Virtual Brainstorming by Eileen O'Finlan

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COVID-19 has shut down a lot of things, but our imaginations needn't be one of them. In fact, recent personal events show that they may be more active than ever.

Before this virus hit, a group of writers met at my house every Wednesday evening to work on writing projects and offer feedback. For several in the group, those Wednesday nights provided a writing lifeline. I hated having to send out the group text announcing the cancellation of our group until further notice. Even though we're not a huge group (on the rare occasion that everyone is present on the same evening, we total seven), with my 93 year old mother in the house, I couldn't take any chances.

Of course, everyone understood. Several had made the painful decision to stay away even before receiving my text. Being a resilient, resourceful, and most of all, imaginative group it took less than an hour for one member to come up with the idea of a writing round robin. One person would write one page of a story, email it to the next person who would add another page then forward it to the next and so on. After two rounds the story would be complete. It might not add up to something publishable, but it promised to be fun and keep those writing muscles toned. I had to bow out as all my writing time is, of necessity, being devoted to the completion of Erin's Children, the sequel to Kelegeen, though I do look forward to reading the finished product.

My non-involvement in the round robin did not mean complete detachment for me, however. In less than a week, I jumped onto a Zoom meeting with fellow writing group member, Jane Willan. Jane is the author of two cozy mysteries, The Shadow of Death and The Hour of Death, the first two books in her Sister Agatha and Father Selwyn Mystery Series. She's currently working on the third in the series as well as a thriller.

Jane and I are searching for both "tried and true" and "unique and new" methods of marketing our writing, so we decided to focus our Zoom session on brainstorming ideas. (For anyone unfamiliar with Zoom, it is similar to Skype). We started by naming what we're already doing: Twitter and Facebook posts, website, newsletter, blogging, in-person talks and book signings, partaking in giveaways, interviews with bloggers and local papers. Currently, I'm working with an organizer on setting up a blog tour.

Then we started thinking about what we could do that we haven't done yet. Podcasts were the first thing to come to mind. It turns out that if you google podcasts along with your genre, you'll find a plethora from which to choose. We both committed to being interviewed on podcasts.

But why stop there? Jane's husband has a vast supply of audio/visual equipment. Why not start our own podcast? Fellow BWL author, Eileen Charbonneau, and I have been discussing creating a podcast. So the three of us connected on Zoom for our first podcast planning meeting. Fortunately, through the wonders of technology it doesn't matter that Jane and I live in Massachusetts and Eileen Charbonneau lives in Vermont. We don't have to be in the same state or even in the same house to make it happen.

YouTube was another marketing option open for discussion. I have a YouTube channel, though so far I've only put up one clip of me reading an excerpt from Kelegeen. Jane and I decided we could make some more YouTube clips. They don't all have to be book excerpts. The writing life offers plenty of topics for discussion. With my sequel being set in Worcester, a video tour showing the sections of the city where much of the story takes place seems another likely possibility. Jane also has some trailers for her two mysteries. Eileen and I would like to follow her lead and make some for our book(s).

Our brainstorming session didn't end there. We talked about the 19^th century coterie of writers that formed the literati in Concord, Massachusetts – Emerson, Thoreau, Alcott, Hawthorne - to name a few. Then we widened the circle of our thoughts to include 19^th century authors throughout New England. Such an abundance! Our region still boasts literary luminaries today. Some, like Steven King, are household names.

We got to thinking about the other authors in our area that we both know personally. Published, yes. Famous, no. This led to a discussion about what it is, besides the obvious (great writing), that makes some authors successful and others whose writing may be just as good or even better, virtually unknown beyond their small circle. 

The answer – marketing! We have to do it ourselves and for most of us it is not our field of expertise. Not even close. If it was we'd be marketers, not authors. Yet in today's world we have no choice. We have to climb that steep learning curve to figure out how to let the world know we're here and we've written awesome books that deserve to be widely read.

But how? This is a question I've been struggling with since the publication of Kelegeen. I sunk a lot of money into an advertising company that has been helping me climb that learning curve for almost two years. “Learn to think like a CEO.” “You are not only an author. You are the CEO of Eileen O'Finlan.” These are mantras they've driven into my brain. They are also concepts completely alien to the way I think. A huge learning curve, indeed.

But I am not alone and that gives me great hope. Eileen Charbonneau remains an amazing mentor for me. Our joint in-person appearances may be on hold for a while, but we are excited about embarking on a new virtual adventure through podcasting. 

Jane and I have committed to working together, mastering the art of branding, learing the ins and outs of marketing, pulling each other up and over that daunting curve so that we can come out on the other side, if not as household names, at least with successful authorial careers. We fully realize it will be a marathon, not a sprint, but we are willing to give it all we've got. If it doesn't happen (but it will – think positive!) it won't be for lack of trying.

Eileen O'Finlan

Jane Willan

Eileen Charbonneau

Why I Write by J.Q. Rose

Dangerous Sanctuary by J. Q. Rose

Cozy Mystery

Pastor Christine Hobbs never imagined she would be caring for a flock 

that includes a pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.

Find more mysteries by J.Q. Rose at BWL Publishing

Welcome to the BWL Insiders Blog. You'll find a variety of blog articles written by the BWL Publishing authors. Please take your time and visit them.

Thoughts on Why I Write by J.Q. Rose

I’ve been writing non-fiction articles since 1996 and mystery novels since 2006. Sometimes when stories aren't flowing onto the keyboard, I wonder why I write. 

Ready to write!
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay 

When I wrote non-fiction articles, I really enjoyed meeting the folks I interviewed or delving into the story of a business or place to visit. I wrote for me in a sense of learning about new places and great personalities I met along the way. Yes, I wanted to inform, educate, and entertain readers with my stories and derived satisfaction when my articles really helped the reader.

When I began writing fictional stories, it definitely was fun for me to escape the real world and develop characters and their situations to amuse myself. I delighted in posing the question “what-if” as I expounded on the plight of the beleaguered characters. Chasing down all possibilities and pushing them further was like a game. But the most challenging part of the game was trying to wind up all the loose ends to make sense of the story. I relished discovering the ways to use my wits to win the game. I hoped the reader would play along with me.

About two years ago we attended a concert by Joseph Martin, a master pianist and composer of sacred music. When he played the piano, the music was so beautiful, tears surprised my eyes. Emotions of joy, inspiration, power, thankfulness filled the night as Mr. Martin shared his mastery of the piano and his anthems sung by our church choir. One selection after another fed my heart. What a gift he had for blessing others with his music.

The grand piano played only the way Joseph Martin can!
Photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.com by nuchylee

Joseph Martin--Master of the Pia

As I listened, I realized this is what I want to do for readers. If a reader finishes my book, and the story is one she will remember for the entertainment, the surprises, the humor and the emotions that played through her as she read, then I have accomplished my reason for writing.

Readers, what are you looking for in a book?

Writers, why do you write books?

Please leave a comment below. 

We'd love to read your thoughts on this topic.

Thank you.

Click here to connect and like JQ's Author Facebook page.

The Who, What, Where, Why and WHEN of Writing - Part 5 by Diane Bator

 

By Diane Bator

Today we’re at the end of my original list of the five Ws of writing. We’ve already gone through:

Who – as in Who are YOU as a writer?

What – for What do you want to write?

Where – location, location, location.

Why – what drives you?

This blog post is brought to you by When. When can mean a couple of things, the best time of day to write or the best time of your life to start writing. Let’s start with the time of day, shall we?

Some writers swear they are the most creative early in the morning. In order to be at their best, they start the day by doing Morning Pages as per Julia Cameron in her book The Artist’s Way. Julia describes Morning Pages as “three pages of longhand writing, strictly stream-of-consciousness.” (The Artists Way, page 10.) A lot of writers I know use this time to clear the noisy thoughts from their minds so they can focus on the task ahead. Their creative writing. Some writers even find ideas come from this flow of consciousness, sometimes while they sip their morning coffee or tea.

For me personally, I used to get up before I awoke my kids for school when they were younger and was happy even when I only had time to write a page or two out on my back porch. Now, I’m able to carve out time in the morning before my full-time job since my kids are much older. At least a couple days per week, I will use my half hour lunch break to write as well and like to keep a couple evenings open to create as well.

Recently someone on social media asked how old you have to be to become a writer. That created a whole new conversation and received a lot of answers. Some not so nice as people are bound to be online. It did prompt me to do a little digging.

I’ve been a storyteller and writer since I was young and still have handwritten stories and poems from when I was a teenager when my first two poems were published. I was about 15 years old.

There are no real age limits to writing or even being published. The youngest person I discovered online was Dorothy Straight who wrote her books at age 4 and was published her book “How the World Began” at age 6 in 1964. The oldest was Jim Downing who published “The Other Side of Infamy” in 2016 at the age of 102!

A few of the more famous authors published at various ages are:

·       Age 21 – Victor Hugo and Mary Shelley (Frankenstein)

·       Age 22 – Margaret Atwood and Ray Bradbury

·       Age 24 – Ernest Hemingway and Jack London

·       Age 28 – Jack Kerouac

·       Age 30 – Agatha Christie and Mark Twain. It is also interesting to note Stephen King had published Carrie, Salem’s Lot, and The Shining all before the age of 30.

·       Age 41 – Maya Angelou

·       Age 50 – Bram Stoker (Dracula)

·       Age 57 – Anna Sewell (Black Beauty)

·       Age 66 – Frank McCourt (Angela’s Ashes)

I belong to a writing group and love that our ages range from 25 to mid-eighties. Some are published, some have been working on the same books for many years, and some just attend to write and learn. We all have that one common love though: Writing. It has no age limit, education, or socio-economic limits.

All you need is a pen and paper to get started…

DianeBator

Author of Wild Blue Mysteries, Gilda Wright Mysteries and Glitter Bay Mysteries

Mom of 3 boys and 2 cats and a mouse who is too smart for mousetraps...

A Stroll Through the Gilmore Car Museum with J.Q. Rose

Deadly Undertaking by J.Q. Rose
Cozy Mystery, Paranormal

Click here to find mysteries by J.Q. Rose at BWL Publishing

Hello and welcome to the BWL Insiders Blog! 

Do you remember when car manufacturers kept their new models a secret until the unveiling in the fall? My Dad and I could hardly wait to see the new, sleek vehicles for the coming year. The manufacturers made it a big event. I miss that now. But I still have my love of cars. And I especially enjoy the art of the car. Did you ever think of a car as being artwork? Especially the older cars, muscle cars, and vintage vehicles.

We are fortunate to live only a couple of hours from a fantastic car museum, the Gilmore Car Museum. They are an interactive walk through history with their displays and exhibits located in amazing old barns nestled in the rolling farmland near Kalamazoo, Michigan. 

Please join me for a stroll through the museum so you can see some of the magnificent machines on display. 

VIDEO: A Stroll Through the Gilmore Car Museum by J.Q. Rose

Curious? Make a plan to visit sometime. Click here for the Gilmore Car Museum website.

Do you appreciate the art of a car from its interior design to the lovely lines of the outside? I don't know a thing about the motor. I just want the car to go when I turn it on and press the pedal.!!! 

Thanks for stopping in today.

Click here to connect online with J.Q Rose.

Vacation I Have Had by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

As you read this post I will be on a bus tour from Rome to London, the second bus tour of my sixty-six day long visit to Europe. How did this vacation come about? Well, it started three years ago when my dragon boat team, Angels Abreast from Nanaimo, B.C., found out that the next Breast Cancer Survivor International Dragon Boat Festival was going to be held in Florence, Italy. Although we voted to attend the festival, eventually it was decided not to go as a team. Since I had already begun planning my trip, I put out feelers to other breast cancer survivor teams who wanted to attend but didn’t have enough paddlers to fill a boat. I was picked up by Sunshine Dragons Abreast, a team from the Sunshine Coast.

     My husband originally planned on going with me and we discussed other countries we wanted to see, but he had to back out because of his health. By this time I had decided that since I was already in Europe, I might as well visit as many countries as I could. I didn’t want to travel alone so I asked the members of Sunshine Dragons if anyone was interested in travelling with me. One woman, Ev, agreed. I also spoke with a fellow employee, Heather, and she and her sister, Beverly, hopped on board but couldn’t join us until the beginning of the Rome to London tour on July 9.
     The festival was from July 5 to 9 so I began looking at tours and cruises before and after those dates. Ev and I picked a 16 day Spain, Portugal, and Morocco bus tour beginning June 15. Then we decided to spend three days in Milan before going to Florence. At the end of the festival there we headed to Rome.
     After this bus tour through Italy, Switzerland, and France, and ending in London, Ev is leaving to do a tour of Denmark, while Heather, Beverly and I plan on spending eighteen days backpacking and riding trains to Brussels, Luxembourg, Cologne, and Amsterdam, and then fly to Copenhagen. We will meet Ev in that city to take an eleven day cruise of the Baltic Sea. One of the highlights of that will be a two day visit to St. Petersburg, Russia.
     I wish the planning had gone as smoothly as it sounds, but that is how attending a five day international breast cancer survivor dragon boat festival in Florence morphed into a sixty-six day visit to Europe. And this isn’t the first time that has happened to me.
     In 2007, an international festival was held in Coloundra, Queensland, Australia. Angels Abreast attended the five days festival. Afterwards, the team split up, some going to New Zealand, some touring the interior and some, my group, spent three weeks sightseeing along the eastern coast ending in Sydney to see the Opera House, climb the Harbour Bridge, and go out to the Great Barrier Reef. Then we spend a week in Fiji.
     I missed the festival in Peterborough, Ontario, but in 2014, the festival was held in Sarasota, Florida. Rather than fly there with the team, do a little touring and fly home, I decided I wanted to see some of the country between the Pacific Ocean, where I live, and the Atlantic Ocean. So my husband and I bought a motorhome and spent four weeks sightseeing on our way to Sarasota and five weeks sightseeing on our way home.
     I could go on about all the other trips I have taken, like the nine week my husband and I took in our motorhome across Canada in 2017 to celebrate our country’s 150^th birthday, but that can wait for another post.
     My novel, Romancing the Klondike, is set in the Yukon, a place I have travelled to twice and hope to visit again in the next couple of years.
http://bookswelove.net/authors/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

Camping Trip to Mackinac Island, Michigan

Dangerous Sanctuary by J.Q. Rose

Pastor Christine Hobbs never imagined she would be caring 

for a flock that includes a pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.

Available at the BWL Bookstore

Hello and welcome to the Books We Love Insiders Blog!

The middle of summer and the prime time for travel is here. Today I'm taking you on a Road Trip to my most favorite place in the world--Mackinac Island, Michigan. Once the center of fur trade and now a top tourist destination due to the natural beauty and unique atmosphere of the area.

The small red star at the top of the map of the USA marks the place where Mackinac Island is located in Lake Huron, one of the five Great Lakes. (Can you name all five lakes?) Answer is below.

Our entire family spent a few days in upper Michigan. We camped at the Tee Pee Campground in Mackinaw City, Michigan. (I loved the name of the bath house--WeeWee TeePee) Weather was perfect, but then again, I have visited Mackinac Island several times and the weather has always been perfect.

You probably noticed the two spellings of the city and the island are different, but both are pronounced Mackin AW--the ac is a French spelling I believe.

 We boarded the ferry filled with tourists to cross the Straits to the island in about thirteen minutes on the catamaran beauty. We took the early morning Star Line cruise because they make a detour to sail visitors under the Mackinac bridge, a five mile long bridge connecting the lower peninsula of Michigan to the upper peninsula.

 The  bridge was constructed in 1954 and completed in 1957. It has certainly changed the economics of the area for the good.

The underside of the bridge is a work of art as well as of engineering.  How strong this must be to hold all the traffic going along it. On windy days, the bridge will close to traffic. I'm glad we camped on the south side so we didn't have to drive our camper across this monstrosity.

The first glimpse of the elegant Grand Hotel from the ferry always makes my heart quicken with the excitement of knowing we are close to this magical place. If you saw the movie, Somewhere in Time, you saw this famous landmark. The movie was filmed here with Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour as the main characters. So romantic.

Arch rock is another famous landmark about a mile's ride from the commercial area. Oh yes, I forgot to mention there are no motorized vehicles allowed on the island (except emergency vehicles like a fire truck.) So we rode our bikes around the eight mile perimeter of the lovely island. Enjoyed taking our time to see amazing views of water and skies and wild flowers.

These draft horses are huge! They have to be strong to haul 24 passengers in their specially built Jayco carriages (drays?) Yes, Jayco is a well-known name in the camper industry. When you set foot on the island, there is no gasoline smell from motorized vehicles, but a distinct odor of horses. 

The front entrance to the Grand Hotel.  I wish we had more time to tour the hotel, but with young boys and a five year old granddaughter, it's probably best not to get too close to the elegant surroundings.

Dollhouse looking homes and B n B's in the Victorian style add to the charm of the island.

We visited the old fort on the hill. 
These costumed folks explained about the way of life and the history of this beloved area.
And of course, they fired canons and rifles to the delight of the crowd.

I wish my photos could do justice to the landscapes and sea surrounding the island. Breathtaking. We are standing in the old fort looking out over Father Marquette park. 

Sunset over Lake Huron

Hope you enjoyed the tour. If you ever get a chance to go to Mackinac Island, do it! And take me with you to my most favorite place on earth.

Click here for more information about Mackinac Island.

What is your favorite place to visit? Please leave a comment below.

Can you name the five Great Lakes?
Answer--Remember the names of the five Great Lakes by spelling H.O.M.E.S.--Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie, and Superior.

Gold and My Family by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

  

 

http://bookswelove.net/authors/donaldson-yarmey-joan/ 

 

                                                  Gold and My Family

In the late 1930s my father, Oliver Donaldson, and his brothers, Gib and Albert, made their living by panning for gold on two gold claims on the Salmon River, now called the Salmo River, south of Nelson, British Columbia. In 1980, Dad, my Mom, my husband Mike, our five children, and I went on a holiday to the Salmo River and the site of the former claims. We found the bottom two rows of logs, all that was left of one of the cabins they had lived in and the second cabin, which was still standing, on the other side of the river.

       Under Dad’s direction we all panned the river. The children were quite excited at finding gold to take home. We toured the area seeing the route Dad and his brothers had taken into town to sell their gold and to buy some staples and where they had hunted for deer and picked apples to live on. After the trip, Mike and I had vowed that someday we would return.

       In the spring of 1992, Mike, and I found ourselves preparing for a death and a wedding in our family. At the beginning of that year, Mike’s oldest sister Sallian had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer and one of our sons and his fiancé had set a wedding date. For almost five months we visited Sallian, first at home and then in the hospital. I cannot describe the anger, sorrow, and frustration I felt as I watched what the disease was doing to her. She lost weight and the ability to look after herself. During her final month she was hardly more than a skeleton.

       For those same five months I experienced a mother’s delight and happiness as I helped with the marriage plans. I made the cake, watched my son pick out his tuxedo, found my dress, arranged for my hairdo, and planned a mixed shower of friends and family.

       Balancing my life while dealing with the opposing emotions was truly hard.

       Sallian died on May 25 at age 54. On June 27 over 300 people attended the wedding and partied well into the night.

       Like most people it took the death of someone close to me to make me realize how important really living is. I knew Mike and I had to do something adventurous with our lives, something out of the ordinary.

       That summer of 1992 we decided to leave life as we knew it in Spruce Grove, Alberta, and get a gold claim in southern British Columbia, preferably in the Nelson area. We sold our house and quit our jobs. For our new home we bought a used twenty-four foot holiday trailer. I phoned the Minerals Branch of the B.C. government. They sent us a map showing the separate gold claim regions of southern B.C. We picked out three regions, Salmo being one, and I called back requesting more detailed maps of the staked claims in those areas.

     On September 1, we began our journey west. Mike was pulling the holiday trailer with our half-ton truck, which had our all-terrain vehicle in the back. I was in our smaller four-wheel drive pulling a utility trailer with our prospecting equipment and other paraphernalia we thought we might need.

       It took two days of slow travel to reach the Selkirk Motel and Campsite on the side of the highway at Erie, about three kilometres west of the town of Salmo. We set up camp, hooking up to the water and power. We had until freeze-up to find a claim.

       Next morning we were up early and off to the Gold Commissioner’s Office in Nelson where Mike bought a Gold Miner’s Certificate and received two red metal tags, and a topographical map, and was given his recording form. We were hopeful as we headed back to the campsite.

       According to the maps the Salmo River was all staked so over the next two weeks we checked rivers and creeks in the area with little success. But the Salmo River kept calling us and we returned to Dad’s former claim and the remains of his old cabin. Just past it we stood on the bluff looking down on the river as we had done twelve years earlier with my parents and our children. The memories came flooding back: the walk to the river with each child carrying a pie plate to use as a gold pan, finding gold only to discover that we had nothing to put it in, one daughter coming up with the idea of sticking it to bandages, camping near the river.

       But we didn’t have time to linger. We were working against the weather. Mike went over our maps of the Salmo River again and this time noticed that there is a small portion on the curve of the river near the old cabin that was open. Because the claims on either side formed rectangles it was missed by both of them. We found the posts of those claims then hurried to Nelson to confirm that the piece was available. It was.

       It was possible to lay one claim over part of another but the first one had priority for that section enclosed in it. There wasn’t time to stake it that night so we had to wait until morning. We rose early, went out to the river and put one of Mike’s red tag on the post of the claim to the east of ours. Mike took a compass and orange flagging and we began to mark off the distance, tying the flagging to trees as we went. At the end of five hundred yards Mike cut a tree, leaving a stump about three feet high. He squared off the top and I nailed up our final tag with the information scratched by knife point onto it. The claim was five hundred yards by five hundred yards and was called the Donaldson.

       We hurried back to Nelson and handed in the recording form. We were ecstatic. Not only had we located an area on the same river as my father, but we actually had part of his old claim. We went to the river and found a clearing for us to set up camp the next spring. Mike took his gold pan and headed down to the water’s edge.

       I followed and sat on a large rock. As I watched the water flow sedately by, a deep sense of relaxation settled over me, the first I had felt since the beginning of the year. It helped me begin to deal with the fact that I had witnessed Death at work.

       Sallian was the first one in either of our immediate families to die. I had seen the tragedy of death strike my friends but didn’t understand how devastating it could be until it happened to me.

       We spent the winter in our trailer in Vancouver visiting with my sister, my aunt, and some cousins.

       Near the end of March we drove out of Vancouver eager to get back to our claim. We pulled our trailer in and set up a campsite was in the middle of tall pine, birch, spruce, and cedar. We could just barely see the mountain tops to the south. The mountains to the north were higher and made a lovely backdrop to the trees. In the morning I walked through the bush to the river. I sat on a large triangle-shaped rock and watched the water drift by. A partridge drummed in the distance. Birds sang in the trees. I took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. It was a good place to be.

       It rained just about every day for the next couple of weeks. We sat under the trailer awning and listened to the drops hitting the canvas. Sometimes the awning sagged with the weight of the water and we had to empty it. Sometimes we let it overflow, creating a waterfall.

       Rain or shine it became my morning ritual to go to the river before breakfast. I loved to sit on my rock and stare at the water. Because of the rains and the snowmelt in the mountains the river level was rising each day. Soon I was watching logs and other debris rush past in the torrent. The water dipped over some boulders, and created a backwash when it hit others. The force of the water was mesmerizing.

       One rare sunny day we went for a walk down the road past our camp. I carried my camera. A short distance from camp we saw spring water seeping out of a hole under a large rock in the embankment beside the road. Mike reached in the hole to feel how big it was and found a bottle of wine. It had been opened at one time and then put in there to keep cool. Mike set it back.

       We followed the long, hilly road as it wound its way through trees and past cow pastures. On our way back we encountered a herd of deer. They did some scrambling to get into the bush while I did some scrambling to take pictures. They were faster than me. We reached the spring and Mike decided to set up a water system. He went for a pail and a hose. When he returned he put one end of the green hose into the hole and soon water began to trickle out of the other end. He let it run for a while to clean the hose then filled the pail. Mike carried the pail back to camp. We had fresh water for our camp.

       There was always activity around us. We heard rustling and cracking in the bush and it wasn’t unusual for a deer to trot through the clearing at any time of the day. Birds sang, a woodpecker occasionally tapped on a tree, partridge thumped, and trees scratched and rubbed against each another in the wind. All day and night there was the thundering of the boulders as the whirling river water rolled and bumped them against each other.

        As the days warmed the air became filled with the scents of pine and cedar, sweet wild flowers, and the intertwined fragrances of the bush. Colours sprang up, from pink roses, white dogwood and hazelnuts, and purple and yellow flowers, to the bright green of the ferns. Butterflies flitted throughout the clearing and there was the buzz of flies and mosquitoes and the drone of bees. The few rainy days were humid and the clouds never stayed long. Sometimes the moon at night lit up the clearing and we sat by the camp fire in the soft light.

       With the rains and spring run-off over, the river level began dropping. I sat on my favourite rock and watched the slower, shallower water flow by. The roar was gone. In the peace and tranquillity I was able to think about death. As best I could, I acknowledged that many of the people I loved would probably die before me, though I found it harder to actually accept the fact.

       Mike and I spent time digging dirt from around rocks in the water and working it in the pan. We found enough small flakes to keep us trying.

       But soon our adventure was over and by summer’s end we were back in the real world. We never did find much gold but then, for me, it really wasn’t about the gold.

       Since then I have written two novels about gold and people’s quest for it.