Whitney is becoming a favorite name

There's a point in awards ceremonies where I always ask myself, why do this? I can eat chicken and mushrooms at home, and I can avoid rolls at home. Then I ask myself, should I really just take one bite of the chocolate mousse pie and give the rest to my husband, because after all, I probably won't win a Whitney this year, since I won one last year? And gee willikers, I paid a lot for food I'm a) either not eating  b) or I could cook at home. (This is how nervous nellies think. It's not a pretty sight.)

But I was a good enough girl. I passed up the roll, didn't eat all the mashed potatoes, and yes indeedy, handed over that chocolate mousse pie to Hubby, after one - mebbe two - bites. Then I waited through interminable comments by presenters until we arrived at the historical fiction category, where My Loving Vigil Keeping won best Historical Fiction of the Year at the 2012 Whitney Awards.

I happily accepted the Whitney Award in memory of "my guys," the 200 men and boys who died in the Winter Quarters Mine Disaster in 1900. They were on my mind anyway, since it isn't that long since May 1, when the Number Four Mine blew up and killed the morning shift. Quite a few guys in the connecting Number One died, too, of afterdamp. That's only part of the story, of course. Novels are built of more than that.

Three days before the awards ceremony, I went up to Scofield for a visit. Going to the cemetery makes me sad, because they all died too young, and generally with large and hopeful families. And some of them were buried so far from previous homes in Finland, England, Wales, Scotland, you name it. The sadness passes, though, and I feel the peace of the place. Eagles swoop and soar overhead. The logical side of my brain tells me they're only on the hunt for the cemetery's gophers. The other side suggests to me that they're looking after my guys,too.

Time passes. In a few weeks, there will be a paper flower on each grave. The Price Sun-Advocate began a project a few years ago called "No grave left unadorned." Scores of folks make paper flowers, which are put on each grave in Carbon County. Once a year, someone leaves a paper flower for my guys. But I go up several times a year, walk the rows, and think about lives cut short, hard-working men, and what compels people to leave their homes in other nations or states and follow the coal veins to Utah. For some, it was religion, and probably the hope of better lives for their children. For others, it was just the latter, or better lives for themselves.

I've noticed that sometimes others leave flowers during the year, so I know these men are remembered. I remember all the time.

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Now a little housekeeping- If any of you live in New York City, you're welcome to drop by the Jacob Javits Center on May 31 at 2 p.m., or June 1 at 10 a.m., where I'll be signing books. It's part of the annual Book Expo America. Cedar Fort is flying me there, and I'm totally jazzed about it. I've never been to BEA, but I hear it's a great place to meet authors and snag free books. I'll also drop by the Harlequin booth on Friday morning, and maybe the Signet booth, because I have some interests there, too.

Readers make my day

A month or so ago, I received a forwarded letter that had been sent to Mills & Boon in London. It was from Joan in Dubbo, New South Wales, who had some kind things to say about The Admiral's Penniless Bride. It's fun to hear from readers, and doesn't happen all too often.  Thought I'd share it with you. It's my birthday today and I can do what I want. I looked up Dubbo, NSW. It's a small town on the Macquarie River, sort of west by northwest of Sydney. Ironically, it's close to Wellington, which is where I live, but 15,000 or so miles away on another continent.  Joan is forever etched in my heart for two reasons: I really enjoy readers, and I especially enjoy readers who know how to use a semi-colon, which she does. Goodonyer, Joan!

To Harlequin/Mills & Boon

   Would it be possible for you to e-mail or Fax my regards to Carla Kelly? I have just finished reading 'The Admiral's Penniless Bride' and I can honestly say I have never enjoyed any book as much as I did this one.

   The sense of humor comes across beautifully. In fact I cannot recall any Historical Story with humor like this one.

   As I have read hundreds of Mills & Book books over the years and hope to have many more years left to enjoy even more; I hope there will be more from this author especially if it contains the same type of humor. 

   Many of my friends also enjoy these books and we pass them backwards and forwards between us.

   These include my mother-in-law -- aged 86 this year and a good neighbour aged 84 this year.

   My age is 72 and many of my friends are in this age bracket.

   At our ages we have the time to sit & read (& enjoy) a good romantic story.

   As I am computer illiterate I cannot write to Carla myself so will hope you can forward this to her.

   Thanks so much for such a varied range of reading matter.

Yours sincerely,

  Joan

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7 May 2013

Dear Joan,

Harlequin /Mills & Boon forwarded your kind letter to me here in Utah. Thanks for your words about The Admiral’s Penniless Bride. I have to tell you – the germ of the idea came from our move to Utah from North Dakota. My husband bought a house that was a total wreck. I had remained behind in North Dakota because I was a) packing  b) finishing up a history of Fort Buford for a publisher. I didn’t speak to him for a few days!

Luckily, we all survived. The house was completely remodeled in stages, with the kitchen finished last summer. This summer, we’re going to remodel the basement. Crazy. Since I’m a writer, I naturally drew from my own experiences, although we never had a house as erotic as the one Admiral Bright inflicted on Sally Paul.  Well, almost not. My dad was in the U.S. Navy, and we lived in postwar Japan for a while. Our first house was owned by a Japanese writer, I believe, who had some oddball “western” ideas. He had a huge statue of a naked woman by the front door. My mom was a bit of a prude, and it gave her quite a jolt. I was 7 at the time, and my sister was 9, and we thought the whole thing was hilarious.

Maybe that’s part of being a writer – we remember quirky events. At the time I certainly never planned to write anything, much less a novel with a naked statue, but it did come in handy, years later!

Here’s another chuckle about The Admiral’s Penniless Bride – every few months, or now and then (it’s random), I get a box of 3 books which is a translation. I can generally figure out the language, but “Bride” came a few months ago in a language I had never seen before. It looked a bit Finnish, but not quite. We finally figured out that the book had been translated into Estonian.  

And yet, it’s not a funny book, not at all. Some readers took me to task because they thought the admiral’s reaction was extreme, but I never thought so. A man used to command and instant obedience is not about to tolerate what he thought was a terrible coverup from the woman he was now in love with.  My original title was “Admiral Bright’s Inconvenient Marriage.”  But Harlequin loves to change titles, for good or ill.

My most recent Harlequin is set at Fort Laramie, Wyoming Territory, in 1876.  I had been begging and begging to write something besides a Regency, and Her Hesitant Heart was the result. It’s just out, but doing well. I’m back to writing Regencies, though. Working on one now.

The Fort Laramie story will always be dear to my heart, because I used to work at Fort Laramie National Historic Site as a ranger in the National Park Service. I love the place and know it well.

And you’re from New South Wales. We had to look up Dubbo on our atlas. I have to tell you, Joan, that I have three favorite books, and one of them is Nevil Shute’s novel, A Town Like Alice (I believe it was originally titled The Legacy).  Great book.

I’m a bit younger than you. I’m 66 today, May 7. I write for two other publishers, besides Harlequin. If you were computer literate, you could look me up on Amazon and maybe get some of those books, too.

Best to you, and thanks so much for writing.

Sincerely,

 Carla Kelly

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I think I might send her another book. I'll do that for someone who understands a semi-colon.

Her Hesitant Heart

http://www.likesbooks.com/cgi-bin/bookReview.pl?BookReviewId=9472

Had to include this lovely review for Her Hesitant Heart. After years of begging to write a Western, Harlequin Historical agreed to one. I'm back to a two-Regency contract, but this book will always be a highlight for me.

The best of times, the worst of times

There's really nothing to add to what happened yesterday in Boston. Throughout the day on Facebook, that wonderful Mr. Rogers quote popped up a lot, where his mother assured him that in any troubles, look for the helpers. They were there in Boston, too.

I remember the flood of 2009 in North Dakota. Our little town of Valley City was evacuated, because of sewer collapse. We were wondering what to do, when a church friend called from Fargo, just out of the blue, wondering if we needed anything. Fargo had been through their bad flood days a few weeks earlier. We told him we needed a place to stay, and he invited us right over. We spent a few days there, enjoying their many kindnesses.

Curious thing about those North Dakota floods - the Red Cross hurried in and set up shelters for people just like us. After a week or so, they closed them, because friends and neighbors and strangers were taking in those people who would otherwise have gone to shelters. That's the way of life up there, and apparently, in Boston, too. Probably all over America, because that's what we do.

I'm reminded of something I heard from a policeman. "Whenever I speak to kids, I tell them that if they are ever lost, just to find an older woman who looks like a grandmother and go to her. She will always help." Nice to be in that demographic.

Two closing thoughts. I keep these on my writer's board beside my computer. I look at them often.

Will & Ariel Durant - Introduction to The Age of Napoleon

"All in all, in life and in history, we have found so many good men and women that we have quite lost faith in the wickedness of mankind."

Ellis Peters - One Corpse Too Many - Brother Cadfael is speaking to sheriff Hugh Beringar

"You did the work that fell to you, and did it well. God disposes all. From the highest to the lowest extreme of a man's scope, wherever justice and retribution can reach him, so can grace."

Don't Poke the Bear

Now for something a tad more light-hearted, in its own way. I was culling stuff from filing cabinets last night and this morning, and came across a doozy. It's going in my too-crazy-to-be-fiction file.

On July 2, 2012, the Deseret News published an article about a total whack job on I-80 in Wyoming, who pretty much terrorized the Interstate near Wamsutter, where, basically, nothing ever happens.

Sorry Case (No real name; I don't want him looking for me) from Nameless Town, Utah, apparently was driving erratically, stopping cars, getting out, fighting with motorists, trying to break into other cars, chasing people, and just being a really bad a**. He managed to get into one car and swiped a semi-automatic handgun, which he immediately started firing from inside the car through closed windows. Luckily, the lady managed to bail out. He rammed other cars, broke out a truck's window, and stabbed some guy with an "unknown sharp object."

I'm condensing this drastically. A few miles later, he got out of his car and stretched out on the highway, naked. He had somehow found a cane, and that became his weapon of choice when some truck drivers and motorists stopped to restrain him. By then, a highway patrolman arrived, and all of them struggled with this supremely odd individual. With the help of four people, the trooper got one handcuff on him. More officers arrived from Sweetwater County Sheriff's Department and bundled the guy off to the hoosegow.

Whew. There he was in 2010 in Green River, under what the newspaper referred to as a "slew of charges." I have to list these, because it's a prime example of why it's not wise to mess with cops, or "poke the bear," as my Border Patrol son calls it.

Are you ready? "Sorry Case was arrested for investigation of aggravated assault, attempted manslaughter, battery, driving while under the influence, driving on a suspended license, reckless driving, property destruction, criminal entry, larceny, felonious restraint, failure to report a crash, failure to maintain vehicle within a single lane, failure to yield right-of-way to a pedestrian, parking on a highway, resisting arrest and promoting obscenity." (I guess that last one covers nudity on an Interstate.)

I can picture it: A whole bunch of peace officers thinking of every possible, well-deserved thing to throw at the man, and rightly so. They want to make darned certain that this guy doesn't get out of jail for a loooong time. Maybe until the 12th of Never. Crossing southern Wyoming is never a total treat, but it shouldn't have to be terror.

I asked my son once if he'd like to be able to give a ticket that just says, "You're stupid. Here's a ticket." Oh, yeah.

So if you're ever tempted to strip past your skivvies and stretch out on I-80 through Wyoming, don't. Just don 't.
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My other favorite law enforcement stories happened in  North Dakota, where cops impounded a chicken crossing the parking lot of a local bank in Valley City. Another one comes from Fargo, where a cop was investigating a report of kids trying to sneak into a drive-in movie. As he walked by one car, someone in the trunk passed gas and all the kids in the trunk got the giggles. Busted.

Welcome to spring, the silly season.

P.S. If you want to read other nonsense like this blog, my book, Stop Me If You've Read This One, should be available on Amazon soon. It's a collection of some of the Prairie Light columns I wrote while reporting for the Valley City Times-Record.  I seem to recall one column about guys under some sort of influence stealing a flamingo from a zoo in Minot and eating it. Maybe they're related to the nude guy on I-80.

Sometimes the mountain talks

It's been a tough week in coal country. People turning on light switches in places other than Carbon and Emery counties probably have no idea how expensive coal was this week. While retreat mining, Elam Jones, continuous miner operator, died when part of the roof collapsed. His partner and friend, Dallen McFarlane, suffered a knee injury, but survived.

It was the Rhino Mine, located up Huntington Canyon in Emery County. It's also not too far from Crandall Canyon, where 6 miners and 3 mine rescue team members died in 2007. Elam had been part of that rescue, so he knew the dangers first hand. All of them do, but they mine coal. It's hard and dirty and at times dangerous. It's also a generational thing around here. Elam was a third generation miner on his father's side, and a fourth generation miner on his mother's side. His mom, Julie, is a city councilwoman in Huntington. We know Julie.

This just hurts. The Rhino Mine is the mine I was allowed to go inside, when I was researching My Loving Vigil Keeping. The surface superintendent is a church friend, and he kindly gave permission. I spent a few hours underground, just getting acquainted with a mine. I assure you that my friend is hurting in the worst possible way right now. MSHA has closed the mine while an investigation is ongoing, but it's a good mine, well-run. These are the risks inherent in digging that electricity out of the ground.

Elam and Dallen were engaged in retreat mining. This is when a section has been successfully "mined out," and it's time to pull the pillars, get that coal out, and let the roof naturally collapse. When I say pillars, I don't mean skinny little faux decorations. These are massive. Retreat mining is a common practice, but it has its dangers, obviously.

It's interesting what happens after a collapse. Mine rescue teams from all over the area converge, and the men go in to get out their buddies. Mike McCandless, economic development director for Emery County, said this is the March 28 Deseret News: "This work binds miners together and that brotherhood means they'll drop whatever they're doing at a moment's notice to find a trapped miner."

Dallen echoed this: "Everybody is your brother. Everybody's got your back." And Dallen added, "Nobody here blames the mine, it was just a bad accident."

Elam leaves behind a wife, Jaqlynn Jones, and two little boys, age 4 and 5. Sadly, they now belong to that miner's club that no one wants to join. But here's the thing: There were more than 1,000 people at Elam's funeral in the Huntington Stake Center of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. These tight-knit communities of miners, family and friends will keep the little Jones family close to them. It's a Welsh thing, it's a mining thing, it's what people do around here.

I just wish it didn't hurt so bad.

The Old Mill

My mother was the best kind of mom. She saved important works, including my very first fictional effort, a bit of deathless prose called The Mystery of the Old Mill. I've included the entire work here, so you can enjoy it, too. I was six years old, and plunked out the novel on her Olivetti-Underwood, a beast of a typewriter. H'mm, one incomplete sentence. Like this one. And a run on sentence, or maybe we could call that a comma splice, also a deadly sin.

Intermission here. Years ago, when it was all the rage, I tried to read Jean Auel's best-seller, The Clan of the Cave Bear. I didn't get too far, because the thing was crammed with comma splices. I didn't toss the book, so I can't really call it a wallbanger, but I most definitely stopped reading.

I also committed another deadly sin in my brief attempt at mystery writing; I used the word "very." I got out of that habit quickly in high school, when I came under the tutelage of Jean Dugat, Senior English AP teacher, sophomore English teacher and journalism teacher. I owe my writing career to Miss D, as we called her. She was an overbearing dragon and there were times when I hated her. By the end of my sophomore year, it occurred to me that if I paid attention to what she was teaching me, I'd be a writer.

Miss D loathed and despised the word "very."  I distinctly remember her telling us that it was a useless filler word, and that we might as well write "damn," instead. Since then, I have been sparing in my use of the word. If you're ever supremely bored, just pick up a novel of mine and count the times I use the dread word. Generally, it's never.

All I can say in my defense of the V word in The Mystery of the Old Mill is that I was only six, and wouldn't meet Miss D until I was 14.

As you can tell from the cover, I spent more time drawing the old mill than I did writing. I'm no artist. The text inside has the promise of a story. I suppose I quit writing because I hadn't yet learned how to spin out a yarn. Someone wiser than I am once observed, "Writing fiction is just one damned thing after another." True. I was young and unwise in the ways of the world. Maybe I should have tried again when I was in the second grade. By then, I was more interested in reading, which is also a good thing for a writer.

Mom also saved my favorite book, Ukelele and Her New Doll. It was a Golden Book, published in 1951,and probably cost a quarter. I loved the story of Little Ukelele, who lived in the South Seas in a grass hut. She had a wooden doll her father made her. She could wash her doll in a shell bathtub, and feed her sand cookies.

"One day there came to the island a big, beautiful sailing ship to trade for coconuts," the story goes. One of the men from the ship gives Ukelele a china doll with real hair and blue eyes and lovely clothes. Ukelele loved her new doll, but she discovered that she couldn't wash her in the shell bathtub, because the water was bad for her. She couldn't feed her sand cookies because the sand stuck in her hair. The doll just wasn't a lot of fun. By the end of the day, Ukelele took her dear wooden doll to bed, "and hugged her tight until they were both fast asleep."

Lovely story. One thing about it strikes me: On the cover of that book is a sailing ship, probably a frigate similar to those I have been writing about for years. The navy men bartering for coconuts look like the men of the Royal Navy, another topic well-known to me and well-used in my novels. I have to ask myself: Did I subconsciously store up memories of that ship and those men from the little book I read when I was four?

I still love Ukelele, and I still write about the Royal Navy. In fact, I'm writing a novel about a captain on a lengthy shore leave for the first time in 12 years, now that Napoleon is on Elba. Maybe I'll dedicate this book to Ukelele.