I know Fall is well underway, but the
weather in Kansas has been more like summer than autumn, so it’s been difficult
to think that Halloween has passed and Thanksgiving is around the corner. I
love to incorporate fall into the settings for my stories -- the changing colors
of the leaves, the smell of wood smoke on cooler nights as people light up the
firepits, football games and bringing out sweatshirts and sweaters.
On past holidays,
I cooked and baked for days before the kids came home from college, making all
their favorites. Now, the kids have families of their own, and my son enjoys
hosting Thanksgiving dinner. Last year, there were over thirty people at his
house – parents and in-laws and siblings and nieces and nephews from both sides
of the family. This year there will even be some new babies to cuddle. Everyone
shares in making a feast with traditional smoked turkey and dressing and all
the side dishes you could possibly imagine.
Everyone has their favorite
Thanksgiving dish, and while some are the same nationwide, others vary
according to location. You can imagine with me being from the Midwest and my
daughter-in-law being from the south, we get an extra-large variety. But until
a year or so ago, I had never heard of Macaroni & Cheese being a holiday
dish.
One Thanksgiving dinner
staple is bread, in all its many shapes and forms. Last year, my son wanted me
to make Bulgur Bread, a long time favorite at our house, so although I live in
Kansas and he’s in Tennessee, I checked the ingredients and packed what I knew
he wouldn’t have when I boarded the plane. (I didn’t make it until I got there
because there is nothing better than fresh baked bread.) For those of you who enjoy
the art of kneading dough and the smell of it fresh from the oven, I am putting
the Bulgur recipe here. It’s a coarse texture, crusty bread that I know you’ll
enjoy. (BTW, you can usually find Bulgur—cracked wheat – in the organic or
health food section of the grocery store.)
Bulgur Honey Bread 1 cup bulgur (dry) 3 cups boiling water ½ cup honey 2 Tbsp cooking oil 1 Tbsp salt 2 packages dry
yeast ½ cup warm water 6 ½ -7 cups flour
Combine bulgur,
boiling water, honey, oil and salt in a large bowl. Cool to lukewarm. Add yeast
to warm water. Stir to dissolve. Add to cooled bulgur mixture. Blend in flour
in 3 parts, beating after each addition until dough leaves side of bowl. (Dough
will be soft.) Turn onto lightly floured surface. Knead until smooth, elastic
and doesn’t stick when pinched with the fingers. Put in a greased bowl and let
rise until double (about 2 hours). Punch down, divide in ½ and shape into
loaves. Put in 2 loaf pans. Cover and let rise until double. Bake in 350 degree
oven 45-50minutes or until done. Brush with butter.
For those who
celebrate – Happy Thanksgiving. For those who simply enjoy good food, Bon Appetit!
Barbara Baldwin (whose story characters often have favorite foods, which
are actually mine and I sneak them into my stories.)
Despite our attempts to understand and
make sense of the world, humans are unlimited in our knowledge and
understanding. We are constantly influenced and distracted by external factors,
and struggle to see the truth that lies beyond the tangible and temporary. We
are caught in a cycle of constant change and growth, striving to reach a state
of absolute and eternal transcendence.
~ SLB
I hear a worn out guitar case full of old
stickers slamming shut and rattling the buckles like a mislaid tambourine
piercing the green room with a bombshell. Looking up through my long curly hair
I feel the unrelenting and merciless high frequency hit my psyche with a cosmic
bucket of ice water. All my hypnotizing anxiety runs with the vengeance of a
ghost train shaking loose lost memories to all the gigs that finally brought my
band and I to this time and place. My band and I, we got the BIG call for the BIG
show at the BIG venue on the BIG night!
Our “green room” which is technically a
fancy name for a dressing room is very small with very little catering, and the
backstage guests and crew have already rifled through our deli tray like sleazy
robbers from a cheap hotel. It’s all pretty funny and concerning at the same
time. I mean depending on your mental constitution as you sit there watching
and hoping for someone to say, “hey hands off, that stuff’s for the opening
band.” However no one ever does and like good soldiers everyone in the band
just makes sure to grab their setlist, water and hopefully a towel that doesn’t
look like it came out of yesterday’s dumpster. In Lehman‘s terms It’s
technically, the bare essentials to have with you on stage as a safety net.
The temperature in the green room is always
hit or miss depending on what part of the world you’re in and the size of the
venue. It’s now time to start thinking about warming up and getting my physical
and mental faculties together. This is where your mind starts to wonder about
the bullshit soundcheck we received when we showed up which is literally par
for the course on shows like this. Are the monitors loud enough? Could you hear everyone on
stage? Are the vocals loud enough and balanced with the guitar? Well according to the stage manager the only
criteria for our soundcheck was how fast we can mimic a NASCAR pit crew by getting
on and off stage in seconds flat, and the only thing we can really do is dig in
and stay focused – execute, execute.
* * *
However, tonight is a whole different kind of
experience. Tonight we ride with the King on the coattails of a giant. It’s his
people that have come in droves to witness a true king of his people and his
artistry. We are more than grateful to be on this bill and let me tell you we
are more than happy to oblige!
As I start to reel in my psyche and call
upon my previous life as an outside linebacker, it’s time to join the tribe
backstage as we get ready to flex all the musical muscle we have. Walking to the
venue through the door and down the dark hallway, it starts twisting, and
turning. I navigate the crowd as best I can while wondering who the hell all
these people are and how they come to be backstage. And then I hear that
unmistakable voice. The voice the whole world has come to know and love as the
king of the blues. Mr. BB King. The master and commander and his incredible
blues army. Like a big Buddha, he sits in the center of his green room swarmed
by his loved ones. His children, grandchildren, nieces, cousins, friends and
even his ex-wives are all there to be at the feet of the king. It is a sight to
be seen and a memory that will stick with me forever. You see I was only 26
years old and for a young long haired motorcycling midwestern boy coming up
through the ranks it was priceless. As I passed by the door of his room
unnoticed there was only one thought I had. Go BIG or go home! It’s time to
kick ass and anything lower than that bar line would be unacceptable. To
whatever moving parts, the universe made for us to share the stage in this
particular time and space we could not fall short of incredible. The pressure
is on and we have to leave it all out on the stage every night. And we did
night after night. Everywhere we went
every last drop of blood, sweat and tears was left on stage. It was one of the
greatest experiences of my professional life. The feeling one gets digging deep
and rising up proving time and time again, that if people pull together with a
beautiful vision we all might have what it takes to be in the white hot
spotlight and walk among giants….
A year and a half ago, while winding down a long day with a glass of wine on the front porch, my husband's phone rang. It's funny how we don't get too many actual phone calls these days. Texting is usually efficient enough for most things, but when we saw the name Frank Kuntz on the screen, he said, "Huh, look at that. It's Frank Kuntz."
The two visited a bit and caught up a little. How are your folks? How are the ponies? But it didn't take long for Frank to come right out and say to my husband, "How do you suppose Julie would you feel about writing my story?"
That's when the phone got handed over to me. I listened to Frank's thoughts. I listened to him tell me not to answer right away. This would be a huge undertaking. This would require a lot of time. Then he told me how hard it is these days to find people he trusts, but he was tired of being quiet. He felt it was time for people to know about his lifetime fight to save the native horse of North Dakota.
Like I said, I listened to everything he had to say. But the truth is, from the moment our conversation started, I already knew what my answer would be. Yes. Yes. And Yes. I had no idea how I would make it happen, and I knew it would be difficult, but I felt in my bones that I was meant to play this part in the Nokota® horses' timeline. I hope Frank's story inspires readers as much as it has me.
So it is with great honor that I present Echoes of the Nokota. A Memoir of Frank Kuntz.
How has one man’s life's mission to make an unjust thing right – to save the native horses of the North
Dakota plains – changed history? Or rather, preserved it?
Growing up in small-town
North Dakota, Frank Kuntz led a typical, country life with lots of brothers and
sisters, hard-working parents, and farm animals of every kind. He learned the
value of a dollar, what it meant to show your worth, and how to care for the
things and people that are important to you. After serving his country in
Vietnam, he returned with ghosts of wrong-doings and injustices haunting him,
but he continued to work hard, start a family, and have a farm of his own just
a mile down the road from where he grew up.
On a parallel timeline to
Frank’s life, the free-roaming descendants of Sitting Bull’s war ponies were
inadvertently fenced inside the Theodore Roosevelt National Park at its
inception. Thus began their struggle to find a place in a world where they were
no longer wanted. And even though they faced extinction at the hands of humans
over and over, they were designed by nature to survive. But how long can a wild
horse herd stand against the prejudice of humans? Somewhere, deep inside their
memories of ancestors, they knew their people still longed for them to return
home and once again rejoin their families. Instinct told them their help would
have to come from man – one whose soul understood their soul. So they waited.
They survived. And they listened.
Never in his dreams did
Frank Kuntz think that he would become the one they were waiting for.
Once in a while, choices
are made that change the fate of others. The prairie winds shift, the stars
align, history is saved, and legends are made.
Riddled with pain, anger,
and sorrow … this is a tough story.
Sculpted by the hardest of
times … the best of them too … this is a family story.
Founded on promises and
passion … this is a love story.
But most of all, despite
the sacrifice, loss, and injustice … this is a success story.
Can you tell us about your journey into
writing and journalism, and what inspired you to pursue this career path?
The one constant in my life has been
writing – poetry, short stories, essays, articles, books. As I was poised to
begin a PhD in sociology, I decided to explore job options that would let me do
more writing and less research. That led me into public relations and
eventually to start my own company, Quantum Communications. In
university I wrote regularly for the school paper. That led me to freelancing.
I discovered you could be paid for writing – one of my personal top-five
favorite discoveries – and I have freelanced ever since. My background in
communications, journalism, editing, and related endeavors led to requests for
me to teach. I accepted those requests and discovered that I thoroughly enjoyed
engaging with people to explore ideas and theories while building skills. I did
not enjoy grading.
Your portfolio includes a diverse range
of publications, from The National Post to Chatelaine. How do you adapt your
writing style to suit different audiences and platforms?
As a journalist (and a communications
professional), you quickly learn that you are writing for the reader, and
readers change from one type of publication to another. Adapting your style to
meet their needs, and the requirements of the publication, is essential. That
said, there are writing foundations that remain constant: conciseness, flow,
readability.
“Hung Out To Die” introduces us to Riel
Brava, a unique protagonist. What inspired the creation of this character, and
what do you hope readers take away from the story?
A bath inspired this story. I’m a big
believer in bubbles, candles, scrubs, essential oils, and music with birds
chirping in the background. Friends call this bathroom time my shrine. One
night immersed in a lavender cloud I realized it was time to begin writing my
mystery. Get off the pot kind of thing. That led me to a litany of possible
characters and crimes. Through the mist Riel emerged. Not fully formed but
outlined enough that I wrote down my ideas before I even moisturized.
Like 4-12% of all CEOs, Riel is a psychopath. Not the Dexter-Hannibal
Lecter-Norman Bates kind of psychopath. The kind who live and work among us,
mostly unnoticed, often successful, always on full alert their differences will
be uncovered. Riel is personable, even charming. He’s keen to understand how
the human mind works, so he’ll blend in.
It is my hope that people will close the last page on Hung Out to Die with
a smile, maybe a tear, and a little bit more acceptance of all those around us.
"Conflagration"
delves into Canadian historical events, particularly focusing on the story of
an enslaved Black woman. What drew you to this story, and what challenges did
you face in bringing historical events to life in a fictional setting?
This book was a
gift from my publisher, BWL Publishing, which has a series of historical
mysteries set in each province and territory in Canada.
Conflagration!, a
historical mystery that follows the trial of an enslaved Black women accused of
arson in Montreal in 1734, is founded in real-life events but wrapped in a
mystery of my own making. The level of detail in court transcripts and the
timelines set by the trial process meant I had a detailed blueprint for the
book before I even began.
How has one man’s life mission to make an unjust thing right – save North Dakota’s native horses – changed history?
Growing up in small-town North Dakota, Frank Kuntz led a typical, country life with lots of brothers and sisters, hard-working parents, and farm animals of every kind. He learned the value of a dollar, what it meant to show your worth, and how to care for the things and people that are important to you. After serving his country in Vietnam, he returned with ghosts of wrong-doings and injustices haunting him, but he continued to work hard, start a family, and have a farm of his own just a mile down the road from where he grew up.
On a parallel timeline to Frank’s life, the free-roaming descendants of Sitting Bull’s war ponies were inadvertently fenced inside the Theodore Roosevelt National Park at its inception. Thus began their struggle to find a place in a world where they were no longer wanted. And even though they faced extinction at the hands of humans over and over, they were designed by nature to survive. But how long can a wild horse herd stand against the prejudice of humans? Somewhere, deep inside their memories of ancestors, they knew their people still longed for them to return home and rejoin their families. Instinct told them their help would have to come from man – one whose soul understood their soul. So they waited. They survived. And they listened.
Never in his dreams did Frank Kuntz think that he would become the one they were waiting for.
Once in a while, choices are made that change the fate of others. The prairie winds shift, the stars align, history is saved, and legends are made.
Riddled with pain, anger, and sorrow … this is a tough story.
Sculpted by the hardest of times … the best of them too … this is a family story.
Founded on promises and passion … this is a love story.
But most of all, despite the sacrifice, loss, and injustice … this is a success story.
