February 22 we commemorate George Washington's birthday. Here is the beginning of a middle grade book I have written on Washington as the first spy master during the revolution.
Spymaster in Chief
The Story of George Washington and the Culper Ring
By Kathryn Scarborough
One of the British generals of the Revolution is reported to have said, "The American Army did not out fight us, they out spied us."
For generations, the greatest of all American ‘spy-masters’ was George Washington.
Stories and records of his own spy ring, the Culper Ring, are filled with intrigue, daring, and ‘above and beyond the call of duty’ bravery.
This book tells the story of the brave men and women, spies of the Revolution, who used a complicated plan of codes, special invisible inks,
and even carried messages inside items like covered buttons, hollowed out bullets, and quill pens. They spread ‘misinformation’,
and helped to win a war fought against the world’s most fearsome and well equipped enemy, The Royal British Army.
Dear readers, here is an excerpt from The Trouble With Tribbles, originally published by Main Street Rag in 2012.
The full story plus others is in my collection called Mangled Myths I and Mangled Myths II published through Amazon Kindle under
The Trouble With Tribbles
An unearthly YEOWLLL rends my eardrums. My own sleep-starved brain refuses to respond to that sound, but like long unwashed fingernails scraping against a
mathematician's blackboard, I cannot escape it.
My back teeth begin a little cha, cha, cha, and not in a good way.
That damn cat… the damn cat is in heat….. again!
I drag myself from the bed, one red eye blinking open of its own volition, and my first thought is: does anyone have a snub nose 38?
I blink and involuntarily cover my ears.
“Ryan,” I holler. “Get your damn cat fixed.”
My son is a beautiful man. Of course he gets it from my side of the family. But, he has some weird idea about the vet, ‘gutting’ his cat.
A velvety brown nose pushes against my hand urging me to comfort her.
YEOWLLLLLLLLLL!!!!, she screams. Her little brown backside hoists itself toward the ceiling as if on a wavering string, swings back and forth erratically,
not sure where it should stop.