Where is my librarian?

 

Not long ago I read a novel titled, The Personal Librarian by Marie Benedict, about a woman of color, who was “passing” and was the personal librarian to J. P. Morgan. Well, my library may not be as extensive as Morgan’s nor as full of rare editions, but tonight I feel like I need a personal librarian.

Jacob made three trips from the house to the cottage this morning to bring me big, heavy boxes (plus another trip with a case of tuna—but that’s another story). I was expecting twelve copies of the new mystery, Finding Florence, but I was unprepared for twenty copies each of reprints of three of my novels about women of the nineteenth-century American West. I knew they were coming, but the new editor at that publisher has been non-communicative, so I had no idea when to expect them. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve proofread all three books. But here they are, handsome paperback editions of Mattie, Cherokee Rose, and Sundance, Butch, and Me. All originally published in the 1990s.

Mattie is the first adult novel I attempted, and I’m pleased to say it won a Spur Award from Western Writers of America as the best novel of the year. One male WWA member protested, “But that’s always been a men’s action category!” The novel is loosely based on the life of Dr. Georgia Arbuckle Fix, pioneer woman physician who rode the plains of western Nebraska to treat patients, though I admit the background I gave fictional Mattie is purely of my imagination. But as authors often do, I worked some of my own life situations into the plot. It is the best-selling book I ever wrote, and I am delighted to see it have new life.

Cherokee Rose is loosely based on the life of cowgirl Lucille Mulhall. Tommy Jo Burns knew she was destined for greatness. Raised on an Oklahoma ranch where her father taught her to rope and ride, at fourteen she so impressed President Teddy Roosevelt that he dubbed her America's first cowgirl. Filled with dreams of joining a Wild West show, she left her parents to create her own family of friends on the road with Colonel Zack Miller's 101 Ranch Show. It was a new and exciting life, so she took a new name: Cherokee Rose. But it didn’t all go as she expected, especially the romance part.

And who among us didn’t see the movie, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford (good heavens! Who needs to say anything more?). The movie resonated with me long after I saw it, immersed as I was in studies of women in the nineteenth-century American West, and I always longed to tell the story from Etta Place’s point of view. Once again, I made up a background for Etta, a brutal one in East Texas, but got her to the San Antonio brothel where history and/or folklore tells us she met the Sundance Kid. But note the title: it’s meant to subtly suggest there was a different but important current between Etta and Butch Cassidy, one of the kindest bandits you’llv ever meet. I am to this day enthralled by the story and delighted to see it back in print.

And of course, there were copies of Finding Florence, which may just have my all-time favorite book jacket face.

So I unpacked all these books. I know that copies of Finding Florence go to my children, the beta readers, the designer, and the two people who have responded to my freebie offer on my newsletter. But what to do with the others? My bookshelves are full. Do I need to add a lean-to to the cottage just for books? There’s no space for that. When I asked Jordan what I should do, she shrugged and said, “I have no idea.” Thank you, Jordan. Mary Dulle, the friend who helps me with my bookshelves, is out of town for two weeks. I am hoping that if Jordan looks at the overflowing coffee table long enough she’ll decide to do something about it. Unfortunately, patience is not my long suit.

And that reminds me: there’s a new issue of my newsletter out this week, with an offer for free copies of Saving Irene, the first Irene in Chicago Culinary Mystery. If you’d like to sign up, please email me at judyltr@gmail.com

Now I’m going to figure out how to take a picture of all four books, without the stacks piled high. I’ve paraded the Finding Florence cover for a while, and I still think it may be my forever favorite. But these reprint covers are low-key, classy, and appealing.

I hope you all want to read a lot in this hot and dry summer. I read where a friend in Montana said finally the rains had stopped. Does she know what that did to my dry soul in this drought?

But this is where we eat dinner most nights.
What can I do with all these books?

Mostly a good day

 

If you’ve lived in Texas long at all, you know the weather cannot make up its mind. Today was one of those days, supposed to be sunny and dry, a nice contrast to all the soggy days we’ve had. But then, about nine, Dan the PT man was here, and we were both riveted by the TV which showed a great green glob to the west of us—headed straight for Fort Worth and predicted to be here about 9:45.

Sure enough, the sky, which had been bright blue, darkened, and I waited. But other than a few drops, nothing happened. I think the storms were all to the south of us. I did warn happy hour guests that the patio might not be inviting, but by five o’clock, it was sunny and pleasant. There is no figuring out Texas weather. Right now, the sky to the northwest, which I can barely see over the housetop, is a wonderful warm peach.

But with gratitude for the sunny weather, I got to thinking what a good day it was. I had some encouraging medical reports—at least to my laymen’s eye they were encouraging. I’ll talk to the doctor tomorrow, but the indicators of my kidney health seemed in line. And clinically, my legs and feet are less swollen—still puffy, but not so much so that I am aware of them all the time. The PT nurse said she thought they were markedly improved since she first saw me a couple of weeks ago. And I felt good all day, something that hasn’t always been true of late.

But the big news is that today was launch day for the reprints of two of my 1990s historical novels—Libbie (Elizabeth Bacon Custer) and Jessie (Jessie Benton Frémont). They have been available in digital forms, but now they appear, from a new publisher, with new covers, in trade paper, mass market paper, and digital formats. To me, it’s a great compliment that the publisher (TwoDot, a division of Globe Pequot, which is a division or Rowman and Littlefield, or the other way around) thought them worthy of reprint after twenty-five years or so. It’s like welcoming back two old friends, whose life stories I know well. And to my further joy, the publisher is putting some marketing behind them, as am I.

The other nice news is that cowboy poet/singer/entertainer Red Steagall gave me a wonderful blurb for my book due in September, The Most Land, The Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas. The publisher, TwoDot again, wanted a second blurb, so today I asked Deborah Liles, history professor at Tarleton State University with a special interest in Texas ranches, and she readily agreed to blurb the book. I’ve become aware lately that she’s someone I’d like to know—we have a lot of interests and friends in common.

Good friends Phil and Subie came for happy hour tonight, and for some reason I turned cranky. So mad at myself now. I could feel it happening, but I seemed unable to stop it. We talked local politics, and while we are mostly on the same page, we disagreed about whether or not something was dirty campaigning.

Then on to a discussion of my need to renew my handicap tag and get an official I.D. since I no longer have a driver’s license—and I think I’m the one who brought it up. But it didn’t go well. After they left, I double checked to be sure what I had learned was true—I can take care of both pieces of business at the Southwest subcouthouse. But those errands have become a sensitive subject, as had my forthcoming dental appointment, and I would so love to have it all behind me. I don’t think Jordan would want me to do any of those things alone, because of the difficulty of getting in and out of the car and her conviction that someone will mug me while I’m dealing with my walker. But scheduling them cuts into her work time, now that the world is open again, so it’s a frustrating matter for both of us.

But I am truly sorry I let all that get to me with guests, no matter that they are friends of some fifty years and no doubt love us in spite of our warts and ill-tempered moments.

As I wrote this, the sky went from peach to gray, and night is upon us. I’m sure tomorrow will bring a brighter outlook on the world. After all, even in my funk, I realize I have so much to be thankful for.

My good news and a weather-challenged dog

 

Sophie watching for happy hour company. 

Friday, my editor at Rowman and Littlefield wrote me about catalog copy for my forthcoming book, The Most Land, The Best Cattle: The Waggoners of Texas, due out in September. I had been a little uncertain about it because I had not heard a word from the new editor. The entire operation got behind when they closed for six months at the beginning of pandemic, and though I had been assured all was back on schedule, I was nervous. We exchanged emails for over an hour, tweaking this detail and that, until we were finally pleased with what we had done. I wrote her that it was fun to work it out with her, and she replied with “Ditto.” I felt I had established a good relationship with her.

That sent me on a search or the Rowman and Littlefield Two Dot catalog for Spring—and there they were! Two reprints of my historical novels written and published in the 1990s—Libbie, a fictional biography of Elizabeth Bacon Custer, wife of George Armstrong of Little Big Horn fame—or infamy. I toyed for years with writing a sequel, detailing the thirty-some years Libbie was a widow. She spent every one of those years cementing her husband’s role as a martyr/hero. It was only after her death that the truth about Custer began to be revealed. But I never could make a compelling story out of it.

Less is probably known about Jessie Benton Frémont, the daughter of longtime Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton, a spokesman for western expansion, and the wife of John Charles Frémont, explorer, mining entrepreneur, the failed military leader who tried to upstage President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, and failed governor of the Arizona Territory. Frémont is mostly remembered for the Bear Flag Revolt in California. Theirs’ was a passionate love story but also the story of a man whose reach exceeded his grasp.

I found both these women fascinating, loved studying them, though I realized what I was writing about were strong women married to men with less resilience than their wives possessed. These two novels will be out in June and are in the current Rowman and Littlefield/Globe Pequot catalog. Other reprints will follow in 2022.

No bookstore signings, unless the pandemic goes away a lot quicker than most of us believe, but you can be sure that I will bombard you with links and the like when the books are back in print.

Last night, when it was damp but not too cold, Sophie was earnestly trying to tell me something. She didn’t bark, but she made a lot of guttural sounds with great feeling, all the while staring intently at me. She had food, water, a treat, and the outside door was open—I couldn’t imagine what else she wanted, but I desperately wished I spoke dog. Jordan asked if I wanted to take our wine outside, and I said no, it was too chilly—the temperature was then dropping fairly rapidly as it can here in Texas. Jordan nodded at Sophie and suggested, “It may help with that.”

Well, magic solution. She ran out, then ran back to check that I was coming, and then settled down on the patio to watch the gate for company. How to tell her no company was coming. She just really wanted happy hour on the patio.

Tonight she tried the same thing again, but I told her with certainty that it was too cold. We weren’t going out. Then neighbors Mary and Joe came bringing firewood they thought would fit in our fire pit. Sophie ran out the door ecstatically, so happy to see company, however brief their stay. We are hoping the firewood will keep us warm on Tuesday night when we gather for ladies’ night on the patio. Sophie is included as one of the ladies.

There is good news tonight, what with the vaccine and the SCOTUS dismissal of Ken Paxton’s frivolous lawsuit—I wish the media would call it Paxton’s lawsuit and not Texas’. Most of us in Texas want no part of it. But anyway, the good news is tempered by the difficulty of delivering the vaccine and by the fact that there was a big rally in support of trump tonight, though I am pleased it barely made a blip on the network news. It’s easy to wonder if this upheaval will ever end, but be of good faith, my friends. It will. We will get to a new and different normal.

My good news

Sunday night seems a good time to share good news. This past week I signed contracts with Globe Pequot Publishers for a new book—and five reprints. The new book is a study of one mega-ranching family in North Texas and Fort Worth, with a feminist approach to the subject, looking at the role of the women in the family. It’s interesting stuff, and I’ve been working on it for some time. Slow going but satisfying.

In addition, Globe Pequot will reprint five of my historical novels in 2021 and 2022. I had known for a couple of weeks that they would do four—Jessie, Libbie, Cherokee Rose, and Sundance, Butch and Me. But the surprise was the addition of Mattie to the list. Mattie was my first adult novel—I had written three novels which were marketed to young-adult readers, though I did not sit down and consciously think that I was writing a young-adult story.

With Mattie, I told the story from the viewpoint of an elderly woman looking back on her life. It’s a trope I’ve since used in novels and short stories, a way of telling someone’s story that makes me comfortable. I settle into the character and live her life with her. Mattie is based on the life of Dr. Georgia Arbuckle Fix who was a pioneer physician on the empty plains of western Nebraska in the late nineteenth century. This novel won a Spur Award as the Best Western Novel in 1988 from Western Writers of America.

That Mattie won the award in 1988 shows you that I’ve been writing a long time. But now, with these new contracts, I feel that my career is taking off—at the age of eighty. Certain bit of irony there. I can’t really complain about my career. I’ve written a lot of books and gotten some nice awards for some of them. It’s just that it’s all been sort of hardscrabble, and now, to have all this happen at once, is a bit overwhelming. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the late Debra Winegarten, who asked me to finish her Alamo book when she became ill. That work introduced me to Globe Pequot. I said something to a fellow author about feeling uncomfortable about riding on Debra’s coattails, but she put it nicely: Debra cracked the door for me, but I opened it when I turned in a strong Alamo manuscript. I hope Deb is smiling down at me. She was always one to boost other writers.

The reprints will get new covers (which they need) and will, I think, be hardback. And there’s more: in 1986, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram commissioned me to write a novel about Texas to be serialized in the newspaper in recognition of the Texas Sesquicentennial (Texans will remember how hard it was to learn to pronounce that!). I wrote a novel titled So Far from Paradise, loosely based on the founding of one ranch. Much of my current research retraces material I explored back then. The newspaper has given me permission to reprint the novel in ebook form. It is with an editor now, and an artist is working on a cover. It will come out sometime this fall—wonderful thing about being your own publisher is that the only deadlines are those you set yourself.

Of course, I’ll shout it from the rooftops when So Far from Paradise is available, as well as the other books, but I’m delighted to share my good news with you now. Not sure my feet have touched the ground in several days.