Courting the muse

Name dropping, which won’t mean much to any but us older folk: I was privileged for a few years to count as a friend the late Dorothy Johnson (A Man Called Horse, The Hanging Tree, and a lot of classic western short stories). She told me when her muse talked to her she was on fire and wrote furiously; when her muse was silent, she might as well give up and scrub floors (I don’t think she put it that way).

My muse was silent today. I’m sure she, like me, is distracted by Thursday’s surgery. I wrote a bit of the scene that I thought was coming next, but it didn’t flow and seemed wooden. I wrote the woman who edits for me and told her I relied on her to tell me when my writing was junk. She wrote back that she didn’t think I ever wrote junk—reassuring.

I gave up and read the novel I was deep into—Cleo Coyle’s Dead Cold Brew, one of the coffeehouse series. I’ve read every book in the series and feel that the characters are old friends—one advantage of writing (and reading) a series. The books seem to grow more complicated as the series goes on, and I was really wrapped up in this one though I did thank protagonist Claire Cosi became a bit too much of a superhero in the final episode (I won’t spoil it for you). Still if I could write like that….

I’m ready to dig into a new book—so my project for the evening is to study Amazon’s offering of mysteries.

A friend described on Facebook tonight an encounter in a WalMart where she started out grumpy and ended blown away by several acts of kindness that reassured her about our world. The way she described it, the encounter became one of those times when she was totally present in the moment. Such times are rare and to be treasured.

Two of my grown kids arrive tomorrow (the third will be here Thursday and of course Jordan is already here). Maybe I’ll have such an epiphany with my family together.

Sweet dreams.

Legend, a collaborative novel—and a bit of BSP

BSP? Blatant self-promotion.

Over a long ride as a western writer (that’s so bad it’s almost a pun so I’ll stick with it) I’ve ridden with some notable authors. The late Elmer Kelton will forever be my hero, the epitome of what a western writer can and should be. His titles, awards and honors are too numerous to mention, but if you’re not familiar with his novels, start with The Good Old Boys (a made-for-TV movie directed by and starring Tommy Lee Jones). As well as a revered author and staple at TCU Press, Elmer and his wife, Ann, were good friends.

During the’90s, I was invited to participate in several anthologies and collaborative novels (several authors unite to tell one story). Not once, but twice Elmer wrote the first chapter of a novel, and I followed with the second chapter. You don’t know intimidation unless you lived in my skin during the writing of those chapters. Elmer himself was the gentlest of critics, masking his rare criticism in irony; I was much harsher a self-critic.

The second novel, Noah’s Ride, was about an escaping slave during the Civil War. Ye gods! Not only did I have to follow Elmer, but I had to write from a masculine point of view, a masculine African-American slave. Nothing could be farther from my experience and knowledge. But I muddled through.

But in the first of those two novels, I gave in to my hesitation to write masculine point of view and wrote the only chapter in the book told from a woman’s point of view. Legend recounts the life of Lyle Sparks from hardscrabble boyhood in Texas to later years as an aging cattle rancher n Montana, years in which his colorful past may come back to haunt him. From one end of the West to the other, Lyle Sparks, bounty hunter, was feared and respected. Now he wants to set the record straight.

Chapter Two tells of the episode of Melanie Beaufort early in his life. Melanie is a proper young southern lady from Jackson, Mississippi, visiting her sister, who is enceinte, and her pretentious brother-in-law, a banker in the raw frontier town of Fort Worth. You can see this coming—Sparks and Melanie fall madly in love, and she is determined to take him home to meet her parents. He reluctantly agrees. But Melanie’s sister lies to her about her mother’s health, and the girl loses her nerve and returns alone to Mississippi. Now disillusioned about love (and having lost his entire family to an Indian raid), Sparks rides on alone.

Yes, it’s riddled with clichés, but there’s some fine writing in this novel from great names of the western – Loren Estleman, James Reasoner, Jane Candia Coleman, Ed Gorman, and Robert J. Randisi. (The Amazon blurb says “legendary” authors but modesty forbids….)

Until January 31, Legend is available as a Kindle e-book from Amazon for one dollar. western fans will find themes and authors they cherish; newcomers can explore the western genre and read new authors. Who knows? We may get a whole new generation of western fans. Find Legend on sale at https://www.amazon.com/b?node=14435394011.

A slight lesson in Fort Worth history...and a little BSP

In the late nineteenth century, orphan trains carried youngsters from the East to find homes in the small towns and fields of the Midwest and West. Some were orphans, others were given up by tearful families who could not care for them. Along the way, farmers and townsfolk would come on board, pick out youths who looked like good workers, and take them home--sometimes it was almost like indentured servitude. At any rate, Fort Worth was the last stop, the place were children not chosen got off the train. A minister--all I remember from my research is the name Isaac--used to meet the trains and try to help the children. Belle Burchill, the first woman postmistress of Fort Worth, was also instrumental in establishing child care in Fort Worth--a system that, by twists and turns, ultimately led to the Edna Gladney Home. But still, Fort Worth had a number of street children who lived by their wits and cunning...and not always honestly. But they were a band of brothers.
At the same time, Longhair Jim Courtright was in Fort Worth, though on the downside of his career. He had been a U.S. Marshal, deputy sheriff, jailer, private detective, racketeer, and fugitive from the law. The story I always loved was that when marshals from New Mexico had him under arrest for murder, they escorted him under heavy guard to a local restaurant. Courtright's friends had hung two guns under the table. He reached for his napkin and came up with guns...and made his escape on a waiting horse.
Because I love the history of the West and particularly of Fort Worth, I combined two stories into a novel, A Ballad for Sallie. Neither Courtright nor Lizzie, the orphan girl, fleshed out the novel, so I included an eastern woman come to inherit her cousin's store, and of course, there's a love story--though Sallie never gives Courtright, a married man, the attention he thinks he deserves.
Much of the story is actual history--Hell's Half Acre, the cattle drives for which Fort Worth was the last civilized stop, the shoot-out between Luke Short, gambler, gunman and bar owner, and Courtright. Courtright lost, and his funeral procession was the longest in Fort Worth history at that time.
I tend to forget about A Ballad for Sallie, which I shouldn't because it's one of my favorites of my early novels. Amazon picked it up when the previous publisher went under, and it's still available albeit with a over that makes me wonder. This story about an orphan girl shows a mounted man getting off his horse, gun in hand.  There weren't even horses involved in the Courtright/Luke Short shootout. But that's publishing!
If you're interested in Fort Worth history, check it out at http://www.amazon.com/Ballad-Sallie-Judy-Alter-ebook/dp/B00ENJVYKE/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1394933640&sr=1-1&keywords=Ballad+for+Sallie

Told you this was going to be a bit of blatant self promotion!