Writing is Fun…Promo, not so much

I haven’t written a word of fiction for nearly two weeks now, and I’m fed up with it. Sick and tired of all the business that goes with it. And that’s not all, while I rant, let’s add those companies who can’t or won’t hire someone with any sense to set up their website. When I need to stop writing and do family business, I don’t want to spend three hours trying to get on a site and still fail. I’m not exactly computer illiterate. Pick up the phone and call is the next step. But in this age of personal computers and doing business online, why should that happen?

And so it goes

 

 

Then there’s Blogging, Facebook, Tweeting or Twittering, Google +, Linked In. The list goes on, and each awaits with their mouths open, hungry for what I might have to post. So, I get that done, answer emails, delete emails, follow leads to good links and sites and the day is half over.

Go Back? Crap.

Worse, decide to change some records of one of the places where I pay online, only to have them tell me that the user name and/or password is incorrect. Try to get a new one and I’m told that password does not match the one they have, or worse that I don’t exist, I never did exist and further more my security question answer is incorrect. I don’t know my mother’s maiden name, only they do and they won’t share it with me. Again, pick up the phone and get in line cause all their people are busy, but my call is important so please stay on the line.

The week has arrived for our final push. We move Saturday and Sunday. If we’re lucky. Looking at the boxes in the house, I think it’ll take two weeks just to carry them across the driveway to our new home.

Isn’t this correct?

Why would anyone bother to move next door to where they already live? Good  question, and one I’ve been asking myself lately. Then I try to carry something up the stairs, or worse, limp up them ten times a day to go to the bathroom. Old people do that, you know, a lot. So, okay, the new abode is all on one floor, it’s smaller by ten feet all around. Not being a mathematician I’m not sure it that means forty feet less to clean or not.

Anyway, one thing I know for sure. If it weren’t for our daughter we’d never have managed this. She’s done all the work. I just talk a lot and worry more.

I did manage to upload The Legend of the Rose - a novella to Kindle and see the audio release of Montana Promises and set up three free days for  Images in Scarlet at Amazon. Today’s the last day for this freebie on my Kindle page and list three of my books–here’s one– on Ask David, a fantastic promotional site for writers, and write this blog. Whew.

And voila! It’s done.

 

 

Living in the Ozarks

 

Back Yard Beauty

Moving day is fast approaching, which means I have less time to devote to blogging and other writer pursuits, so thought this morning I’d share a few photos for readers who are not privileged enough to live in our beautiful Ozarks.

Don’t take offense. I do admit there are other lovely places to live in our beautiful country, but thought you might like to take a few minutes to enjoy a short vacation in my back yard.

The first photo is of our Eastern Magnolia, often referred to as a tulip tree in all its glory this

Sunning in the spring

spring. Then we’ll walk around behind the house to visit with a spider my husband found sunning itself on the spring house door. He held still for three nice photos.

 

Log cabin

To find this old cabin, one must drive through our small mountain village and start up West Mountain. It sits back off the road a ways and is an original 1800s log cabin.

Lastly, this magnificent Bradford pear that was on the place when we bought it over 40 years ago. Though damaged a few years back by the skirts of a tornado, it continues to bloom like this every spring, even the cold ones like we’ve experienced this year.

Spring Glory

 

 

We could continue, but I’ll have to save more of the tour for next week as our day to vacate our home of 41 years looms closer and closer. I’ll try to share some photos of the new abode, a small rock house nearby as we move into it.

Meanwhile, you might want to check out two new additions to my library of Western Historical romance offerings. Montana Promises is now available in audio. The Legend of the Rose, a Novella, is available on my Kindle page. Happy reading and listening.

 

Legend of the Rose

OLD BROAD LEARNS TO DRIVE

Try riding one of these

I began driving a 1936 Dodge car when I was 14. My now husband helped me out with the finer points. The gear shift was on the floor, there was this strange apparatus most young readers won’t know about called a clutch. One had to depress it with the left foot in order to shift gears. There were three gears that went forward, one that went backward and a brake pedal. Fairly simple once one got the hang of it. Learning to back up and manage to head in the right direction was probably the most difficult of the tasks. 

I had many adventures during that time, including once when I asked my dad if I could drive his pickup to the store, about seven or eight blocks away. He smiled, handed me the keys and I was off. I would only learn the reason for that smile of his when I climbed back in the truck, put the key in the ignition, and couldn’t find reverse on the gearshift. It was in an entirely different place because there were four forward gears. My dad thought that was hilarious. I finally found some man walking to his vehicle who could show me where reverse was.

My Custom Conference Ride

Now, fast forward 70 mmmf years. In order to attend Oklahoma Writers Federation, Inc. conference in Oklahoma this past weekend, I rented one of those electric scooters. My legs refuse to carry me around like they once did. The scooter had one wheel in the front, two in the back, with little wheels underneath that kept it from turning over.

Folks, I’m here to tell you those little wheels saved me many a mishap as I tried to drive the scooter. There were no gears, just a lever that you pulled on to go forward and pushed on to go backward. No brake either, it stopped dead when you turned loose of the lever. The first thing I learned was not to panic and squeeze the steering mechanism, which I did a few times. Squeezing caused a runaway scooter. Once I almost ran over Charlotte Smith who was helping me take my posters to my room. I bumped a few things, scraped the rear tires on a few things cutting close corners, and just generally had a whooping good time. I wasn’t the only one whooping, either.

There was also a horn that sounded sort of like those backup beepers on heavy equipment. It managed to scatter the herds once in a while, warning them I was on the warpath.

Just my speed nowadays

I’m a writer, in case some of my readers aren’t yet aware of that. My Western historical fiction only calls for dexterity around specific words pertaining to horseback riding. I’m here to tell you guiding a horse with reins is ten times the easiest. Even stopping said horse is fairly simple, unless, of course one bolts under you.

My horse once mistook a loud groan for whoa and stopped right in the middle of the road. Then, angry with me for being so foolish, she tossed her head and managed to get the bit in her teeth at which time she showed me the opposite of whoa fairly well. But riding that runaway scooter was much more of an adventure than riding a runaway horse, believe me. The next time I rent one, I’m going to practice a lot longer before I take it on the road.

A good time was had by all at this terrific conference. I was able to have several talks with my publisher, Rhonda Penders of The Wild Rose Press, and several of her editors. We had breakfast together Sunday morning before we all headed back home to get to work on our current books.

After the publication of two Western Historical Romances with them, I’m happy to say that I just signed a new contract with The Wild Rose Press for my women’s fiction novel, Once There Were Sad Songs. You’ll hear more about that if you stay tuned over the next few weeks and months.

There’s nothing like a writer’s conference to get the creative juices flowing. Visiting with all my writer friends that I only see once a year was a joy as well. Now I have to get to work writing.

HOARDER…NOT ME

Books I’m Keeping

We’re moving. After 41 years in the same house, we’re downsizing to a smaller house we own on the same property. Moving across a driveway shouldn’t be all that difficult. Right? Turns out it’s as hard as moving cross town or cross country. That is in the preparation stages.

Now, I’m not a hoarder, I swear I’m not, but I do keep things much longer than necessary. My mother did this, so did her mother. Her mother may have been considered a hoarder, but she had good reason. Raising her children during the Great Depression meant she saved things that might be used and reused. That habit carried over to the remainder of her life. Balls of string, bundles of newspapers, magazines, books, all tied, empty Dairy Queen Containers, stuff like that.

So I come by it honestly. My daughter on the other hand, is just the opposite. If she doesn’t use something in a few months to a year, she gets rid of it. Sometimes to her dismay, after she discovers she might have needed it after all.

Guess who is helping me discard all this stuff? Why, my daughter, of course. And she’s rigorous, thorough and finite in her judgments. We’ve boxed and sent to the library over 200 books, both hard and soft cover. Bet I’ve saved almost that many because I convinced her that if they are signed personally to me by the author, they deserve to be kept. She bought that. So books signed by James Lee Burke, Jeffrey Deaver, Jodi Thomas, and Lisa Wingate, to name only a few, are safe.

I have a tee shirt collection from places I’ve been, things I’ve done and people I’ve met. When she held up the shirt I have from the day I flew with the first man in outer space, Joe Kittinger, she said, “Too bad he didn’t sign it.” Yeah, maybe it is, but that shirt ain’t going nowhere. I can be finite too. Another has a photo of the Topaz Man, who posed for some of my book covers with Topaz/Penguin in the 90s. No one touches that baby. So I’m keeping my shirts from OWL, The Wild Rose Press-Cactus Rose, OWFI, and the list goes on. She gave me no grief, just sat and patiently folded them neatly, put them in a drawer separate from those I said I wanted to continue wearing. She’s mortified that some of the shirts are 20 years old.

Oh, dear, the house is filling up with boxes as closet after closet, bookcase after bookcase is emptied and either sent off to be sold or donated or boxed to take to the new house. I’m handling it very well, I think, considering the alternative. We’ll continue to live out here in the country I love so much, rather than in some assisted living place in a crowded town where sounds from cars and  people rattle about in the air in a cacophony of noise.

Here the songs of birds, frogs chirping from the nearby creek, the whisper of leaves in the sycamore tree outside the window, the fragrance of lilacs and magnolia fill the air. Deer walk through the yard, red foxes visit. And I can sit outside on my porch and hear, see and smell them all.

But back to the subject of hoarding. I think some people are simply too lazy to throw stuff away when the house fills up until they can’t move through it. Others do have a disease, I’ll admit. Mine has never done that, but I’ve filled every secret nook and cranny with memorabilia from a long life well lived. And it’s hard to see some of it go. But better now than later when I’d have no control over what is kept to pass down to my children and grandchildren.

What are some of the things you keep because you can’t bear to part with them?

The Legend of the Rose

Not Rose Dunn

How are legends born? Why are we so fascinated with them? There have been umpteen books written about The Rose of Cimarron. She’s identified as Rose Dunn, who was 15 at the time of the Ingalls shootout in Indian Territory in 1894. Even though this has been proven as not only unlikely but blatantly untrue, the tale lives on.

In 1968 Richard Graves wrote in his book, Oklahoma Outlaws, how Rose Dunn was indeed the Rose of Cimarron.

Glenn Shirley perpetuated the legend in his book, Toughest of Them All. Others have followed suit with both fiction and nonfiction books.

All wrote an amazing story of how Rose rescued her sweetheart, Bitter Creek when she saw him caught without a weapon when a fierce battle broke out on that hot September day in Ingalls, Indian Territory. Her daring deeds of lowering herself from the hotel room on sheets, carrying weapons and ammo, then crossing the street while the gallant deputies withheld their fire, have been repeated over the years. Even in the face of interviews with Rose Dunn’s relatives who swore the fifteen-year-old girl was not even in town that day, she continues to be identified as Cimarron Rose.

It’s a fine, romantic story, and it’s easy to see how the legend grew. It actually probably began when The Eagle Film Company developed a script for Oklahoma Outlaws  to be shot in and around the Ingalls area in 1915.

Marshall Bill Tilghman played himself in the famous shootout that saw the Doolin gang pitted against 13 lawmen.  The legend was born to romanticize the movie script. After the film was finished, Tilghman grew weary of reporters continuing to ask questions about the identity of Rose of Cimarron.  He had a female prisoner in his jail pose for a photo and identified her as Rose Dunn, the Cimarron Rose. After the famous lawman’s death, his wife verified that fact.

So who was the Rose of Cimarron? Did she exist at all or was she solely created for a pathetic attempt at a western movie?

It is said that legends almost always have some basis in fact. As a writer of romantic fiction, I’d like to believe that’s true. So I’ve written my version of who Rose was and what happened to her. Why should everyone else have all the fun? Mine is based on a lot of research beyond those things written to perpetuate the romantic version created by the movie and the books that followed. The Legend of the Rose will be released soon to Kindle. It’s a romantic novella rather than a full-length novel and it reveals what I believe happened to Cimarron Rose after she disappeared into history.

 

 

Romance blooms

Spring brings thoughts of romance, and so in keeping with the blooming and greening, I’ve invited a romance author as a guest on my blog this week. I’d like to welcome Katherine Grey, a fellow author at The Wild Rose Press.

At the age of four, Katherine pestered her mother to teach her to read. From that point on, she spent the most of her childhood lost in the pages of one book after another. Soon she began writing stories of her own, populated with characters doing all of the things she was too shy to even contemplate doing herself.

A chance meeting with another author led Katherine to seriously pursue a writing career. Her debut novel, Impetuous, was released by The Wild Rose Press in August 2011. 

Katherine lives in upstate NY with her family though she threatens to move south at the beginning of each winter season.

I don’t blame her. I much prefer warm weather too. Welcome.

Q: Please tell us something about yourself and how you came to be a writer.

A: I once crawled out the bathroom window and dropped off the roof of our second story house in the name of research.  I’ve always loved books and prefer to read than do most anything else. I like words, how some of them sound when you say them aloud. I love how a good book can make the every day world drop away leaving the reader immersed in the writer’s imaginary world. I think because I enjoy reading so much it was just a natural progression to become a writer.

Q: Why did you choose to write romances as opposed to say, mystery or women’s fiction?

A:  I chose to write romance novels because that’s what I enjoy reading the most. I like reading about Happy Ever Afters. I read other genres such as mainstream, mysteries, and urban fantasy. I did try writing a mystery once. I thought I did a good job laying out clues and red herrings but apparently not because my first reader told me she figured out who the killer was after the third chapter. Needless to say, that poor mystery will probably never leave its home on the shelf in my closet.

Q: I see you have three books with The Wild Rose Press. What are some of the ways you market your books and your brand?

A:  I mail out postcards to friends and family announcing new releases. I also mail out promotional items to various conferences and writers who are looking for items to raffle off. I’ve sent bookmarks to a library that was looking for items to put a local writer table. I also try to guest blog on various sites, and use Facebook. Though I have a twitter account, I haven’t figured out how to make it work for me yet.

Q: What are you working on?

A:  I’m currently working on my first contemporary novel with slight paranormal overtones.

Q: Do you plot your stories or do you just get an idea and run with it?

A: I do a bit of both. My plotting consists of one to two sentence paragraphs for each chapter but other than that, I fly by the seat of my pants.

Q: Do you have a method for creating your characters, their names and what do you think makes them believable?

A:  Most of my characters have shown up fully formed, some I model after people I know. As for their names, I have a note book where I write down potential names that I come across in my daily life. Once I was sitting in the doctor’s office and the nurse called in another patient. I loved her name and wrote it down as a name I’d like to use some day. I try to give each character a flaw of some sort, which I think helps ground them in reality and makes them more believable and sympathetic.

Q: What is your creative process like?

A:  I listen to classical music while I’m writing. The music depends on what type of scene I’m writing that day. I jot down lines of dialogue, or snippets of scenes as they come to me throughout the day so that when I can get back to my work in progress, I haven’t lost all those great thoughts. I try to write five days a week because I’ve found if I don’t, I lose the threads of the story and then I struggle to get words on the page.

Q:  Do you think your personal experiences, people you meet, places you go effect your writing and how?

A:  Definitely. I think every writer draws from their personal experiences. I’ve used people I’ve met as inspiration for various characters. Once I was out to dinner with my family when suddenly a man said in a very loud voice to his wife, “What, do you think I’m an idiot?”  That one angry sentence triggered a whole scene right then and there. I furiously started writing the scene down on the paper napkins on the table while my family thought I’d lost my mind. LOL.

Katherine has shared a blurb and a brief excerpt from her book, An Unexpected Gift

Katherine’s latest book

Blurb:

Known only as Lazarus to the band of cutthroats and thieves he leads, William Prescott will do anything to find his missing sister, even blackmail a fragile young woman into helping him. But he never plans to fall in love with this mysterious woman with a troubled past.

Haunted by the memories of war, Olivia St. Germaine wants nothing more than to live a normal life. But when her brother, a doctor, suddenly leaves town without a word, she is forced to use her medical knowledge to help an injured man who puts her life in danger. Can she keep herself safe as she tends Lazarus, or is her heart more vulnerable than she realizes?

Excerpt:

Removing her hat, she crossed to the dressing table and pulled thepins from her hair, letting it tumble down around her shoulders. She massaged her scalp, then ran her fingers through the thick strands.

“Watching you do that could give a bloke ideas.”

Olivia whirled around, her hand pressed against her chest. Her heart stuttered for a moment, then began racing like that of a runaway horse. She reached behind her and grabbed her hairbrush. As a weapon, it was the best she could do. She scanned the shadows for the intruder.

Lazarus lounged in her favorite reading spot, his feet crossed at the ankles while he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair. Situated as it was near the window, his dark clothing blended in with the shadows among deep blue drapery. He watched her over his linked fingers.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

She didn’t answer; the warning she’d received earlier replayed itself in her mind. Fear ran its fingertip down her spine.

“Shall I tell you then?” He stood with slow careful movements, then advanced on her until there was no more than a hair’s breadth between them.

She took a step back and banged into the dressing table, setting the small collection of bottles jangling.

“Afraid?”

Olivia shook her head. “Of course not.”

“You should be.”

Wow, Katherine, that sure leaves us wondering what will happen next. Sounds like a great book. Hope everyone will check it out. Thanks so much for joining me. Send Katherine some comments and questions and we’ll get her back to answer.

Visit her at http://katherinegrey.blogspot.com or on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Katherine-Grey/265375626827267?sk=wall

Check out her books at:

The Wild Rose Press: http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=905&zenid=19ddc2a69255daafde7f9df62f69e86e

Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/An-Unexpected-Gift-ebook/dp/B009Y8APVI/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1362610861&sr=1-1

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-unexpected-gift-katherine-grey/1114371314?ean=2940016394534

A Woman Baseball Player Named Earp

 Mildred Earp made history when she tried out for a big league baseball team back in 1943.

She hurled no-hitters

Until I met her cousins, I had no idea that women played big league baseball, but they did, and tiny “Mid,” as she would soon become known, was one heck of a pitcher. By the way, her name is pronounced Arp, unlike the famous lawman Wyatt. During her career, she shot down the first 21 batters, to win a shutout. She went on to become a stand-out hurler for the Grand Rapids Chicks, going 20-8 with a 0.68 ERA, to set a new league record. She made the All Star team twice during her short career.

Wait, how did women end up playing major league baseball? It’s always thought that women played softball only. It all came about because of World War II. As baseball season approached in 1943, Phillip K. Wrigley received word from the Office of War Information that the 1943 Major League Baseball season might be suspended due to a manpower shortage. Most of our men were overseas fighting in World War II, placing America’s favorite sport in danger.

P.K. Wrigley was a man well known in the sport of baseball. In 1932 he succeeded his father as president of the Chicago Cubs, and of the Wrigley chewing gum company, and continued until his death. Though innovative in many ways, he was responsible for keeping Wrigley Field free of lights.

When notified of the probable suspension of major league baseball games, Wrigley had an idea. He began work on what was to become the All American Girls Professional Baseball League (AAGPBL.) The new “Girls Baseball” was promoted as wholesome family entertainment for war workers. As it turned out, the major league games went on, but the die was cast and women’s baseball was born.

It might seem like a pretty crazy idea, but it worked. The gals who were recruited were tough and hard working. It wasn’t long before people in the mid-west were following these teams with avid excitement. During the scant ten years the sport lasted, some of the most talented women in the male-oriented sport of baseball were featured.

This tiny bit of dynamite then known as Millie attended school in West Fork, Arkansas, where she was a natural athlete, taking part in all sports. At the time all the small towns had men’s baseball teams, and she played on the men’s team. She attended the University of Arkansas and majored in physical education and biological sciences. Then she heard about the AAGPBL holding tryouts for the women’s league baseball team, and journeyed to Springfield, Missouri to take part. She was immediately snapped up by the Grand Rapids Chicks. She would soon make a name for herself. Not content to set records, she would then break them.

The team’s all here

Mid continued as an outstanding pitcher against teams with names such as Fort Wayne Daisies, South Bend Blue Sox, Racine Bells and Rockford Peaches — movie-goers will recognize this team as the one featured in the film A League of Her Own.

In spite of this tough sport, women who played baseball in the league attended charm school and wore short skirts to play. When they traveled they had chaperones and curfews. Millie’s contract allowed for expenses such as the Pullman ticket for train travel, meals on the road, and room and board in cities other than that of her home team.

A newsletter advised the girls how to be popular and contained beauty kit recommendations. Girls were taught a morning and night beauty routine, a physical fitness regime and how to deal with the public. Certain styles of clothing were advised while they were on the road. A dark suit, blouses that were easily laundered, skirts, blouses and sweaters, sports jackets and sport coats, plus a dress or two for social functions. Slacks were not permitted for street wear, but depending upon other recreation and sports activities, the girls could include shorts or sportswear for tennis, golfing togs, swim suit, etc.”

In the league, women were paid weekly from $40 to $80 and as high as $125 per/week in later years. Millie’s first contract read that she would receive $50 per week, plus $50 for each week. That was good money for a time when jobs for women were pretty restricted.

Over the ten years of the league’s existence, women’s rules evolved to match regulation baseball. Balls shrank from softball to baseball size, the pitcher’s mound and base paths were lengthened, and pitchers started throwing overhand. The Chicks played the game with enthusiasm and local fans in Grand Rapids responded accordingly. Once, a crowd of 10,000 turned out for a championship game. Always a strong team, the Grand Rapids women won league championships in 1947 and 1953 and made the playoffs every year of their existence.

Eighty-eight of the women who took part in this program are recognized in the Cooperstown Baseball Hall of Fame. The tiny pitcher from Arkansas, Mildred Earp is one of them.

The women’s league was short lived, but while it existed these tough women made history.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Feed Him Grass and Weeds

http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/ by Natara

When we were a young married couple, me 17, hubby 19, which was several eons ago, we pulled jokes on each other so much that we made April Fool’s day look like just another day. The best one I can remember pulling so surprised my husband that his face had this priceless expression I can only describe as “like he’d been goosed by a ghost.”

I was fixing dinner, and for those not of the southern mind, that’s served at noon around here. It was April 1, so what could I do? Salt in the sugar had been overdone. Besides he’d be on the alert. Staring out the window at the spring grasses just showing through the warming earth, it hit me. I grabbed a pretty casserole dish, ran outside, filled it with grass and weeds, anything green I could find. Back in the kitchen I put the lid on and slid it into the oven, without turning it on, of course.

Regular dinner preparations continued, but I kept those pots on the stove. When he came in to eat, I grabbed a pot holder, took the casserole of grass and weeds from the oven, set it on the table on a hot plate and sat down at my plate.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” I told him as I removed the lid.

“I’m hungry. What’d you fix?”

“It’s something new. I know you’ll like it.”

His gaze drifted to the casserole of grass and weeds, his eyes bugged, his mouth dropped open and I can only say that his eyebrows hid out in his hair somewhere.

“Try it, you’ll like it,” I said, laughing so hard by now he knew he’d been had.

We hadn’t been married very long, and he was still being surprised by some of the things I did. But I’d been the brunt of his practical jokes for so long and I had finally got one on him.

What’s the best April Fool’s joke you’ve pulled or had pulled on you?

The Process of Writing

Characters in my head

My daughter is a pre-school teacher, and yes they do teach. She once told me that children of that age are more interested in and enjoy the process more than the outcome, solution, results. Take your pick. As a writer, I gave that a lot of thought, and it finally occurred to me that we serious writers are the same.

We don’t consider income, success, acceptance of other writers. We enjoy the process. We toil and labor and love what we do, first, last and always. Anyone who goes into writing with the dream of getting rich, becoming famous, mingling with best selling authors, is on the wrong track. In most cases those people never produce anything worthwhile. Oh, I can hear the shouts now. Sorry. I’ve been in this business nearly thirty years, and I’ve yet to meet someone with those dreams who got anywhere in the field.

After three long, difficult novels, written over a few years, I still hadn’t thought anything

Day and Night the process goes on

about money or fame … or publication. I was writing because I loved it. It loved me. The voices wouldn’t shut up long enough for me to sleep. Since those first few years, I’ve conquered that. Older we get, more sleep we need.

Joining a couple of writer’s groups, one that was actually a critique group, started me to think about publication. But only vaguely. I wrote short stories, produced a weekly historical column for a newspaper plus writing features for another. My first published work was on the front page of a weekly newspaper, complete with my photograph of the subject matter. That felt good, sure, but it was the writing I enjoyed. Couldn’t believe I was being paid for something I liked doing so well.

But in all those years writing fiction was my first love and my most incredible enjoyment. Getting lost in the story with my characters brought me more joy than any other type of writing.

Process, process, process. Of course, once that first book was accepted and published I was ecstatic. I’d be lying to say different.

But when a published writer once told me that she never would waste her time writing a book

What do you know? A book

until it was contracted, my mouth dropped open and I was speechless. I wrote to write, and I still do. Oh, it’s great, if some publisher out there wants what I’ve written, and more and more over the years, that’s been the case, but it’s the process not the results that keep me going as a writer. And it probably always will.

What’s most important to you? The process or the results?

Victoria, a Queen or a Saint?

Victoria, TX

As a writer, you would think I could knock off a blog, no sweat. Sorry to break the news. The shorter the tale, the more trouble I have telling it. I can sit down with complete confidence to begin a novel knowing I can easily write around 100,000 words, no sweat. But tell me to write short, and I feel like I’ve hit a brick wall.

For 20 years I interviewed people about their family tales and wrote about them in a weekly newspaper column that for a time filled an entire page including photos. My readers were happy and so was I, but be darned if I can seem to continue that now that my work is mostly novels. Granted the novels are historical and research is a big part of the writing. And you would think I could equate that research to the interviews I once conducted. Perhaps I learn so much it can’t be compacted.

When I decided to write the Victorian series, it was because we happened to stop in a small town in Kansas while traveling, learned its history, and I was hooked. It would take three books to tell the stories I wanted to tell about the people who emigrated, lived, worked, and played in Victoria, Kansas. As with my newspaper columns, my stories are about people, not facts, figures, and dates.

You can imagine my delight when, while traveling in Texas after I began the Kansas series, we drove into a town called Victoria. Unlike the one in Kansas, where little remains of the Victorians who settled there, in Texas the churches and homes stand proud and well kept. But surprise, surprise, Victoria, Texas was not settled by the English nor was it named for Queen Victoria, but rather it was settled by the Spanish, is older by at least 50 years and was originally named Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe de Victoria after Our Lady of Guadalupe. Hmmm, definite possibilities for many varied stories. I must see that the third book in the Kansas series somehow moves my characters to Texas, so I can begin more interviews with people who lived that history.

For those interested in the latest on Facebook,  and ways to best utilize our pages to reach more readers, check out this links from Kim Garst.  

Be sure to check out Wilda’s Outlaw, the first of The Victorian Series. Rowena’s Lord is being written and Tyra’s Cowboy is in the thinking stages. All will be available in both Ebooks and print.