In the meantime I have also been working on the next novel in the series, "Sarah, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch." Sarah is ever so much fun to write. She's strong, bold, sassy, loving, unselfish, oh so many qualities that I'm working to have, and that the ladies I named her for have in quantity, (my Mother, Daughter, Great-Grandmother and Great-Aunt).
When I first began the process of writing my books I heard many writers say that they felt as though the characters in the book wrote their own story. I dismissed the idea as too imaginative. I mean, come on, how does a fictional character reach out and write their own story?
I now understand what they were speaking about. When I am in the midst of writing, ideas flow into my mind. My acting background helps. I think about the senses that are most important in my character. Does she remember things through sounds, or is she extremely visual...etc. I write a biography for each character so that I can remember the way they look and their personality traits. After writing portions of all EIGHT novels in the series it's very easy for my almost 59 year old memory to be inconsistent. Example, what if Celeste has beautiful emerald green eyes in her book, and BLUE in Angela's? That would be unfortunate, right?
Here is a teeny, tiny, sneak peek into the first chapter of "Sarah, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch."
The
blanket covering her was beautiful, brilliant with colors that
sparkled. She could see red, gold, and orange. The colors lay over
her as she rested in the valley. The clouds seemed to float down,
down, down, trying to reach her. The mistiness brushed against her
blanket. The blanket broke into tiny pieces that started to dance.
They circled. Mocking her, they made no sound. Dancing in intricate
color patterns the pieces changed shape.
Sarah
shook her head. She groaned. Could this enormous, heavy thing, be
her head? If it were, how did it not snap her long, tiny, neck like
a dry branch breaks in gusting wind?
There
was roaring, roaring, pounding, rhythmically against her aching ears.
She couldn’t remember. Where was she? Had she traveled back to
the land of the great waters? Mercifully, darkness closed over her
mind. Pain left. Pounding, and dancing blanket ended.
“Young
lady, can you hear me?” Silence fractured into a thousand points
of pain. Sarah tried to react, to open her eyes. They were closed
with the weight of the world upon them. She couldn’t move any part
of her body. Again she heard the roaring, roaring. She cried out.
Trying to reach the healing embrace of the ocean’s cold water she
stretched. It was no use. Blackness claimed her again.
When
she opened her eyes the next time she gasped in alarm. She was
somewhere that didn’t belong to The People. This place was unlike
anything in her experience. For the first time in her life she could
not feel the connection of the earth beating it’s living dance
under her. She felt something that was both hard, and soft at the
same time.
Trying
to rise, Sarah found that there was a strange dress over her skin.
It was soft, softer, even than the deerskin that she and her mother
had worked so hard to soften. Scraping, they worked with their hands,
until they cracked, and bled. This dress was the color of new snow.
Softness brushed against her legs. In other places the fabric came
too close to her skin. It itched. She scratched very hard at her
arms, and her neck. Trying to raise the dress from her was too hard
for her limited strength.
“I’m
very glad that you’re awake young lady.” The man’s skin was
pale. His eyes were the rich brown of spring earth. At first his
speech made no sense to her. It seemed like the sounds of animals.
She tried to understand but couldn’t. At last she was able to
concentrate enough to recognize that he spoke in the language that
Wise Woman of The People had taught her for many years.
“Where
am I?” She tried to say it. The words came from her in the voice
of a stranger. She tried again. Realizing that her voice was hard,
and scratched from being out of use she wondered, “How long have I
been lying in the lodge of a strange man?”
She
tried to rise but her legs were traitorous. Her bones had turned to
liquid. They were unwilling to hold her up. She spoke slowly,
willing the strange words to come to her mind. “I must return to
my people. They will worry.”
“Whoa
there young lady, you’re not going to be ready to try walking for
at least another week.” Blake Calkin was six feet two inches. He
was broad, and sturdy. His brown eyes twinkled with kindness.
Looking down on this obviously frightened, young, Indian woman he
softly touched her hand. Sarah recoiled . “I wish that I could
make you understand that you are safe.” Blake paced back and forth
by the bed for a moment.
Finally
he reached out his arms. He rocked them back and forth, back and
forth, like he was holding a baby.
Sarah
was really confused. What was this strange man with hair the color
of hard rocks trying to tell her? Again, she tried to rise from the
bed grunting with the effort. Beads of sweat burst out on her
forehead. Blake had not quit trying to help her understand that she
was safe. When rocking a baby did not elicit a response a positive
response. Blake began softly stroking his own arm as though he held
a baby. Singing a lullaby, Blake’s voice was rich, deep, warm.
Sarah
felt herself relaxing against her will. She remembered stories of
wild, white men who used magic powers to trap women of The People.
They were led away, never to return. She was afraid that she was
about to fall prey to the same magical powers. The sounds that the
man created were soothing. She began to loose the will to fight.
Sarah just wanted to relax, and listen to the comforting sound.
Red
O’Toole, Blake’s houseman that was more family than employee,
burst into the room. He carried a tray filled with delicious
smelling food. Sarah opened her eyes. She began to speak in her
native tongue rapidly in fright.
Pointing
to the man’s head where fire burst forth she exclaimed, “His
head is flaming fire bursting hot that will burn all of us!” This
time, fear washed through her. Filled with adrenaline she jumped from
the bed. Using her blanket she began to wrap the burning head to
quench the flames.
She
was surprised to discover that the flame that she saw was actually a
strange type of hair. Her hair was brown, strong, thick, and
straight. There were different colors of brown hair amongst The
People. Some even had wavy hair. This man’s hair was coiled like
snakes. Flame colored it did not burn.
Blake
was startled by her reaction to Red’s hair. He began to laugh when
he realized what she thought. Red began sputtering, “Dang fool
girl, wrapping my head up in a blanket. What was she thinking?”
Blake tried to speak through his laughter, “She thought your head
was on fire. She tried to stop the flames from spreading.” Red
started to laugh as well.
Sarah
had never heard sounds exactly like these men were making. They both
threw their heads back and laughed, rich, rippling sounds, like water
in the river, gurgling over rocks. Their sounds made her feel
laughter rising in her throat. She began to laugh, a soft silvery
sound that floated across the room like a gentle tinkling bell. The
laughter rose, and became merrier. The three individuals were united
by a common language, laughter.
When
they finally stopped, Sarah climbed back into bed, weak. The
adrenaline surge that had caused her frenzied flight was spent. Red
brought the tray over towards her. He sat it on the bed, and began
to show her what was there. She suddenly felt extremely hungry. She
saw something liquid like water but with pieces of meat and
vegetables. There was also some yellow chunk that looked unlike
anything she had ever seen or smelled before.
Hunger
drove Sarah to pick up the food and began gently trying, testing,
hesitantly at first. Then as the taste became less alien her appetite
drove her. She knew nothing of the strange shaped objects that lay
next to the food. She used her hands as The People did. Even though
she was motivated by the hunger of her stomach it was still obvious
in the way that she ate that she was refined. She bit off small
pieces and chewed softly, quietly, with no loud sounds of smacking,
or chomping.
When
she had finished the food she looked up at the two men who were
watching her. She rubbed her stomach and smiled. Her smile was
rewarded by the smiles of the men. Red gathered the dishes, picked
up her tray and left.
Blake
pulled a chair up by the bed and sat down. Sarah looked curiously at
this man. She was surprised to find that there was no fear in her
toward him. She wondered if she should be afraid, cautious, on her
guard. Searching her heart she found no need for those feelings.
Blake
pointed to himself and said, “My name is Blake.” Sarah repeated
carefully after him, “Blake?” Blake smiled and nodded yes. Then
he said, “What is your name?” At first she didn’t understand
then she pointed to herself and answered, “Sarah.”
Blake
sat down again in the chair by the bed. “Sarah you had a nasty
infection in your leg that had spread to all of your body.” He
pointed to her leg and then moved his hands to show that it had
spread to all of her. “Red, the man with the flaming hair opened
it and cleaned it. It is getting better, look.” Blake turned back
the bandage that was tied on Sarah’s leg. Sarah winced as she saw
the still inflamed, weeping wound. “How did you hurt your leg,
Sarah?” Sarah frowned, softly remembering.
“As
I climbed there was a sharp rock. I slipped, and fell on it. It
tore my leg. I used herbs. I used fire rocks to purify it. The
strong poisons spread quickly.”
Sarah
tried again to rise but turned pale and sank back against the
pillows. “I should return to The People. They will worry.”
Blake spoke softly, “What you must do now is to rest. You are
still far too ill to travel.” Sarah had no strength to argue with
Blake.
“Taclong
Lechosa,” she said in a low melodious voice. She spoke again,
“That means for saving my life, my life is now yours.” Blake
patted Sarah’s hand very gently. “Rest Sarah. ” Sarah fell
asleep with the image of deep brown eyes looking into her soul.
