History meets the modern world in a fine novel

I just finished reading Charlotte Hinger's Lethal Lineage. Charlotte and I have been friends for years, since our days in Western Writers of America (I suspect Charlotte is still a lot more active than I am), and I always considered her Come Spring a classic about life on the western prairies for women. Now she's turned her hand to mysteries--and a fine hand it turns out to be. Award-winning Deadly Descent was first in the Lottie Albright series (and I enjoyed it a great deal). Now it's followed by Lethal Lineage.
Having lived in western Kansas for most of her adult life, Charlotte knows that barren, wind-swept land and its people like she knows her own soul, and she pours that knowledge into her mysteries. Lottie, however, is a relative newcomer, albeit married to a longtime vet/rancher. Still Charlotte shows us Lottie learning about the land and its people, particularly by serving as head of the local historical society where she encourages people to submit written and oral bits of their histories.
Charlotte effectively blends that knowledge of the land with deep and thorough research, this time into the Episcopalian church in western Kansas, the ancient practice of glebes (land assigned to support a priest). Glebes were fairly common in the East, but there was only one in western Kansas. In addition, she weaves into her story the horrors of Africa's Hutu-Tutsi Wars and the terror that survivors carried with them, even into new lives in this country. And the oral histories of the folk of western Kansas weave into this in an amazing conclusion.
Hats off to Charlotte. This is the kind of book I wish I could write, and I give it five stars. Read it. You will too.
I understand that the FCC says if I am going to review books, I have to make a disclaimer that the above is my own opinion and also have to state my guidelines for reviewing books: well, this isn't a book review blog, though I have often reviewed for a variety of sources, including major newspapers. Nope, this is just one mystery reader's personal opinion. From time to time, I'll review books I liked. If I don't mention a book it means I've never read it or didn't like it well enough to recommend. So there you have it--I liked Lethal Lineage.

Easter lessons

I think the Lord wants us to learn to be flexible. This morning about 8:30, I happened to be reading email and in my junk mail was a notice that the power was out at the church and services would be held in the ballroom of the TCU new Brown-Lupton University Union. We debated, decided to go and take Jacob with us--and I am so glad we did. As though it were magic, they had transported the choir, the bell choir (and, of course, their bells), hymnals and programs to the BLUU. TCU did a mighty work to make this happen--the room was set up for a dinner and transformed almost instantly into lecture-style seating. There was an orchestra, so the organ wasn't that much missed. The clergy and choir members wore street clothes, not robes, but it was the Easter service we know and love.
When Alan Lobaugh, a senior associate minister, got up to administer communion, he said, "This was not what we had planned." Everyone laughed, but he turned it into a devotional, saying he was sure that was what the disciples said on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday at the empty tomb. The lesson to me was God doesn't want us to be complacent. But a big shout-out to TCU and UCC for pulling this off with such style and grace.
Easter dinner was just a delight, in spite of all my worries, although it was sort of a marathon. Jay and Susan arrived at 1:45, followed shortly by the senior Burtons, and it was close to 6:00 p.m. before we broke up. I had meant to serve at 3:00 but it didn't work that way, and we sat on the porch until almost 4:00--I was getting light-headed from hunger. We sipped wine and ate hors d'oevres, watched Jacob and a friend egg hunt, laughed, told stories, and had a wonderful time. My dinner was a success, and the Burtons brought a delicious brisket. The dinner table was full of conversation, and we lingered over dessert. Jay had made individual bunny cakes--red velvet cake--and I had my ice cream pie. Everyone asked for a small piece of the pie but we ate maybe half, and I sent the rest home with Jordan for her boys,, big and little.
Jordan was an enormous help today, from straightening the house before everyone got here to making sure the dog was fed and the dishes done. Everyone pitched in, and clean-up was not difficult at all. I think I'm getting spoiled.
Last night we had a tremendous show of lightning and thunder but precioius little if any rain. Tonight, distant rumbles tell me we're in for the same thing. God teaching us to be flexible again, except, please Lord, I'd like a little rain. Apparently parts of Possum Kingdom where the fire still burns didn't get rain either, and on Facebook someone said lightning had started two fires in their pasture. Scary times. We don't need that kind of flexibility.
The Easter season--and Passover and other spring festivals--is supposed to bring renewal and rebirth. I hope we can all feel renewed and, uh, flexible!

Hey, it's actually raining. I can hear it!

Easter Glories

This morning, my email brought me the most dramatic picture ever of a sunrise--all reds and golds and purples, taken from the sender's porch. Surely an Easter sunrise picture. That was followed by a link to a video of Carrie Underwood's rendition of "How Great Thou Art," my favorite hymn of all time. What a way to start Holy Saturday. Jacob asked if I knew "the Easter song" and I sang the first lines of "Jesus Christ is Risen Today, Alleluia." Turns out he had in mind the song about hopping down the bunny trail! The birds outside my kitchen window have been singing their little heads off all day, as though they too know Easter is tomorrow. On a more practical note, I wonder if they knew a storm was brewing. Scooby definitely knew and is hiding in his bed, as thunder begins to roll in.
When I was young I sang in the youth church choir--no comments needed from those who know I can't carry a tune. We sang an anthem that began, "One early Easter morning/I wakened with the birds/And all around lay silence/Too deep for earthly words." I can hear the melody in my head, though I can't sing it for anyone--and won't try. I emailed a lifetime friend from those days, and she too remembers those lines--but that's all. My friend Betty, a church organist for forty-plus years, has never heard of it. If anyone can give me more information about this piece of music I'd be grateful. (My singing is so bad that when I called my oldest son the other day on his birthday and offered to sing, "Happy Birthday," he declined--and Jacob has been known to put his hands over his ears if I sing.)

My Easter table is set, with my mom's Suzie Cooper china that she adored. I mostly only use it at Easter, because the colors are so right for spring. Over the years I have given lots of big dinners, often for about twenty. So I don't know why dinner for eight boggled my mind all week (we added a ninth person yesterday and I decided to squeeze four people on one side rather than unset the whole table to add another leaf). I worried and planned and other things went on hold "until I get past Easter." It's honestly an easy, cook-ahead meal (Christian's parents are bringing the meat), so there's no reason for me to be so uptight. I'll fix two appetizers (crudities with a dip and fromage fort--which is really fort or strong), potato salad, fruit salad, rolls, and the ice cream pie is in the freezer. My neighbor is bringing a bunny cake.
It's supposed to rain and storm tomorrow--shades of Easters in my Chicago childhood. I had planned to have a mid-afternoon happy hour on the porch but now am uncertain. Hope Jacob and his friend Eva don't have to hunt indoors. Good Friday should be dark and stormy, and Easter should be full of sunlight. But, hey, I'm not in charge of that. All I have to do now is go clean some radishes and make cucumber sticks.
Want to make fromage fort? This "strong cheese" is a recipe from Jacques Pepin, who said his father would use up odd bits of cheese this way. Take those leftover cheeses in your fridge--about a pound--and add three or four garlic cloves, a heaping tsp. coarse black pepper, and a half cup dry white wine. Whir it all in the blender until it's a spread. Serve with crackers. I had quite a bit of romano this time, some cheddar, and something unidentified (maybe manchego). It's really pungent but so good. If you use blue cheese, it's good but changes the character of the whole thing.

Easter musings

It seems self-centered of just plain wrong to say that so much is going right in my world, when there is so much gone awry in the world at large, beginning with the people who lost homes in the Fort Davis and PK Complex fires. It will be years before life returns to normal for some, and small businesses will suffer from the absence of tourism. I pray for strength for all those affected. Someone once wrote that you should pray not for what distresses you but for what distresses God. That can set your mind to wandering the world, from Haiti to Iraq and Lebanon, with Libya and other places in between. Of course I sincerely believe that the Lord is distressed at what our state and national governments are doing--on Capitol Hill, a big issue these days is how green to go. No more paper cups. Crockery anyone, so you can get on with running the government?
But my world, as I said, is good. Wywy, my cat, is eating voraciously, peeing a lot (good sign for a cat with his kidney disease) and pooped today for the first time since he was at the vet (pardon if that's too much information, but I viewed it as a small triumph). He is enjoying life--sat in the middle of my class of women last night and "allowed" them to love on him, sleeps on my bed and, if I'm there too, curls up close to me. Sure, I'm realistic, but it's nice that he's still himself for a while.
Jacob is happily watching TV, having eaten a good dinner and three chocolate cookies. His request for another was denied on the grounds that I don't want him swinging from the ceiling at midnight.
On Easter, Jacob, his parents, and I will go to church, and then I'll cook a mid-day meal for them, Jacob's other grandparents, and my neighbors. We'll have an egg hunt but will miss the noise and fun of all the cousins--one little friend is coming to hunt eggs with Jacob.
I just made an ice cream pie, which Jacob thought looked wonderful. I froze it just a bit and then pressed cookie crumbs and sugared chopped nuts into the top. Proudly called Jacob to look at it, and he asked, "What happened to it?" Oh well, lose some!
I have edits to my mystery to work on, which is fun for me. So yes, it's a good world.
Whatever your faith, may you relish this springtime season of renewal.

An eating adventure

Let me preface this by saying that Betty and I had some of the best food we've had in a long time tonight. But the way there was meandering. I had purchased a Groupon certificate for $40 worth of food for $20 at So7 Bistro, so we decided to go there. We'd been there once before, but tonight we lost it, absolutely couldn't find it. Parked in the garage and walked to where I thought it was only to be confronted by a space undergoing remodeling. After we got back to the car, Betty decided to ignore my instructions (except that I had the address on the certificate). We found it, quite far from where we expected it to be and not, as the address indicated, on 7th Street but on an adjoining street. Parked, went in, and found we were the only people there (about 6:20 p.m.) Not a good sign.
When we were there before, we had a medium experience--a really not bright waitress, okay food but nothing to write home about, and a terrible mix-up about the bill. And I thought the atmosphere was stark. So we were unsure tonight to begin with, although I'd heard they'd lightened the menu and the restaurant had changed hands. The menu made us more unsure: quite limited, although bistro entrees of coq au vin, lamb shanks, veal piccata, etc., all in the $20+ range, sounded good. I mentioned to the waitress that I'd looked at the menu online last week and there was a steak salad we were interested in trying (Don has added steak salad to the Star menu and wants to jazz it up a bit). The waitress said she was new (oops, another bad sign) and if they'd had it, they don't now.
Betty and I usually try to dine lightly and fairly inexpensively. So we looked, as we often do, at the appetizers. Crab cakes called to us, but we confessed to each other neither of us had ever eaten mussels, which were on the menu in a tomato/garlic/basil sauce. We decided to split the crab cakes and mussels, but we didn't hold out too much hope.
Well, we were so wrong. The mussels were delicious because of the sauce--I dipped each tiny one in so much sauce that I dribbled on the table. But I'll eat mussels again. I feel about them the same way I do about calamari--a bit chewy, but the sauce makes them worthwhile. The crab cakes, however, were some of the best I've ever had--served in a basil cream sauce with field greens liberally doused with the same sauce. We liked them so well, we ordered another round. I could have happily eaten a salad with that dressing and nothing else, though the crab cakes were meaty, little if any filling, and just crispy enough. House wine was reasonable and good (I'm not an oenophile!). All in all, a pleasant experience.
So, those of you in Fort Worth, try So7 Bistro (2401 West 7th, but actually around the corner) if you haven't. It's worth exploring to find it.

Are you an outliner or a pantser?

I was explaining to one of my memoir classes the other day about fiction writers being either outliners or pantsers. Outliners have thorough outlines before they ever hit a key on the keyboard; pantsers write by the seat of their pants. I have heard some outliners talk about elaborate charts with post-its so they can move incidents about, detailed lists of physical and emotional traits of characters, a solid knowledge of what will happen in each scene. The trick seems to be to write in terms of scenes, not chapters. That I can understand because I get carried away writing sometimes and forgt to break it up into chapters! But the advantages of this method are clear--the author knows the novel backward and forward before even beginning to write.
It's not that I begin without any outline--I have some rough notes on where the project is going, a general idea of who the victim or victims are, and a vague notion of the killer--sometimes I'm half way through a novel before I decide which of the possible suspects did the evil deed. But what I like about pantsing is that new incidents, scenes and complications occur to me as I write. One thought leads to another--if that characters said that, then maybe this could happen . . . and so it goes. Sometimes it's like I'm not writing it myself but someone is dictating. I've heard more than one successful authors say, "Listen to your characters and they will tell you the story." The biggest proponent of that theory was Elmer Kelton, and he had great success with his methods--albeit backed up by extensive historical research.
When I told my class I was a pantser, a good friend remarked that she was surprised because I tend to be organized, sometimes too much so, about everything from cooking and entertaining to planning my day's schedule.
But I got to thinking about the difference. Melinda, TCU Press production manager, and I used to talk endlessly about right-brain and left-brain. She knows she is left-brained--logical, thinks sequentially, rational, analytical, objective, looks at parts and can put them together. Thus she is wonderful about figuring out computer problems, grasping the overall business picture of an organization, figuring out what the structure of a problem is. She thinks of details that I used to flit right by.
On the other hand, even as director of the press, I tended to act on instinct. Organized, yes--my desk was always clear at the end of the day, queries and phone calls and emails answered, whatever came in taken care of. But throughout my life I've done everything from buying a house to buying a car impulsively. And I acted on impulse or instinct at  the press--a sense of what would sell and what wouldn't, an instinct about what kind of event would work, a subjective sense about things. I used to tell my former boss that God didn't mean me to read spreadsheets, and one day he countered with "Oh yes she did!" Sure, I can read them and grasp what they tell me, but I still followed my instinct. Did I make mistakes? You bet, but I also had some pretty good instincts that brought us some fine books. Melinda never trusted me to proofread--"You're right-brained," she'd say. "You don't have the mind for details." Actually I'm not that bad at proofreading.
Does being a pantser stand me in good stead as an author? Hard to tell at this point--so many of the novels I've written in the past were history, so the "plot" was laid out for me, as it were. But I've written two mysteries I like (and a few others I'm not sure about) and I found that instinct did lead me, telling me where we'll go next. Only publication--coming soon for one--and reader reaction will tell if my method is successful.
So what about you? Right-brained or left? Outliner or pantser. It doesn't just apply to writing folks--it has to do with all life.

Memoirs, edits, and a puny cat

My daytime memoir class met today. Those ladies have the most interesting stories, usually told with a nice bit of humor so that we end up laughing a lot. Today we got sidetracked by long discussions of people who are cat lovers and those who are not. Then of course it veered into dog stories, and I finally brought the discussion back to memoirs. But I think that talking and sharing is as important to the class members as the writing of the memoir, though once again I can see memoirs taking shape in a few people's work. This class doesn't have the repeat rate the evening class does, and I don't really expect many to get very far on a memoir in seven weeks. We'll see what happens.
Tonight I finished the edits on my mystery, Skeleton in a Dead Space, and sent it back to the editor. Sign of the changing internet world--she lives in Wales. I think a couple of language differences cropped up between us. Made me laugh. One has to do with plural vs. plural possessive, and the other is the colloquial, "I were you, I wouldn't . . . ." She kept wanting to make it "If I were you," but I told her in conversation, lots of us say, "It were me," etc. It is a good feeling to have that off my desk. I planned to devote all day tomorrow to it, and now it's done. I can read that new issue of Bon Appetit that arrived today!
But tomorrow has a project. My cat is not acting right--not eating much, not pooping much, throwing up a bit tonight The vet said it's time for them to look at him. Another bill I don't need, but I am a tad worried. Wywy will be 19 this spring and seems healthy, but these recent symptoms concern me.

Palm Sunday--and a bit of calm

I went to church today for the first day of Holy Week--and Jacob went with me. He didn't mean to. He wanted to go to day care, but when we got there--late, of course--the room was empty. The four-year-olds had gone to walk into the sanctuary with their palm fronds, which I think Jacob would have been too shy to do anyway. So he went to church with me. He was intrigued when the choir sang and when a children's choir--some his age, I swear--sang. He lasted through the opening hymn, weekly remembrances, welcome and response, pastoral prayer and Lord's prayer--though during the prayers he began to mouth to me that it was time to go. Later I told him when people bowed their heads in prayer, he must be extra quiet. But after the Lord's prayer, we went to the four-year-old class and found them in their classroom, so I slipped back into the service. It was comforting to me to hear the message that Jesus had come to bring us all God's love and forgiveness. I sort of needed that in this week of bad news. On the way home, Jacob told me he really liked the singing, and later when I began to sing something to him he put his hands over his ears. I told him I thought he liked my singing (which is always off-key) and he said he did in church but not at home.
We had an early but pleasant supper on the porch. I made chicken bundles in crescent rolls--you mix chopped, cooked chicken with cream cheese and green onion--and I added salt, pepper, and Worcestershire--and make four bundles out of one package of rolls. Then top with crushed seasoned croutons. Delicious and easy. Jacob even asked if I would make it again. To make sure Christian had enough, I gave him all the leftovers from last night in addition to the chicken bundle and the salad that Jordan made.
Tonight I'm deep into edits of Skeleton in a Dead Space. Hope to get it back to the editor by the end of the week, though with a large Easter dinner looming that's a bit problematical. But I'm enjoying doing it. Easter already? It's hard to believe.
For those of you who follow Holy Week, may you feel the joy and anticipation of this greatest of Christian holidays!

Where in the world are we going?

A quick glance through this morning's newspaper was discouraging--the Texas House okayed that 80 mph speed limit and the Federal House approved a budget plan which targets women's health issues, children, and the elderly, the Wisconsin judge instrumental in cutting workers' rights was re-elected, albeit by a slim margin, the Mexican government has totally lost control of the province of Tamaulipas. Not to mention the Middle East and suicide bombers. Nor the wildfires which are causing unbelievable havoc and destruction in West Texas, with the loss of at least one life. I know predictions of the world going to hell in a handbsket have been around for centuries, but sometimes it seems all too true. I'm tempted to say this is the worst of times, but then I remember medieval times were pretty awful, and the Industrial Revolution was no picnic for the poor. So I guess we plod ahead day by day, which seems a grim way to live life.
Except my life isn't grim at all, and I sometimes feel guilty that I am exempt from the troubles that beset so much of mankind. Wildfires could hit Fort Worth, but it's not likely they could get to the inner city where I live; a tornado could touch down--it happened a few blocks from here but was minor, and I just trust it won't happen again. Most of those I care about won't be adversely affected by the attacks on women's health issues and children's health care, though I may suffer a bit if the Republicans are successful in their cuts of aid to the elderly (how strange to think of myself in that category!). But generally I am isolated from the world's woes--and I am both grateful and puzzled, as though I must do something to help others. I think the piddling amounts I give to charity are drops int he bucket, and I carry a sense of guilt.
Meantime, with all the unhappiness in the world, my life went merrily along today. Chrisitian and I took Jacob to the church Easter egg hunt, which turned out to be a non-event. We expeced a carnival-like atmosphere, but instead we sat on our blanket, isolated, eating our sandwiches. The people I know are too old to be there, and Jordan and Christian haven't joined a Sunday school group so there was no one Christian or Jacob knew. And no one came to speak to us, though I noticed a Hispanic family, who wandered tentatively in and did talk to us for a moment, was warmly welcomed. Ah, diversity! The egg-hunt, when it happened, was another non-event. Jacob decided he was too shy to hunt eggs. We went home.
Tonight Weldon and Elizabeth came for a b'dy dinner for Elizabeth--tomorrow's the day. We had great fun talking on the porch, grilling chicken, and visiting. I grilled chicken thighs, marinated in a bit of lime juice and salt, and served with a tomatillo salsa--really good. Accompanied by a pinto bean ragout and a gluten- and dairy-free coleslaw. Elizabeth brought gluten-free cupcakes for dessert, though I declined. We really had a good visit and a good time, though Jacob was in a bit of a "Look at me!" show off mood. We ignored him as much as possible.
So here I am in my smug, comfortable, happy world, while the larger world seems a shambles around me. I know no one person can solve it--if Barack Obama can't, I certainly can't--but it remains a quandry for me. Perhaps Palm Sunday services will help me tomorrow.

A day at a middle school

This is sort of how I spent my day. I spoke to three groups of 7th graders at Kerr Middle School in Burleson, Texas, today--and my hat is off to all middle school teachers, most of all mydaughter-in-law Lisa who is in the trenches every day. The kids were, for the most part, polite, engaged and a delight. Oh yeah, there was always an undertone of conversation buzzing around, but the teachers were really in control. A few students got pulled from the sessions, others got reprimanded--they had to sit up (no lying on the floor) and pay attention and, most of all, button their lips. I was talking about my y/a historical novel, Sam Houston is My Hero. Seventh-grade students study Texas history so they knew all about Sam Houston and the Runaway Scrape, which made it easier. As I always do, I tried to let them teach the class. I gve them the basic facts of a story I had started with--a young girl, age 12, who rode across Austin's Colony after the fall of the Alamo (where her father died) telling men they had to join Houston and fight for Texas. It's a scrap of history based on little more than hearsay but I thought it made a good story. After having talked to the students about what they were reading and writing, I challenged them to take those bare facts and write three or four sentences about how they would have completed the story (that's what they're doing in the picture). Their answers included paranormal elements, zombies, and all kinds of fanciful things. Then I told them why I did what I did, how I submitted the book for publication, what the publication process it, etc. And then we were into a discussion of publishing. Each of the three groups had a personality of its own--questions were plentiful in some, like pulling teeth in others. Thank heaven for teachers who jumped in with questions of their own. But some of the youngsters asked really thoughtful questions, and only one asked about the money I make. I always welcome a chance to tell them authors are NOT rich, at least most of them. I asked what they were reading and of course it was Harry Potter, the Hunger Games (actually required reading in 8th grade), and Stephanie Meyer. They are not into history, although one teacher told me she heard a girl say, "I'm going to read that book." Hey, success!
The assistant to the city director shepherded me all day, picking me up, taking me for lunch, bringing me home. Kellye is a delightful and most accomplish young woman with lots of repsonsibiities. We had a good visit, and I hope to keep in touch with her--but you know how those things go.
I had given up speaking in public because it made me nervous, but lately I've been dipping my toe in again. Thanks to Jim Lee, who always told me he didn't know why I got nervous because I did a good job at it. So today was another exercise  in stretching my boundaries--and I felt good about it.
But, boy, was I tired when I came home. I started checking the 96 emails I had waiting and literally caught myself falling asleep over my computer. A two-hour nap refreshed me some, but I will be early to bed tonight. Lisa, how do you do it (other than being a lot younger than I am!)?
Tonight I'm piddling--Facebook, Twitter, emals, reading the last of this morning's paper. Nope, no great American novel today--once again, life gets in the way.