I was able to participate in a blog tour with three other Champagne Authors that was new and exciting to me and I was able to make my way to the North American Indian Days Pow Wow in Browning, Montana for some research on my next project in July. The transmission in my truck blew and, thank goodness, there was a Chevy dealership in Cut Bank that was able to get me on the road again without any real loss of time.
Sometimes a person looks back on a time period and rather than being awestruck by all the successes, has the feeling of being plopped in a blender and turn on "high." There was much to be thankful for, including the birth of my twin Grand daughters in January and the joy that came with them. My book, "Hollow Point" was released during that time and became my fourth published book.
I was able to participate in a blog tour with three other Champagne Authors that was new and exciting to me and I was able to make my way to the North American Indian Days Pow Wow in Browning, Montana for some research on my next project in July. The transmission in my truck blew and, thank goodness, there was a Chevy dealership in Cut Bank that was able to get me on the road again without any real loss of time.
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I lost my beloved Mother two weeks ago today. It was unexpected and I'm still trying to wrap the loss around my head. The one thing I've come to realize is how much she and my Grand Dad Hamblen shaped my story telling abilities. I remember sitting around campfires or Coleman lanterns as a child listening to stories concocted by bits of truth and a degree of embellishment. It was usually side-splitting and made for a hard time in getting to sleep.
To this day I'll remember something one of them said and adapt it to a part of a manuscript. It is part of the joy in writing for me. I can certainly appreciate the storytellers through the generations of tribes. If they were anything like mine, much enjoyment was experienced by old and young alike. I can only surmise that the Creator's campfire is full of love and laughter these days. I look forward to the time we are all reunited. I don't know whether it's more exciting to envision sales climbing or to see how many readers like the material that they've read. A writer doesn't usually get rich, but the trade-off is in the satisfaction knowing people like the story. I think Hollow Point runs along those lines. We have one author in our publishing house whose Civil War era book is being crafted into a movie and will be out shortly. Yet another reason for motivation and excitement. It really can happen!
It's near Thanksgiving and as usual my birthday just occurred as well. I'm thankful for my readers and for the gifts I have been given to connect with people far and wide. Even though "whirled peas" would be nice, I'd settle for the stars to shine brightly over Hollow Point and set a few imaginations on fire! Happy Thanksgiving! What happens when a persistent ancient rumor whispered by the old for years becomes the only thing that makes sense in a series of odd occurrences that become evident chasing a cop murderer escaping from the Pikuni Reservation. Was there really a portal to walk over between the living and the dead...and back? Were there Blackfeet living in the wilderness from the past that crossed back over?
The two trackers following the killer would have their lives changed forever if they made it back to the living. This month could not be over soon enough. The entire clan has been broad-sided with one malady or another and there has been neither time to write or to keep up with the blogs. Apologies to my followers.
For the moment things are back down to a dull roar. What little time I've had to consider the new work in progress has changed course and might lean more toward the supernatural sway. I'll probably even change the title a bit (okay...a lot). What I'd really like is to have a space in time to jot down the basic story before I fill it out. I'm hoping November will be allow me to do that without the disasters and distractions. More research will be on the menu, for sure, but the general idea is rattling around in my head now. The Backbone of the World holds secrets that are only whispered in the trees and heard by select shaman. It's about that time of the year again where creatures great and small are gearing up for the coming winter. If you own a horse you've already noticed. In my case, I've noticed the squirrels in the back yard running around looking like they've all got a bad case of the mumps, but in reality their cheeks are full of goodies to be carried back to their chosen place of refuge for the foul weather months.
The mornings have been beautiful around here lately, but carry a bit of a bite. Lily the Terrorist doesn't dawdle when finding a bush to bless lately. She's a short-hair so her blood hasn't thickened up yet. I remember all of the adventures in high school concerning hunting season and cattle driving. The cows and horses generated a fog over themselves from breathing and eventually sweating. I usually felt a little sorry for the cows that had to be dipped before being loaded onto the truck for the ride back to the ranch. Sitting on a horse on the treeless Salmon River Breaks in the early morning was mind numbing. Gutting a deer was a nice respite until you had to pull your wet hands out and subject them back to the cold wind. It didn't help that my fingers had been frost-bitten on a sledding trip. Sometimes they just quit working in the cold and trying to get them warmed up was an exercise in sheer pain when the feeling started to come back. Placing frozen hands into naked armpits was torturous, but warm water immersion was a death wish. Maybe that's why I never got excited about skiing. The more I think about it the better I like the idea of being wrapped in a buffalo skin and sit warmly by my computer. I don't have one, but the thought is comforting. The other option is to curl up like a big bear and hibernate until the Spring. Each to their own comforts, I suppose. Part of my book, "Hollow Point" is derived from a legend the Suquamish told for generations. I didn't understand the significance of the double-headed eagle until I started digging for facts and origins. I named this character Old Man the same as Chief Sealth, who resided in Old Man House, a very large shelter where several families lived more than a century ago.
The double-headed eagle signified an earthquake and in the Suquamish story, separated what is now Bainbridge Island from the Kitsap mainland after the eagle and a great monster plowed a trench in an epic battle the eagle eventually won. The eagle lives on in lore still. This is but one of the oddities that the Tribal Officer adopts in his state of grief to assist in his fight against evil. He quits worrying about his own sanity when the tide begins to change and his ragtag crew embraces him as their project. I've seen plenty of bison in my life. One of my family's favorite things to do is to feed them bread at a Game Farm about an hour from my house. Those long, slimy tongues leave a distinct tongue print on your vehicle and windows. It is expected.
What wasn't expected on my Montana trip was a large herd of buffalo on the roadside! I didn't realize that raising bison was a going concern on the Blackfeet Rez, not to mention the National Bison Preserve is located fairly close by. I suppose the thing that shocked me was their numbers and each of them had an ear tag like cattle do. It's one thing to see one of these animals next to your rig, but imagining hunting them from a running herd en masse was an eye opener. Sure, times have changed, but I doubt the basic draw of the hunt hasn't. A hunter, his horse and a bow against a huge animal with horns. He didn't have the luxury of sitting in a steel chariot. If all I had was a horse and bow there'd be much more than buffalo chips spread across the Great Plains! It all told me that these were a sturdy people. It's no wonder they were feared by other tribes. Contrasts in weather this time of year are remarkable. I drove across three states six weeks ago with temperatures above one hundred degrees. It was uncomfortable at rest stops, but tolerable with the air conditioning in the new truck. My youngest daughter's wedding happened on the hottest day of the year in Seattle three weeks ago. Then one morning about a week or so ago I stepped onto the back deck with Lily the Terrorist and the climate change slid in overnight. Autumn was in the air almost whisper-like.
As the years have passed, I've begun to notice seasonal changes with more awareness than when I was a young buck. Now there are other warning signs that assist in that evaluation, mostly having to do with aching joints. I'm pretty sure that tribes had a much keener awareness of this process because they lived out in it year-round. It became a natural sense and they followed the food sources according to those seasons just like it was second nature. I ran into an Inuit friend the other day and this particular subject came up. He used to live in the far North. I asked him how the seasonal changes impacted his village. "It was pretty simple. We'd get in the truck and drive to the grocery store down the road just like everyone else." One of these days I swear I'll learn. I'm sure that sometime in your lives you've approached the summit of a fair-sized hill or mountain only to find that you were approaching a false summit. Hikers and backpackers know what I'm talking about. It adds hours to a hike and is totally disheartening after all the effort spent to get this far.
I've had that feeling recently after I was underway on a new story and "BLAM" Wrong Summit! Not only was it the wrong summit, I think it was on a whole different mountain range somewhere in the Appalachians. Now I have to travel all the way back to the first step and start at the trail head once more. Now I've got to find The Backbone Of The World again and get the lower end of my backbone booted and realigned. Finally getting reliable information was a big plus. I just wish I had done it earlier in the year. I guess you live and learn and bring better maps! |
AuthorMy paternal Great Grandfather was full-blood Cherokee and his wife was full-blood Kickapoo. The rest of me is a Euro-mix. Archives
August 2015
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