Up and Coming

I know that I have said ever so many times that my book, "Angela, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," is going to be published soon.  I've had some miserable health glitches that have made writing impossible.  Now it appears that we may be moving in the next few months.

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.

After Christmas

Wheezing, coughing, sneezing, I'm shaking my bed, first with chills, and then feeling burning hot.  Sleep eludes me, and I am frustrated by remembering that no matter how sick, tomorrow I must open my doors and work.  I simply can't pay my bills if I don't work.

Gratefully, I have managed to turn a tidy profit through my seamstress work.  I love what I do.  It's such fun to take possibilities and turn them into clothing.  The hours seem to fly past as I work with women to help them look as lovely as possible.

Mrs. Judith Chou came to me today.  She is such a gracious, lovely woman.  She can barely speak English.  She and her husband have come quite recently from China.  She managed to explain to me that she had worked hard and saved her money because she desperately needed a new outfit.  She can't sew.  She was born with her hands twisted and turned.  They look as though somehow they were molded wrong.

She still runs a thriving laundry business.  In her limited English she tells me that those twisted hands do fine at scrubbing a shirt on a washboard, wringing them out, hanging them, then ironing and starching those shirts.

I do not normally carry the type of silk fabric that she wears.  Usually I sew with ginghams, calicos, and once in a rare while a crepe du chine.  (I LOVE crepe du chine).  Being able to create a beautiful outfit of Chinese silk is delightful to me.  She brought her own fabric with her.  Purchasing it years ago in China she brought it with her when she came to America.

Her first name is not really Judith, but it is a name that we American's can't seem to pronounce correctly.  She told me that it sounded a little like Judith, and she had met a nice lady named Judith when they made their long, long trip from China to here.  So she decided to adopt the name.

Ohhhh...that chill was miserable.  First I was sooooo cold, and then I burst into a hot sweat.  Now I feel weak as a new born colt.  I worry when I'm this sick that I will make others sick when they come into my shop.  Last week I made a new batch of the nasty medicine my Mother taught me how to make.  It involves boiling vodka with garlic, onions, and some other nasty tasting herbs.  It really does help to clear the infection faster.  On the other hand, I can't take it in the morning because I wouldn't have any customers.  They would all run from the smell!

I make myself vinegar tea with honey in the morning.  I drink it all day long.  That usually helps me keep from coughing on my clients.  Sigh...I am finally beginning to feel sleepy.  I'm so grateful.  I'm just exhaust...

(Author's note...Celeste fell asleep and dropped her journal and pen).

Celeste's Journal

The candles on the Christmas tree were magical tonight.  It is Christmas Eve.  I can not believe how quickly this last year has come and gone.  As always I feel nostalgic on this night.  In our family it was so wonderful.  There were years when we had very little of material possessions.  It was the love that we shared, the faith of my parents that brought a warmth I will remember always.

Blake and I shared the ritual of putting the boys to bed.  Blake reads a story.  I tell a story, (I'm still not very good at reading English), and then we sing two songs that they choose.  They go to sleep wrapped up in our love.

After the boys were thoroughly tucked in to their beds, Blake took me by the hand and led me downstairs.  When we were putting the boys to bed he had put the fires out of the candles.  He NEVER would leave them burning unattended.  He lit them again now.

We sat in his oh so comfortable settee in front of the fireplace.  I love snuggling close to Blake.  He feels so strong, so powerful, I treasure those moments.  I feel protected, beloved, and in the times when I am away from this family I cling to those memories.

I thought maybe, just maybe, this would be the time that Blake would finally propose.  It has been several years since I ran away from Madame LeRouge.  Jamie is almost five years old.  Eric is in school.  He loves school, and always gets wonderful grades for all of his topics.  Eric brings home work that he doesn't need to do but loves to do.  Miss Cready raves and rants about this marvelous boy.  She believes that he will someday do miraculous things for our world.

I KNOW that both of these boys, MY boys, have infinite potential.   I am grateful every single day for their presence in my life.

At first when I lived in town in my charming shop, I would worry about what people would think about my staying at the ranch with two men.  Then I realized that no matter what I did, those people relished thinking the worst about me.  I have given up caring about the opinions of these narrow minded judgmental people.  (Well most of the time anyway).

Snuggling so close with Blake I felt passions beginning to rise.  I did my best to squash them down.  I will never again experience intimacy without marriage.  My lack of celibacy was forced upon me.  It will not happen again.  I do NOT believe in that form of love  before marriage.  A child should be blessed to come into a loving family, not some single woman who has a most uncertain future!  Ah, wishful thinking, the good doctor told me, after Angel was born, that I could never again bear a child.

Blake and I kissed for a few moments.  He took my face in his hands and said, "Celeste, I am grateful every day that we found each other.  You are the best Mother these boys could have."  Then he stopped, cold.  A distant look came on his face.  He stood and said, "Well it's been a lovely day but we'd best get the presents out, and prepare for the morning, don't you think?"

I wish that Blake would get rid of that iron wall he hides behind.  I know that telling me 'I'm the BEST Mother the boys could have,' reminded him of the two women that he lost that WERE the children's 'Best Mother.'"

We gathered the toys from Blake's hiding places.  We placed them carefully on the comfortable settee in the great room.  Next we filled beautiful velvety socks with apples, walnuts, an orange for each boy, and some ribbon candy.  I love the beauty of this unique candy even better than the taste.

I'm weary.  I have sewn like mad this last week.  I had so many orders to fill.  Finally, with my protests Blake hired Sophronia Evans to come and help me.  She is an amazing seamstress.  She's also remarkably pregnant.  Bless her heart, she can barely waddle.  I remember what it was like to carry a child, my Angel.  I will always treasure those memories, until we can find her.  I will never give up trying to find her!

It's after two in the morning.  I know the boys will be awake earlier than early.  Their minds will be filled with the possibilities that Christmas Morning brings.  I've already tried to sleep.  I must admit, my mind may also be filled with wondrous possibilities.  Could Blake have a ring under the tree?  Could this be the time, the day, when he stops living in the past and wishes to love me in the present?

****(This is a note from the author of the Drifting Anchor Series).  You may notice that Celeste says she can't read English very well.  You also must imagine that her journal is actually written in her Native French.  Since I don't speak French beyond a casual Merci Beaucoup, I include this note only as an explanation how she can write in English when she can't read it.

Celeste's Journal

Christmas is coming again.  Not right away.  Autumn leaves are still covering the ground with a carpet of gold.  I love to go to the ranch.  Blake was very thoughtful about the trees that he planted around the house.  He planted several fire maples.  Their crimson loveliness is my favorite.  The leaves are shaped so delightfully.  They explode into brilliance when autumn arrives.

One day when I was watching just Jamie, I took a couple of quilts outside.  First we had a delightful picnic lunch.  We had bread, cheese, some grape juice, and some delicious apples.  Then Jamie fell asleep on the quilt.  I covered him with the other quilt.  I decided to snuggle next to him and watch the leaves waft gently from the trees, down, down onto us.

The next thing I knew Jamie was moving around awakening from his nap.  I felt absolutely the strongest contentment.  We had a blanket of brilliantly covered leaves over our quilt.  I told Jamie to hold still for just another moment.  I told him to watch the leaves over our heads.  The sun was shining through them.  We were far enough away from the ranch house, and yard that we couldn't hear the busy workers there.  Silence was complete.

True to his nature Jamie's stillness did not last very long.  He was up and raring to move!  So we gathered the quilts, shook them, and gathered all of our picnic foods.  I took Jamie in the house and we did a couple of chores.  I think a day needs to be balanced.  We do something fun, then a necessary task, then something fun, and then another necessary task.  I feel much more content with my life when I approach it in this manner.

Eric was soon home from school.  He and Jamie went outside to do one of their myriad daily chores.  Blake came in and talking me by the hand he led me outside.  He asked me to walk with him.  So we walked hand in hand along the path that leads to the river that runs through his ranch.  It was so beautiful.  God's hand was evident in the colors, textures, and smells of the season.

After we walked for about a half hour Blake turned me towards him and slowly, oh ever so slowly, pulled me close.  He kissed me.  A single shaft of wind blew the leaves around us as we kissed.  I never wanted that brilliant moment to end.  I will cherish this day for the rest of my life!

Writing?

I wake up in the morning thinking, what worlds will I create today?  As I format a new book, the character seems to speak to me.  (No, I am not quite delusional, ok, maybe just a little...hee hee).

My book, "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch" is available on lulu.com   The Nook and Kindle formats are not yet available.  Anyone who lives in the locale around Farmington, Utah may purchase my books, "Beth, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," or "Celeste, Women of the Drifting Anchor Ranch," at Aunt Addy's Country Home, 58 North Main Street, Farmington, UT.  There is a $3.00 price break.  Online it costs $19.99 plus shipping.  If you purchase your book at Aunt Addy's you can request a book signing for your book.  I will make arrangements to meet and sign.

I have NOT written or published these books in chronological order.  Eventually the order will be as follows, Ardis, Sarah, Celeste, Angela, Lily, Rose, Beth, and the novel to tie up any loose threads, Tapestry.  I write each book to stand alone.  On the other hand, each book fits together like pieces in a puzzle.

In addition, I love to give you a peek behind the scenes, here on my blog.  I will soon start to give a few behind the scenes for Angela, which is the next book to be published.  Angela is feisty, damaged, but wanting desperately to love and be loved.  Abandoned at an orphanage, adopted at the tender age of six by a murdering thief, forced into human slavery, she finds her redemption in the Calkin family of the Drifting Anchor Ranch.

As I write, I grow to love each and every one of my characters.  I LOVE to write.  The printed word is magical to me.  Think of how reading works.  Our eyes see letters, and words, and then our brain interprets the things that we see.  One word, one sentence, can mean something different to pretty much everyone that reads it.  I'm always thrilled when I create a sentence that dances right off the page, and creates joy.

Please, keep reading, and I will keep writing!  You know you're curious to find out more about the Calkin's and their ever so typical lives of the 19th century in Western America.  Thanks for all the support I have received in this process!

A book signing? Really?

It took me 25, long, insecure years to finally get the courage to publish.  Actually these books, these stories were formulating in my head long before that.  I just didn't think anyone would want to read my little books.  I couldn't even get my husband to read them!  To be fair he didn't read novels for the last 10 years of his life because of his many health challenges.  In addition, how many men do you know that want to read a book about gushy, mushy, romance? 

I had heard tales of authors claiming that their writing was driven by the voice of the characters they had created.  I thought that it was a charming idea, but let's face it, a little wacky.  AND THEN, Celeste.  I know very well that one of the first rules in writing is WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW!  I work earnestly to fulfill this standard.  When your story is filled with the passionate joy of words arriving and then being spread across paper, those words need to be from your experience right?

So I begin to write Celeste.  Let's see, oh I think I'll make the character from France.  That's the idea!  Her Father has followed a long generational line of Master Vintner's.  In France his chance of ever becoming Master of his OWN vineyard is zero to none.  He wishes to travel with his family to the reputedly fertile fields of Oregon to develop his own line of wines.

The family immigrate by ship.  While on board all of Celeste's family die.  Innocent at 14 she barely can speak English.  When she arrives at her families destination she has nowhere to go and nobody that she knows.  She is trapped into sexual slavery.

For those who know me, does that sound like something from my life?  I can joyfully announce, NOPE!  I have never faced those types of challenges.  I pray that I never will.

I was so startled by the first several chapters that I wrote that I put them away.  I didn't want to think about any of that awful stuff.  I am a firmly avowed "Happy ever after," sort of writer.  (Yes I DO know that life doesn't always seem to follow that pattern.  That is just when you are looking at life as a finite set of parameters.  When you open your mind to the possibility of eternity I firmly believe there WILL BE a "Happy Ever After."  The book "Celeste", didn't even seem like it COULD have a "Happy Ever After."

One week later I was watching a documentary with my husband.  (We loved watching them together).  I was stunned to find out that sexual slavery is at an all time high in our world today!  People are actually paid to troll the streets of America looking for unsupervised children that are easy prey.  HORRIFYING!  They also target the mentally challenged.  Even though their bodies have grown into adults, their minds are and always will be childlike.

I don't believe in focusing on fear.  I prefer the practice of faith.  Faith in God, in family, in the fact that this evening the sun will go down, but in the morning the sun will rise again.  Yet it is ever so important that we are educated about the subject of human bondage and sexual slavery.  It simply is no longer wise to leave our unsupervised children in the front yard to play.  Either we must be with them, or they must be in the backyard.  One story told about a child being two aisles away from his parents.  That was all it took for this predator to sexually abuse the child.

Children are our future!  Where would be if Mozart did not mature into his music?  How about Einstein and his mind boggling discoveries.  None of us knows what untold greatness the children in this world possess.  I forgot to mention one of the greatest losses this world would have known.  My beloved parents.  They were humble, but they were powerful.  They spent their money and lives serving others.

It takes only one heart-stopping-tragedy-engendering second to snatch a small child.  Please, watch over our children.  When I'm in a public place with children giggling and playing all over in front of me, I watch ever so carefully.  There will be nobody kidnapped when I'm around!

After watching that documentary I got my Celeste manuscript out and went back to writing.  I am now a believer that you can become so invested in a character that you feel as though they are writing the book.  Oh not some creepy "channeling" sort of way.  I do know that these people are fictional.   If I start to talk to you about these people as though they ARE alive, please stage an intervention and get me immediate help!

This book signing day has been an extremely long time in coming.  I never believed that it actually would.  (I'm working on that insecurity thing of mine).  So tomorrow I will be sitting in a comfy chair smiling brightly and hopefully signing many books.  What a thrill to have written two books.  I have a third novel coming out in the next several months.

My mind is filled with untold stories, and songs.  What a joy it is to create!

Celeste's Journal

Eric was with me for the weekend.  He's such a serious, thoughtful lad.  He's very protective of me, and of his younger brother Jamie.  One day he and Jamie were crossing the road.  A man came galloping into town on a horse.  He was traveling so quickly that he would have run down Jamie.  Jamie was frozen with fear.  Eric simply scooped Jamie up and moved him out of the way.

Blake, Red, and I were all startled at Eric's selflessness.  It's very unusual for a child his age to think of his brother's life first and his second.  I have no doubt that he will grow up to become an amazing man.

I'm often surprised by the maturity of Eric's questions.  Today he asked, "Maman, where did we live before we were born?  Did we come from Heaven?  If we did, what is Heaven?"

I responded, "Those are all excellent questions Eric.  Have you asked your Papa these questions?"

"He's always too busy. 

"Well your Father is a very important man Eric.  He has lots of responsibilities to accomplish each and every day."

"I know.  I just wish that maybe he could count me as one of the tasks that he marks off a list everyday.  I love my Papa, so much.  I would like to go fishing with him sometimes."

Celeste smiled.  "Did you know that I'm an excellent fisher?  I used to go fishing with my brother when we were young.  We never came home empty handed."

"Really Maman?  Would you take me fishing?"

"I have no appointments after 1 this afternoon.  Let's make a sign for the window, "Gone Fishing," lock the place up and go."

Suddenly Eric looked sad.  "I don't have a fishing pole."

I laughed, "Neither do I.  It's a good thing that I know how to make a fishing pole from a stick, and some string.  There are lots and lots of juicy worms where I like to fish.  Carter's Creek is a great place to fish.  With that tiny stream running into it there are lots and lots of fish."

We had a wonderful afternoon.  We caught some beautiful fish.  We took them home and cooked them.  I'm pretty sure that fresh fish are the most delicious food in the world!  I'm going to have a chat with Blake.  He needs to know how Eric feels.  Childhood is so short, and so precious, Blake really doesn't want to miss it!