A Simple Whack Upside The Head

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A Simple Whack Upside The Head

“Okay, one thing he is, is a son-of-a-bitch,” Julia-Rae swore as she popped the lens cap off one of her two 35mm digital cameras and stared at the obscene crack running crookedly across the lens. The camera was useless to her now. Her cheeks burned with rage as she flung it over her shoulder and stormed down the trail. “Lack of oxygen or not at this altitude, I’ll be damned. No man is going to bowl me over, disturb my shots, wreck my camera, and take off without at least a decent apology. Mr. Name, or no name magnificent tight cheeks, has a few things coming his way.” Julia-Rae yanked her sleeves up. “Oh, I’m so and so and I’m so sorry I’ve bowled you over. Here let me offer you a hand up; it’s the least I can do for you. MEN!” She fumed.

That insidious temper that had got her into so much trouble in the past sank its long, evil claws into her again. As her dad, Dennis McNaughton, would often tell her, “God didn’t plant that wavy pile of red hair on your head to act as traffic lights.”

“You maybe the sexiest man I’ve seen in a long time, but you aren’t getting away with this.” The fire that gripped her heart now had also served her well in the past. It had gotten Julie-Rae through many trials and helped her to stay in command of her life. Of course, it had gotten her in a whole heap of trouble.

Turning a corner of the trail Julia-Rae spied the culprit crouched over staring at something on the stonewall foundations of the ancient city of Machu Picchu. She untied her handkerchief, twirled it taunt and held it like a slingshot. “Here Mr. Magnificent Great Ass, let’s see how you like this!”

THWAP

That is the opening scene to my novel Shuddered Seduction. I learned a long time ago not to open a novel with ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ and expect to pull your reader in. Smack them upside the head with action and place them head spinning and all into the middle of it.

What if Charles Schulz opened with this instead: Lightning sizzled, hammering away the darkness and in lost in the deafening clap of thunder the clank of metal typewriter keys midst a hot wooden roof.

I think Snoopy would have gone on to be entered into literary contests and not stick to having intimate chats with feathered friends. Not to mention the fact that he’s lucky he’s never been struck by lightning.

Of course one could simply whack someone upside the head and drag them kicking and screaming into the bookstore to buy your novel. Sounds like what Mr. King does. No wonder he’s made a buck or two.

Okay next month I’ll talk about having the sense to immerse your reader so that they feel like they are there in the book with your characters.  Yes, it’s like literally drowning them with words. Which is easier to swim out of. Did I ever mention I can’t swim?

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Also coming soon from Books We Love

Agatha Christie, roll over in your grave, new sleuths on the prowl.  Haida shaman Charlie Stillwaters convinces Carol Ainsworth, a Vancouver detective, to join him as he breaks his way into a high security prison. The duo are determined to find out who killed the previous native elder before all lightning and thunder breaks loose. They encounter deranged inmates, mystical beings, ancient serpents, wood sprites and someone who should have been dead long ago.

Not your usual crime/mystery!

Not your usual criminal investigators!

You thought Jack Nicholson was mad in The Shining…

Wait until you meet Charlie Stillwaters in the Sweat lodge.

Frank Talaber’s Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues). 
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining) and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller (Bridges Of Madison County).

Or as is often said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.

Writer by soul. Words born within. 

Karma the seed. Paper the medium.  

Pen the muse. Novels the fire.

http://twosoulmates.wix.com/frankt-author-blog

http://www.bookswelove.net/authors/talaber-frank/

https://www.facebook.com/Frank-Talaber-805296946204873/

Twitter: @FrankTalaber

Essay for Halloween: Undertaker's Daughter

Deadly Undertaking

A handsome detective, a shadow man, 

and a murder victim kill Lauren’s plan for a simple life.

Halloween is an exciting time with parties and treats and scary stories. Deadly Undertaking is the perfect read for this season of the year.  This romantic suspense, set in a funeral home, isn't a scary story with monsters, zombies, and werewolves, but it does have a shadow man, Henry.

Deadly Undertaking grew from the short essay I am sharing with you on this post. The novel's setting is a funeral home because I'm the daughter of an undertaker. And I have two brothers who are funeral directors. When I wrote this story for a fun blog post four years ago, I had no idea I would have a published mystery from the idea. Find out more about Deadly Undertaking after the short essay.

It's Halloween, so you'll have to decide if  the tale I'm spinning is a trick or a treat. Take a break and have fun with this. You'll get to know me better after learning about my "growing up" years.

Is this essay a trick or a treat?

Undertaker’s Daughter

By

J Q Rose

Right away, I must tell you I am not an eccentric, peculiar person. I’m just a regular woman who is a wife, mother, grandmother. I like eating a burger at McDonalds, shopping at Walmart, and reading mystery novels. But, perhaps some would think my childhood was different. You see, my father was an embalmer and funeral director. I was reared in a funeral home.

It was not unusual to have a dead body laid out in a casket several days in a row in our living room which converted to the funeral chapel. In fact, sometimes we’d have more than one body in our home. The embalming room was in the back of the house, and yes, I wore lots of perfume and soap to cover the pungent odor of formaldehyde on my clothes and hair.

We had knee caps for ashtrays in the private area of our home…not in the public area because that may upset some folks. But Dad was a heavy smoker, so he appreciated having the convenience of an ashtray nearby at all times.

In our kitchen, boxes of ashes of the departed sat in the pantry shelves next to the canned green beans and corn. Some families squabbled over who was going to pay the funeral expenses for their dearly departed, so they never showed up to claim the ashes for fear of being left with the debt.  In one case the family of Ida Mayberry never claimed their sweet aunt. So Aunt Ida took up residence in the cupboard next to the pork and beans.

Life as an undertaker’s daughter did not seem to be any big deal. My friends, well, most of them, were happy to come over and play hide and seek in the casket room or to swipe flowers out of the funeral arrangements to put in our hair for dress up.

My girlfriends did get upset when one of the spirits who regularly hung out in the funeral home flew by. The whoosh of air was the only indicator of their presence. Yes, I lost a couple of friends that way because they were scared to death…well, not literally. They just were creeped out especially when one of the spirits would knock over the Barbie doll house or send the collection of Barbies swirling around the room.

Needless to say, I enjoyed going to my friend’s house. It was a treat to open their pantry door to get a can of pineapple and not see the boxed ashes of poor Aunt Ida. I could never shake the sadness I felt for her because noone cared enough to bury her ashes or at least sprinkle them on their garden.

So, yes, some may believe it was an unusual childhood compared to the experiences of others. But I felt loved, secure, and safe at all times. And that’s what counts for a kid.

The growing up years certainly shape the adult one becomes. I don’t know if this is the reason I can write a horror story or not, but I can assure you I am a normal, well-rounded person, not eccentric or peculiar at all. In fact I got rid of the knee cap ash trays just last week. I do have Aunt Ida in the cupboard. Her family never claimed her and I have grown attached to her company.

# # #

BOO! So do you believe what you read? I must confess most of it is made up. And of course, Deadly Undertaking is fiction, but I did have my funeral director brothers help me with the story. So, it's loosely based on the real funeral business. Keyword here is loosely!

Back of the Book: Deadly Undertaking by J.Q. Rose

Deadly Undertaking
Cover art by Michelle Lee
FREE at Amazon on October 31.

Lauren Staab knew there would be dead bodies around when she returned home. After all, her family is in the funeral business, Staab and Blood Funeral Home. Still, finding an extra body on the floor of the garage between the hearse and the flower car shocked her. Lauren’s plan to return to her hometown to help care for her mother and keep the books for the funeral home suddenly turns upside down in a struggle to prove she and her family are not guilty of murdering the man. But will the real killer return for her, her dad, her brother? Her mother’s secrets, a killer, a handsome policeman, and a shadow man muddle up her intention to have a simple life. 

Welcome home, Lauren!

 

Have a Happy and Safe Halloween!
from J.Q. Rose

The True Meaning of Halloween, Charlie Brown by Stuart R. West

So many things frighten me. The odd thing is I love being scared. Just not by heights, serial killers, dirty bombs, nuclear fear, bio-chemical warfare, Trump, and shoe-shopping with my wife.

Maybe that’s why I adore dumb horror films. I know they’re not real, a vicarious and silly joy-ride. One I can easily recover from.

My wife doesn’t feel the same way. Recently, I somewhat hoodwinked her into watching The Babadook, a terrific Australian horror flick. I proclaimed it an art film to entice her into viewing with me. Not entirely a lie. Still, she hasn’t forgiven me.  (Hey, part of the fun of horror films is watching them with someone else, a communal experience. I love to hear people shriek in theaters...for all the right reasons, of course.).

Halloween is near. Spookiest time of the year. My daughter always says it’s her favorite holiday (a girl after my own heart). But, why? Where did Halloween spring from with its ghoulish visual aids and strange customs? 

As always, my faithful research assistant, Ms. Google, held the answers. 

(Read the following with Vincent Price's voice in your head; of course, for those spooky-challenged among you, you can always opt out for Morgan Freeman): Halloween was initially created to honor the dead. Somewhat like Memorial Day, only more morbid. Blame the Gaels for their ancient festival, Samhain, the origin of Halloween. The Irish would set out food and drink, offerings to the Gods for good health and livestock. Cheapskates would go door-to-door in costume looking for food. Back then, singing or poetry was recited for the food. No tricks. Not a bad gig.

Soon, pranking spread, instigated by the cheeky British. Call it door-to-door blackmail. “Gimme candy or I’ll do something rather naughty.” 

Christianity tried to adopt the holiday, turn it into a day of prayer for the deceased. I think they’re still trying to work the kinks out. 

To me, Halloween represents the time to embrace the spooky. Love it. The crisp falling orange leaves of Autumn fill me full of melancholy, a remembrance of my childhood and the horror films I used to seek out (which was quite hard to do when you only had three—sometimes four—fuzzy channels). Have you seen the Val Lewton produced films from the ‘40’s? Scary, yet subtle and artistic. A nice starter kit. Move on to the classic “The Haunting” from the ‘60’s (and, PLEASE, don’t even get me going on the modern remake). From there, the sky’s the limit. I broke my daughter in on “Abbot and Costello Meet Frankenstein” and Twilight Zone DVD’s. She hasn’t looked back yet.

So. Put out the kids. Tuck the cat in bed. Turn out the light. Fire up the chimney. Cuddle next to a loved one and get scared. Have fun with it.

In my book, Ghosts of Gannaway, I try to cover all spooky bases without being gross (the anti-scary). Kinda based on a true story, the book details the history of a small mining town in the ‘30’s. There are ghosts, murders, an evil mining magnate, claustrophobia, bad juju, nightmares, romance (gotta have romance), shadows, bigotry, pollution, photographs that move, a funny native-American, secrets, mystery, cancer, things that go bump in the night and the fear of being buried alive. Everything that scares me wrapped up in one book.

Click here for spooky Halloween thrills!

Happy Halloween! Boo!

All Hallow's Eve Nancy M Bell

All Hallow's Eve is almost upon us. A time when the veil between the worlds is thinned and it's easier to slip between them. All Hallow's Eve became Hallowe'en which has become Halloween. In older times it was Samhain (pronounced Sow-en and other various versions of that pronunciation depending on your location). It is the Celtic New Year in the old beliefs. The time when the years draws in upon itself and darkness outweighs the light since the balance of Alban Elved which is the Autumn Equinox. The years slips toward the longest night of Alban Authuran- Mid-winter night- the Winter Solstice.

The custom of wearing costumes comes from the old belief that spirits both dark and light walked in this realm on All Hallow's Eve. The disguise was supposed to protect the wearer from being recognized by spirits who meant the person ill. Also, beginning in the Middle Ages, those children and sometimes adults from less fortunate situations would go door to door asking for food and drink in exchange for songs or a tale. This is the origins of 'mumming' a custom still alive in Cornwall, Ireland and Scotland. In Scotland and Ireland the woman of the house would bake Soul Cakes to give to those who came to her door. Below is an old traditional 'souling song'.

A soul! a soul! a soul-cake!
Please good Missis, a soul-cake!
An apple, a pear, a plum, or a cherry,
Any good thing to make us all merry.


Samhain is a Fire Festival, balanced by the May 1st Fire Festival of Beltane (the Celtic first day of summer). There were four Fire Festivals, Samhain (Oct 31st), Imbolc (February 1) which is also associated with Bride/St. Bridgid and was the Celtic first day of Spring. Lughnasagh which was the beginning of the harvest and the first day of fall. It was believed that no fruit should be taken or eaten after Samhain as it was considered 'faery blasted' and was unfit for human consumption. It was (and is) always ill advised to anger or disrespect the spirits and faeries.

At Samhain it is also a custom to leave food and drink out for the ancestors who wish to visit their families at this time when the thin veils allow them visit.

In Mexico and some indigenous cultures, the date is celebrated as The Day of the Dead which takes place on November 1 and 2. This does actually have parallels with the Celtic timing as Samhain begins at sundown on October 31st and ends at sundown on November 1. They believe, much like the Celts, that the gates of heaven open at midnight on October 31, and the spirits of all deceased children (angelitos) are allowed to reunite with their families for 24 hours. On November 2, the spirits of the adults come down to enjoy the festivities that are prepared for them. On the second day the the festivities are taken to the cemetery. People clean tombs, play cards, listen to the village band and reminisce about their loved ones. Tradition keeps the village close.

No matter how you view the date ~ Hallowe'en, Samhain, Day of the Dead, All Saint's Day ~ it is a time for introspection and mental house cleaning. A time to chuck out that which no longer serves us and to open ourselves to the new possibilities that will present themselves as the scales tip in favour of the Light at Winter Solstice. For a writer, it is a time to examine our hearts and decide what we deem most important that we wish to impart through our work. It may be a profound vision or idea, it may be we only seek to entertain. Whatever we choose, it is what is right for us at this time and not something to be compared to another's success or failure.

I find it comforting to feel connected to my ancestors through celebrations and rituals that have continued through the ages. Of course there has been changes and evolutions of the events, but the core reason remains unchanged over the centuries, even if they are only visible if you choose to uncover them.

Wishing you happiness and joy for the coming months. Christmas is just around the corner. Winter Solstice with the strengthening of the Light.

If you're a fan of my Longview Romance series, my seasonal novella A Longview Christmas is available for a limited time.

If you like it, please consider leaving me a review.

And.... the third book in the series should be released very soon. A Longview Wedding sees Michelle and Cale make it to the altar with a few unexpected side trips. I will have a cover to show you by next blog post.

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

World Building For All Genres Part 3 Janet Lane Walters #characters #writing #language #etymology

The next area of World building to consider is Characters. There are a number of areas where people help weave the world web.

Clothing is a must. In contemporary stories all manner of places and pictures can help clothe your characters and point to their career, their status in life and where they life. For historical characters there are costume books. If paranormal is your bent, imagination can take over. You can also adapt clothing from pictures of books to dress your people.

Language is important in world building. In paranormal stories finding words that give an other world flavor can be difficult as well as confusing. I’ve read some books with glossaries but constantly turning pages to decipher meaning can turn a reader to a different book. Also using too many strange words can turn prose into gibberish. What you need to do is find words that hint to what the characters are tasting, seeing, hearing, touching and smelling.

If you say. “He raised a con of lug and sipped, the reader’s brow will furrow. But if you say He raised a mug of kafa, the reader will think coffee.

I have three reference books I use. One is a seven language dictionary and the other is an etymology. They have helped me find the words I need. When writing the Egypt books I found an encyclopedia of terms that helped there. The third book is Orson Scott Card’s How To Write Science Fiction and Fantasy. Great world building chapter.

For historical stories the wrong word can jolt the reader out of the story, Also too much usage of the right words such as dialect can send a reader searching for another book. Sometimes the word can be right but it seems too modern to the reader. Take pothole. There have been potholes that were called just that during historical periods as well as today. A friend had to change pothole in her book because an editor felt the word was modern. Also remember when you’re searching for a word to use is that words can change meaning.

In contemporary stories language plays a role in creating the dream. Every career choice, region of the country have specific words. There’s argot, cant, slang whatever you choose to call these expressions, using one of these words can point to a specific area or career.

For example, I’m from Pittsburgh. When company’s coming I’m apt to red up the house rather than clean.

If a character says “Heart attack:” we might think lay person but if "Cardiac arrest,” is used we think of medical personnel.

He aimed his piece, or his gat or his gun or his Glock. Those words can change an opinion of a character and of the world he or she inhabits.

One good thing about writing a contemporary story is there are experts to interview who can provide language and information to help build your world. These people are almost always happy to talk to a writer.

Actually when doing an interview I had an interesting event. How I was nearly arrested for murder.

I needed to speak to a policeman to learn when I could schedule a murder victim’s funeral as this led to the climax of the story. My daughter had a friend from school who became a policeman. He had been at the house many times and was semi-adopted into the family. I called his off-duty phone and left a message for him to call me back.

A few hours later he returned the call. “What’s wrong? What can I do?” he asked.

“It’s about this woman I just murdered. How long before she can be buried.”

Then I heard. “No, Guys settle. She’s a writer.” There was a pause. Then he said, “Ma, I’m at the station. You’re on speaker.”

The elevator/escalator life of the author

Book sales. Well, am I right? They're up, they're down. They're over the top; they're below the counter. Checking sales statistics every day in the life of an author is like jumping on a moving roller coaster ride. First level, you check the stats on Amazon.com. No, that was a downer, take a headlong dive. Check the stats of Amazon. ca. Better. Slowly inch upward. Then, check the stats on Amazon.co.UK. Yikes. Where the *#? are my Irish relatives? and what happened to their wallets? Take a sharp, twisted nose dive. Oh, boy. Don't lose the day job. Wait, I don't have a day job. YIKES again. Sigh. Go to AuthorCentral.com. Coaster slows down as it pulls slowly uphill. Oh dear. Still under a million sales which is supposed to be not too bad. Ahem.

Almost awful but then check the Author rank under my genre. Sigh. 40,000 sounds so much better, doesn't it? No really, doesn't it? Roller coaster hesitates, stalls and then..... falls. Real life interrupts your twisted dream climb and you know you have to keep plugging away!!

Good thing I still love my book(s). And I love to write and will continue to do so. Jude Pittman shared some words of wisdom with me, something to the effect of:  'Write for the love of it - knowing that your children and their children and their children will enjoy a piece of you and your heart for all eternity.' That struck home with me in a big way. I write because I love to write and because I believe that the good Lord gave me a gift to use. I will carry on.

My promotional activities have led me to so many book stores and libraries and, in every place I've travelled to, I've met people who all share a strong, common bond: the love of words - the love of stories. I call them "Word Movies." No matter what you call them, we all share the love of weaving words into stories and bringing characters to life so that they become real. Magical. Characters that are our friends. And our enemies. Real. When we can do this with our story, with our characters, then our books are true word movies.

I'm loving the writing and marketing journey that my book, The Twisted Climb, brings me. Jude Pittman, our publisher, is a great guide and I follow her directions. Occasionally I go off centre but she always brings me back. Doesn't even need the whip sometimes. Kidding, Jude!

My first official Book Signing at Chapters, in Barrie, Ontario

Had the best time with the professionals at Chapters in Barrie, Ontario on Saturday (yesterday). Everything was well prepared and the staff were fantastic for my first official commercial book signing. I gussied up my book table and added a few cosmetic touches so the front doors, pillars and book table were eye-catching and professional. It was a fantastic learning experience and once I got the art of maintaining eye contact with every passer-by, they were mine. Now I know that I have one-on-one sales skills. I like that ! All this time, I've been plugging my book The Twisted Climb like a one-lung Irish banshee on her last lump of coal and her final sip of whiskey. Ha! Not any more..... but you know, the cool part of my book signing was that Wayne Gretzky was coming to town the very next day at the very same book store, pushing his latest book at the very same table I just emptied of my great book stock. I left him a wee message and told him that if his book signing was as successful as mine, he should be happy. Aren't I the cheeky one chatting up the Great One? !!

Now, I'm taking a breath and about to prepare for an Author Event in my local town - one of five authors invited to read from their novel, participate in a Q&A session and then provide time for a signing/selling session. Throughout this publishing / marketing experience, I've learned that if you invite 50, expect one percent. Even if they are your best friends. The up-side is that even if they don't/can't come, I still love them! I'll take some pics of the 'Meet the Author' event this week - part of the Ontario Public Library week activities - and post on my blog next month. I'll also add some more details about my favourite scale-covered mammal, the pangolin. Until then, enjoy this blog and the other blogs of the very talented writers from the Books We Love collection of authors.

J.C. Kavanagh
The Twisted Climb, a book for young adults and adults young at heart.
www.Facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
Amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter: JCKavanagh1

Emotion or Character Trait? Calling all writers... by Sheila Claydon

Is ambition an emotion? What about pride, confidence, rivalry, envy, jealousy? Then there is optimism, exhilaration and enthusiasm as well as pessimism and cynicism. Are they emotions too or are some of them merely character traits?

Very recently I became involved in a somewhat challenging debate about this. One point of view was that these are all emotions. This was based on the theory that all emotion is the product of changes in the brain. Neurotransmitters and hormones were mentioned. It was stated that the body's neurochemical systems determine behaviour and that we are the products of our brain chemicals and electrical impulses. I am not sufficiently knowledgeable to argue with these apparently proven scientific facts but, as a writer, I had to take issue with the definition of an emotion.

To me love is an emotion, so is sadness. Liking, joy, anger and fear are also emotions. So, I think is surprise.  Everything else comes from these, so envy for example is the result of feelings of fear and anger and so is hate but they are not primary emotions.

A lot of people reading this might think 'so what' and mentally list a whole lot of feelings that they consider to be emotions such as guilt, dismay, pity, and I couldn't argue with them. It does make for an interesting discussion though and, as words are so important to a writer, I thought I'd throw the challenge out there. What do you consider to be our pure primary emotions as opposed to the character traits we develop via our upbringing and life experiences? And how important are these emotions to your writing?

I know when I write my own stories I call on a great many emotions. I also build personalities, however,  and to do this I have to develop character traits. In Mending Jodie's Heart, Book 1 of my Pathways Trilogy,  ambition, anger, fear, sadness, enthusiasm, pessimism, obstinacy and a few others all come before the love that finally blooms, and this continues through Books 2 Finding Bella Blue and Book 3 Saving Katy Gray.  Without them, I couldn't write any books at all.

Sheila's books can be found at Books We Love and Amazon

She also has a website and can be found on facebook  and twitter

Road Tripping USA Part Ten by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

www.joandonaldsonyarmey.com

 

 

Author’s Note

I belong to Angels Abreast, a breast cancer survivor dragon boat race team in Nanaimo, British Columbia, Canada. Every four years the International Breast Cancer Paddlers Commission IBCPC) holds an international festival somewhere in the world. In the spring of 2013, my team received a notice that the IBCPC had chosen Sarasota, Florida, USA, to hold the next festival in October 2014.
     We decided to attend and while the other members were going to fly down, tour around some of the sites and head home I wanted to see more of the country and meet some of the people. My husband, Mike, and I drove from our small acreage at Port Alberni, British Columbia, on the Pacific Ocean, to Sarasota, Florida on the Atlantic Ocean.
     Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the people I would meet nor the beautiful places I would see nor the adventures I would have on our ten week, 18,758km (11656 mile) journey. On the thirteenth day of every month in 2016 I will post a part of my trip that describes some of the excellent scenery, shows the generosity and friendliness of the people, and explains some of the history of the country. The people of the USA have much to be proud of.

Road Tripping USA Part Ten

We drove to Langtry, Texas, and stopped at the Judge Roy Bean Saloon and Museum. Roy Bean owned a store when he was appointed as Justice of the Peace of the Pecos County to combat the lawlessness of the area. He moved his court to Langtry and set up a tent saloon. He later built a wooden saloon which he named the Jersey Lilly after famous English actress, Lillie Langtry. She was his idol and he composed many letters to her inviting her to his town, which he claimed he named after her.
     Judge Roy Bean dispatched his own version of the law and was known as the ‘Law West of the Pecos’. Although he was also known as the ‘Hanging Judge’ there is conflicting information about that. Some say there is no evidence that he ever sentenced anyone to hang and others state that he sentenced two men to hang, one of whom escaped. His bar, or the front verandah, was his courtroom and his customers usually acted as a jury. He had one law book, his own idea of frontier justice, and a six gun to back his decisions.
     Lillie Langtry was born Emilie Le Breton on October 13, 1853, in Jersey, England. She married Edward Langtry in 1874. Her beauty won her many acclaims and she became a stage actress in 1881. She later formed her own production company. She toured the UK and went to the United States on tour in 1883. After many such trips, Lilly, as the American's spelled her name, became an American citizen in 1897. She died in Monaco on February 12, 1929. She did get to Langtry, Texas, in 1904, but it was a few months after Judge Roy Bean's death.  
     The buildings- the billiards hall, the saloon, and the opera hall- are all original and well preserved. We walked into the saloon and I bellied up to the bar. In the Opera House was a bed and some other furniture.
     Beside the museum is the Cactus Garden Interpretive Trail. We wandered the path through the different cacti reading their names and descriptions of their uses. I learned that the fruit and flowers of the Spanish Dagger are edible and the fiber is used for string, and that candy is made out of the Eagles Claw. It was a lovely walk through the garden and across a man-made dry river.
     Langtry is just a few houses near the museum and a post office. I bought a post card and mailed it to mom.
     We were on the eastern edge of the Chihuahuan Dessert and we drove through this desert over the next week as we went through southwestern Texas and into New Mexico and Arizona. The desert also goes south into Mexico. It covers 139,769 sq. miles (362,000 sq. km) and is the third largest desert on the Western hemisphere, and second only to the Great Basin in North America.

     At Marathon we headed south and passed a sign stating we had entered the Big Bend National Park. However, the headquarters were still 28 miles (45km) away and the campground 20 miles (32km) past that on the Rio Grande. We drove through a tunnel and finally reached the campground after dark.

     Big Bend National Park is named for the big curve in the Rio Grande. It covers 800,000 acres (323,760ha) of desert and mountains, and includes 118 miles (190km) of the Rio Grande. It is the largest protected area of the Chihuahuan desert in the U.S.
     In the shower/laundry room the next morning, I talked with a woman who said she and her husband had been in the park for five days and were planning on staying for a couple more. They had been RVers for a year, travelling around the countryside. She told me about some of the hiking trails in the park. She said to watch for the trinkets that were beside the hiking trails for people to buy. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but I figured I would find out.
     Mike and I walked to the boat launch and Mike put his foot in the Rio Grande. We drove to the Rio Grande Village nature trail. Mike wasn’t sure how far he could get but we set out. Just as we crossed the bridge over a pond we met four people who had just finished the trail.
     “Is the trail worth going on?” I asked.
     “Oh, yes,” one of the men said.
     “Is it hard?”
     “Going around the bottom of the hill is okay but it is a steep climb to the top.”
     The other man wore a jacket with the name Jasper on it. Mike saw it and asked. “Are you from Jasper, Alberta?”
     “No. We’re from London, Ontario. We’re Canadians.”
     “We’re Canadians from Vancouver Island.”
      The man said they came down to Texas every fall to spend the winter with their friends in San Antonio. He asked us what we were doing. Mike said we had gone to an international breast cancer dragon boat survivor festival in Sarasota.
     “Oh,” one of the women said. “One of our friends in London belongs to a breast cancer survivor dragon boat team and she was at Sarasota.”
     I asked the name of the team was but they couldn’t remember.
     We started hiking along the trail and we hadn't gone very far when we found some hiking sticks, and scorpions, road runners, necklaces, ocotillos, roosters, and other items made out of beads and copper wire in a group by the trail. There was a piece of cardboard beside them with the prices on it and a plea for donations to support their school.
     These were the trinkets the woman in the laundromat had been talking about. They were left there by Mexicans who came across the river.
     It was on the honour system to pay and there was a container to leave the money. Mike and I each bought a hiking stick. Mike's had a bird and a cactus painted on it and mine had a snake. We carried on and found three more wayside trinket sites. We climbed up to a magnificent overlook where we could see Mexico across the Rio Grande. There were beautiful canyon rock walls and a town way in the distance. Donkeys grazed just on the other side of the river. Interpretive signs told about the border and the wild animals in the area.
     We descended and then I decided to walk around the hill. On the way I found a sign for a river spur trail. I strolled along it towards the river. On the way I saw bowl-like depressions in slabs of rock. I had talked with the woman in the store when we registered the night before and she told me that they had been notched by the natives centuries ago and every time they came through they used them to grind their grain into flour.
     On our way back to our camper, we met two women heading out on the trail. I told them to watch for the hiking sticks and trinkets. One of them said she thought it was against the law to buy stuff from illegal aliens.
     We headed to the Boquillas Crossing Port of Entry. There was a building at the Port of Entry but the crossing was closed. A man was doing some work on the building so I went and talked to him. He explained that anyone wanting to go to Mexico could walk down to the river. The Mexicans on the other side would come across in boats to pick them up and take them to the town we had seen across the river where they could shop or relax.
     “Many people just go across to chill and say they have been there,” he said.
     There is no guard at the crossing. There are cameras set up and it is monitored in El Paso. Inside the building is a kiosk where anyone wanting to cross could scan their passport. El Paso checks the passport and can keep track by camera when the tourists return.
     The man told me that for hundreds of years the Mexicans had been crossing the river into the US on a bridge at this crossing and no one said anything about it. Then the border patrol decided it wasn't right so they demolished the bridge. But, because they knew the crossings would continue anyway, they gave the Mexicans some green aluminum boats. Those boats are the ones they pick up tourists in.
     On the way to the Boquillas Canyon overlook we saw a sign that said: Purchase or possession of items obtained from Mexican Nationals is illegal.
     We weren’t sure if that meant the items at the trinket sites or if we bought something from them in person.
     From the overlook we could see the river below and a tall rock face in the distance on the Mexican side. There are more trinkets-necklaces, anklets, tea towels, hiking sticks. We looked down on three Mexicans on the other side of the river who were watching us through binoculars. They had a small fire going and one of those green boats sat on the river bank. Mike liked a rock with crystals embedded in it and he bought it. He held the money in the air before putting it in the jar then picked up the rock and showed them. He waved and they waved back.

     We had our oil changed in Alpine and then left on the Texas Mountain Trail. The scenery was wide open spaces, grass, cows, some cacti, some bush, and hills in the distance.

     We drove into Valentine. It has a population of 217 people and no services. Mike saw a sign for a library and he stopped. I still had some of my books so I went in to see if I could donate them to the library. The librarian was very friendly and told me about the founding of the Kay Johnson Library.
     "Kay and her husband owned a ranch near here and she always wanted to do something for Valentine but never got to it before she passed away. So her daughter, and her husband, from Austin Texas bought this old house, fixed it up, and started the library in Kay Johnson's name."
     She took me on a tour showing me the different rooms.
     "Each room has a different type of book: mysteries, romances, children's. There is even one for hard covers. All the books have been donated and anyone can borrow a book."
     "I am a mystery writer," I said. "I have copies of my three novels in the camper. Would you be interested in a set?"
     "Oh, yes." she said. "That would be wonderful."
     I came back and signed them. I gave them to her, then signed the guest book. The place is not advertised but tourists do stop in. A couple from Sweden had signed the book a few days before me.
     The West Texas Valentine's Day celebrations are held in Valentine on Valentine's Day, hosted by the Big Bend Brewing Company from Alpine, Texas. A building in the town has been renovated to hold the party. There are usually three bands, lots of food to eat, and a dance. People come from all over the area to celebrate.
     Valentine began as a station on the Southern Pacific Railroad. There are two stories as to how it received its name. One is that it was founded on Valentine's Day. The other is that it was named after John Valentine, a stockholder in the railroad. The population grew to 600 but when diesel engines were introduced in 1950 the roundhouse was closed. The crew change point was moved in 1984 and the population slowly dwindled.

     We decided we wanted Mexican food for lunch. We saw a sign for Chuy's Restaurant in Van Horne and stopped there. While we waited for our food we were told the story of a Monday night in 1987 when John Madden stopped in to watch Monday night football on their television. During his career Madden was an NFL football player, a super bowl winning coach, and a football commentator on television. He liked the food of this restaurant so much he mentioned it in articles he wrote for magazines. On one of his television shows he called it the "All Madden Haul (sic) of Fame". Madden had been coming to Chuy's for many years and had his own director’s chair with his name on it.

     Mike ordered Quesadillas and I had Flautas, which is shredded beef in corn tortillas. The food was delicious but I don't think we will be back every year.
     As we continued north we are in the Guadeloupe Mountains. Guadeloupe Peak is the highest point in Texas at 8749 ft. (2667m).

ELECTION WORKER the primary by Karla Stover

KARLA STOVER AT BOOKS WE LOVE

     This year I received a questionable Christmas-in-July gift—a whopping big dental bill. And since it couldn’t be returned, I applied to work for the county during election season. This first thing I want to say is, where I live (Tacoma, Washington in Pierce County) I saw no way to fix the votes.

     After training (which included a very boring OSHA video), getting a photo ID, and creating a fingerprint verification sign in, my first job was to pick up ballots. This is done with a randomly-assigned partner. My county goes into the foothills of Mt. Rainier and to an island in Puget Sound. We were sent across the Narrows Straits and up toward the Bremerton Shipyard. We arrived about half-an-hour early, checked in, and sat under a copse of trees across from the ballot box, chatting and watching people come and go. At 7:45 (voting ends at 8:00) we headed to the box carrying assorted stuff. First job: confirm that the number on the band across the lock agrees with the records, then sign an affidavit to that effect. A carbon copy stays inside the box, one goes in a bag, and I forget where the other went, not having done this before, my partner was in charge of paperwork. Next: fill trays with the ballots, all facing the same way. Sign an affidavit, one copy goes in the tray which is then closed and sealed, one is taped to the outside and the original goes in the bag. If it is raining the county hands out umbrellas not for personal use but to keep the ballots dry, also, cell phones are required for time synchronization. If someone comes after 8:00, write the time on the ballot, tell the voter it won't be counted, and give him a phone number to call, if he/she wants to. Take ballots to the office and clock out

     My second job was ballot verification and trust me when I say, people do odd things with their ballots. The instructions plainly say use a pencil or dark ink. Nevertheless, I had a ballot filled out in turquoise. I had one where someone wrote in Goofy Goose for State Auditor, another where the voter voted for every Democrat running (which was several in some races) thus invalidating the ballot, and one where everyone running was a Democrat and the voter wrote, “F - - - You, I’m a Republican.” It could have been worse: people who worked in Seattle/King county told me everyone had to wear gloves because ballots came in with feces or urine on them, with cockroaches in the envelope, with pictures of themselves as if trolling for a date, and one was so blood-soaked, it had to go into a hazmet bag.

     Two people work together on the ballots which have to be redone. They then go to another team who verifies the accuracy. Making a mistake is another big deal--every ballot is accounted for. And all the while, representatives from the parties are wandering around, watching to see that no one cheats. The part I like best is break time when I read the reasons people applied for Workmen's Compensation which was posted on a bulletin board.

     I have my schedule for the final election and it should be exciting. Already I'm scheduled for a class on proper maintenance and cleaning of the ballot box.