Classroom teaching and me--or not me

I've long known that I'm not a riveting classroom teacher. Put me in a workshop, be it general writing, memoir, fiction, whatever, and I do a good job, engaging students, sparking discussion, etc. . But straight teaching from a desk in the front of the room is a whole 'nother thing. Tonight I think I capped my classroom career with a colossal failure. I was teaching a four-session non-credit class on Why Cowboys are Our Heroes--or Are They? Essentially, what part did the work of late nineteenth-century and early-twentieth artists and writers play in creating the myth of the American West as opposed to the reality.
The class barely made--five people--and I harbored a secret hope it wouldn't make. First class I had five participants; second class--a docent-guided tour of the Remington and Russell works at the Amon Carter Museum--had three participants, though the other two claimed they went to the museum independently. Which means they missed the lecture that was the big point of the class.
The third class I had three people, although one man did email and say he'd be out of town. The other man just never showed up. But the three ladies seemed to have a good time. We discussed The Virginian, that novel that set the standard for novels, movies and TV shows to come.
Tonight I had one participant--the youngest person in the class, recently moved from Ohio to Texas. When I asked, she said emphatically she wasn't from Ohio but she had a generally eastern background. The two of us talked casually about Emerson Hough's Heart's Desire, which I would call part fantasy, part satire (although it was early--1903--to be satirizing literature about the West). We went through my notes, designed for an hour and a half class, in less than 30 minutes.
When I was so bold as to ask if the class had been of any value, she said yes. She'd read two books she never would have, and she intended to read a third--Angle of Repose--that I had mentioned. She also said she wouldn't have understood about the role of artists and writers, so maybe I got somewhere with one student. But I have the sinking feeling I bored the others.
My career in the classroom is over, kaput, finished...but with regret, because I think it would be fun to teach a short non-credit course on the late, great Elmer Kelton. Still, I'm breathing a big sigh of relief tonight.

How to Write a Novel--or Not

I've been reading a lot of raves lately for Scrivener Publishing Software--apparently it allows you to write a document in chunks, lay them out in any order, integrate in various ways, and get an overview whenever you want. You can keep track of chapters, scenes, page numbers, etc.Other writers have been using Excel for those same features for a long time. I'm bumfuzzled. By the time I figured all that out (I don't master new software easily), plotted out the scenes, etc., I suspect I could have written the novel twice. I am also puzzled by story boards, white boards, etc. where people keep track of each scene and character. Too much trouble.
It's probably the reason I'm a minor novelist at best, but I just sit down and write. Granted, I have a very rough outline--maybe a page of handwritten disconnected notes--before I begin. But then it's important to me to get a first sentence that gives me some momentum and propels me into the story. I may go back and rewrite that opening ten times, but it gets me going.
And then as new ideas occur to me--they appear all the time as I write--I think, "Hmmm, if this happens, I have to go back and change that." The find function in Word does that for me. When I get all through I read for plot inconsistencies--and find many--among other things. And off it goes to a beta reader, who will find more inconsistencies and problems.
I'm trying to be a storyteller, not to write belles lettres, let alone the Great American Novel. But I will always remember the examples of two Western storytellers I was privileged to know. One was Dorothy Johnson--if you're old enough, you may remember A Man Called Horse, The Hanging Tree, or "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." Dorothy had a long career in New York and was there during WWII. After she returned to her native Montana, she worked on a novel, never published, called "The Unbombed," about New York's preparations for the enemy bombs that never hit the city. Once she wrote me that she'd just had a terrible shock: she'd just found out that the man she thought was going to be the hero of the novel was going to be killed in the war. Would that have happened with Scrivener or Excel? Somehow I think not.
And Elmer Kelton always preached to listen to your characters and they'll tell you what's going to happen. He started out to write a novel about a buffalo soldier--it became The Wolf and the Buffalo--and he incorporated a Comanche chief as a minor character. But the more he wrote, the more that Comanche demanded equal time, until the novel paralleled the disappearing lifestyle of the Comanche and the rising circumstances of the buffalo soldier, once a slave. In another instance, he sat at the bedside of his dying father and began to write about his father's young cowboying days, and, to paraphrase, as he wrote the characters took hold of the story like a horse takes the bit in its teeth and ran away with it. The words--and the tears--flowed. That became The Good Old Boys, adapted for TV by Tommy Lee Jones. Both are among the classic works of Kelton's large canon.
To me, that lesson about listening to your characters is about spontaneity in storytelling. It just doesn't happen if yoiu have all those moveable scenes and chapters and characters. A story flows--or it doesn't.
In a way I envy my fellow storytellers who can use these programs to plot--it must make the first draft a lot less painful. But they don't have the fun that I recently did of getting almost to the end of a novel still wondering how it was going to turn out, who is the villain, who the victim? And then--Eureka.
I think I'm old-fashioned.

Texas Book Festival

With Melinda in the "living room" of the TCU Press booth

Estimates are that 35,000 people attended last weekend's Texas Book Festival, and I think every one of them walked by the TCU Press booth, with a goodly number stopping to browse and buy. Melinda and KK had set up a "living room" in the doorway by our booth (note the trees in the background)--folding chairs and a small coffee table. There was usually a good breeze, whereas some of the tents got crowded, hot and stifling. The living room was a perfect place for people watching, and people we didn't know sometimes sat down to rest. Melinda says she spent a long time one day watching the boots go by (make a line from a song go through your mind?). I sat there a lot because it gave me a great view of the crowd, and I spotted friends I hadn't seen for a while.

The festival offers all kinds of activities--panels, readings, talks. But I usually stay around the booth and visit with people. Seeing friends is the big draw for me. This time I met for the first an author I've corresponded with for several years--a special treat. I did sign books at the Texas A&M signing tables--our booth is part of the larger A&M tent--and I sat at the Texas Institute of Letters booth for an hour. Actually sold one copy of Skeleton to an old friend. All in all I sold seven copies this weekend and gave one to Megan and Brandon--thought I'd already done that. Brandon is offended because there are characters named after several members of the family but no Brandon! But I digress. I also signed several copies of Elmer Kelton: Memories and Essays, our tribute to the late great Texas author.

The festival began in 1998, with Laura Bush as the prime mover behind it. Now in its twelfth year, it is one of the largest and best book festivals in the country. In its first years, I thought  it should be all about Texas books and authors, because that was always my focus at TCU Press. Instead, the festival has grown steadily by featuring nationally prominent authors. Maybe the idea is more to show that Texans are readers than writers. This year, Paula Deen was a big draw. I don't mind that I didn't hear her--I watch her on TV a lot--but one of the TCU Press interns bought a copy of her new book. I leafed through it and instantly wanted a copy--will put it on my wish list. I usually don't buy books at the festival--if I allowed myself to do that, I'd end up broke.

Another digression: family friend Ralph Lauer took the smashing photographs in a new Louis Lambert/June Naylor cookbook: Big Ranch, Big City. Scrumptious recipes--I gave it to Megan for her birthday and spent some time this weekend browsing through it.

The Texas Book Festival is the one professional event I still attend in retirement, and I look forward to the 2012 festival.

Good small things about a holiday weekend

When I had a houseful of teenagers, weekends, especially holiday weekends, were wonderful, crowded with my children and their friends coming and going. I routinely cooked Sunday dinner for at least ten and usually more. I loved the hectic atmosphere. But now that I live alone, weekends tend to be long, and I confess that I dreaded this holiday a bit. Then again, I'm a different person these days (I think)--more relaxed and able to go with the flow. I can spend a morning getting my household going, taking care of my animals and plants, reading email, exercising, showering--suddenly it's almost lunch time, and that's some of what happened this weekend. Another good thing was Jacob--he spent Friday night and is spending Sunday night with me. So here are a few things that I think made it a good weekend:
--Jacob and I spent Friday night in companionable silence. He was on his bed in the playroom, watching TV, worn out as he often is at the end of a school day; he likes me to be in the room but not bother him, so I usually find something I can do away from the computer. This night I sorted recipes, which for me is fun. We had a pleasant evening together.
--I spent a lot of time researching anchovies and anchovy recipes for my food blog, Potluck with Judy, and was pleased with the results--it could have been twice as long. But I'm not sure if anyone read it. Although I'm supposed to post it on Sunday nights, I got mixed up because I wrote it last night and went ahead and posted it. It's a funny thing about blogs--those you think will get lots of comments don't, and the most offhand comment on Facebook can draw twenty comments or more. I love anchovies, but if you're leery of them, check out this blog post. http://potluckwithjudy.blogspot.com.
--Saturday morning Jacob and I went to Central Market. I didn't have a long shopping list and didn't need meat, which often means waiting a long time. He had a delightful time riding on the end of the cart and putting his toys in the rack there--have you ever tried to steer a cart with an almost-fifty lb. boy child on the other end? Hard to do. (Yes, he's in the higher weight percentile and the doctor has begun to talk to his parents about his snacks.) We came home and had lunch--he ate almost a whole can of Spaghetti-Os, a half ear of corn, and a chocolate waffle. Maybe the latter was dessert?
--Saturday night and again Sunday morning I forgot about dietary cautions and indulged myself. Sat. night I put chocolate/mint sauce on one of the small ice cream cups I keep for Jacob and the other grandchildren (I never put chocolate sauce on them for anyone else); this morning I scrambled not one but two eggs with smoked salmon.
--Saturday night I went out on the porch with a glass of wine and a book, but the dead cone flowers caught my eye. Greg, who keeps my garden in order, is out on medical leave for three weeks, but these flowers really look ugly. They need to be cut back and the heads scattered where they are to seed for next year. I don't usually try it because my footing on the lawn is uncertain--no, let's say my confidence in my footing is uncertain. But last night I took clippers, a lightweight bench (can't bend over and cut flowers for more than two seconds and this one bunch took 45 minutes) and a walking stick and attacked one whole bed of cone flowers. A double-size bed to go but I'll do it bit by bit in the cool (?) of the evening.
--A wonderful irony: yesterday the mail brought a royalty check from Amazon for $25.26 and an electric bill for $251.76. Something out of whack with my income and outgo, but it made me laugh.
--Tonight Jacob and I labored over his letter to our friend Weldon, who does something with comic books and online stuff and asked for a letter from Jacob about Kung Fu Panda. Jacob dictated to me, but his letter was basically asking Weldon to buy him some toys and then "Have a good day, Weldon" which he repeated five times--I think he's listened to his parents too long. He also got the giggles trying to tell me how grumpy he was. Yeah, sure.
--I'm re-reading To Kill a Mockingbird. Scout's voice is right on, and it reminds me all over again how important voice is in fiction. I've always said that Elmer Kelton's voice carries his fiction, and now I've found another voice perfectly on pitch. I'm reading this because I'm to be on a panel on the book in August and thought it might be a pain--but the reading makes it all worthwhile.
Jacob and I will probably go to the neighborhood parade tomorrow and then before lunch he'll go off with his folks. But I'm sure tomorrow will bring it's own small blessings.

Life gets in the way

My youngest grandson, Kegan David Alter, when he opened

the package of Star Wars figures I sent for his birthday. That is life at its best.

I did not work on the great American novel at all today--or yesterday. My excuse is that life gets in the way. Too many things to do. Today it was errands, menu planning for a friend's b'day dinner this weekend (a challenge since she and her husband are gluten- and dairy-free) and for Easter, when I think there will be nine of us. Menu planning is one of the joys of my life--it's like cooking in anticipation, and I relish it. I won't detail here but will report if some of my experimental recipes turn out well--liked naked (no tortilla) chicken tacos with tomatillo sauce, or vinegar-based coleslaw. I went by the office, then to CVS to buy plastic eggs and jelly beans (and ended up spending $45--how does one do that for plastic eggs and jelly beans?). Then off to buy a pair of canvas shoes to wear around the house--threw the old ones away with great ceremony. They were down to their last threads, the soles worn through in places, and they smelled bad. Also bought myself a pair of Easy Spirit walking shoes.
Tonight Easter has claimed my attention--spent a good while filling 36 large plastic eggs with jelly beans to drop off at the church for Saturday's egg hunt. Christian and I will be taking Jacob, along with a picnic lunch. Then I got small--really small--Easter packages ready for the out-of-town grandchildren, a b'day present for Lisa, and cards for various other people. I think that all was the $45 but I now have a lifetime supply of unwrinkled tissue paper. I don't know about you, but I save it and when I pull it out of the bag to use in a gift, it's so wrinkled I'm embarrassed. Got lovely pastel shades today.
Last night's program on Elmer Kelton for the Burleson Mayor's Club was a success but with a glitch. I reviewed Elmer's life and accomplishments for the audience of about 50, stressing the way being the son and grandson of working cowboys and then an agricultural journalist had shaped his approach to the people of West Texas and the land. Jim Lee took over to lead a discussion of The Time It Never Rained--only nobody discussed and the poor man worked really hard for 30 minutes. I maintain it was because the facility--the Burleson campus of Hill and Texas Wesleyan colleges--is in a former church building, and the lecture hall was the sanctuary. There we were with soaring beamed ceilings, beautiful stained glass, church pews--who discusses in church?
I'm hoping for a better outcome tomorrow when I talk to three junior high groups at a Burleson school about my novel, Sam Houston is My Hero. But I know from my oldest granddaughter, kids her age aren't into history--they're reading The Hunger Games and Stephanie Meyer (two of the books most often challenged on censoring lists). As Maddie's mom once told me, if I could make Texas history into a vampire story with paranormal elements and love gone awry, she'd be all over it. I keep telling myself I'll pretend I'm talking to Maddie. I emailed her for advice--shoot, I even need wardrobe advice so they won't think I'm an old lady (which I am)--but she hasn't come up with anything. Tomorrow will be a long day but, I hope, a pleasant one.
And then maybe I'll get back to writing--but wait, there's the Easter egg hunt Saturday and Saturday night's dinner to cook . . . .

Elmer Kelton

Raise  your hand if you've read a book by Elmer Kelton. Raise both hands if you've read The Time It Never Rained. That novel was the choice this year for the Mayor's Book Club in Burleson, a city adjoining Fort Worth, and Jim Lee and I presented a program tonight. Elmer, who died in 2009, was a Texas treasure, a man who wrote novels about the American West that weren't westerns. And The Time It Never Rained has been called one of the dozen or so best novels written by an American in the twentieth century.
Elmer was ranch born and raised but he was a bookish child with poor eyesight, and he never made a hand. HIs younger brothers could rope much better. His idea of watching the herd was to keep one eye on the cattle and the other on the book he'd propped up in his saddle. As he neared high school graduation, he told his father he wanted to study journalism, and in his words his father gave him a look "that could have killed Johnson grass" and said, "That's the trouble with you kids. You don't want to work for a living." Elmer studied at UT, his education interrupted by WWII, from which he brought home an Austrian bride and her son. He began publishing in Ranch Romances, a popular magazine, and then writing pulp, formulaic novels for Ballentine Books. In the 1970s he broke out of the stereotype with The Day the Cowboys Quit, a novel about the cowboy strike at Tascosa in the 1880s. As in all of Elmer's books, the research behind the story was thorough and impeccable. Other major novels during the 1970s included Stand Proud, The Man Who Rode Midnight, The Wolf and the Buffalo, The Good Old Boys, and, of course, The Time It Never Rained, all published by Doubleday.
For forty years, while writing novels, Elmer worked as an agricultural journalist, most of those years as editor of Livestock Weekly, the weekly bible for West Texas ranchers. He traveled to auctions and sat in coffee shops and absorbed the people and the land. It was his country, and he spoke their language. He said once he wrote Time because it became harder and harder to write a story about the drought. There were only so many ways he could say, "It isn't raining." He wrote the novel but New York publishers rejected as a quiet agrarian novel; in the early 1970s, he rewrote it completely and it was published.
Elmer liked to put characters in a time of change and see how they react. In Time, Charlie Flagg, a rancher getting on in years, sees change all around him. The seven-year-drought of the 1950s causes him to sell his cattle and raise sheep; then sell his sheep and raise goats. He loses his leased land and has to take a mortgage on what he owned free and clear. Others are taking government aid, but Charlie refuses. He had always been the patron, but relationships between Anglos and Mexicans are changing. His son leaves the ranch for the rodeo circuit, marries a floozy from Dallas. The fire has gone out of Charlie's own marriage. And yet he clings to what he knows is right; he plods ahead day by dogged day. This is a story of West Texas and the kind of people who survived in that dry, unforgiving, and unpredictable land, the land that Elmer knew so well. No spoilers here except to say that Elmer didn't believe in tying things up in neat little packages. That's not, he explained to me once, how life happens.
If you haven't read Time, maybe you saw the Tommy Lee Jones movie of The Good Old Boys. That book too is a good place to start dipping into Elmer's sixty-plus novels. TCU Press has reprint editions of many of the major ones (1.800.826.8911 or http://www.prs.tcu.edu/).
Elmer Kelton died in August 2009. I miss him still. There's not a book festival, historical meeting, or literary gathering where I don't still expect to see him. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around a world without Elmer. In tribute to that feeling, Jim Lee and I edited Elmer Kelton: Essays and Memories, now available from TCU Press. Elmer was one fine writer and one great and humble man.

Searching for books and ancestors all at once

Writers bookshelves are supposed to be disorganized, aren't they? I don't think this one in my office is particularly bad, but I have searched through it for almost a week for one small book (small is the operative word here). Yes, there are other bookcases throughout the house, books everywhere if you will, but my gut told me the book I wanted was here. Jim Lee and I are presenting a program on Elmer Kelton in early April, and the book I wanted is about Elmer, written in the 1990s but still relevant in many ways. Most embarrassing: I wrote it. Well, tonight I finally found it and now have everything together for the program, I think. The book was tucked between two large books and had slipped to the back of the shelf. Now, on to other things.
In between searching for my book, I've been searching for my Scottish ancestors. I so want to make the link from the Candian family to those in Scotland. My dad believed that his great-great-grandfather was the grandson of Gillies McBean, a Highland hero who died in the Uprising of '46, fighting for Bonnie Prince Charlie. But I cannot get beyond William McBean, who was born in Scotland and died in Canada, which would fit with what Dad surmised. William insisted on going to war, and after his father bought him out twice, he let him go. William fought for the Crown in the War of 1812 and was rewarded with a land grant in Canada, presumably near Peterborough, the area where he died. That's how my branch of the family came to Canada. (The fact that Canadian geography is foreign to me except in the great big picture is not helping this at all.) Disconcertingly, I cannot determine for sure if William was born in Scotland or Ireland, but surely it was Scotland.
There are hints on Ancestry.com for other branches of the family--my grandmother, notably--and I'll pursue them. But I want to solve this MacBain puzzle first. Does seem however that those Scottish MacBains had a tendency to marry women from Ireland, so maybe I should be more passionate about claiming that side of my heritage.
My mother's family tree, as far as I can tell, is a dead end with my grandparents. She was German, and I never heard her express any interest in her ancestry. She loved German food but never served sauerkraut, because she'd been forced to eat it as a child. I was grown before I tasted it, and now I love it. I like German food a lot and am anxious to try real Scottish food in Scotland. Probably I'll pass on haggis, though I hear it's much better over there than what I tasted here once at a St. Andrew's Day dinner.
Ancestry.com is addictive, like Facebook and Twitter. My book on chili calls--I've finally straightened out some things that puzzled me--and I have a book on my desk to review. I did watch the Ancestry.com program, "Who Do You Think You Are?" tonight, but those seekers always have the help of genealogists and historians. I'm just bumbling along.

Remembering Elmer Kelton--once again

I didn't post a blog last night because I was consumed with reading a pdf proof of Elmer Kelton: Essays and Memories. It's not a festschrift in the proper sense of that term, because it includes several personal memories, but it is a book in tribute to the late, beloved author. I read it once in Austin, surrounded by all the hubbub of family. When I came home and read in peace and quiet I was amazed at how much more I caught--little things like misplaced commas and quotes mostly, but a few misused words. And, horrors, a dangling modifier--a grammatical error that can send me screaming into the night.
The book is due from TCU Press in the spring. Jim Lee and I co-edited--we've teamed up on some good projects. The essays and memories in this one are by people who knew Elmer well--all friends because everyone he met became his friend, but some of these folks have taught his work in the classroom. And probably my favorite essay is the one by his son, Steve, who succeeded his dad as editor of Livestock Weekly. Steve subtly blends in a son's memories with a more business-like assessment of way Elmer's work as an agricultural journalist contributed to the realism of his fiction. A truly great essay from a guy whose arm I had to twist to get him to write it.
Now I've sent the corrections off and am feeling--well, lazy, idle, whatever. Yesterday I bustled around and got lots done, like pulling up dead plants from the porch and a wash, but today I've been sort of lackadaisical and had such a sound nap that I woke up totally disoriented. Ate too big a dinner of leftover potato salad and egg salad and feel full and sleepy. But my Thanksgiving accomplishment is that with all that rich food, I lost a pound. Feeling super about that. Anyway, I guess I'll stumble my way through the rest of the evening, maybe reading a book. Tomorrow I must start reading the version of Mattie I plan to put on Kindle. And then I have to review and do a bit of rewriting on Skeleton in a Dead Space to put it on KIndle.
Meantime I'm reading Double Shot, a foodie cozy mystery by Diane Mott Davidson who is the star of that genre, in spite of all the other contestants. If anybody has read any of her novels about Goldy, the Colorado caterer, and also watched the Barefoot Contessa on TV, tell me if you don't think they're a perfect match! Ina Garten should play Goldy in a movie. Oh, bother, the fact that Garten is a chef and not an actress is a trivial thing!
Enough. I may eat chocolate.

Elmer Kelton, writing deadlines, and hot weather

Today I went to a meeting at TCU Press about the Elmer Kelton titles we reprint and those we are about to sign a renewal of rights for. Elmer, for those who don't know, was a beloved novelist who wrote Texas history, from before the Alamo to the present, in a way no one else could, with a true Texas voice that no one could ever imitate. Born in the sand hills of Crane County, he grew up on stories of cowboys (his father was a ranch foreman), and he wove these into his books, along with a rich and well-researched knowledge of history. Probably his classic is The Time It Never Rained, a novel about the seven-year drought of the 1950s. One critic called it "one of the dozen or so best novels written by an American in the 20th Century." Elmer died last August, and we wondered, suspected, hoped there would be a bump of interest in his work. Sales prove that to be true. And today a friend sent me a link to Amazon.com that shows that a new copy of the small literary biography of Elmer I did in the 1990s may now be had for $263. Wow! Elmer, a perfect gentleman, always expressed his profound appreciation to TCU Press for keeping his works in print, and I wanted to shout at him that his books had kept TCU Press alive. He wrote, if I'm correct, about 60 books. A true marvel. If  you haven't read him, make it a point to do so. And as a person, we all miss him mightily. Gentle, kind, soft spoken, self-demurring with that politeness of a cowboy that always seemed a little more uncomfortable around women. But not his Austrian-born wife of many years, whom he adored. Watch for a festschrift, a small book honoring him, from TCU Press in the spring: Elmer Kelton: Memories and Essays.
Jungle Red Writers, a blog written by several members of Sisters in Crime, has a challenge out to members and authors to write one page a day before turning on the internet. It's not quite something I can follow--I go for the internet first thing in the morning--but it has inspired me this week to write a thousand words a day on my current novel. In fact, I think today I wrote about 1500. And I'm following that old advice--just keep writing. Worry about what sense it makes when you go back through for the first edit.
The 100+ temperatures continue in Texas--hot, muggy, and fairly discouraging. My basil is shriveled no matter how much I water it. But relief is finally on the way--who would believe that predicted highs in the mid-90s sound wonderful. But they do. By Sunday night or Monday. Meantime I have a spoiled dog because he spends all his time indoors. So do I as much as possible.

The problem of voice in fiction

I was about 10,000 words into a new novel and a bit stymied when I put it aside for other projects--some office work for the press, an editing project for another press, some book reviews, and life in general which, happily, always gets in my way. During that time I read a couple of mysteries by Nancy Martin about the Blackbird sisters, who are zany beyond belief and lots of fun. Aha, I thought--see light bulb going off in my head?--I need to make my characters funnier, more zany (like that word). So this week I've gotten back to the novel and guess what? My characters have told me they don't want to be zany. The grandmother who raised them has just died suddenly, possibly under suspicious circumstances, her inheritance is at stake, and each of the twin sisters has an agenda--their agendas don't come anywhere near meeting. Besides, at three o'clock one morning I figured out who murdered Gram and why, and I could see the whole novel in my head. Well, sort of. It's a long way between 10,000 words and 80,000.
But it's a truism of fiction, repeated to me by many successful authors, that if you listen to your characters, they'll tell you what's going to happen. Elmer Kelton talked of it with The Wolf and the Buffalo, a novel he intended to be about a buffalo soldier, freed slave, just after the Civil War. But a Comanche chief kept working his way into the story, and eventually the novel was about both--one on the rise in the army and the other losing his way of life and his culture. Elmer also said the characters in The Good Old Boys took over like a "cold-jawed horse grabbing on to the bit and about all I could do was hang on for the ride." I've even had it happen to me, notably in Mattie where as I neared the end I was astonished to realize that the man in her life was going to ride away and leave her (it also proved to be a forecast of the man in my life at the time).
Point of all this: I'm not writing a humorous cozy. Yes, it's a cozy, but the characters, while sometimes light-hearted and fun and even rebellious, aren't zany. I guess that's just not my voice.
I talked with my agent today, an encouraging talk--he has sent my manuscript to his top four picks (I forgot to ask when) but he said the good news is that he hasn't had a rejection yet. We also talked about getting some of my older books into e-book format for all the different platforms out there--not much money in that, but I think the name recognition would be good.
Thanks to the anonymous reader who posted a comment about yestrday's blog and how our children are statistically mch safer today than years ago. It's just that the media focuses on every kidnapping, every case of bullying, etc. I'm sure it's true, but I'm still a bit worried about my grandchildren. But I want to thank the reader, whoever, for adding that nice comment about my children. Yes, they are indeed wonderful. And that blog sparked a long Facebook conversation with an old friend I never see any more--fun!

Working and eating

For weeks now, I've had an essay about Elmer Kelton hanging over my head. Maybe I'm still too close to the subject, still astounded at a world without Elmer, but I couldn't get to it. I wrote about a thousand words and stalled, distracted by other, easier projects--well, not easier but different. But today I resolved to get back to it and wrote about 1500 words. My assignment is the preface to a festschrift (a volume of essays in honor of the subject), so really I'm writing an overview of Elmer''s life and career, and I have to avoid stepping on the toes of those who are writing about various aspects of his work. I cannot for instance venture into the humor in his novels, nor the commentary on race relations, and I fear I may have trod on the toes of my friend Ruth McAdams, whose subject is "Kelton on Kelton." But an editor can sort that out, and I am now delighted that I see the end in sight. Tonight I'm tired and don't want to tackle summing up Elmer's career (as if that was ever in my capability), but I can see where it is going. Confession: much of what I have written comes directly from Elmer Kelton and West Texas: A Literary Biography, by one Judy Alter, published in 1988. The trouble is that Elmer had a full and prolific career between 1988 andhis death in 2009. Writing it, and reading my own words about Elmer, has brought him back full force into my consciousness,and as I said in an memorial piece I wrote, "There's a hole in Texas literature that will not be easily filled," and I cannot get used to the thought of a world without Elmer Kelton.
The highlights of my day were, I'm afraid, meals. I met two TCU friends for lunch--women I've known but don't often lunch with. We ate at an Italian restaurant and I went in determined to have a salad, except I didn't see one that appealed to me. The special of the day was lamb stew which almost broke down all my resolve, but I settled on a veal dish and ate very little of the pasta. It was delicious. Then Betty and I had sushi for dinner--I had the house salad at Tokyo Cafe (our favorite place). The salad has a semi-sweet plum dressing, which I would think I would hate but I don't--I really like it. I had salmon sashimi, so without the rice it isn't too many points. The good news is that I lost a pound last week, so I hope to continue that this week. Lots of tuna fish salad, which is fine by me. With Jordan's b'day dinner and the Frisco Alters here Saturday and Sunday, I may break my diet, but I'll keep trying.
Spring is trying to happen in Fort Worth, but it doesn't really make it. A predicted high of 70 never reached beyond 64, and when I went to lunch it seemed cool to me. Tomorrow is supposed to be lovely, but Saturday and Sunday will be rainy and cool. Monday I'm going plant shopping with Jeannie, so I sincerely hope we'll have no more freezes.

Catching up

I spent a large part of this evening reading some blogs that I normally follow and have gotten way behind on--another symptom of my busy life. I used to read them every night. Some are by friends, some are by writers whose work I enjoy, one is about Chicago (my home town), and others interest me for various reasons. But I came to the conclusion tonight that those I most look forward to are the ones that give me a sense of the person who's writing, the life he or she leads. I'm not drawn to blogs that give me lectures about writing or even, much, to those interviews about "how did you write your first book?" I like the people side of it--like my friend who told her cat's life in a series of imaginative pictures and captions or my neighbor who wrote about efforts to increase sales of the Oxford English Dictionary--and make us all appreciate the beauties of the English language.
Today it's rainy and cold in Texas but I got out for lunch with Jean, then a staff meeting and some work at the office. Finally by 3:30 I slunk home, anxious for my nap--but I had brought chores with me and it was 5 p.m. before I got a nap. Hardly seems worth the trouble!
I am caught up in Christmas--spent last night wrapping packages and tonight have to work on a shopping list for my annual party.
Just finished reading Cleo Coyle's latest Coffeehouse Mystery, Holiday Grind. My reaction to it is similar to my reaction to blogs--I get a strong sense of Claire Cosi, the main character, as a likeable person--adventuresome, risk-taking, but a good mom and a nice friend to have. Coyle has endowed her with sophisticated knowledge about coffee (not a big deal to me, but still it's cooking--and she does cook other thing), and I'm well aware of the ongoing, prolonged tension between Claire, her ex-husband, and her new boyfriend. I always wonder about the pacing of relationships in mysteries--if you keep the lovers apart, are you creating tension? Or frustration about how dumb they are? In this case, I'm surprised they got as close as suddenly as they did, after several novels of distance. Maybe Coyle listened to what her characters were telling her and followed it. I recently read, for the third time, a novel in which I think the author got so wrapped up in reacting to the critiques we'd sent that she forgot to listen to her characters. I always will remember that was one of Elmer Kelton's primary pieces of advice to young writers. Having wandered away from the topic, I do recommend the Cleo Coyle Coffeehouse Mysteries to readers of cozies.

A signing, more high on the hog, creativity and weather

If you're in the Granbury area--or the Metroplex--on Saturday October 17, you might want to wander down Hwy. 377 to Granbury, where they'll have their Harvest Moon Festival. Craft booths all around the courthouse, and stores lining the squares will have specials. I'm going to be signing books from 1:00 - 3:00 p.m. at Almost Heaven, a heavenly (okay, I couldn't resist) gift and accessories shop owned by my friends Linda and Rodger Preston. I'd love to see you.
Would you believe I had a lobster for dinner tonight and it only cost me one point? That's for one-half cup of lobster meat, and I figure by the time you dig out the claws and get maybe eight bites out of the tail, you've had one-half cup. I didn't count the butter, but how much do you put on those few piece of lobster? Had a green salad with it, and loved the whole thing. For lunch I had a scoop of really good chicken salad and some asparagus spears, so my count for the day is really good. On the other hand, yesterday I had half an egg salad sandwich with a cup of split pea soup--it was a damp, cool day, and I wanted comfort food. That meal cost me points big time. A whole egg salad sandwich is 11 points--go figure! I had gained 1.5 lbs. this morning, but I figure it's due to decadent lunches Monday and Tuesday plus that egg salad yesterday. Got to do better, though the week ahead is filled with entertaining, and I'll have a hard time keeping my point count down. When I reeled off my schedule to Betty tonight over our lobster, she asked, "What is wrong with you? You've got to stop being so social!" Hey, I'm retired! I can do it.
Ah Texas weather--Tuesday and this morning, stepping outside felt like stepping into a hot, wet blanket. My windows were all steamed over from the inside. Tonight, though, storms are predicted--some fairly heavy, with golf-ball size hail (I've never seen it that big but am afraid to mock it for fear tonight is the night I'll see it). Then cold--down to the 40s tomorrow night and only into the 60s for the weekend. I'm glad after all that I planned a fall menu for my houseguests this weekend--I had some doubts this morning when I stepped into that fog.
I'm reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron and though I haven't gotten very far into it, I'm already finding it helpful. She's the one who recommends the three pages of writing first thing in the morning. I've been doing that, and I find it helpful and informative. I don't want to say it's transformed my life--not yet, anyway--but I am surprised at some of my thoughts. And reading just the introduction and first chapter to the book has given me lots of things in my life to ponder. I really think my creativity has been blocked in recent years, and I'd like to get it back. I had lunch with my friend Fred yesterday and he, a scholar, said he doesn't believe in inspiration. As a fiction writer I do but I think you have to be open enough to hear those voices in your head, and stress and tension and responsibilities can silence them. Anyway that's the spirit in which I'm approaching this book. I always remember the late Elmer Kelton talking about a book where a character he thought would be minor ran away with the story, and Elmer had to follow. I've known other authors who said, "Listen to your characters. They'll tell you what's going to happen." Dorothy Johnson (author of "A Man Called Horse" and "The Death of Liberty Valance") used to talk about the novel she worked on about New York City during WWII, when everyone expected the city to be bombed. One day she wrote me that she'd had the most awful shock, she'd just learned that the man she thought would be the hero of her story was killed in the war.

Of funerals and grocery stores

I've been thinking about the different worlds we all live in. As a Texas resident, I naturally live in the world of the United States--and as such I've been glued to the TV much of the day watching Ted Kennedy's funeral and the burial at Arlington Natonal Cemetery. I thought it all impressive and well done--the music was superb, the speeches of the two sons moving and unforgettable, the determined stoic calm on the widow's face, punctuated occasionally by great sadness, so moving I cried for her. Ted Kennedy was a man with large warts, many faults in his past, but he was a man who believed in redemption by good works, as do I, and he certainly did his share of good works in the name of the public good--and the forgotten small people of this country. Kennedy truly believed the biblical injunction that we are our brothers' keepers. He was a voice for the unheard, a loud voice in the Senate, and a man much to be admired, whatever your political beliefs. His loss will be felt in Congress and the country, and he is probably irreplaceable, no matter what Kennedy comes forth to carry on his work. At the end of the day, I felt like I'd been to his funeral though, of course, I only witnessed it on TV.

But I live in another world (one of many I inhabit), that of Texas literature, and we too suffered a loss, leaving a hole that cannot be filled. Elmer Kelton, Texas' most beloved novelist, died a week ago and his funeral was Thursday. There couldn't be more contrast between the two funerals I've "attended" this week. Kennedy's was full of the pomp and circumstance that goes with the Kennedy name, the Catholic Church, and his position in government--it was elaborate, a huge cathedral, a beautifully orchestrated choir, soloists like Placido Domingo and Yo Yo May. Elmer's funeral was low key, the kind of plain, Methodist service he would have wanted--two hymns, an organist who was really good and kept the music at a lively pace instead of letting it drag into dirge-like slowness, a minister who was blessedly informal, telling anecdotes about Elmer and his testy relationship with horses. Elmer's loss will be felt in Texas literature--and western American literature--every bit as much as Ted Kennedy's will be felt in Congress. And like Kennedy, Elmer is irreplaceable--there's not anyone likely to come along to replace his combination of knowledge of ranching life and history and his passion for telling it.

So two of my worlds (there are many more--family, for instance) have been disturbed, and I am grateful to have been part of the tribute to the departing giants of both.

On a more light-hearted note, my trip to two grocery stores this morning proved my theory that southwest Fort Worth is like a small town. I asked for a roasting hen at Central Market, and the butcher, a young woman, said, "We have roasters--I don't know if they're hens." I told her that would be fine, and when she had it wrapped up I remarked, "That will make a great chicken loaf." She asked if I had my spices, and I said I didn't need any. I use saltines. That sparked a question, and soon I was telling her how I make chicken loaf--she kept asking questions, and I finally suggested she look for Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, which has the recipe--darn! I had stuffed my credit card in my pocket so didn't have my purse and a business card to give her. In the produce department of Central Market, I saw the biggest onions I've ever seen--the size of an acorn squash. And they were "sweet onions" from Hatch, New Mexico. Of course, we're celebrating Hatch chilies now. When I got out of the car at Central Market, I wondered what I smelled--it was roasting Hatch chilies.

The same smell followed me to City Market, where I usually shop on Friday and indeed had done so yesterday. I love their tuna salad, but somehow forgot to buy it yesterday (maybe because Jeannie and I were going to lunch and I didn't need it at noon) so I went back today. I told the girl behind the deli counter, who is now my friend, that I forgot it yesterday, and she said she saw me picking up wine and had my tuna all dished up--but I didn't stop for it. See, I told you it was a small town!

Trivia: With Brandon's advice, I finally got my remote mouse and keyboard working again, and I am a happy camper. I can tell the aches and pains of my back, from recent days of twisting to use the remote cursor, are already going away. Now if he could only help me find the monitor that I wear around my neck for my telemergency system, I'd be a happy camper--I have looked everywhere, even in the most remote places, and cannot find it. Tonight I had sauteed scallops, with scallions and cherry tomatoes, for supper--so good. And then I sat on the porch. Cool weather has come to Texas, and it's wonderful--a perfect porch night.

Whew! Busy day

I was busy as could be today, and it wasn't because I was sloughing this off like I had over the weekend. I was genuinely busy--it took me all morning to answer emails, take phone calls, deal with some problems that came up about my cousin in Canada who is unable to handle her own affairs, work out and shower. And then pouf! It was lunch time. Had a nice lunch with Jean and afterwards we went to get our monthly flowers (a gift certificate we give each other). In the afternoon--more emails, more phone calls,--and then it was time to head for Jordan's for a spaghetti supper. So good. My youngest daughter is evolving into a good cook. She may take the sauce out of a bottle, but she's never content with it as it is, always adding this, that, and the other spice. Jacob was in an extraordinarily happy and playful mood for the end of a school day and eventually began his non-stop talking, though at one point he pushed his mom too far and went to time out for jumping on furniture.He's nothing if not clever--the way he deals with time out is no longer tears. He just calls out, "I have to pee pee." Home again to more emails.
Much of my busy-ness has dealt with the death of Elmer Kelton--friends wanting to talk, newspapers wanting comments (because I was his reprint publisher and counted myself a friend). I hate to tell each of them the same thing, so I've been trying hard to come up with a new comment each time. But the bottom line is he was the most modest, kind and gentle soul I ever met; he defined the word gentleman, in the best cowboy sense. And he was one heck of a storyteller. Tonight I need to start on a piece for the Western Writers of America magazine. I don't think my mind has yet grasped the idea of Texas without Elmer Kelton. So forgive me if I rush off.

Animals--and a lazy day in which I try to come to grips with retirement

When I walked into my brother's house Thursday, his dogs barked at me as though I am public enemy number one--it's pretty awe-inspiring to have two large German shepherds and a small but feisty mixed breed--I think she's part blue heeler--barking at you. The little dog and one shepherd got over it, but the larger one, called Puppy, didn't until I was almost ready to leave. He barked every time I got up from a chair, came into a room, etc. And then Saturday, to everyone's dismay, one of the two shepherds--who can tell which?--lifted his leg in the house, something I was told they never do. "I don't know what's wrong with these dogs," John complained. Well, I came home to a similar situation--my dog and cat have been punishing me for leaving them for two days. Wynona the cat simply won't eat, although he's done a bit better today. Yesterday I brought Scooby in when I got home, as I usually do on hot afternoons. He napped on his bed next to mine, but when I got up, he didn't. I kept asking him if he was ready to go out and was answered when he slinked further down into his bed. By eight, I told him he had to go out, eat and poop before he came in for the night. Got a leash and pulled him outside, whereon he promptly dumped over his dish, spilling all the food, and did not eat (so that was his breakfast this morning!) I brought him in about nine and kept him in my office with me. I often leave him in the office alone, because it's a place of refuge for hm. Well, last night, with me sitting right there, he pooped all over! I thought he had bad gas until I got up and stepped in it! I yelled, he cringed, and it was awful. Today he's kept to his routine, went out when asked at five, just came back in at eight. Maybe we're getting back to normal.
Lazy day--I went to Central Market and Barnes & Noble and otherwise stayed home doing I don't know what! Read and answered emails, read a book, napped and let the day drift away. Now I have a pot full of work to be done--that cookbook to edit, an article for the history of the Texas College of Osteopathic Medicine, some guest blogs to write, the Google Book Settlement to keep working on. Did I do any of it today? Not a bit.
I did draft a column about Elmer Kelton for the Dallas Morning News, and I'll polish it tonight and get it off. Tomorrow, the cookbook--of course, I have to ride my bike and will probably do it in the morning since I'm going to lunch with Jean and supper with Jordan, Christian and Jacob. Retirement sure is a hard life.

Two days in the country, and thoughts on life and death

I've just spent two days with my brother and sister-in-laaw at their ranch ourside Tolar. The picture on the left is the view from the front porch to the distant Paluxy River Valley (with a barely discernible German Shepherd in the foreground). The picture on the right is the view from one of the back pastures of the Brazos River Valley, much more spectacular than this picture shows. John and I went out this morning on the gasoline powered "mule" so he could check some fallen trees and some places where wild hogs had broken through the fence--now repaired, they seemed to be holding. My favorite place to be on the ranch is on the front porch. I sat there last night and this morning--the cattle are in the pasture across the road right now and I watched the egrets flitting among them. Tried to take a picture but you could hardly see the cattle even as brown spots. This morning, before the day got hot, it was a delightful place to be with a book, though I more often than not just stared out across the land--and then the type looked green when I went back to my book.

We went exploring--John and Cindy went to a meat packing plant they'd wanted to investiage--I declined to go in because it was raining and muddy, and Cindy reported it was nothing but an office where you told them what you wanted. But then we searched for and found a farm where they make their own cheese--Veldhuizen Cheese (http://www.veldhuizencheese.com/). They make an aged cheddar that we loved, and a more mild cheddar that was almost as good. We went home laden down with cheese. Had lunch at Let's Eat, a hole-in-the-wall place in Bluffdale that has good lunches but apparently gourmet dinners. The owner once cooked at the really upscale Rough Creek Lodge. Then John wanted to show me one of if not the oldest suspension bridge in Texas, built in 1891 across the Paluxy... You. . can't drive on it, of course, but there is a more modern bridge that parallels it--still, in spite of bridge closed signs, we saw young boys walking across it with lunch boxes and fishing poles. Then John drove me by the winery at Bluffdale--an impressive building, although we didn't go in. Then home by back roads, which is always fun.

John and I spent a long evening talking about our chldhood--because he is my half-brother, some six-and-a-half-years older than I, and went off to boarding school at 16, we had very different childhoods and lots of memories to share. Cindy fixed great meals--grilled pork chops one night, roast chicken the next--and I ate, slept, read and checked emails a lot. And Cindy and I talked food and, today, fabric, until John said the conversation was way over his head. It was a wonderful and restful time--good to spend time with them and good to be away, though as always I felt I had lots of work waiting for me at home.

Today I am burdened with thoughts of life and death. The 5-week-old grand-daughter of my good friend Jan died Friday morning. She was born with congenital heart defect, and though the doctors did everything they could and she put up a valiant fight, it just wasn't to be. I grieve for all of them, for a life taken so young. At the other end of the spectrum, author Elmer Kelton died this morning--the best western novelist to ever come out of Texas. He wrote Texas history as it was, because he knew that history thoroughly, and his Texas voice and dialogue were so real, so believeable, his humor so wry, his stories so engrossing. TCU Press has reprinted many of his books, and they are our best-sellers. But that's the least of it--Elmer was a man I respected, admired, and felt privileged to call a friend. He was probably (I don't know) in his mid-eighties. So there you have it--death at the beginning of life and the end. It's sobering in both instances, and I have a heavy heart tonight.