Niagara Falls | Breezy Books

New Year’s Eve was quiet this year. Rich was recovering from a nasty bug, so we didn’t visit with friends or family. We played some Dr. Mario, and I kicked him to the curb as I won nearly every game. I realize I should have gone easy on him as he wasn’t at his best, but my competitive nature wouldn’t allow it, and I gloated and taunted him, and I let him know definitively that I was the champion of 2012!

With all of that winning adrenaline coursing through my veins, I sat down at my desk and gave some thought to the next Susan Hunter book. I was surprised at how many ideas came to mind, so I started mapping out scenes.

With 26 seconds remaining until the ball dropped in Times Square, I dashed over to the den, stood behind Rich’s chair, and kissed him on the top of his head at midnight. I love him, but I didn’t want his germs. I told him I would see him later, and dashed back to my desk. Aren’t I romantic?

At 2:30 a.m., I had my notes finished, and I realized I could start writing the book. I had most of the pieces.

I promise I won’t torture you by babbling about this book all the time, but I need some help. The titles of the books have all had a theme. Sushine Hunter referenced the nickname of the state of Florida; all of the other titles had city nicknames.

This book will start in fictional Carbide City, Ohio, move to Niagara Falls, then to Toronto, farther north to a hunting/fishing lodge, and finally back to Niagara Falls.

I don’t have a title. There are no nicknames that work for Niagara Falls or Toronto. I don’t think I like Niagara Falls Hunter – or Niagara Hunter, or Falls Hunter, or Falling Hunter. Sheesh.

There may be treasure in this book. Treasure Hunter Hunter. Oh, yeah, that’s good. /sarcasm

Oooh! I think there will be a Bigfoot in this book. Bigfoot Hunter. Sasquatch Hunter. Cue the Fonzie music.

There may be a rare coin(s), mules (like drug mules, but no drugs), muskie, sturgeon, bear, and frogs.

Susan will be meeting with an editor in Toronto to publish a children’s picture book entitled, Stuck in the Bushes.

I think that’s all I have to share at this time. Any ideas for a title?

Disclaimer: If you offer an idea that I like and decide to use, by offering it, you agree there will be no payment to you other than a free book when it is finished. If you offer an idea, and it doesn’t quite do it for me, please don’t be offended. Silliness is always appreciated here, but no vulgarity please. Also, remember that Zombie Hunter, Rat Hunter, Gorilla Hunter, and Flushing Hunter have all been suggested at other times and rejected. Thanks again for those suggestions, guys.

July 2, 1984. We cross the Peace Bridge into Canada, and I start rubbernecking like a kid in F.A.O. Schwarz.

The view along the Niagara Parkway as we make our way to the falls is lovely. The Niagara River is to my right, well-maintained homes and parks are to my left, while trees line the parkway on both sides. I attempt to take in every detail and make a mental memory for all time.

My heart quickens in anticipation of my upcoming encounter once again with the thunderous monster at the end of the river. Every few seconds I peer down the ribbon of water, hoping for a glimpse of white spray signaling our arrival.

A gorgeous home comes into view. I want to live here on the parkway. An audible sigh escapes my lips; envy surrounds the soft sound.

The drive is taking longer than I remember. We come to a small, quaint town and run into a bank to convert our American dollars to Canadian. Our math skills are as good as those of a beaver who chiseled a pencil or three (see Mark Armstrong), and we know it will be easier to use the more colorful bills than worry about conversion rates for our greenbacks.

We encounter a kerfuffle alongside the parkway. People are moving quickly. We slow our pace, and my rubbernecking increases as we drive by. A man is shooting video of others as they shove a barrel into the water. They race to their vehicles, quickly overtake us, and speed toward the falls.

I am soon squealing like a teacup pig enjoying her new red rain boots (see La La). The spray above the falls is now in my line of sight. It only takes a few minutes before we are turning into a parking lot.

There are police cars, ambuli (the plural of ambulance), ok, ambulances, and security personnel rushing around. Tourists are excited and curious about the disruption to their day. I know what has happened. My rubberneck saw the barrel go into the river – a lapping, growing monster as it carried its victim away to certain death. I’m strangely unconcerned as I rush to my spot.I lean over the rail at the edge of the falls and breathe deeply as I absorb every bit of the experience with all of my senses. I am mesmerized and enchanted by the thunderous monster that is Niagara Falls. There are no words to describe this particular spot at the edge of the Horseshoe Falls. You have to hear it, see it, feel it, to truly understand.

I am unaware of how long I stand in this one spot. Others may have wanted to stand here, but I am greedy this day. Slowly I turned … in time to see policemen and rescue workers whisk away a man with a blanket around his shoulders. Onlookers applaud. Good for him. He lived. I turn back to my spot and allow the monster to envelop me once more.