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.

I'm still here

My apologies for such a delay between blogs, and I don't know where all the photos vanished. It's probably part of a new improvement that I missed out on. Well, tough.

July was a hard month. My husband had a stroke. He probably got lucky, though, because it only involved three of the five major symptoms of stroke: a sudden, stabbing headache, loss of balance, and loss of vision. He spent four days at the University of Utah Medical Center in Salt Lake City, undergoing a raft of tests. His vision returned, except for the rare odd flash of something or other. His balance is fine now, well sort of. Two or three weeks after the stroke, he was out on his usual walk, didn't lift his foot high enough to get to the curb, and did a face plant. The result was a broken nose, and the broken humerus bone about 2 inches below his elbow. (H'mm, look at those two words. Guess I never noticed how closely related they are.)

Luckily again, the break was such that he has a splint, rather than a cast. The doc let him take off the splint, and he'll probably be doing some rehab time in physical therapy.

Naturally, during all this the basement remodel began. It's a week from being done now, so all is well.

The surprises continue. I was supposed to take part in a booksigning at Brigham Young University during Education Week next week. I was informed yesterday that I have been uninvited. When I asked the publicity guy at Cedar Fort to find out why, he learned it was because I also write for Harlequin. I have to wonder which of my Harlequin Historicals they read to make their informed decision, but they probably read none of them.

This sort of broke my heart yesterday, but today I'm seeing the funny side. One of my Facebook friends suggested that I dedicate my next Harlequin to BYU, and I'm going to do just that. It'll read something like this: To Brigham Young University, my alma mater, where I studied history and learned some shocking things you can't write in books, apparently. Thanks for your support.  The book is called The Wedding Ring Quest, and it will be out in March.

I do give props to BYU's excellent history department, where I learned a lot about research and thought, as well as "the hot poop," as my favorite teacher there used to say. Well, when next I go on campus - we like to see plays there - I'll probably have to wear a scarlet A.

Now to the funny stuff. I was shopping yesterday and noticed that Air Wick has come out with a National Parks line of air fresheners.  So far, the four choices are Zion, Acadia, Cape Cod, and Rocky Mountain. As a former ranger in the National Park Service, this gave me the giggles. Personally, I think Rocky Mountain National Park air freshener should smell like mosquito repellent. If they every do Fort Laramie National Historic Site, where I worked, it'll have to smell like stables and old saddles. Fort Union Trading Post NHS, where I also worked, is a reconstruction of John Jacob Astor's 1828 fur trade fort. Historical research has determined that there was no evidence anywhere of privies, in the fort's 38-year history. I guess that air freshener will have to smell like, well... you get the gist. I worked at Yellowstone National Park in a private capacity, years ago. The predominate odor there is most definitely sulfur, from all the geysers and hot pots.

I guess it's a good thing that Air Wick didn't hire me as their Park Service consultant.

As for writing, The Double Cross and Safe Passage are out now. I'm working on Book Two of the Spanish Brand Series. So far, I'm calling that book Son of Double Cross, because I don't have a title yet.

So cheerio to you all. I'll be better about blogging in the future.

Down time is creative time

I know. I know. If there's a worse blogger in the known world, I wouldn't know who it is. I do what I can.

Housekeeping: This Friday and Saturday (June 28-29), I'll be in Malad, Idaho, at the annual Malad Welsh Festival. This year I'm selling my books and Mrs. Kelly's Novel Hand Cream. I have 19 different fragrances, one of which I developed for the Welsh Festival called Oatcakes'n Honey. It's a good conference, sort of a modified eisteddfod, with singing groups young and old. There are talks on a variety of things Welsh, other Celtic music, displays, and lots of kindly folk with Welsh ancestry (including moi). It's great.

But this is down time for me. I just finished a novel for Harlequin, which I titled, A Wife Like Mary. No telling what Harlequin will rename it. I'm due to start Book Two of the Spanish Brand Series. The first book will be out August 1, although I hear that some of the Barnes & Noble stores already have it. I enjoyed every minute of writing The Double Cross, and look forward to the next book, which I'll begin August 1.

Actually, it's far from down time. What I'm doing is research, which means reading about Comanches, and smallpox, and those primitive inoculations which preceded Edward Jenner's vaccination, and comancheros, those bold and brave New Mexicans who traded with the Comanche. It was a tough time and place that makes me feel a bit guilty when I whine about getting a paper cut. But I love that northeast area of present-day New Mexico around Cimarron. I'll be down that way in August.

This is the challenging time for a writer of historical fiction - trying to figure out the bones of a story, and stay true to history. I have no doubts that ignorance is bliss, but I always want my stories to be accurate.  It's doubly tricky when writing about some branches of the Comanche who were so elusive. There was no more ruthless Indian nation than the Comanche; they asked no quarter and gave none. For some 250 years, they owned Texas and wore it out with repeated raids and depredations. Can I make these folks appealing? You bet.

So why in the world would a writer set a series about a brand inspector right on the edge of Comancheria? I've been told that my novels are good, in part, because of my realistic and compelling characters. And nothing reveals character more than adversity. I like a writing challenge. I like putting all the pieces together in a logical way. To me, that's the great challenge of writing. Put people in a dangerous place - some will live and some will die. Mostly I hope you care about Marco Mondragon and his wife Paloma, and their sort-of ally, Toshua, a Kwahadi Comanche on the outs from his own tribe. He's also Paloma's protector, whether she wants his protection or not.

That challenge of putting the pieces together is evident in my next Cedar Fort novel, Safe Passage, which comes out August 15. It's set against the backdrop of the Mexican Revolution of 1910-1920. The Mormons had established a series of successful colonies in Mexico, starting in 1885. When things went terribly wrong, they were forced to flee in 1912. The story of their exodus from Mexico is compelling enough, but I decided to give it another twist. How about a young man estranged from his wife for two years, who learns from his father-in-law that his wife didn't get out? Someone has to go find her, and he's elected. He also wants to see if he can make things better between them. He has his own conflict, in addition to the above: he's born and raised in Mexico, and he really doesn't want to leave at all.

Maybe it's just me, but what I hope comes through in this story for my readers is my great love for Mexico and its kindhearted people. The more I wrote, the more I felt it.

So right now it's back to Comancheria and a brand inspector and his sudden wife. I've given myself until the end of December to write this second book in thee series (no name yet). And then I'll be researching an area I've visited a time or two - southeast Wyoming, but in 1887. What's the conflict here?  A really, really bad winter.

Well, excuse my rambling thoughts. I certainly have a writer's mind, but I don't entirely understand it. A writer's life is a hard slog, at times. But at all times, it's a total privilege to create people that linger in the mind. Mine, anyway, and maybe yours, too.

Back to Comanches. I'm in writer heaven.

Now Hear This!

This is terribly short because I'm headed to Cedar City to see niece Terri Metcalf-Peterson play the role of Dolly Levi in "Hello, Dolly."  She has a magnificent voice, is a lyric soprano professional, and it will be terrific.

The news:  Here's to the Ladies: Stories of the Frontier Army is now in ebook format! This is my collection of Indian Wars army stories that was published in 2004 by Texas Christian University Press, better known as teacup.

It's a collection that means so much to me, because I started writing those stories when I was a ranger at Fort Laramie National Historic Site. I still remain in close contact with the gentlemen listed in the dedication, except for the one who is now in Fiddlers Green (army jargon for passed away). Two of these short stories won Spur Awards from Western Writers of America.

These short stories launched my writing career. Is there any wonder that I have such affection for them?

Anyway, I'm tickled.

BookExpo America

This is a commercial. Cedar Fort is flying me to New York City on Thursday to participate in BookExpo America. I've never been before, but I do know it's a super-duper, big deal of a book publishers/sellers' convention. Cedar Fort is expanding and looking for a wider audience, and this is one good way to do it.

The event takes place at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan. On May 31, Friday at 2 p.m., I'll be signing my books at the Cedar Fort booth. On Saturday, I'll do the same at 10 a.m., then catch a plane for home that afternoon.

This'll probably a noisy, crowded, above-all interesting event, and I'm looking forward to it. We lived in Brooklyn, NY, from 1969-1972, while Martin earned an MFA in directing from Brooklyn College. We were poor students at the time, but we did manage to see the major sights in the Big Apple. I wish I had time to visit the Frick Museum again on this trip, and go to Coney Island for Nathan's hot dogs, but I doubt it's possible. (And I doubt Nathan's Famous is still 50 cents.) I'm supposed to attend a party for Harlequin on Thursday night, but we'll see. I'm not the world's greatest mingler. Still, I can probably leave anytime I want.

It'll be hard to top last weekend in Washington, DC, when I saw a niece get married, visited with my two sisters, had a delightful day of sightseeing in the Blue Ridge Mountains (Appomatox Courthouse and Lexington, VA) with my brother-in-law and 2 beagles, and toured Ford's Theatre in DC. Good cake at the wedding, too. And what could be cooler than the Star War's Victory March used as the recessional?

I do like a good time.

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.