing down at her, his green eyes kinder and wearier than usual, his clothes a tad more rumpled. “So you’ve been here all night.” He

gestured toward Fritz. “How’s this fellow doing?” “Better – I think,” Iris said, her brain still blurred and confused. Her eyes felt dry and gritty and her mouth even worse, as though she’d been licking out a dustbin. She started to get up, but there was a feeble tug on her hand. It was Fritz, his blue eyes battered and washed out like cornflowers after a heavy rain. “Danke schon,” he whispered. “You saved me. The black man, he would’ve taken me with him, but you stayed, and he took the woman instead.” Want to read the rest? This book is available through the Storyteller's Cottage online shop.

Youth Excerpt Through Wild Eyes by Cadence Houser


A bright full moon reflected in the river. The shadows of the towering trees circled the long, bright blue lake. StarClan gazed over the horizon. Two cats crept in the moonlight, hidden in the reeds. A very dark black cat, small but strong, peered through the tall grass. He narrowed his eyes and dipped his head to sip the water. The other cat was light gray, formerly of BloodClan, but presently his allegiances lie in ShadowClan’s paws. “Scourge, I don’t understand…” he started, “You can’t take them back back, they are now-” “Shut up, Boulder. I am taking her back. You will help me, or you’re my next fresh kill.,” spat Scourge. “Get my kits or else.” He disappeared into the marsh as quickly as he came, flicking his tail. Boulder was left staring off into the distance.

Chapter 1

Cadence Houser is 10 years old and currently lives in Connecticut and Rhode Island. She love exploring nature and places that inspire her to write and draw. She is a HUGE Warrior Cats fan, and has read four books in the first series. Cats and Wolves are her favorite animals, and her favorite authors are Katherine Lasky and Erin Hunter.

Blood stained my dark black fur. I panted, but carried on. My devious clan, BloodClan, desired to take over a new land Tigerstar had promised us. The land belonged to the four clans, ThunderClan, RiverClan, ShadowClan, and WindClan. After my father gave the clans three days to leave, a fight began. The bird’s song, the chirp, tweeted far in the distance. It too, knew that danger was lurking. I plopped down under one of the shady Fourtrees. I was deeply wounded, too injured to continue fighting. The cold didn’t help. It was a day in the unpleasant season of leafbare. Each leaf I crunched was lightly dusted with frost, and dappled with cat blood. The early daylight tickled my whiskers. I sniffed the dangerous air. BloodClan had met the clans at the Fourtrees at moondown. Little did the clans know, we would attack. It started a bloody war. ThunderClan, RiverClan, ShadowClan, and WindClan joined forces to form a new clan. It was called LionClan. After taking part in the fight, I was beyond exhausted. The sky cried rain, which made the small war unstable. The two clans fought each other with massive roars and hisses. The cold reminded me of a bitter bone in my body. My father.

Yes, it is true. I am the daughter of Scourge. I am nothing like him. I could never perpetrate the crimes he committed, unlike my brothers Crow and Scar, who say they’ll take over the forest before you can say mouse. But you probably already said mouse. So I win! Yay! My father chose the name Rogue for me because he thought he could teach me to be even more spine-chilling than himself. My unpromising appearance took part in the action too. I was a dark silver to match my devious father. The peculiar part of my fur was a lightning birthmark. I didn’t know why or how it came to be. It was blood red, so my father approved. Crow, my younger brother, was even darker than Scourge. The only thing that brought some color to his fur was the diamond crystalwhite dot on his head. He was hands down a scaredy-cat. Sometimes I threw old snake skin on to his back, and he would practically faint. Scar, my youngest brother, was a dusky brown tortoiseshell tom. He was born with a scratch that stretched from his right ear to his back left paw. Scar was adventurous. He always dared me to fight a badger or something stupid. He hated me. The three of us were about to experience one of the most tragic moments in our lives. As descendants of Scourge, luck wasn’t promising, and all that mattered was blood. The whisper of the wind wished for peace, and so did I. My fur was dappled with blood, and I breathed rapidly. Splotches of fresh scars dotted my aching fur. But I stayed calm and rested. The sky was bitterly cold and I shook, not only from the freezing temperature, but from fear too. Even though this fight determined who would own the forest, I honestly didn’t care. Only my dad did. He thought blood was everything. Even the sun almost seemed afraid to climb the ladder leading up to the sky. After all, this day was one of the most tragic days for the clans. As thoughts jumped around in my head, My brothers were lazily losing the fight. Nearly getting themselves killed, they each fought another kit like them. “Come on Rogue, you hairball! Fight with

us!” Scar cackled. His lip was cut and bleeding. I rolled my eyes and mouthed, “Can’t you see I am resting here?!”. Scar was only teasing, but actually was going to kill us both. I gazed around and watched in horror as noble cats died, only trying to save their forest. A red warrior looked down, tears welling up in his eyes, and towered over a much older white cat. The white warrior spoke in a deep voice of the next deputy, and drew his last breath. Suddenly, Crow alerted me with a painful yowl. “Hairball! Hairball!” Scar chanted, sticking his tongue out. But the cry drained out his words while I raced towards that scream at the speed of light. My fur bristled. What would lie at the edge of that scream? Was Crow, d-d-d-dead? What I hoped for was that nothing terribly bad had occurred. But that was unlikely. It all happened in a split second. When I skittered to the sight, my eyes watered. Crow was fine, but screeched once more gazing at something terrifying. The same red warrior that moaned for the white cat dug his claw into my father’s neck. Scourge fell, lifeless. “Dad! Dad!!! Scourge is dead!” My tears were flowing, and the rain poured down one hundred times heavier than before. Although Scourge was an evil cat, I still grieved for his loss. I whimpered and meowed for my mother, who would be devastated, but her scent had vanished. As my eyes flickered, I saw the feet of my mother, Violet, selfishly leaving us behind to become a rogue cat. I looked around and all the cats from the clan were exiting the scene and no one was left but us. BloodClan was dead, and so was my father. Scourge’s spiked collar, which was adorned in cat and dog teeth, was stained with blood. I picked it up by the scruff and threw it around myself. I saw through my father’s fearful life experiences, the dangers and sophisticated plans he encountered. Maybe I could be a true leader, a monarch who would lead right. My looks may have appeared foolishly, but I would not let that stand in my path.

Poetry I am obsessed with short poems Because it does not take many words To understand who I am. -The Key to Understanding Me I could be mad at the lames licking my ingertips Or I could laugh it off in the rose gardens Letting the Universe give me unimaginable blessings; it is all up to me. -My Fundamental Choice Sometimes I punch the keys Hoping in ticks of the secondhand. But I realized it emerges when you least expect it Like a butter ly landing on your shoulder. -Inspiration She marched down the stairs, Her stomps penetrating the wood loor Like punching holes in bedroom walls, But there was just no compromising The life of her dreams. -Standing Up for What You Believe In

by Hannah Smelter

Book Review

A Tiger in the House

Jacqueline Sheehan’s The Tiger in the House is a thrilling mystery involving Delia, a child services worker who is burnt out from her job and is ready to open a seaside cafe with her sister Juniper. But her plans come to an abrupt change when her last case involves a troubled five year old girl named Hayley, who was found on the side of the road. Sheehan describes the moment when a married couple finds Hayley by the side of the road in an eloquent and alluring way before Delia is assigned to the case: “Look up there,” said Rich, taking his foot off the gas and reaching over to turn down Bruce Springsteen. A cloud slid over the low-hanging sun. Up ahead, there was a small child in the road, thumb in mouth. The road had turned to gravel a few miles back and they crept along. The gravel sounded like styrofoam balls crunching beneath the large truck wheels. The child wore white shorts. There wasn’t another car parked along the road, no houses, just a bulldozer that had torn into the earth, making way for a new foundation. After such an ambiguous, yet compelling description of Hayley, it is clear that her case is going to challenge Delia to face her past and learn to accept it. Sheehan has a unique and effective approach that allows Delia to come to terms with her troubled past. This approach includes making aspects of Hayley’s case connect to Delia’s past through tiger imagery. For example, the Lillian Tiger Library is the

location where Hayley was taken by her kidnappers. Likewise, during Delia’s childhood, she played under a table that she called The Tiger’s Den. Sheehan’s inclusion of the tiger in both Hayley and Delia’s past is a subtle hint for her to look within for answers. Similarly, Delia finds out that Hayley’s kidnappers had ties to Tennessee through a dream about her father’s Tennessee spring lamb. These connections are what allow Delia to solve the case and come to terms with her difficult past. Sheehan also incorporates strategic plot twists throughout the novel. These are unexpected at first, but after a few pages, it becomes clear why they were placed where they were. These plot twists, accompanied by the tiger connections discussed before, help to drive Delia’s journey to accepting her past in a way that readers can relate to and provide incentive for them to continue reading. by Hannah Smelter, Creative Writing Intern

Book Review

Embracing the Fool

Embracing the Fool by Dawn Leger is a captivating mystery novel surrounding NYU professor and aspiring author, Cassie Thornton. Cassie is about to meet with her colleague, Professor Neville Carstairs, to discuss her manuscript, but instead she finds him dead in his office with a jeweled knife in his neck. The police then storm in, and she is taken back to the station, only to be falsely accused of his murder. She must prove her innocence, but also face her past in order to get the new life she has always wanted. Cassie is a sarcastic character that readers are able to relate to. She is witty and snarky in her interactions with the NYPD, especially with Detective Friday, with whom she starts a tumultuous relationship. Her one liners and her banter with Detective Friday add to her charm and intrigue. Her first encounter with Detective Friday after finding Neville’s body is among the most memorable: “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to tell you how to your job…” “Then don’t.” He turned away.

I took a step towards his back. “If I were you, I’d be downstairs to break the news to the group myself, and see their reactions. There’s a pretty good chance your killer is one of them.” However, Cassie’s sarcasm is not the only thing that makes her a relatable and likeable character. She also longs to forget about her past and start a new life for herself after her mother abandoned her and her father when she was eight to be a Gypsy again. She is ashamed of her heritage and her past mistakes and consistently shows her regrets throughout the novel. When she first takes out her tarot cards and draws the Fool, the moment evokes her shame: “The Fool is at the beginning of the journey that the cards will take you on,” she’d said. “See how carefree he is? He’s starting fresh, just like a child having an adventure. No matter how old you are, remember, when you see this card, it means you are going to have a chance to start over, to get another chance in life. And you should always take it. Never lose your inner child, Cassandra. Never let anyone take it away.” I picked up the card and studied it. “I did it Mom,” I said. “I came here and started fresh. And now look at the mess I’m in.” While Cassie is a relatable and likeable character, Leger also allows the resolution of Neville’s murder unfold gradually, but enough to keep readers determined for answers. That, paired with Cassie’s charm and relationship with Detective Friday, makes Embracing the Fool a must-read. by Hannah Smelter, Creative Writing Intern

Author Interview: Kati Mockler

It was our pleasure to interview children’s book author Kati Mockler, who wrote and recently published Magnets and Glue with the Storyteller’s Press. In the interview, we discuss the book itself, the general reaction towards the book, the publishing process, and so much more!

Q: What motivated you to write this book? A: I was on a spiritual journey and wanting to become a happier person. In turn, I decided to start diving into self-improvement books. It was like a light bulb went off, and I thought , I didn’t need to look externally for happiness; I could ind it within myself. That led me into discovering the law of attraction. If you focus on the positive, you will attract more positivity. And I thought this was amazing and that I needed to ind a way to convey this to my children. Q: How were you able to simplify the law of attraction into a way kids can actually understand it? A: I think being a mom was super helpful in that department. Because I have to explain a lot to my kids in a way that they will understand it. And I sort of meditated on it and thought about it long and hard and also used them as my guinea pigs and was like, “Hey kids, what do you guys think of this?” and kind of got their feedback on the book. But it sort of just came to me in a sort of easy and light way and went from there. Q: What has the general reaction been to Magnets and Glue so far? A: The reaction to it has been very great. Children are generally very positive individuals, so the book has really resonated with them. And this is just a gentle reminder for them to keep being that way. Keeping being happy and light and know that that positive trait within them has the ability to attract more of the same. I’ve gone to book fairs, and even doing readings here at The Storyteller’s Cottage. The parents and the children just love the book. And it’s short and it’s sweet, but it is also a pretty powerful message too.

Q: Did you ind it dif icult to ind publishers before the Storyteller’s Press? A: I actually did. I found it quite dif icult. And I’m not sure if it was because it was a speci ic topic and there are not a lot of children’s books about the law of attraction, but I think it is a very powerful tool to teach children. The Storyteller’s Press has been incredible and fell in love with the book just as much as I have, so I am grateful for The Storyteller’s Press for sure. Q: What is your advice for people still trying to be published? A: Do not let doubt creep in. This is super important because there will be moments where you create this work of art that you put your heart into and then there will be that moment of doubt where you think, “This isn’t for me and I should just give up.” Move past that, don’t even give it a second thought, and keep going. There is a reason why you had that idea and there is a reason why you should continue with your stories. Kati’s book, Magnets and Glue, is now available on Amazon and The Storyteller’s Cottage gift shop!

Literary Unleashed A monthly column by C. Flanagan Flynn, Writer-in-Residence at the Storyteller's Cottage

An Autumn Reset New England autumn rings of shorter days, foliage ablaze, and a longing to return to school, perhaps because the area abounds with colleges and universities. I anticipate fall for the final chance to reset my goals and readjust my priorities for the year. To challenge myself. Meet new people. And to learn. I’ve never outgrown that feeling. Now, rather than looking forward to resuming workshops as a student, I revel in returning to teach. This summer I returned to my alma mater not as a student but as a teacher. I taught a talented group of high school students at Wesleyan University, where I served as the Department Head for Creative Writing for CCY (Center for Creative Youth). Writers, songwriters, actors, photographers, filmmakers, and dancers convened from all over the world for Wesleyan’s month-long residential program for the arts. Working with experts in the arts – such as playwright Susan Russell – and today’s creative teens, exposed me to new voices and deepened

my connection to personal essays, plays, memoirs, novels, short stories, poems, and spoken word. Workshops culminated weekly in students sharing their work. One share day included inviting family into our writing workshop. From the moment our guests walked into the workshop, they were treated as writers. Everyone was required to write for seven minutes from a prompt. After that, writers shared what they wrote. The students, who’d grown familiar with daily writing prompts, kicked off reading what they’d written so they could model for their families. As visitors began to share, it was clear many were nervous. Some later approached me and confessed they’d been shocked by their fear. I invited them to consider that fear in context of their teens. How writing can feel risky. Excavating personal lives for memoir, poetry, personal essays, or spoken word. Mining ideas for short stories, plays, or novels. Opening up to receive

feedback and critique, necessary for growth, yet that scrutiny can make any writer feel vulnerable. After the writing prompts, we dove into wrestling with the definition of a hermit crab essay. A hermit crab essay borrows its form from another structure (or container, as it’s technically called). I chose to teach the hermit crab essay because it’s a fairly obscure form. I wanted guests to understand there are subgenres of writing, and therefore, much for writers to study, practice, and master. To put what we’d studied into practical application, the entire group brainstormed to find new ideas for hermit crab containers, which initially proved challenging for the visitors. Eventually through the students’ guidance, ideas emerged and began flowing. Why not write a personal essay in the format of a menu? Or as a set of instructions? Or as a recipe? Students and their guests separated into groups, so each group could attempt writing a hermit crab essay. The two-hour workshop didn’t allow time to finish the essays, and that was instructive. Visitors could see writing isn’t simply waiting for inspiration. For the writing muse to perch on a writer’s shoulders. For the muse to whisper artful things into a writer’s ears. For the writer to merely transcribe the muse’s voice onto the page. As I walked around the room, guests uttered and groaned: I’m stuck. This is really hard. How can this even be done? They’d grasped what I’d hoped. That writing challenges intellectually and emotionally and with the added pressure and constraints of deadlines. By the workshop’s end, we had the beginnings of hermit crab essays. More importantly the workshop shed light on what creative thinking and writing entails. Family members gained a new appreciation: writing is a skill that requires much exertion to hone. It reminded me how, as writers, each of us can view another’s writing as remarkable

once it’s published, but we need to remind ourselves of what’s unseen. That sleight of hand unveiling a compelling novel, memoir, or personal essay. Rather than magically appearing that’s the result of a multidimensional approach. Deep critical thinking. Studying the craft. Shaping the writing. Scrutinizing word choices. Polishing the prose to perfection. Through the teaching of writing, I learn much. I enjoy facilitating workshops, and particularly by fostering a vibe where writers are collaborative and where a crosspollination of ideas occurs. This fall, I look forward to reconnecting with writers I’ve already met and greeting new writers. I eagerly await hearing, reading and editing the workshop writing. My Write Your Memoir or Novel workshop runs on Thursday evenings from 6 to 8 pm. For the first time I’m assigning a hermit crab essay in my fall workshop. Teaching it at Wesleyan reminded me what a wonderful container it is for emotionally laden writing – whether humorous or heartbreaking – and how the form lends itself to fiction too. My Writer-in-Residence Hours resume on Thursdays from noon to 6 pm. I’ll also begin accepting applications for my Six Months to Your Manuscript workshop. So, fish out that tweed jacket from the back of your closet or don your favorite fall sweater. During autumn, we live in a coveted region. As our scenic backroads become clogged with those aimed on experiencing fall in New England, come sit in vintage lyreback chairs and gather with other writers under the chandelier of the Jane Austen Regency salon as we embark on the risky and rewarding pursuit of writing. C. Flanagan Flynn is the Writer in Residence at the Storyteller's Cottage. She leads several writing workshops throughout the year, and is available for one-on-one consultations.

Saturday, October 5 / 9:00 am - 6:00 pm

Have you dreamed of being a travel writer‌ of exploring new places, uncovering stories and getting paid to vacation? Spend a day discovering the skills and strategies you need to live this dream. Network with and learn from a slate of ďŹ ve successful professional travel writers eager to share practical advice. $125.00 - Find out more at

Saturday, September 7 / 9:00 am - 4:00 pm

Learn the secrets of getting published from four successful local authors. For one low price, take four practical and insightful classes, including: Revising Your Work for Publication, Excerpting & Editing Chapters to Entice Agents & Readers, Writing an Eye- Catching Cover Letter & All About Agents and more. $125.00 - Find out more at

Fall Writing Workshops Storyteller's Society - Peer feedback, writing tips and free writing time Fridays 7:00 - 9:00 pm ... with H Murray & T McKee ($120 for 6 months) Evolving with Spunk - Creative writing for seniors about aging gracefully Every other Wednesday, 11:00 am - noon ... with TJ Banks ($15 each) Write a Legacy Book for your Grandchildren Sept 12, 19, 26, 1:00 - 3:00 pm ... with Lynn Katz ($120 for 3 classes) Write Your Memoir or Novel Sept 12 - Oct 24, 6:00 - 8:00 pm ... with C. F. Flynn ($180 for 6 classes) Writing Historical Fiction Sept 12 - Oct 17, 6:30 - 7:30 pm ... with T.J. Banks ($120 for 6 classes) Writing for your Blog Sept 20 6:30 - 8:00 pm ... with Beverly Army Williams ($40) Secrets of Screenwriting (Intermediate) Sept 22 - Nov 3, 1:00 - 2:30 pm ... with Pamela Goulardt ($180 for 6) Designing an Eye-Catching Book Cover for Self Published Authors Sept 27 7:00 - 9:00 pm ... with Robin Towle-Fecso ($45) The Short Story League - Read, write and discuss short stories 1st & 3rd Fridays 7:00 - 9:00 pm ... with Tracy McKee ($15/mo) Dead Poets Society - Read, write and discuss poetry 4th Friday 7:00 - 9:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($10/ea) NaNoWriMo Plotting Workshop - Get your story ready to write! October 19 1:00 - 2:30 pm ... with Roman Godzich ($30) Tea & Tips - Learn how to get published from a professional editor October 27 2:00 - 3:00 pm ... with C. Flanagan Flynn (FREE) NaNoWriMo Kickoff Retreat - Get started with a bang! November 2 1:00 - 6:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($60) NaNoWriMo Write-Ins Thursdays in November 6:00 - 9:00 pm ... with Heather Murray (free) NaNoWriMo Last Ditch Write-In Saturday, November 30 7:00 - midnight ... with Heather Murray (free) Register for writing workshops at

Events Title Page

Literary Even ts

Downton Abbey Formal Tea

Dinner with an Author

Sold Out

Live Murder Mystery

Sat. Sept 14 / 4:00 pm

Thurs. Sept 19 / 5:30 pm with Marilyn Simon Rothstein

Dress up and solve a murder!

Night Circus: Midnight Dinner

Hogwarts at Night

Spooky Victorian Magic

Enjoy tea, treats and trivia!

Sat. Sept 28 / 10:00 pm

Sat. Oct 12 / 8:00 pm

Sat. Sept 21 / 8:00 pm

Sat. Oct 19 / 8:00 pm

Delicious magic in black, white & red

Food, drinks, games, crafts for adults

Start with a graveyard stroll!

Jazz Supper Club

Last Dinner on the Titanic

Live Storytelling

Sat. Nov 9 / 6:30 pm

Dinner with The Green Jazz Band

Fri. Nov 15 / 7:00 pm

Formal dinner, games, live harp music

Sat. Nov 23 / 7:30 pm

with Gwendolyn Quesaire-Presutti

A Storyteller's Halloween Art Macabre

Fri. Oct 18 / 8:00 pm

Haunted Dinner Party

Sat. Oct 26 / 6:00 pm

Wandering Mystery Game

Sun. Oct 20 / 7:00 pm

Guided life drawing of ghostly igures

Formal dinner and a seance

Start in the cemetery & solve mystery

Goblins & Giggles

Into the Dark

Spooky Victorian Magic

Wed. Oct 30 / 6:30 pm

Wed. Oct 30 / 8:00 pm

with Rona Leventhal

with Rona Leventhal

Sat. Oct 19 / 8:00 pm

Start with a graveyard stroll!

Looking for Something New to Do? NEW BOOK CLUB: Moonlight & Mysteries Join us to discuss a different fascinating mystery novel on the 2nd Friday night of each month in our perfectly creepy candlelit parlor. Featured books will include a mix of local and national authors. Check our website for advance book selections. Admission is free, and snacks & drinks are available for sale. Rs` qsr Eqhc` x Rdosdl adq 02 ` s 69/ / ol -

NEW BOOK CLUB: Local Flavor Join us for a fun monthly book club featuring works by talented local authors! Selections range from mystery to romance to non-ďŹ ction ... check our website for advance book selections. Meets on the 2nd Wednesday of each month. Admission is free, and snacks & drinks are available to purchase. Rs` qsr V dc- Rdos 00 ` s 09/ / ol -

NEW KNITTING CLUB: Yarn Tales Join fellow yarn enthusiasts for an evening of casual knitting every Friday at 5:30 pm. Knitters and crocheters of all ages and abilities are welcome! Bring your own project and enjoy some chit chat in our cozy cottage. We can't wait to hear about your latest yarn tale. Free (we have tea and snacks for sale) Rs` qsr Eqhc` x Rdos 02 ` s 492/ ol -

Autumn Literary Crafting Studio Join us for a creative autumn evening of literary crafting in our lovely Jane Austen Salon! Choose to compose and decorate an inspirational spread in your personal art journal, or try one of our other craft projects using discarded antique encyclopedia pages. COST: $15 Nbsnadq 2 ` s 69/ / ol -

A GRAND ADVENTURE: Grandparent/Grandchild Event Grandparents and grandchildren (aged 8 and up) are invited to solve an exciting mystery together then celebrate with a delicious tea party! Spend an hour with other grand-pairs in our mysterious Victorian Parlor ďŹ nding clues and solving riddles and codes to determine the identity of a dastardly murderer (it's like a live game of Clue!), then enjoy your victory in our lovely English Kitchen with cakes and cookies, lemonade and tea. Monthly. Mdws dudms Rt mc` x Rdos 11 ` s 19/ / ol -

Youth Events

Fall Youth Activities

Tea Party Club - Beauty and the Beast Sunday Sept 8, 2:00 - 3:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($15) Launch Party - "I'm Mad at the Moon" by Mary Grace Dembeck Sunday Sept 8, 3:00 - 4:00 pm ... free storytime & snacks Children's Book Open House Saturday Sept 14, 1:00 - 3:00 pm ... free storytimes & crafts & snacks Back to School at Hogwarts Sunday Sept 15, 1:00 - 4:00 pm ... all new classes! ($50) Tea Party Club - The Witches Sunday Oct 6, 2:00 - 3:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($15) Dumbledore's Army Sunday Oct 13 1:00 - 2:30 pm and 3:00 - 4:30 pm ($20) Goblins & Giggles - Scary Stories for Kids Wed Oct 30, 6:30 - 7:30 pm ... with Rona Leventhal ($35 for a family of 4) Tea Party Club - Snow White Sunday Nov 3, 2:00 - 3:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($15) "Frozen" Fun Day - Celebrate the release of Frozen II Saturday Nov 23, 1:00 - 3:00 pm ... ($15/mo)

Youth Workshops

Get Published - Creative Writing Class Wednesdays Sept 4 - Oct 2, 3:45 - 5:15 pm ... with Lori Kase ($150) Friday Night Mystery Club - Read, write & discuss mystery books Fridays 4:30 - 6:00 pm ... with Heather Murray ($10 each Friday) The Actor's Academy at the Cottage "Story Tellers" (age 5 - 8) Wednesdays 4:00 - 5:00 pm ($150/6 weeks) "Acting Up" (age 9 - 12) Thursdays 4:00 - 5:00 pm ($150/6 weeks) "Actor's Cottage" (age 13 - 17) Thursdays 5:15 - 6:15 pm ($150/6 weeks) Fantastic Books and How to Write Them Saturdays Sept 14 - Oct 26, 1:30 - 3:30 pm ... Jennifer Boss ($160/4 wks) How to Draw Cartoons (for kids) Friday Sept 20, 4:30 - 6:30 pm ... with Robin Towle-Fecso ($45) How to Draw Anime (for teens) Friday Sept 20, 7:00 - 9:00 pm ... with Robin Towle-Fecso ($45) Cub Reporters- Introduction to Journalism 2nd & 4th Fridays starting Sept 13, 4:30 - 6:00 pm ...with Tracy McKee ($20/class) Wizard Academy - Learn to do magic from a real magician! Fridays 3:30 - 4:45 pm starting Sept 27 ... with David Reed-Brown ($150/5 weeks) Magical Pencraft - Harry Potter themed creative writing 4th Sundays starting Sept 27, 1:00 - 2:30 pm ... with Heather Murray ($20/class)

Summer Literary Events

Summer Camp

Announcing the newest publication from The Storyteller's Press!

"I'm Mad at the Moon" by Mary Grace Dembeck is a charming bedtime story full of engaging illustrations and humorous rhyming verses. When the light of the moon through her window makes it hard to fall asleep, a young girl describes its many forms and faces. This sweet story is the perfect gift for any young child, and is available through the Storyteller's Cottage and on Amazon.

Your ad here! Email for rates & details.

The Storyteller's Cottage Alanna Hammond, Facilities Tracy McKee, Marketing Natasha Mercado-Santana, Marketing Heather Murray, Art & Design Lisa Natcharian, Owner Svenja Volpe, Operations & Mysteries Juan Aguilar, Game Master Jen Cook, Game Master Casey Croft, Game Master Josh Jaggon, Game Master Dylan Reader, Game Master Emily Scott, Game Master

Check out our new cable tv show, "Storyteller's Secrets: Bringing Literature to Life" on Nutmeg community Television!

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The Storyteller's Cottage 750 Hopmeadow Street Simsbury, Connecticut

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Inkling Magazine Issue 6 / Fall 2019  

Inkling is the literary magazine of the Storyteller's Cottage in Simsbury, CT. Read compelling excerpts from local authors, feature article...

Inkling Magazine Issue 6 / Fall 2019  

Inkling is the literary magazine of the Storyteller's Cottage in Simsbury, CT. Read compelling excerpts from local authors, feature article...