Don't judge this book by its cover

Happy New Year first. That's more important than anything that follows in this blog. We have a shiny new year in which to be tried and tested and occasionally found wanting, I am certain. There will also be moments of near-nobility, I am equally certain. Our New Year's Eve followed its typical pattern. We watched The Sting (always on NYE), ate popcorn and were predictably in bed by 10:30. We can only assume that someone rang in the new year for us. Whoever you are, thanks!

Harlequin strikes again. Right before Christmas, my editor forwarded this cover for my book that comes out in mid-March. I stared at it, shook my head, and wondered what on earth? No one on the cover resembles anyone in the story, which is about a dour and extremely veteran frigate captain who has been granted shore leave for the first time in forever, now that Napoleon is on Elba (we know how that turned out, eh?), and peace might actually be breaking out. He and his young son are headed home to Scotland for Christmas. Enter Mary Rennie, who is a nice lady on the verge of spinsterhood, who has been sent by her relatives to track down four fruitcakes that were mailed to long-ago friends. One contains a little ring that Mary's cousin threw into the batter because it was a paltry ring from her fiance. One thing leads to another, and Mary has to find that ring. And so on.

I have no idea who these people are on the cover, and so I emailed my editor. She put on the sad face (via email from London), and couldn't imagine why I was disappointed. I replied that the cover bears absolutely no resemblance to anyone in the story, not even any characters I might have written and then edited out. This email was met with the note that everyone in England is now on vacay and won't return until January 2.

It does matter a bit, because my captain has a peg leg. The guy on the cover has both legs, and even more, looks as though the only trouble he has ever encountered might have been the occasional bad hair day. Sigh. At least my other publishers like to work with me and get covers that actually have something to do with the story.

I shouldn't be such a complainer. I was whining about this to Diane Farr, a lovely writer, who told me that Signet once put a homely lady, a guy and a dog on one of her covers.When she complained that there isn't even a dog in the story, the editor replied, "Readers like dogs, so we put a dog on the cover."

My daughter Liz came up with the perfect solution. "Mom, just ask them to send you the cover first, and then you can write a novel to fit the cover." I call that brilliant, and I will suggest it to my editor when she returns from vacation. I should have known that a perfect cover, such as the one for last year's Her Hesitant Heart, was a one-time event. Oh well. You'll still enjoy The Wedding Ring Quest. Appropriately enough, the ebook comes out on April Fool's Day.

I just read a wonderful book, Michael Zuckoff's Frozen in Time. It's a true story about crashes, death and survival on Greenland's forbidding ice cap during World War II, and a 2012 expedition to locate one of the crash sites. I couldn't put it down, so it was a good thing I had just emailed Book Two of The Spanish Brand series to my editor at Camel Press. I recommend Frozen in Time heartily. I've already loaned my copy to a friend, and it'll make the rounds. My son Jeremy sent me the book for Christmas. We send each other books for Christmas. I usually read the ones he sends me, then send them back to him so he can read them and keep them. I may hang onto this one. It'll go onto my shelf next to another book called Frozen in Time, this one about the ill-fated Franklin Expedition of 1845 or so, when three Royal Navy ships are trapped in the Arctic in pack ice. It's also paired with a recovery story, which is astounding.

So it goes. We're well-rested on New Years Day (refer to first paragraph), and thinking about turkey for lunch.

Grapefruit Moon, One Star Shining

Author Anne Gracie gets full credit for this column. She's a Facebook friend (and a writer I admire), and she posted the Tom Waites song with the lovely photo of our current huge worldwide moon. She'd noticed it while coming home from dinner in the city. Anne lives in Australia. The comments that popped up were from all over the world, of course, as we all admired the same moon.

I've been admiring that grapefruit moon from my hemisphere. I was coming home from a booksigning on Saturday. It was still light out, but right after I passed Soldier Summit (at 7,000+ feet the highest point on the trip), I noticed the moon peeking coyly between two mountains. It was pale then and not in charge yet, because the sun as still up, but there it was, ready for an entrance. Made me smile.

I woke up early this morning, because the cat must've pushed open the door, and decided I needed a visit. The cat and I got up because that grapefruit moon was so bright and irresistible - in charge now and hugely visible.

And all over the world, we're watching. Last night, our bookclub commented on "A Christmas Carol," our reading for the month. We also had our Christmas potluck. We do a good one. It's not one of those you-bring-this-and-I'll-bring-that kinds of potlucks, but a true take-your-chance potluck. The carnivores ruled, with several kinds of meat. I made cheese grits and hot sauce - total comfort food - and an angel food, raspberry, powdered sugar, Coolwhip, sour cream thingee.

Then we watched the Gorge C. Scott version of "A Christmas Carol," my personal favorite.

I was thinking about Jacob Marley this morning. When I read Anne Gracie's comment about the full moon, and saw the posts from literally everywhere, I couldn't helping thinking about Marley's "Mankind is my business." With Marley, is a lament, because he never thought about anything except making money. After his death, he learned, to his horror, that mankind should have been his business. Mankind is most emphatically our business; we ignore that to our peril.

There we are, all admiring the same grapefruit moon. We're all involved in this world. Do something nice for someone today, ok?

In praise of bold travelers

First of all, Happy Thanksgiving. I never fail to think of my father on Thanksgiving: He loved pumpkin pie, and he had a pilgrim story from Bangkok, Thailand.

Part of Dad's Korean War was spent in Bangkok, back when a lot of us called Thailand, Siam. He was part of a squadron of Navy airedales who took a carrier-load of planes to Thailand. Essentially, they began the Thai Air Force. At the time, Dad was a chief, which meant he knew everything about his job and could do anything. He was always that way, though. (If you sense some daughterly admiration, you're on the money.)

In that hot and moist climate, Thanksgiving was still coming anyway. One of the Thai workers who spoke English asked Dad about Thanksgiving, so Dad gave a lengthy explanation about pilgrims and a first hard winter in a tough place for beginnings (New England), and the Thanksgiving feast the following year, when the toehold had turned into survival and there was food.

After Dad's explanation, the man just shook his head sadly. "We can't have Thanksgiving here."

Dad asked him why not, and the Thai said, "No pilgrims ever came to Bangkok."

Thanksgiving came anyway, of course, as it does anywhere Americans gather. We're grateful for that toehold in a new world, for subsequent survival, and eventually, our nation. It's as meaningful to me as the Fourth of July, as I praise bold travelers.

The extreme isolation of such people in a new land came home to me 12 or so years ago. It was early December, and I had gone to Charleston, South Carolina for Jeremy's graduation from the Border Patrol. The newly minted agents flew out that same day, so I had a few days to kill in South Carolina. What I did was point my rental car south.

First stop was St. Augustine, Florida, for a spot of research at Castillo de San Marcos National Monument. It's a wonderful, well-nigh indestructible fort built by Spanish engineers (they were good), to maintain power in their toehold of Florida. Eventually, the English came into possession, then the Spanish again, and finally the Americans. During our Indian Wars, it housed some Plains Indians, sent there to be reprimanded for objecting to folks taking their land.

After that, I drove back to St. Simons Island, Georgia, where I used to live as a kid. Superb area. I also visited Fort Frederica National Historic Site. It was a fort built by Georgia's colonizer, James Oglethorpe, between 1736-1748, essentially as a buffer zone between those Spaniards I had "visited" earlier in the day, and the prosperity of the English colonies in the Carolinas.

It's another great historic site, with a moat (now a gentle swale), and buildings made of tabby (stone mixed with shells). Nothing is restored, but the stabilized ruins are impressive. I walked through the town, and past the fort, and stood looking at the water. It was a cold day, for Georgia, and no other visitors were in sight. I watched the water quite a while, as the soldiers most certainly would have done.

It came home quite forcefully to me that these little toeholds on the edge of an amazing continent had to be a bit frightening, in that if trouble came, there was no help in sight. You were it; do your best.

And so I praise bold travelers. Without them, we wouldn't be gathering families and friends today and gorging on turkey and cranberries and three or four kinds of pie (or more), and the "inside of the turkey," as my daughter Sarah called stuffing, when she was a little girl. I always take a moment to remember what it felt like to stand alone, gaze across a portion of the Atlantic Ocean, empty too, that day, and honor that kind of courage.

Thanks, you men, women and children. I praise you today.

One reason we write: the readers

I participated in a booksigning for The Double Cross at the Costco in Lehi last Friday. The whole thing was to have happened two weeks ago. Everyone knew about it, apparently, except that Costco in Lehi. So it goes. No harm, no foul.

The one yesterday was that mix of busy and downtime that booksignings often are. My niece Amy dropped by on her lunch break, and so did her mom an hour later. Other friends, readers and fellow writers dropped by, bought books and chatted. Then there were those stretches when I had to work at convincing folks they really really needed to read this story about Paloma and Marco Mondragon, and care about New Mexico colony at the time of Comanches and Spanish. Must've convinced enough folks, because the books all got sold.

In the course of sitting at Costco, I did my usual informal-survey-keep-your-mind-busy tactic. According to my survey, most people are in Costco to buy 30 rolls of toilet paper at a time (I did the same), milk, and birthday/party cakes. Oh, and lots of disposable diapers, which went along with the numerous women I saw with little kids in the cart, and another on the way. It was totally Utah country.

Then something touching happened, which even now is making me tear up a bit. An older lady stopped by to tell me that her daughter owns and has read nearly all my books. I told her that I bet she didn't have this one. She agreed, and had me sign it for her daughter.

Nothing unusual there, eh? Then she said, so serious: "My daughter is far from home and going through a nasty divorce. She tells me that when she feels low and down, she reads your books over and over until she feels better."

Wow. I'm going to be thinking about that mother and her beleaguered daughter for a long, long time - maybe every time I sit down to work on another chapter. Yeah, it's historical fiction with usually a bit of romance - fluff. Yeah, when I start each book my mantra is, "This isn't Hamlet and you're not Shakespeare." But now and then, I am reminded that what I do matters to more than just me.

You other writers know exactly what I'm talking about.

Books and covers

Yes, yes, I'm well aware that I'm the worst blogger in the history of, well, blog. I also run into people who want to know when my next book is coming out, and why can't I write faster. Plus I sometimes have to do booksignings, which are sometimes quite fun, and other times are a bit frustrating, as I try to convince people that they really ought to try my books. And I take trips and visit friends - you know who you are - and just generally have a life. Blog comes about last, and I do apologize.

And I do enjoy reading other's books. Case in point: I was a huge Tony Hillerman fan, from the beginning to almost the end. Tony died a few years back, and I, like many, mourned his passing. He was a great journalist, pretty good writer, but the best guy at taking a subject few knew about - the Navajo Tribal Police - and giving them, and their nation, the credit they deserve. His name will long be honored among crime fiction readers, and people who love The People.

I'll admit to a tad bit of skepticism when I read that his daughter Anne Hillerman decided to carry on Tony's tales about the Navajo Tribal Police, specifically, Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee, plus a great addition, Officer Bernie Manuelito, Jim's new wife. Anne's father had introduced Bernie a few books back, but by then, I must say that his novelist's powers were greatly diminished. His last three books had none of the power of the first dozen.

I am a skeptic no more. I read Anne Hillerman's Leaphorn/Chee book, called The Spider Woman's Daughter, and I am hooked. I want to contact Anne and tell her to writer faster, because I want more of Jim and Joe and Bernie. If you enjoyed Tony Hillerman's work, give Anne Hillerman a try. I doubt you'll be disappointed.

I especially enjoyed this latest entry because this summer I took one of those trips to Navajo Country with my daughter, Mary Ruth, and her dear friend, Renee, who is now my friend, too. We went down to Gallup for the Intertribal dancing and drumming, held annually. After a brief overnighter in Santa Fe (do eat at The Shed if you go), we spent a few days in Gallup. Renee raised her family there, and Mary Ruth taught there for a few years, so it was fun just to drive the streets and listen to the two of them remember good and bad times. We visited the flea market and bought jewelry and I bought a lovely skirt, a twirly skirt. I'm in heaven.

Driving home north through the great Navajo reservation was also wonderful, a chance to see the great outcropping and rocks (Shiprock being one) that define the borders of the land of the Dineh. All this made Anne Hillerman's book extra special.

But to books and covers: I'm writing Book Two of the Spanish Brand Series, and reading for research, too. I came across a novel called The Staked Plain. It takes place in the area of West Texas called Llano Estacado, because it is so trackless that supposedly early Spanish explorers drove stakes in the ground at intervals so they wouldn't get lost. I found the old paperback via Amazon with that title, by Frank X. Tolbird. First published by Harper & Brothers in 1958, I have a 1962 paperback edition with a positively lurid cover - tall white man standing with a rifle over a winsome Comanche (I suppose) woman. There's an obnoxious blurb on the front cover that reads, "Peyton Place on Horseback - or a Kinsey Report on the Comanches of West Texas in the 1860's and 70's."

Absolutely nothing could be farther from the truth. The Staked Plain is based on a true story about an interesting fellow named Llano Estacado (Staked Plain) Nabors, who actually lived the life written about. It's a wonderful story and I am learning so much about the people and the area. Unfortunately, the print is so tiny, and the pages so yellowed that I can barely read it.

So I ordered a larger copy this morning. This one is published by a university press, with forwards and afterwards by distinguished writers and historians, giving the book its due. But oh, that original cover! That's what writers have to put up with, at times. But we love to write, so we get over it.

Wazzup?

I've always just sort of stumbled into things in my life. Sometimes I think when I wrote Miss Whittier Makes a List, I wanted to be an organized chick like my heroine. Naturally, things didn't work out anything like Hannah's list (stuff has to happen in fiction, after all), but there was a bit of wishful thinking on my part.

My husband retired from a North Dakota university in 2009 and we moved to Utah. As it turned out, he's the only one who retired; I've just gotten busier, and it's my own darned fault. Luckily, writing is something I can do anywhere, and which still allows me to wear my beloved thrift store clothes to work. Brushing my hair is optional. I love a job like that.

Part of what goes along with writing books are booksignings and talks (or at least, that's the route with me). I have two booksignings this Saturday, September 28. The first is at Seagull Books on Redwood Road in Salt Lake City from 9-11 a.m. The second is at Seagull in Spanish Fork from 2-4 p.m. Later in October there is one at the Costco in Lehi, Utah, and another at The King's English in Salt Lake.

Then, oh goody, I'll be on the road for two weeks. I enjoy this. I'll be speaking at the library in American Fall, Idaho, on  October 1, and the Malad, Idaho, library on October 2. Then I'll be at Old Faithful in Yellowstone National Park to visit a ranger friend. We generally get together in October. I get to hear wonderful stories about back country rangering (mainly on horseback), and just how scary urban tourists are.  The next morning, I'll meet another ranger friend in Chico Hot Springs for breakfast. Randy and I first rangered together at Fort Laramie National Historic Site, then later at Fort Union Trading Post NHS. I'll hear more good stories.

Then I'll be on the Montana/Alberta border visiting son Jeremy. This will include a booksigning in Cardston, Alberta, always a pleasure. Then I'll head south to Billings to visit cousins, and then to Nebraska to speak to English students in Morrill, Nebraska. After that, there's a booksigning at the Mountain & Plains Book Expo in Denver, followed by a visit to Palo Duro Canyon near Amarillo, Texas, which was a favorite spot for Kwahadi Comanches. (Book Two of the Spanish Brand series takes place near there.) After that, I'll spend the night in Salida, Colorado, where hopefully I can replace a cool piece of pottery that my clumsy cat destroyed. Then home.

Besides the friends, family and readers, here's what's fun for me: Tuna fish sammiches. I love them, especially with dill relish. Invariably, I'll make myself tuna fish sandwiches so I don't have to stop for lunch. I may change it up with canned chicken. I'll put cucumbers in my drinking water, and eat grapes and apples. Gone are the days when M&Ms were my travel food of choice. Also, I have a stash of audio cds from the library that come along for the ride. Mostly it's crime fiction - Johnathan Kellerman and Elmore Leonard right now for sure - and history lectures, 18 hours of the Emperors of Rome this trip. I can hardly wait for those ol' Romans.

What a great time of year to drive through the Intermountain West. It's cool and maybe sn**y (you never say the word), and there will be cattle drives. I never mind waiting for cowboys and cattle. I have a few favorite restaurants, including one in Choteau, Montana (home of the great A.B. Guthrie), and Old Faithful Lodge, which I figure I can afford once a year.  I see relatives and friends (I hang onto both a long, long time - boy howdy, I am a good friend). I'll visit my daughter Liz in Lafayette, Colorado, and drop off a plant or two from her dad (provided they survive the trip that far).

I never used to do this, but I'll bring along books to sell. It's better than snake oil. Which reminds me: I'll probably haul along some of my homemade hand cream, too. It makes great gifts. I subscribe to the Lewis & Clark Method of Traveling Amiably - always have useful goods to hand out to the natives. H'mm. It worked pretty well until Lewis shot a Blackfeet Indian.

If I can, I'll go a bit out of my way to Thermopolis State Park and the Wyoming State Bath House. I love that place, even though I'll reek of sulfur. Who cares? When I run out of Elmore Leonard, I'll drag out my cds and sing at the top of my lungs.

Gee, all this fun, and my mileage is tax deductible. Does it get any better?

I'm such a fan girl

I don't watch television. No time, really, and I don't like vulgar comedy. The only thing I watched last year was Downton Abbey, and I'm not even convinced I want to see this year's episodes that start in January.  I mean, really, was it necessary to kill Matthew? I will watch Netflix now and then and other dvds (always watch L.A. Confidential at least once a year), but that's it. TV is too much bother.

Silly me. I was nosing around on instant Netflix on my iPad late one night, and my goodness, I happened onto Ripper Street. As soon as I noticed that the BBC series (first season) starts six months after the last "visit" by Jack the Ripper to Whitechapel, I knew I was hooked. Crime fiction is my escape reading, and I decided that Victorian crime fiction on the telly was worth a look.

My goodness, I loved it, all eight gritty, gory, violent episodes. The casting is amazing, with Matthew Macfadyen as Inspector Edmund Reid, who in fact handled the H Division located in Whitechapel, one of London's seamiest slums. His gruff and tumble sidekick Sgt. Bennett Drake is played by the excellent Jerome Flynn. Rounding out the ensemble is Andy Rothenberg as Homer Jackson, a former Pinkerton/U.S. Army surgeon and general, all-around bad boy, who supplies the technical know-how in an era just dipping into technology. There are ladies, and bad girls, and a Jewish orphanage director, and assorted flats, cheats and dangerous creeps. Be still, my heart.

The set is dressed amazingly well, with a scrupulous eye to detail, especially in the period clothing and manners. Maybe the stories strain credulity a time or two, but did I care? Not a whit. I even ordered the dvd of Season One on Amazon this morning (which I plan to loan to you, Bob Kisthart, when I see you in Yellowstone in a few weeks). Apparently Season Two was in the planning before Season One even came out. It's that good.

If you're not a fan of violence, heavy accents, bloody swash and nonstop action, don't watch. But if you enjoy impressive eye candy in a rough-hewn way, excellent acting, and something a bit different, tune in. I believe the new season starts in November. I can barely wait.

Now to something different - A few weeks back, I spoke to a library book club in Emery, Utah, about My Loving Vigil Keeping. The group calls itself the Page Flippin' Divas, and they are a fun, well-read group. Pretty much every group I speak to wants to know which of the characters in the novel are real (most of them), and how I did my research. I'm happy to talk about it, if they'll willing to listen.

When the meeting was over, I chatted with the ladies. One of them - she might have been in her 80s - wanted to tell me about her father. His last name was Hansen and she was the oldest child. She went with him everywhere, and grew up hearing him say "Diolch," in place of "thank you." In that way of children, she never questioned him about it, because she knew he was saying thank you. She did wonder what the language was, but never asked him.

She told me that not until she read My Loving Vigil Keeping, and saw that word in the book, did she put two and two together and realize that her father, a Hansen, was saying thank you in Welsh. "My younger brothers and sisters don't remember him saying that," she told me. "Maybe by the time they came along, he was just farther away from the word."

Since her father's last name was Danish, I had to ask her about her mother. "Her last name was Oliver," she said. Bingo. Welsh. We had a little laugh, and she said that the book brought her closer to her father, because of that simple word.

And that's the fun part about writing, and the total payoff: visiting with readers and hearing their stories.

Now, how many days until Season Two of Ripper Street starts? I am a fan girl.