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.

A sharp right turn in the middle of writing a novel

Not many people remember Dorothy Johnson these days, but she was the master of the short story, most often about the American West, and the author of such stories as "A Man Called Horse" and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance." Years ago I was privileged to call her my friend and to correspond with her. In her later years (she hated the term octogenarian, which she said sounded like a scaly reptile with a skin disease), she was writing about New York City during WWII and the constant alert for fear of the bombing attack that never came. She titled it "The Unbombed," and I suspect she never finished it before she died. But one day she wrote me that she'd just had a terrible shock. She'd found out that the man she thought was going to be the hero of her book was going to be killed in the war. Who told her? Her muse. Dorothy was a firm believer in listening to your muse as you write.
Something similar happened to me today. When I woke up this morning I lay in bed a long time, plotting in my head the end of the novel I'm about halfway through. But I never was really comfortable about the murderer--he's a nice guy, and I hated to turn him into a villain. I finally made it to my computer to write down all the stuff in my head and happened to read an old file called rough ideas or something like that. In that, the villain was a totally different person and had a much more believable motive. So now I'm doing an abrupt right turn. I hadn't gotten far enough into the end that this is a serious problem, but it does call for minor revision. But I feel a lot better about the whole thing now. There are a lot of possible suspects, but now I know who really did it. Most writers will tell you to listen to your characters and they'll tell you what's going to happen, and I've had that experience more than once. I remember a writer who taught a seminar at TCU and said, "What is this nonsense about listening to your characters? I'm the author. I tell them what to do." I didn't much like his books.
My mystery of the day: how can you put four pillow cases in the laundry and only get three back? There's a poltergeist in my house!

Planning a menu--and a happy grandmother's picture

Ignore the goofy grin. This is very much a proud grandmother photo. I'm wearing the T-shirt that Morgan and Kegan made for me, with a little help from their mom. Susan took this tonight when she and Jay came for supper.

I'm convinced more than ever that successful entertaining depends less on your ability as a cook than on  your ability to plan a menu. Tonight we had a cold supper, perfect for a warm day like today (101, with heat index of 108). My mom used to chill a can of salmon and serve it on a platter with cucumber, mayonnaise, and I forget what all. I've talked before about the Pisces tuna I order from a cannery in Oregon. Recently I also got six cans of salmon, and we tried it tonight. I fixed a platter of deviled eggs, cherub tomatoes, cucumbers, asparagus and salmon, and served it with a vinaigrette, mayonnaise, and lemon. None of us used anything but the lemon, and the salmon was delicious.

I also made the County Line potato salad that I loved so much at the party last weekend. It was great and Jay, who never will take home leftovers, took a huge helping of potato salad--he had some cockamanny argument that it wasn't leftovers because it hadn't been cooked and wouldn't have to be reheated. Look up the recipe online, because it's all over the place. I learned something while making it. Back to Mom's cooking again, but she learned years and years ago from the Italian cook at the hospital where Dad worked that you should peel and cube the potatoes while hot and pour vinaigrette over them. Let that soak in and cool before adding mayonnaise, mustard, onion, celery, whatever. The directions for County Line potato salad call for boiling the potatoes in their skins and refrigerating them for half an hour. I refrigerated them overnight, and oh my goodness, they were so much easier to peel and dice. You make the sauce, including onion and celery, in a separate bowl and then add the potatoes. For once, I followed the recipe to the letter, and it was delicious if I do say so. I could have eaten two helpings again but I was aware of the sour cream and mayo, even if both were "light."

Usually I don't fix dessert, but last week I wrote about Blue Bell ice cream, so I had to buy some. I bought peppermint/chocolate and served it with a mint chocolate sauce I had in the fridge. All three of us licked our bowls clean.

My point about planning: the cold platter, potato salad, and ice cream went together so well and made a perfect meal for a hot summer night. And as Susan said, conversation was as lively as always. We had a good time.

Nor did I lounge away the day. I wrote almost 800 words on my novel and feel I'm back into it. A busy week ahead, but I intend to keep writing. There's a challenge on a mystery blog to write one page a day before you ever turn to the internet. Good idea, but not one I find myself following. But I'm going to write a page--or more--every day.

As I walked out on the porch tonight when Jay and Susan were leaving, I said to think that in a month we'll be having cocktails and maybe dinner on the porch. We all sighed. This 100+ heat seems endless. We've been encouraged with the promise of scattered showers, but I'll tell you how scattered they've been: yesterday morning when I went to the store the streets were dry, but when I got  six blocks away they were wet with large puddles indicating a good-sized rain. So frustrating!

Dogs and cats

My sweet, loveable, completely neurotic Australian shepherd, Scooby, is eleven today. I brought him some of those pig ears as a special treat, but at first he seemed unimpressed, like he would rather have his Purina snacks. He did finally eat it though. Scooby was abused, a junkyard dog, and in the animal shelter when I got him--he'll never overcome a lot of his early years. I can't trust him to roam freely in the house--he'll poop. For years he's rushed in the house the minute I opened the back door but now he stands and considers the matter. I have to threaten to close it before he comes in. Also for years, he's spent evenings--and hot afternoons--in my study, but something must have happened to scare him, because now he hesitates, walks around the couch, looks in, makes some false starts, and finally comes in. Once he's eaten his treats, its clear he wants to go to his bed. Right now, he's been there since about two and it's almost 7:30, way past his dinner hour. When I asked if he wanted to go eat dinner, he solved that matter by avoiding looking at me. I'll have to force the issue, with a leash, in a little bit--and then he'll be just as pleased as punch to go outside. But for all his idiosyncrasies, he has the sweetest nature of any dog I've known--and the most desperate for attention.  I've had him seven-and-a-half years.
Meantime, the cat takes up residence on my desk, which makes working difficult and worries me a little about sanitation, since this is where I eat most of the meals I eat alone at home. But he's often content to lie on the library table behind the couch. The cat--Wywy--is 18 years old, so both of my animals are aging at once, which sort of alarms me. I see signs of slowing down in Wywy but I think Scooby still thinks he's three.
When the dog is happily in bed and the cat content on the table, I feel at peace. They are trouble and expense and bother, and I can't imagine life without them. I know people who don't want to be bothered with pets, but I'll never feel that way. They give me companionship, and Scooby is actually a pretty good guard dog. Of course, if a villain made his way into the house, Scooby would lick him to death, but he can sound ferocious when he sees or hears something outside he doesn't like.
Nice day--lunch with my former neighbor, Sue, and a good "catch-up" talk and then an afternoon of work on my novel. I'm ready to move ahead with it.
Oh, oh--here comes the cat!

Family on my mind

My lovely daughter Megan emailed me today, forwarding a message from her legal assistant that thanked her for always being so lovely to work with. Megan said she told her all the lovely parts of her personality came from her mom. What a great thing for one of my grown children to say! Of course I told her she was lovely--and a flirt--at such a young age that I can't claim responsbility. But I'm glad she feels that way. I love you, Megan!
Kevin and Jenny have been on my mind today. He left on a noon flight for Fort Benning and then on to Afghanistan, and I keep thinking this is the beginning of what will be a very long year for them--and they're only hours into it. He's off to an adventure, however reluctantly, in a world that he understands--I was amazed last night listening to him explain what his life will be like over there. But Jenny is left to wait, and I ache for her. Fortunately she has wonderful family support.
Christian had a birthday today while in Florida. I won't say which one because I think he's getting a tad touchy about it. But I hope it was a happy day--they'll be home tomorrow night, and I'll be glad to have them back in town.
And I've thought about my brother and Cindy picking me up for dinner and how nice it is to be so close to them and so comfortable with them--there were years when we weren't that close, and I'm enjoying what age has brought us. Nothing beats family, and I am blessed.
Hot today. A friend posted the heat index on Facebook--something like 107--and I responded that I prefer to ignore the heat index and just look at the temperature, which is bad enough. I long for the days before anyone knew anything about a heat index. Scooby knows it's hot and has been lounging on his bed all afternoon--when I asked a bit ago if he wanted to go out, he looked at me with one eye like, "Surely you jest." I will have to force the issue soon.
Vacation day: I had lunch with Fred, my mentor, and we talked about  my novel. I fully intended to come home and jump into it, but I'm in the midst of reading a mystery, Indigo Dying by Susan Wittig Albert, and decided I'd allow myself the luxury of finishing that first. I need to get my head out of one fictional world before trying to concentrate on another. But I can feel ideas bouncing around in my subconscious. Things I've read lately on the Guppies (Going to be Published) listserv are there too--specifically about microtension in scenes, whether or not you use adverbs (usually a no-no but British writers use them frequently), and how to tag dialog--if you repeatedly use "said" it gets boring but if you get too carried away-'"exhorted, mandated, commanded, etc."--it distracts the reader. I think I'll go by instinct.

Email explosion and no work

The lists from Sisters in Crime, Guppies, and Agent Quest exploded in my mail box--110 when I came home from lunch and 73 when I came home from supper. I barely caught up, though many don't require serious or lengthy reading, thank goodness. I guess usually I'm at my desk and deal with them as they come it, so it usually doesn't seem like so many.
Not a lick of work today, though mostly a pleasant day. Began with two hours in the dentist chair--much sitting and waiting, at which I am not graceful. And in the midst of it, the battery on my Kindle ran out of juice. But then Jim Lee took Jeannie and me to lunch at Patrizio's, which was fun--good company and good food. Came home, cleared out e-mails, had a nap, and John and Cindy arrived. We went to dinner with Cindy's sister Jenny and her Kevin, Patty and her Ralph, my niece Jennifer and her husband adorable almost-three-year-old, and a couple of friends, one an old family friend that I hate to think about how long we've known each other. It was Kevin's last night before he deploys to Afghanistan--a bittersweeet occasion though everyone was in good spirits. We had Mexican food--I guess if you are leaving Texas for a year you want your last hit of Mexican food. Ate at LaFamilia, which was really good.
So now it's the end of the day, I'm too tired to start anything, but I guess I'll re-read what I've written on Blue Bell Ice Cream, "the best ice cream in the country."
I am feeling the pull of fiction and think tomorrow, after lunch with my mentor, I'll go back to working on my novel. Nice quiet weekend looms.
'Night everyone. Godspeed to Kevin.

Why Writers Write

The Guppies listserv, a branch of Sister in Crime for those who are "going to be published," has been running a series of comments from "pre-published" authors answering questions such as where are you on your work in progress, is this your first manuscript, what's hardest for you--plotting, characterization, etc., and what do you do when you get discouraged. The answers are all over the place--some people are on their first manuscript, others have old ones stacked in the deep freeze. Many find plotting hard (me among them) but for others it's simply finding the time to write--or the drive--or the energy. But the thing that has struck me is that so many have said things like, "I like my characters. I want to stick with them," or "I am not healthy if I don't write--I have to go into therapy" or "I can't imagine not writing." One woman said she writes e-mails, blogs, anything to be creative if she's stuck on a story.
I know exactly how they feel. If I don't have something on my desk to write, I'm at loose ends. I'm fortunate right now to have two projects: the novel in progress and the nonfiction book. Lately I've been concentrating on the latter, but since Fred Erisman re-read my novel (about half a novel) and  decided his earlier questions were irrelevant and he "is hooked," I feel myself being drawn back to the novel and its possibilities. I'll have lunch with him Friday, and I'm sure we'll talk about it.
When people ask my why I blog, it's the same answer--it's a chance to write to the world. I have long felt that working things out in words is the same as a mathematician working things out in number. I just can't, God help me, do anything but the most elementary math.

Need recipes

I spent some of today researching RO*TEL tomatoes--one valuable thing I learned is that's how you write it, not Rotel, as I've done for years. But information is scant--a man named Roettelle began canning them in the early 1940s in far south Texas; today the company is owned by ConAgra (what isn't?). Sure there are recipes on the RO*TEL website, but I'm looking for original recipes. King Ranch Chicken is a classic, but I used my own version that did not come from the website, and I used my daughter's queso that is a little different because it adds cream cheese to the RO*TEL and Velveeta. But I'd like other original recipes--it's easy to point readers to a web site, but it doesn't give a book much flavor (no pun intended). So if you've a great family recipe using these spicy canned tomatoes, please send it to me at j.alter@tcu.edu. I'll credit your contribution in the book. Thanks much.
From the ridiculous to the sublime, I went to a wine cafe tonight wearing the trendy new jeans and shirt Megan and Mel picked out for me. Ate a crab cake with blue cheese remolaude--delicious, but a long way from RO*TEL.
Like most of the nation, Texas is gripped in a heat wave. I haven't heard an official report tonight but it was expected to reach 105 and may have gone higher. It's been a bit dry which has helped but that's supposed to change. I'm beginning to think, as I'm sure others are, of the terrible summer of 1980 when we set all kinds of heat records. People still have T-shirts that say "I survived the summer of 1980." Extreme heat, like extreme cold, makes you feel almost trapped, though I laughed last night when I went out to water plants. Jay was sitting on his porch next door. I asked why he was out in the heat, and he said it was too cold inside. I find that too--too hot outside, too cold inside. Aren't we spoiled creatures?

Reclaiming my life--and a pink flamingo and a bit of plagiarism

For  years, I threatened to put a pink plastic flamingo in my front yard as the sort of ultimate in tackiness, but I could hear my oldest daughter's reaction. I've seen in other yards flocks of them that are periodically rearranged and they're really fascinating. For my birthday I got my pink flamingo--metal and classy, not plastic and tacky--from the Houston Alters. Lisa said it would match my pink cone flowers, which are, alas, now faded and gone--but it will next year. It's just in front of the "jewel"-encrusted stepping stones that Morgan and Kegan made me for my last birthday (the Houston grandkids). I keep having to stop Jacob from pulling the "jewels" off and carrying them away as prizes.
Today I began reclaiming my life. Last week, because of the tooth, I was pretty much a recluse--and realized how seductive that can be for one who has insecurities about getting out. Then there was the wonderful weekend, but today I was back to reality. Of course, it's my confidence in my balance that bothers me. I did well, though at one point I found myself paralyzed, couldn't let go of the banister I was holding on to in order to take that first step. Finally the rational part of my mind stepped in and reminded me that I was expected somewhere for lunch and couldn't hold on to that bannister all day. I stepped and nothing bad happened. I should have taken the cane with me because I'm finally learning to use it when those momentary panic attacks come. They pass quickly and if I have the cane to steady me, I'm off and running. Anyway I did two errands, went to meet folks for lunch--and got stood up! Turns out he was sick and they forgot--profuse apologies and we'll reschedule. I didn't mind sitting in Carshon's for half an hour--sort of time to collect myself.
This afternoon I wrote about 1400 words on Gail Borden and read a bit of the mystery I've almost finished. So it's been a good day.
Read today about a  young woman, seventeen, who freely steals whole passages from other works and incorporates them into hers. She calls it "borrowing" though the rest of us would call it plagiarism. Worst of all, her work has won some sort of prize. I remember a student in my writing for publication class who was a poor writer at best until he turned in an almost perfect paper on yachting--with help, I found the magazine it came straight from, word for word. I called him in, he told me an F would end his college career, and I said, "Sorry." His mother even called and said to blame her, she'd told him to do it (can you imagine?). I gave him the F and have no idea what happened to him. But the times, they are a-changing if plagiarism can win a prize. Or am I an old fuddy-duddy?
So tired last night, but here's a picture of Jacob that says it better than I ever could. We were on our way home from Frisco yesterday afternoon.

The Joy of a Big Family

I grew up almost an only child. My brother, six-and-a-half years older,, was sent to boarding school when he was about fifteen and never really lived at home again. I don't remember being lonely because I had lots of friends--two "best" friends. But I never knew about sibling love and bonding. When I married, I expected to have the usual two children and that was it. Instead I have four wonderful children, all with equally wonderful spouses, and seven grandchildren. We are, as Colin (my oldest) said this weekend, a noisy bunch when we get together. It used to sort of intimidate some of the spouses, each of whom came from two-children parents but now they happily join in the fun and noise-making and even instigate it. And I am amazed at the bond between them--and they way they love all the children, not just their own. Love, I've decided, is infectious.
Today we all ate lunch at Babe's Chicken--a belated celebration of my birthday, the destination chosen because I have long wanted to eat there. Christian arrived first and got us a private room, round, which was wonderful. I sat there in awe and looked around the table at those happy, laughing faces--well a couple of grandchildren were over-tired and half-sick but that's to be expected--and thought, "This is my family!" I am so grateful.
And then there is my brother's family--when the kids were in high school, we all ate Sunday dinner together: my four, his son and daughter, and whatever assorted friends wanted to join us. I often fixed for 15-20 on a Sunday night. These days, John and Cindy have two in-law children and four, almost five, grandchildren. They kids are still close, though they don't see each other often--when they do, it's a happy reunion. And John and I talk frequently on the phone.
And then there's Cindy's family--two sisters and their significant others and their mother. We mostly see them once a year, at Thanksgiving, but they too are family, and we are all extremely fond of them.
Above is a picture of most of us taken Thanksgiving 2008 at my brother's ranch--that's him standing to the far right. I won't even attempt to tell who is there, who is missing, who was invited that day--just say it was typical of our Thanksgivings.
This weekend the whole extended family met at a wedding celebration/going away party for one of Cindy's sisters, Jenny, and her new husband, Kevin. They've been together something like 18 years but got married when he got the news he's deploying to Afghanistan next week. Granted, there's a worry behind that--he's the first person I've known and cared about to deploy to "our" wars in the Middle East. But last night was like a big family reunion, although there were many other people at the party. Kevin said it looked like Thanksgiving all over again, and at one point he, Jenny, Megan, Colin and I got to laughing over a particularly memorable holiday--though it wasn't funny at the time. I got to see my newest great-nephew, now seven weeks old. It was absolutely a wonderful evening. And I thought again of the joys of a big family.
My diet went all to pieces this weekend--no thought about calories or points or gluten or any of it. For dinner last night I had two helpings of potato salad (made according to the recipe from County Line BBQ in Austin and nicely flaviored with pickle juice) and, much later, a small piece of Jamie's home-made banana pudding. And today, at Babe's--well, let's not even talk about it. I haven't eaten fried chicken in years, and this was wonderful. I said another time, with will power, I might follow the example of my vegetarian granddaughter, Eden, and eat only veggies, but Jamie pointed out those--potatoes with cream gravy, corn, and green beans--are so heavy with butter I wouldn't be saving anything.
Thanks to Jamie and Mel for hosting all of us at their house in Frisco, finding corners and nooks for everyone to sleep, and organizing a great weekend. And special thanks to Maddie for giving me her bedroom. More pictures will follow as Jordan sends them to me from her camera.
I now know what I missed growing up, and I can't imagine life without a big family. I am so blessed.