Venturing into the World

 As I read what my blogmates have written over the past months about venturing out into the world, I feel like the woodchuck who lives under the storage hut in my backyard. He (or perhaps she) pokes a head out of its tunnel to have a look around before emerging out into in my pocket-size but lushly green backyard. There is a grapevine that has been impossible to kill and that every summer intrudes across the low fence into my neighbor's yard. Despite being ripped out by a tree trimming company last year, it is back again and now climbing into a young tree nearby. While looking innocent, that grapevine can kill the tree. But it and the wild flowers around it provide the woodchuck and the rabbit family that live in my backyard with a place they can quickly shelter when I come into the backyard with my dog, Fergus. 

Not understanding the concept of leashes, they don't know that even when Fergus dashes into the yard, I have a firm hold on him. No woodchuck will be pursued into its tunnel or rabbit, squirrel, or chipmunk harassed on my watch. The birds are capable of fending for themselves, but they would all probably be safe even if Fergus were running free. He is a lover not a predator. In all likelihood, he would be front paws down, butt up in the air as he barked at a baby rabbit and waited for it to play. 

But unlike Penelope, the Maine Coon cat, with whom he lives and who alternates between indifference, mild interest, flirting as she brushes by him, stopping to sniff, and meowing in distress as she sits beside the kitchen door waiting to be let down in the basement -- her "cat cave" where she sleeps inside an old work table left by the family who once owed the house or up in a space in the ceiling or behind paint cans or a box of Christmas decorations. She would be more convincing about her need for a place to escape to if Fergus didn't help her out by chasing her to the door and then sitting down beside her to wait for me to let her out -- sometimes barking or scratching on the door with his larger paw so that I will come and open the door for her. 

Penelope, a rescue cat, would love to run out the front door when it is open. She once did in the middle of the night when I took Fergus out. As I searched for her with flashlight in hand, wondering if she would come in on her own if I dared leave the front door open, she ran back up the steps leading down to the street and up the walk and the front steps and back into the house. Penelope had found that venturing out at night in the dark was more freedom than she wanted. But she still waits by the door when Fergus and I go out, and I have learned to close the door from living room into foyer before opening the front door. I am thinking of getting a collar with her name and my telephone number in case she should ever manage to dash by me or someone else and get herself lost before she realizes she is out in a neighborhood where dogs are being walked -- and that we live several cross streets up the hill from an avenue with four lanes where traffic is rushing by.

Although I share Penelope's desire to explore, I feel rather like the woodchuck peeping out from under the storage hut. I have been going out every morning to take Fergus to daycare. I've been doing that for months. I return to pick him up in the afternoon after trying to get some work done. I'm now going to supermarkets and to pick up food. I've even had dinner out with a friend three or four times. I've gone to a mystery conference. Sometimes I wear a mask, sometimes I don't. I find myself matching my behavior to that of others in some settings. It seems -- oddly enough -- almost an accusation to wear a mask when no one else is wearing one. I feel as if I am suggesting the other people might be careless enough to be there if they are ill. But that makes no sense. They could well be contagious without no raging symptoms. When I am going to be in a busy place with lots of other people, I opt for the mask. 

But now -- in September -- I have my first airplane trip since the pandemic began. I am planning to take an international flight from Newark, New Jersey to Dublin, Ireland. After three days in Dublin, I am going to get on a smaller plane and fly over to Torquay for the International Agatha Christie Festival. 

https://www.iacf-uk.org/festival-2022

I am excited about finally being able to accept an invitation to do a presentation at the festival. I'm also excited about going to Ireland for the first time and having the opportunity to do some field research that I can use when I begin writing my 7th Lizzie Stuart.  Book 4 is about to be reissued by Speaking Volumes with a new cover. See below:

I am plotting the 6th book after a lapse of years. It seems a lovely bit of serendipity to be going to Torquay for the festival. My first Lizzie novel, Death's Favorite Child, was set in Cornwall, written during and after a vacation in St. Ives with a friend. In my book, Lizzie and her travel writer best friend Tess Alvarez were staying at the same sort of private hotel. When the young housekeeper, niece of the two sisters who were the proprietors, was murdered, Lizzie had her first crime to solve. The plot and the characters and even the murder weapon were inspired by Dame Agatha.

That first book was the one in which Lizzie met John Quinn, American homicide detective, who was visiting his former partner who had retired to St. Ives with his Scottish wife. Now, two years later in series time, Lizzie and Quinn are engaged and due to be married in Book 7. I anticipate they will be sidetracked from their honeymoon in Paris by a matter involving Quinn's late father (career military) and his Irish roots.

So, I'm venturing out and crossing my fingers that some new variant of Covid won't upset my plans. Even though I purchased travel insurance in case I have to cancel, I'm feeling optimistic. I hope I'll be able to take that flight to Ireland. Although I'm coming back in coach, I'm treating myself on the way over. A chat with my travel agent and a discount sale convinced me that I should splurge on an upgraded seat on my direct flight to Dublin. I'll be able to stretch out in my own little sleep pod. With only three days in Dublin, I want to enjoy every moment -- just in case I come home with Covid and need to go back into my hole.

The Downside

 Last Wednesday I received an email from Candy Moulton, the executive secretary of Western Writers of Ameria. She said a number of convention attendees were testing positive for Covid. I took a home test immediately and was positive. I immediately ran out and got a PCR test. Yes, I definitely had Covid. 

Boy, you talk about a downside to a convention! I have eluded this bug for two years and then blew it in a very short time. Luckily, my internist ordered an infusion of monoclonal antibodies. I live in Fort Collins and it was over an hour's drive to the infusion center in Broomfield. No one could drive me. I had to do it myself because of the risk of infecting someone else. There simply aren't that many Covid infusion centers available. I was able to make this drive. Good thing, because I felt worse the day after. I don't know if the disease was worse, or the infusion caused more symptoms. 

I've had a low-grade fever and have not wanted to get off the sofa. It could be a lot worse and probably would have been if it weren't for the infusion. 

What a messed up time we are in right now. At WWA I heard multiple complaints about air travel. There were cancelled flights, missing luggage, delayed luggage, and missed connections for this or that reason. 

Our hotel was chronically understaffed. But that is another story altogether. 

My short story "The Book Mama" is a finalist for the Will Rogers Medallion for short fiction. The ceremony is the last of October in Fort Worth. It's a really long drive. Plane tickets are quite reasonable. 

But if I book a flight, will I miss it altogether? Shall I take the risk? Will the airlines get sorted out by then? 

Last night there was a segment on PBS that offered a partial explanation for the royal mess at airports. Apparently when Covid first hit, the airlines laid off a lot of pilots because so many people stopped flying. Also, a number voluntarily took early retirement passengers. Now there aren't enough available and airlines overbook. It isn't working. But alas, training pilots takes a while. 

The last thing I want airlines to do is shortchange pilot training. 

I'll live with the uncertainty. 

Quadruple Whammy

 I have been debating over the content of this post. It seems unnecessarily ghoulish to list unhappy events on this site. Especially when everyone is looking forward to a vibrant New Year. 

I'm in North Carolina visiting my daughter. We've had a very Merry Christmas. And an unusual number of deaths and illnesses in our family and friends during the last month. 

About an hour ago I learned I have Covid, which involved cancelling tomorrow's flight home. I'm throwing in the towel and making this very short. 

Nevertheless, I feel like the New Year will be a turning point with a happy ending. So onward and upward everyone. 

Launch Date

Tomorrow, my fourth book Shadow Hill is officially released.  I’m having a book launch party on the patio of one of my favorite restaurants here on the coast called Floyd’s 1921 Restaurant.  It’s an outside venue which has become an important factor now that the Delta Variant of Covid is raging through the unvaccinated public.  

Sadly, only about 35% of the population here in our coastal county has been vaccinated and the number of illnesses and hospitalizations are spiking. 

So, I’m writing about good news/bad news.  

A book launch is always good news but why are they always on Tuesdays?  I’ve Googled it to death and no one has a solid answer.  One theory is that Tuesday is the slowest sales day.  That really doesn’t make sense to me, but there it is.

Another theory is that all the new books launching on that particular week are out on the same day, there’s less of a cost for distributors.  But why Tuesday?  Why not Wednesday?

Yet a third theory is that if the book sells really well early on, that gives a bookstore an opportunity to order more before the weekend.

The real reason?  They’ve just always done it that way.   

In the past, a book launch date was just that, the  first day you can buy the book.  But for Shadow Hill, that didn’t seem to be the case.  For the last month, Amazon has been shipping them out as quickly as the orders come in.  Barnes & Noble was shipping and selling at the beginning of August.  Other bookstores had them on sale as well.

Am I complaining?  Absolutely not.  Sell those books as fast as you can.

Anyway you look at it, launching the book is really good news.

What’s the bad news?  The Delta Variant of Covid is raging through the unvaccinated public.  Just this past week we heard that Bouchercon 2021 in New Orleans was cancelled.  It didn’t come as a surprise. If you have any kind of presence on social media and you’re friends with other writers, they were dropping out one at a time.

I’d been asked to be on a panel and to moderate a second.  I reached out to the five panelists last week to introduce myself and immediately, three of them told me they had cancelled.  

With New Orleans being one of the cities with the highest infections rate, it made sense for the conference organizers to make the painful decision to cancel.  They offered to refund my registration fee or I could donate it back to them.

I know they have expenses to cover so I didn’t hesitate to donate it to them

Tomorrow, I’m raising a glass with my friends, signing some books, and eating the outstanding appetizers that Floyd’s will be serving.  And for the rest of today, I’m looking over a manuscript due to be released in 2022 that has been marked up by my editor.  

Cheers.  

Believable Behavior

 If you’re going to be a writer, I believe you need to be a keen observer of your surroundings.  I’m not just talking about places and things and the appearance of people (who eventually become characters in your stories), but human behavior. 

Like when you give a book talk, you read the room.  Last Thursday night, I gave a talk to one of our many regional Rotary Clubs. This one was small in number, about twenty, the majority the audience being senior citizens.  

Most of the time, I lead with a joke that, if you haven’t heard it before, rocks the room.  Studying the faces last night, I knew that joke would fall flat on its backside. Instead, I launched with a self-depreciating description on my agonizingly long journey to being published.  

They thought that was pretty funny.   Okay, with this crowd, my pain was their comedy.

As I was speaking, I watched their faces to see if they were remaining engaged or if I was boring them into catatonia.  I’m pretty certain I did well because when I finished, they hit me with a flurry of excellent questions. 

One of them was the question I get most often, Is it hard to write in the first-person as a woman?” 

Yes it is.  I never planned to write more than one book that featured Geneva Chase.  It involves a ton of research, most of it online, of course.  When you’re writing mysteries, you look up everything from poisons to guns to escort services to muscle cars.

When writing about Geneva Chase, I also look up hairstyles and cosmetics, as well as women’s shoes and clothing.

You know how once you’ve looked something up online you receive an onslaught of related ads?  When I do my research, my computer screen is festival of weirdness. 

But I also listen to the way women talk and walk and how they act.  It’s a fine line between being observant and being creepy. 

So, let’s pivot for a moment, and talk about irrational behaviors.  When I’m writing, I try to describe behavior that’s believable.  The last thing you want is your readers to shake their heads and say, “That would never happen.”

And yet, we see irrational behavior all the time.  Most recently, people who refuse to get the Covid vaccine. Full disclosure, my wife and I jumped all over it when we had a chance to get the shot.  I was certain that everyone else would as well.  I was so certain, that I have my hotel booked and my airline ticket purchased to head to New Orleans for Bouchercon in late August.

Now, because there’s still a fairly high percentage of people refusing to be vaccinated, I’m having second thoughts.  The folks from Bouchercon sent an email to all participants that to be safe, the Mayor of New Orleans is asking people to mask up when they’re inside because of the increase in cases of variant infections, a danger in particular to those who are unvaccinated. 

The most basic human behavior is self-preservation and the safekeeping of those most close to you.  

I guess you could call this kind of irrational behavior a plot twist, but its one that strains believability. 

The End is Near

 Winter, and the ghost of Covid 19 is stealing away. I'm writing this while Fort Collins is preparing for a massive snow storm and we are warned daily about the emergence of variants to this disease. Nevertheless, spring is just around the corner. I can feel it coming. 

My spirits always lift when I do what I'm supposed to do: write books. Today, I got back to work on my mystery. I have liked the basic plot from the very beginning, and was going great guns, then got side-tracked. I had an assignment from the publisher of my historical novels and put the mystery aside. That was a good move, but then I didn't get fully back to the work-in-progress, and that was a dumb move.

 The time spent during the Covid shutdown could have been a great blessing for writers. It should have been for me. But strangely enough, I found myself frittering away my days. I've always been a compulsive reader and I couldn't stop myself from reading book after book. It's my primary way of dealing with anxiety and just about anything else. Atypically, I became a binge TV watcher. 

There was this sense of all the time in the world to complete work. I worked sporadically, and not with my usual zest. My days lacked the joyful bewilderment of immersion so complete that I would lose track of time. When this immersion occurs, the real world, with all of its real problems, fades away because the process is more compelling. 

During this wasted year when I should have finished my book and begun a new one, or reorganized my house, or hand waxed all of my hardwood floors, or sewn lovely gifts for all my daughters and grandchildren, or refinished furniture, or tackled math, or learned a language, or cooked and froze meals, or worked on my saggy body, I treated the time like it was a vacation.

Still, I'm not clinically depressed and a lot of people are. I'm ready to get back to work. I've had both of my Covid shots and so have a lot of my friends. 

Between this strange sorrowful disease that came out of nowhere, and the terrifying wildness of American politics, simply surviving seemed like a worthy goal. 

I'm here. Bring the new year on. 

Tech Blues

 Yesterday I had another frustrating encounter with technology. The video trial period had run out on my Ring Doorbell. I received notice that I should enroll in a Protect Plan. There was an inexpensive one available. I quite like Ring because I can hear the doorbell in my basement. 

When I went on-line I was informed that I didn't have an account. I certainly did. My iPhone said so. The device worked perfectly. So I got in touch with a very savvy tech person. She patiently walked me through a number of steps. 

Nothing worked. According to the computer I simply didn't have an account. 

That was so not true. I protested vigorously to the techy. We went back and forth for a while. I kept getting notices that I was taking too much time between responses and the chat would soon close if I didn't reply at a faster pace. My problem was the length of time it took to alternate between the chat, the website, and the info on my phone. 

Finally she suggested that I had set up the account using a different email. She cut me off. 

I never use a different email. Like never. But I had. Then I remembered why. 

The Geek Squad person who came to install the first doorbell discovered my wiring wasn't sufficient and I needed a battery-charged device. He had set up an account using my usual email. So I was forced to use alternate identification when I switched to another device. 

The whole tech exchange took a lot of time. I mean a lot. 

Barbara's post on working through the dynamics of setting up virtual launches contained wonderful information. I really appreciated it. In fact, I would love to get more information about blog tours. 

We have to bite the bullet. Tech skills are part of the game now. I am fairly tech savvy, but learning process upon process takes a great deal of time. 

I'm cleaning out some of stuff during this forced Covid exile. There is a cache of fan letters over the years. Real actual letters. I was--and still am--very grateful for them. They remind me that my main job is producing books. Not conquering technology. 

Our Poor State

This picture was taken in the front of my house. The actual fire is miles away. Nevertheless this is what the sky looked like in Fort Collins on Wednesday. 

So many homes have been destroyed, so much acreage and trees. It's heartbreaking. The biggest fire in Colorado history is now competing with the second largest fire in Colorado history. 

I'm sorry to be so late posting this. I'm a little under the weather today. It's difficult to tell at this point what is causing a health problem. Covid, allergies, the flu, and an ordinary cold all have the same systems. Now smoke irritation has been added to the mix. I tend to error on the side of caution and self-isolate rather than risk infecting my friends or my family. 

I intended to report on a terrific talk given by Michael Gear and Kathleen Gear. They were the keynote speakers at the Women Writing the West conference. I'll save it for next time. 

Thanks!

Bewildered

 

Yesterday my daughter send me this picture taken west of her house. It's one of the many fires blazing in Colorado. She's safe, she says. The fires would have to jump Horsetooth Reservoir to reach their land.  

While the Colorado fires are not as vicious as those in California and Oregon, smoke and ashes drift and the air is filled with the aroma of destruction. 

What a sad year. This week we had a weather variation so unexpected that it's left everyone bewildered. It's as though Mother Nature has turned on us. It went from 96 degrees F. here in Fort Collins to 28 degrees F. in two days time. Trees and shrubs can't survive that severe a drop in temperature. 

My morning glories were suddenly snow capped and then drenched in ice. It's an annual plant that would not be alive in a couple of months anyway. But still, I wasn't ready to see them go. I wonder how my new bushes will fare. 

 

Last year, we had a preview of this kind of weather. Due to a sudden cold snap the trees lost their leaves before they had a chance to change color. They simply wilted and fell off without getting a chance to display the usual gorgeous array. Colorado aspens are famous for their magnificent foliage. Being deprived of fall is creepy. 

Deprivation of so many things is contributing to a gloomy lethargy right now. We have a lot to deal with. Covid, fires, the dreadful election politics, violence, unrest. 

Covid hit during the beginning of Lent. St. Luke's Episcopal could not have it's usual celebration of Easter. This denomination is highly liturgical and from Lent to Easter is a solemn ritual that I sorely missed even though our Diocese did a magnificent job of switching to on-line methods 

And the writers' conventions! I have to say that there was a hollow spot in my heart by the time June came and went without a trip to Western Writers of America. It's where I get my battery recharged every year. 

I'm proud of the country's ability to cope and come up with new ways. Groups and offices switched to Zoom in a heartbeat. Teachers and school children are the hardest hit, of course. I have no idea how they all manage. 

Hang in there everyone. We survived 9/11, the most horrific day in American history.

We will work our way through this year of plagues. 

Dog Days

Even without Covid, there has always been something about early August. My mother called this time of year Dog Days. Eastern Kansas, where I grew up, was impossibly hot during Dog Days.

Before air conditioning, life stopped. Not dead still.--there were still chores and rituals. Chickens to water, cows to milk, and that ever-blooming garden! Air didn't move during sleepless summer nights. Only fans provided some relief.

An overwhelming lethargy hung over life. My sister and I weren't allowed to go swimming. Not just due to the heat, but as nearly as I can recall, Mom believed there was an increased chance of contracting polio during Dog Days.

According to the Old Farmer's Almanac, "in ancient Greece and Rome, the Dog Days were believed to be a time of drought, bad luck, and unrest, when dogs and men alike would be driven mad by the extreme heat."

Other sites mention a time of increased infections, strokes, and sudden thunderstorms.

The Almanac again: "This period of sweltering weather coincides with the year’s heliacal (meaning “at sunrise”) rising of Sirius, the Dog Star. Sirius is part of the constellation Canis Majoris—the “Greater Dog”—which is where Sirius gets its canine nickname, as well as its official name, Alpha Canis Majoris. Not including our own Sun, Sirius is the brightest star in the sky."

There was light at the end of the tunnel. My sister and I knew that if we made it through Dog Days, it would cool off. And there was the ultimate prize at the end; we got to start school. Schools had a distinctive odor. Floors were re-waxed during the summer and chalk dust was as alluring as perfume. There were brand new pencils and Big Chief tablets and erasers and our very own desks in which to store everything.

I was in Walmarts a couple of days ago and teared up over the aisles of school supplies. Who would buy them now? What would they do with the excess merchandise? I was suddenly overwhelmed with the awareness of all the bewildered, disappointed children who no longer will have a positive end to Dog Days. What about all the families with 3, 4, or more kids faced with on-line learning? Do they have to buy extra computers?

I have been patiently waiting out Covid and all it's implications. Then it dawned on me this week that this plague might be around forever. Like the flu. Like the common cold. Vaccinations didn't make the flu go away.

Soon people will start coming up with better ways to jump start our lives. Educators are really smart. They will figure out some way to preserve our educational system.

Our lives will change again. But's important to remember that when Pandora opened the box that let out all miseries of the world, hope remained inside.

Soon it will be freed too.

Good news!

This week I received the happy news that my historical novel, The Healer's Daughter, is a finalist for the High Plains Book Award. I'm absolutely thrilled. And astonished!

I realized, too, that I'm so used to hearing bad or disheartening information that my expectations have become grey. That's too bad because lovely things are happening all around us. I'm amazed at how many organizations have pulled themselves together and soldiered right on via Zoom and other media offerings.

It's not the same. I've decided not to go to the annual convention of Western Writers of America this year. It breaks my heart because Johnny D. Boggs will receive the Wister Award. Johnny is a wonderful writer and I can't think of anyone else who has contributed so much to this organization. I would love to be there when he receives the Wister.

I find that Fort Collins, especially Larimer County, is very conscious of the dangers of COVID. Here, and next door in Weld County, we've been hard hit. I pretty much fall in line with our governor's Safer At Home instructions.

Normally, I would be anticipating attending the High Plains Award ceremony in Billings, Montana this September. I would be fussing around over clothes. My shoes, my hair. Everything having to do with grooming. My heart would be in my throat as the chairman announced the winners. But as with Mystery Writers of America and nearly all organizations, the awards ceremony will be virtual this year.

Isn't it wonderful that we've found a way to work around this limitation? A couple of weeks ago, the Rocky Mountain chapter of Mystery Writers of America had another outstanding program, via Zoom. I've missed our local Sisters in Crime meetings due to conflicts, but the group hasn't cancelled a single meeting.

I realize substituting media for personal interaction is not as satisfying, but it's keeping things together. I've had four events cancel. Then yesterday I realized that I could be copying some the techniques used by the major publishers. I could contact the persons and arrange for a presentation via Zoom. It wouldn't be the same as being able to sell and autograph books, but I could let them know how much I appreciate their support.

Who knows? By the time we develop a vaccine and work our way through the COVID crisis, we may discover new promotional techniques for our books.

Hang in there!