No not the magic kind with wings and a wand but the kind that takes you across the river. In our days of spending the summers on the road, living in a bunkhouse as we accompanied my father on his work, we encountered ferries.  At this time, bridges didn’t cross the river at every town but there were cable ferries. Similar to this one from the site http://www.rta.nsw.gov.au/cgi-bin/index.cgi?action=heritage.show&id=4300311 (There is more information on how these ferries work on this igreat site)

The first time I rode on one (Okay many times when I rode on one) I was scared. We sat right down on the water while the ferry was pulled across by a cable.  But I remember lots of things associated with the river crossings.

Like the ferry men who lived nearby one. When you needed to cross, you rang a bell. One such man, Mr. O, lived in his little cabin year round with only his dog to keep him company. Being young and naive, I was truly impressed with this dog. He could TALK. That’s what Mr. O said. We would troop down the hill to have tea with him. The dog had his own chair and sat up to the table just like another kid. Then Mr. O would turn to the dog and ask him to say grace. We would bow our heads (while peaking out from half closed eyes to see what would happen.) The dog prayed. He mumbled a little so I couldn’t catch the words but nevertheless…. Okay, I probably knew it was a trick. Or maybe not. Maybe…just maybe…my mom had to explain it to me. (I was very young. LOL) I often wonder about Mr. O. I know he is long gone. But did he enjoy his life? Was he lonely? Was the dog adequate company? And yes, the dog who prayed has made it into my stories.

I’ve been sharing stories of what it was like to live an almost pioneer life when I was a child. Thinking about it brings back many memories. One day the three of us, myself and my two brothers, were wandering across the prairie and came upon a stream with a bridge over. I can’t remember where it was, how wide, nor whether the bridge was a foot bridge or meant for cars as well. But I do remember the fish. I know now they were minnows–little flashes of silver dashing through the water.

We rushed back to the bunkhouse and told Mom we wanted to go fishing.

Eagerly we waited while she fixed us each a fishing rod. She used a green switch from a tree, a length of string and a bent pin. Wow. We had never had fishing rods before and we ran back to the stream to catch fish. I guess we were pretty gullible or my mother pretty smart.

No way could we catch fish with that fishing rod. First, every time the minnows saw our shadow or anything flick across the water, the flashed away like falling rain drops. And then there was the hook. A ben pin is almost as big as a minnow. We were very young so it took us a few minutes to realize there was something wrong with that picture and decided to abandon fishing for chasing. We didn’t have much luck trying to catch them with our hands either but we discovered they liked to hide under the bridge in the cool shadows and by hanging over the side, we could send them swimming from one side to the other. It was as much fun as fishing.

Beside we concluded the minnows were too small to make much of a dinner anyway. Oh the innocence of childhood.

As kids, each summer, we lived a life free of restrictions. My Dad worked grading roads and was away from home all week so my mom packed up 3 or 4 kids (depending on when the older kids left home), and sometimes, neighboring kids who accompanied us. We joined my dad ‘on the road’. Sounds pretty much like camping, doesn’t it? Only we living in a wooden bunkhouse like these.

It was, to say the least, primitive. My mother didn’t even have a stove, just a two burner camp stove and a Dutch oven that she could bake things in. We carried water from near by farms. But for kids, it was ideal. We could run all day and still be in sight of the bunkhouse. We learned that you can’t step on cactus in canvas tennis shoes and not have to pick out the sharp thorns. We learned to watch gophers and hawks and observe baby birds. We captured garter snakes. I shudder at the idea now.

We returned to town Saturday about noon. My mother would have to do the laundry, look after a huge garden (a lot on either side of the house), get groceries, stock up on books at the library, prepare whatever she needed for the next week, go to church and again be out at camp Sunday night. Yeah. It must have been a lot of fun for her. Not really.

One of the things we enjoyed–as did she, I expect–was bringing back flowers and bugs for her to draw. Roses like this, black eyed Susans, butterflies, blue bells, etc. After she passed away, we shared her pictures among us and I think we all have framed them and hung them somewhere we can enjoy them.

I lived like a pioneer even though it wasn’t the 1800s. It’s given me a first-hand taste of the life. I hope my experience enables me to give my historic stories a real sense of having been there.

Technorati Tags: pioneer life,camping,prairies,childhood,writing stories.

I am well equipped in some ways to write historical. No. It’s not because I am a relic. It’s because I grew up with a rich history.

I grew up in a very dry area known as the Special Areas of eastern Alberta. It was settled in the early 1900s. The towns thrived. Towns that are now, for the most part, ghost towns, had 35 or more thriving businesses. Many had a weekly newspaper, a movie theater and were busy, busy.

Then the dirty 30s hit. Many parts of the country suffered from the Depression and unemployment but the area in eastern Alberta suffered extreme drought. Many packed up and moved away leaving empty houses. Years later, we still find cellar holes and evidence of the people who once lived there—rusted bed springs, the fabric and stuffing no doubt carried off by either the wind or wild animals who used it to line their own beds. Tin cans that looked to have been opened with a pocket knife. Broken lanterns. Broken dreams.

Eventually the government took over the unpaid mortgages and abandoned farms and allowed people to take possession for the cost of back taxes. My father-in-law got his farm that way and worked off the taxes by driving school bus.

My own father worked for the Special Areas. That’s similar to a county except it is under the provincial government. He drove a grader and built and maintained roads.

He taught us local history, showed us how to spot teepee circles, medicine wheels and Indian artifacts.  Here’s an Indian hammer head and an arrowhead collection that my husband has found on the wind swept fields.

We also learned to spot fossils.

I loved exploring the empty cellars, wandering around a bunch of rocks that indicated teepees had once stood there. My imagination would conjure up the people who inhabited those now empty places. Of course, I did not realize then how I was stocking my brain to create works of fiction. If I had, I’m sure I would have paid closer attention.

Living on a farm means we always have cats around. They keep the mice down. However, my granddaughter, who loves cats, can’t have one. So I gave her one of her own.

She was a cute, fluffy thing. Henceforth known as Fluffy. And yes a she.

A year later she had 3 lovely gray kittens.

The granddaughter was thrilled. The grandparents less so. Especially seeing they were all female. We negotiated. She could keep one kitten and the mommy. So this spring we have two batches of kittens. Four in each. That makes 8 more cats. So far I have two spoken for. The two mother cats share the kittens.

Here only one cat is tending them but usually they both do.

 

Anyone want a kitten? They are very cute.

Are you wondering how cats are like a story? Let me tell you.

Stories begin with an idea. Like we began with one cat. The idea grows and develops. It breeds other ideas until eventually a full-blown story is developed. Hopefully it will be as cute or appealing (or something positive) as these babies. A story requires care and feeding. And I count on one idea birthing another.

Thankfully there are also differences that I appreciate.  I send the stories away. But then I hope to send some of these kittens away too.

Takers?

It’s May. Spring. Right. Well not so much. We’ve had days of biting cold, winds that would knock a moose off its feet and snow. Snow. Snow. Where, we ask, is this global warning we hear so much about. (Turns out they are now calling it climate change. Thanks. I want the warming. Especially in May.) Seems there’s nothing quite so uncertain as the weather. You can count of it.  I’m tired of the kind of scenery in the first picture. I want scenes like the second picture.

Writing has untold numbers of uncertainties too. Will the editor like my last story? (Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.)Will she reject it or ask for major revisions? (Too often yes though the end result is worth it.) Will I make enough money to justify the amount of time I invest or should I go flip burgers at Wendy’s? (Hmm. Not sure.) Can I plot a story from these ideas I have? (Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.) Will I find time to write today? This week? (Only if I make it a priority.)

I cling to one certainty. God’s love. It never changes, wans or grows distant. ‘Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.’ (Hebrews 13:8) When I focus on that fact my uncertainties seem less important.

I hope you all have that certainty in your life.

Barak Obama’s battle cry, ‘Yes, we can,’ has touched the world in many ways. I hear people adding it to their campaigns whether personal or political.  For instance, Ben & Jerry’s newest ice cream? Yes Pecan. (from http://www2.macleans.ca/2009/05/02/yes-he-can-borrow/)

So I thought I would jump on the band wagon.

Yes, I can.

I can learn all the ins and outs of my new computer and it’s programs. I can figure out how to get back my lost programs (with the help of someone much smarter about computers than I but it will get done.) I can learn how to download pictures from my camera and then send them on email or post on this blog. However, I might not figure it out for this particular blog.

Yes, I can… enjoy summer while coping with all the extra work it brings–garden, travel, company. etc.

I can figure out my current story. Someone asked me this week if I had a formula. Don’t I wish I could just follow a formula, do A, B, C and then D follows automatically. However,  I find every story comes to me differently and develops differently so I can’t write a story based on what worked last time. Each story presents its own challenges and problems. Knowing that, I have to work through the process of creating a story, discovering characters, blending a whole lot of ideas into a structure. Sometimes I have to bleed from the ears to make it work. It doesn’t always come together. I have to accept that part of the process is failure. But when it does come together in a satisfying story, I am glad I persevered.

Yes, I can.

But no, I can’t get my pictures sorted out to put on in this post. Sorry.

Hello.

Yes, I’ve been missing. Blame my computer. No, really. It got so I couldn’t do anything and it would freeze up. So I am now on a temporary unit while I go through the process of getting a new one. What a pain, trying to make sure I have all my files only to start work, find one important template missing and have to go looking for it. My farm accounting files are gone (temporarily, I hope.). But it provides me with a great excuse to not do the books. Yahoo. Oh wait. I’ll just have more to do when I get a program going. Not so good. I also have lost (again, only temporarily, I hope) a couple of writing programs, a text to speech program and a character development program.  But I am able to work and that’s what counts most.

I also got my copies of The Prairie Romance Collection with 12 complete stories in it. I am one of the featured 12 authors. I’m looking forward to reading all the stories. Watch for this and pick it up. It’s a real collector’s item.

Goodbye.

Yes, I am off on a trip to see my daughter and family in Colorado. I’ll spend Mother’s Day with them. Isn’t that special? We’ll do some siteseeing and I’ll spend time with the grandkids.

To all mothers–enjoy the day. To all children–make your mom feel special.

A fellow Love Inspired Historical author shared her thoughts on this topic and it got me to thinking what I would say were the 5 best moments in my life as a writer. (Check her blog here:

http://prairiechickswriteromance.blogspot.com/2009/04/victoria-bylins-five-best-moments-as.html

It was fun thinking of these. I had no trouble thinking of 10. In no particular order…

1. A workshop where I learn something new, or am challenged to be better at what I know. Case in point, a recent workshop at the RWA chapter in Calgary with speaker, Mary Balogh, where I was was inspired by her talk about putting passion into our writing. Thank you, Mary.

 2. Another favorite writing moment is when I discover the heart of my story. Ah ha, I say. So that’s what it’s all about. After days, weeks, months of agony, I get it. I have something more than this.

 3. I finish a first draft. I am wrung out, ready for a break but rejoicing it is done. Or at least ready for further work.

4. I’ve sent something away to my editor. It’s at the courier. The first stop after that is to the florist where I buy myself a bouquet like this.

 5. Signing a contract. What can I say? It’s great to know that a few more stories have been approved and I have work for a few more months.

6. Finding characters who come alive and tell me what they want and why that makes it impossible to fall in love with the hero or heroine I’ve found for them. Of course I am going to prove they are wrong in thinking that. They will end up together after all.

7. One of the best things about writing is my writer friends. I have two special CPs (critique partners) that I can reach out to via email or telephone. There are lots more friends all over that I appreciate so much.

8. A good writing day. I try to have a Super Tuesday when I concentrate on writing all day.  It’s great to see the pages add up.

 9. Seeing my book cover. Especially if it is a good one.

10. Getting my my first hot-off-the press copies via courier. A boxful arrives on my doorstep. I love it.

That’s it. I could go on but this is enough for you to see how much I like my job. (Except for the days I don’t because none of the above are happening.)

I hope you all enjoy your job too. You do, right?

Sara Mill’s husband died of a heart attack on Tuesday — he was 40 and leaves this young woman alone with 3 children.  She will now have her heart set on other things besides her book so her writing associates are undertaking to promote her book for her. Read her interview and then consider buying her book.

The thought of a hard-boiled female detective got my mind whirling.

I paused the movie and sat in my darkened living room thinking about how much fun a female Sam Spade could be. Intrigued but not yet ready to dash to my computer, I changed disks and put on Casablanca (my all time favorite movie ever). The sweeping love story, a tale full of hard choices and sacrifice was what finally made the whole idea click in my mind. If I could just combine the P.I. detective story of the Maltese Falcon with the love story from Casablanca, and make Sam Spade more of a Samantha, I could have the best of all worlds.

These books are so good, I wish I’d written them. How did you set the stage to capture that gritty PI feel without being dark?

I find that a lot of PI stories are gritty and dark, focusing on the worst of the humanity, and while I wanted the Allie Fortune mysteries to be exciting and tension-filled I didn’t want them to be stark and hopeless.

One of the things I tried to do to counteract the darkness was to give Allie a multi-layered life. She has cases, relationships, friends and family, all of which I hope combine to make the stories textured, rich and full of life.

Allie is a character I’d love to have coffee with. What did she teach you while you wrote these books?

Allie was a great character to write. One of the things I learned from her was that human relationships (man/woman, mother/daughter, friends) are complicated and full of unspoken rules and expectations. Allie is a rule-breaker at heart and it complicates her life on a regular basis. One of the storylines I loved most is Allie’s relationship with her mother and how it grows and changes and how it’s shaped her.

Another dimension of Allie’s character that really taught me a lot was her willingness to do whatever was needed to help those she loves. There is no price on that kind of friendship and it’s a characteristic I’d like to see more of in myself. Okay I admit it, I’ve got a bit of a friend-crush on Allie. LOL.

One last question: If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would that be and who would you take with you?

If I could go anywhere right now I’d head to Monterey, California (I’m writing a book set there right now) and I’d plant myself on the beach with a notebook, writing my story as the waves crashed. Sounds like my idea of heaven on earth. There’s something about the wind-shaped Cypress trees and the crash of the surf in Monterey that calls to me. I don’t know why, it just is.

Miss Fortune, Allie Fortune Mystery Series #1By Sara Mills / Moody PublishersIn 1947 Allie Fortune is the only female private investigator in New York City, but she’s kept awake at night by a mystery of her own: her fianci disappeared in the war and no one knows if he’s still alive. Until Allie finds out, she will have no peace. When there’s a knock on her office door at four in the morning, Allie suspects trouble as usual, and Mary Gordon is no exception. Mary claims someone is following her, that her apartment has been ransacked, and that she’s been shot at, but she has no idea why any of this is happening. Allie takes the case, and in the process discovers an international mystery that puts her own life in danger.Meanwhile, the FBI is working the case as well, and she is partnered up with an attractive, single agent who would be perfect for her under other circumstances-if only she knew whether her fianci was still alive.