A Woman's Work Is Never Done - Meg Mims

My mother always said this, while raising six kids in the 1950-1960s. She chose to leave a bank clerk job and be a housewife. My grandmother, raised on a farm, worked in an office as a typist before getting married and staying home to raise her family. That trend went back to the 1800s, when girls were raised to marry and have children. Many chose to work first at a job before settling down with a husband. Many didn't have a prospective suitor. Or didn't want one.

But there wasn't much to choose from in terms of paid employment at the upper level of salary choices. Men dominated the professions such as being a physician, a lawyer, owning a business, etc. Of course, there were exceptions - but for the most part, women worked as domestics (maids, laundresses, cooks) or in factories or at home, often paid by the piece, either stripping tobacco, picking nuts, producing silk flowers or sewing, making lace, etc. They sometimes worked in millinery and dressmaker shops, or ... as teachers. It seems fitting, being September, to talk about women working as teachers.

Harriet Beecher Stowe's sister, Catherine Beecher, born in 1800 in a prominent family of social reformers, was self-taught and believed that women were natural teachers. Catherine became one in 1821 and was a co-founder of the Hartford Female Seminary - where women were trained  to be mothers and teachers. She also believed that teaching was far more important than the work of a doctor or lawyer - something I agree with - although she never supported suffrage. Still, for the early 1800s, she spurred progress for women to further their education and then pass that knowledge to children.

It seems many people agreed with Beecher. "God seems to have made woman peculiarly suited to guide and develop the infant mind, and it seems... very poor policy to pay a man 20 or 22 dollars a month, for teaching children the ABCs, when a female could do the work more successfully at one third of the price." -- Littleton School Committee, Littleton, Massachusetts, 1849

In urban schools, women taught and men were superintendents or principals. In western rural areas, men might have taken the lower pay of a teaching position if they had no other choice. School districts might have hired a man to teach the older children and a woman to handle the younger ones. If they could afford both, that is, depending on the school and settlement. And most schools were one-room, handling up to sixty children. Often there was little extra money for slates, books or even coal or wood for the stoves to heat the small schoolhouses in poorer settlements. 

Reading - utilizing the Bible, early primers or later MacGuffey's Reader - and grammar, arithmetic, geography and history were taught in schools, sometimes by teachers who had barely learned the same lessons. But while many consider the quality of lessons as basic or primitive, consider today's trend to skip spelling and grammar lessons (disappearing unfortunately). The extensive "figuring" lessons in measures and weights, basic accounting and other necessary math was vital to running a farm or a keeping a business afloat.

Women in the field appreciated the chance to live an independent life, and to earn wages - even if on a  temporary basis before marriage. By the turn of the century, 75% of teachers were women. My husband's aunt worked in a one-room schoolhouse with children ranging from kindergarten to eighth grade. She swept the steps and classroom every day, fetched coal for the heating stove, brought extra food for kids going without breakfast/lunch (during late Depression) and handled discipline - but the children loved her since she made it fun to learn.

 

 

Rural North Dakota - above

To the right, a class of thirty children, possibly the same age (easier than thirty all at different grade levels), and their female teacher - at the Watkins School, Nashville, Tennessee, late 1800s.

Today, women still dominate the teaching profession. They do have the advantage of earning pensions, benefits and fairly decent wages - although for the work involved, they are still not paid enough (in my opinion.) We all have memories of our favorite teachers. God bless them all.

Sources: http://www.pbs.org/onlyateacher/beecher.html, http://www.nwhm.org/online-exhibits/industry/4.htm

Meg Mims is an award-winning author with two western mysteries under her Eastern belt. She lives in Michigan, where the hills are like driveway slopes and trees block any type of prairie winds. LIKE her on Facebook, follow her on Twitter or check out her books on her website. Double Crossing won the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel and Double or Nothing is the exciting sequel.

Get Along, Little Doggie!

What does an Eastern greenhorn know about a cattle drive? Very little.

In Double Crossing, my western historical mystery, I introduced a handsome Texan -- Ace Diamond -- a mix of Rooster Cogburn and LaBoef from True Grit. His background reeled out while I wrote the first draft several years ago. Born in Texas, check. Easy to pull up a map and figure out where he might have been born (around Anderson), and that he'd worked at the Fanthorpe Inn as a stable boy after his brothers left to fight in the War of Rebellion. Three brothers killed at Shiloh, check. I had plenty of books about battles and conditions, weapons, military gear for both sides.

But when Ace mentioned he'd worked a few cattle drives after the War -- say what? That's when the real digging came into play. I had a dictionary, Western Words: A Dictionary of the Old West by Ramon Adams. Great resource, really. There's even an on-line website for slang. I'd done some general research on Charles Goodnight, dug up a trail map, etc. But did I really know that much about what a cowboy did on a trail drive? No. Luckily I'm a member of the Western Fictioneers, and have learned a LOT more since writing my Double series about horses, cattle, life on the trail and such.

Such as calling coffee 'brown gargle.' That cattle ought to walk four head across for best results when trailing them. That the youngest cowboys always ride drag and get the dirtiest (I'm sure Ace's younger brother had that lovely job). I had mentioned Ace carrying a Bowie knife (check), a Colt (check), a suede jacket, boots and hat (check), and along with his horse he probably had a saddle, spurs and rope. But I'd forgotten that a cowboy was never without a handy dandy bandanna. Huh. 

How odd that Ace never had one when he met Lily in Omaha, or after he showed up on the train in Double Crossing. Why didn't I do an image search? Surely I'd have seen what I'd missed. Readers are pretty forgiving! I guess I never mentioned he kept one in his pocket. (wink)

Do readers realize how little of all that research we writers dig up make it into the book? Probably not. But for authenticity, writers ought to know as much as possible about the character's past experiences.

For Double Crossing, however, I only knew Ace had lost his "cutter" -- not that 'riding shank's mare' was something he would confess to right off the bat! I had to research what a "cutter" was (a horse skilled in matching a steer's movements to 'cut' them from the herd), but that was it. Ace refused to explain what happened. But for Double or Nothing, when Lily asks him in detail about his cutter, I had to research the type of horse and color and what kind of accidents might have occurred while riding. And Ace reluctantly gave out bits of his background. I had to arm-wrestle him for the details. (wink)

Sometimes characters just won't cooperate! But since I plan to write a short story about Ace and his brother, I figured I better know a lot more about them, the slang they use, their manners (or lack of them) and their horses. For now, here's a brief excerpt from Double or Nothing about Ace's cutter.

After sharing a passionate kiss, I breathed in his scent of musk, bay rum and soap. He tasted salty, too. “Remember you said how you lost your cutter? Your horse, right?”

“Yep. Good old Reb.”

“Reb?” I laughed. “For Rebel, I suppose. That seems to fit.”

Ace snorted. “Best gelding I ever had. A bay roan, and his coat turned darker in winter. Reb knew which way a steer would run, a few seconds before it moved. He was more intelligent than most people I ever met in my life.”

“So what happened? How did you lose him?”

“Broke his leg in a gopher hole, and had to put him down,” he said, eyes downcast. “Worst day of my life, too. Kept my brother company from Fort Riley, Kansas, up to Nebraska. He was headin’ west to his next assignment. I started back but never made it.”

“And then—”

“Ended up in Omaha. No horse, sold my saddle for a room and a few meals. No jobs till that boardinghouse landlady took pity on me.”

“We’d never have met if not for your horse,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m sorry you lost the cutter, though. How did you learn to speak Spanish?”

He ran his tongue around my earlobe, his breath hot, making me shiver. “Told ya that me and Layne worked to round up mossy horns down in Texas. A few men never learned English, so we picked up Spanish pretty quick. Is that important?”

“No, but I remember something else you told me on the train.”

“Mm? What’s that?”

“That I’d never get a chance to see your scars.”

Ace flashed a mischievous smile and leaned back, arms held out wide. “Go ahead and search for ‘em. What, are you too scared? I dare you.”

“It wouldn’t be proper,” I said, my cheeks burning.

“I’m all yours, Lily Diamond. Whenever and wherever you want me.”

From DOUBLE OR NOTHING -- the sequel to the Spur Award-winning Double Crossing!

CLICK HERE TO SEE THE BOOK VIDEO!

Book blurb: A mysterious explosion. A man framed for murder. A strong woman determined to prove his innocence.

October, 1869: Lily Granville, heiress to a considerable fortune, rebels against her uncle’s strict rules. Ace Diamond, determined to win Lily, invests in a dynamite factory but his success fails to impress her guardian. An explosion in San Francisco, mere hours before Lily elopes with Ace to avoid a forced marriage, sets off a chain of consequences.

When Ace is framed for murder before their wedding night, Lily must find proof to save him from a hangman’s noose. Will she become a widow before a true wife?

BUY LINKS — Amazon for Kindle and print, B&N for Nook, Smashwords

Great Caesar's Ghost - the Ides of March!

GREAT CAESAR'S GHOST!!

DOUBLE OR NOTHING, Book 2 of the Double Series,

is releasing today!

How wonderful that today, March 15th, also known as the Ides of March, and my usual day to post something on Cowboy Kisses, happens to be the day my sequel to Double Crossing is being released! It's also my husband's birthday. Watch out, Caesar -- there's a knife in my new book, too.

Here's some of the research details I discovered about the Bowie knife. My hero Ace Diamond uses one, since he's from Texas.

Rezin Bowie, Jim Bowie's brother, created a single edged knife after a bull attack, which he survived (obviously!), and fitted it with a wood handle. The  nine inch long blade resembled a butcher knife, and he gave it or a similar knife to his brother. In fact, the brothers gave many knives out to friends, which is why it's so difficult to pin down the exact one.

After getting shot by the local sheriff, Jim swore he'd always have a knife on hand. So he used the one his brother gave him in what was famously termed the 'sandbar fight' on the Mississippi at Vidalia, Louisana, in September of 1827. Despite being stabbed and shot, he disemboweled one attacker, wounded another and chased off a third. 

The local newspaper spread his fame. He was also renowned for surviving an Indian raiding party with a small band of colleagues -- they'd been outnumbered 15 to 1, but only lost one man compared to 40 Indian dead and 30 wounded. More fame to claim, yet he rarely spoke of his adventurous exploits.

Sometime around 1829 or 1830, Jim Bowie had  asked blacksmith James Black to improve on his brother's design. He modified it to include a clipped point which was double-edged and added to its lethal power.


And of course, Bowie ended up at the Alamo in 1836 -- which really pushed the legend. Despite being ill in bed, he managed to use his knife, a gun and his fists to escort many Mexican soldiers with him to the pearly gates. 

Here's what a present day Bowie knife looks like, to the right.


I'm not a weapons expert, and I've been known to cut myself with a cheap Dollar Store paring knife. Give me those safety blades to carve pumpkins. Now those are safe! Here's an example of the other weapon my hero Ace Diamond uses in both books -- a stiletto. Minus the hand guard, I'm sure.

Ace kept the stiletto in his boot. Whether or not that's actually possible--well, the reader has to give an author a little slack! It is fiction, after all.

And now I come to sharing about my new release! Today I'm hosting a FB event, so come join the fun! I'll share more details about how writing this book almost disemboweled me (just kidding, of course, but close to it!)

Here's the dynamic cover -- the pocket watch is Lily's father's, the photograph could be of her parents, and the cards are from Ace's poker hand. 

A mysterious explosion. A man framed for murder. A strong woman determined to prove his innocence.

October, 1869: Lily Granville, now heiress to a considerable fortune, rebels against her uncle’s strict rules in Sacramento, California. Ace Diamond, determined to win Lily, invests in a dynamite factory for a quick “killing,” but his status as a successful businessman fails to impress her guardian.

An explosion in San Francisco, mere hours before Lily elopes with Ace to avoid a forced marriage, sets off a chain of unforeseen consequences.

Despite Lily’s protests that her new husband has been framed, Ace is dragged off to jail as the culprit. 

Evidence mounts against him. Lily must learn who was actually behind the diabolical plan… and save Ace from the hangman’s noose.

Will she become a widow before a true wife?

Here's the BOOK TRAILER!!! YEEEHAW!

BUY LINKS -- Amazon for Kindle, B&N for Nook, Smashwords for other ereader devices! Print edition coming coming later!

Meg Mims -- Down and Dirty in the Old West: What's a Woman to Do?

Let's face it. When you think of a "western" the first image you have is dirt. Horse manure and dust from carriages and wagons. Mud when it rains. Ugh.

I have a scene in my Double Series sequel where the heroine gets plastered with mud. Oh, sure, grab the bath tub. Wash her hair. With what? Time to research. I read that soap made of lye and ashes was pretty harsh and left a film, but it worked to a point. Then I wandered into other research territory (as usual) in terms of what a lady would resort to in terms of keeping herself as ladylike as possible.

The visible signs of a lady in the 1800s, given the neck to ankle coverage in clothing, had to do with hair, complexion and hands. Many westerns I've read have women wearing their hair flowing over their shoulders -- heaven forbid! One badge of womanhood (besides the embarrassing secret of the menstrual cycle, of course) was a girl pinning up her hair and lowering her skirt hems to the shoe-tops or the floor. And ladies had many ways of utilizing hairpins, ribbons, combs, flowers both real and made of ribbon, switches of hair if God didn't gift them with luxurious tresses, etc. Women almost never cut their hair, and some women had hair long enough to sit on.

How often did women wash their hair? Seldom, from what little I've found in research. If anyone can point me to a book or website, let me know! Shampoo wasn't formulated until the late 1800s. Women used soap, vinegar rinses, mineral oil, whatever they could get their hands on to get dust, dirt, bugs, etc. out of their hair. I still remember my grandmother talking about brushing her hair 100 times each night when she was young.

Let's move on to complexions. Women of the 1800s who wore greasepaint and rouge were either actresses in the theater or 'fallen women' -- and many people considered them one and the same. Who remembers Scarlett O'Hara pinching her cheeks and biting her lower lip in the movie Gone With the Wind? That's about it.

Real ladies kept their skin white, without blemish or freckles. Middle and upper class women bleached their skin if necessary and kept out of the sun. Woe to western pioneer women who worked out in the sun and wind, since sunbonnets were of little help. And ladies always wore hats and gloves to go out, throughout the 1800s until the mid-1960s.

This leads to how often did a lady bathe. Wealthier ladies might have a real tub and servants to carry water, but I'd guess they might bathe once or twice a week. Poorer women might have a washtub for a once a week bath, if that, depending on how plentiful water would be. Daily sponging for cleanliness made more sense.

Most clothes were not washed more than once a week. Ladies' skirts and dresses dragged on the ground and collected dirt and other grime. "Monday is Wash Day, Tuesday is Ironing Day" -- I still remember that little ditty. And everything (and I mean everything given the cotton and muslin fabrics) from underclothes and outer clothing, to linens, handkerchiefs, kitchen towels, etc., would be wrinkled and in need of ironing. No wonder it took all day. If you could afford a laundress, lucky you!

Let's face it. Women had it rough 150+ years ago without today's modern conveniences of vacuums, showers and shampoo, washers/dryers and dishwashers.

Here's the excerpt from the sequel to Double Crossing, coming soon -- titled Double or Nothing -- after Lily is covered in mud and heads home.

Once upstairs in my bedroom, I stripped every bit of clothing off with a weary sigh and tied a wrapper around my waist. My hairpins seemed to be plastered into place. I pulled one out and dislodged a hunk of dried mud. Ugh.

Etta knocked. “I’ve heated water. Let me have your clothes, miss.”

“There’s no use salvaging them.”

“Now, Miss Lily. Your uncle explained everything. It’s not your fault what happened,” she said and bent to gather the filthy clothes. Etta held out a small bowl with creamed paste. “Your favorite type—lavender, honey and a bit of oatmeal. Cover your face and hands with that, and I’ll mix some fresh beeswax with rose hips and almond oil when you’re done.”

I sank into the hot bath water in the screened alcove. Once I scrubbed all over, Etta washed my hair and brought fresh water to rinse all the dirt out. She poured a mixture of rose-scented mineral oil and massaged it into my curls. The room’s chilly air sent shivers up my spine. I slathered my face and hands with cream, slipped into my nightdress and crawled into bed...

Meg Mims is an award-winning bestselling author and artist. She writes blended genres – historical, western, adventure, romance, suspense and mystery. Her first book, Double Crossing, won the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel from Western Writers of America and  was named a Finalist in the Best Books of 2012 from USA Book News for Fiction: Western. She also wrote two contemporary romances, The Key to Love and Santa Paws. Follow her on Twitter (@megmims), on Facebook and her website blog.

Much Ado About Mutton - Meg Mims

I confess. I stole the clever title for this blog post. The original was used for a conference workshop about mutton-eating in Detroit's old days. But it certainly fits the history of the cattle-sheep wars in the old West from 1870 to the 1920s. I also confess I had to do some quick research about the topic, since I haven’t read enough Western history of the cattle barons, trails, stockyards, open range and the like.

Cattle vs. sheep wars were not like the big, bad Johnson County cattle range wars -- not that I'm up on that history either. I discovered the most common states experiencing cattle vs. sheep troubles were Arizona, Texas, Wyoming and Colorado. Were murders and the slaughter of animals really rampant? Numbers prove it – over fifty men murdered and between 50,000 and 100,000 sheep slaughtered. Serious enough! 

Remember I’m an eastern greenhorn, born and raised in Michigan. Land of trees, the Great Lakes, lighthouses, beaches and cars. Yes, the automobile – which replaced horses after the turn of the 20^th century. And yes, prior to that, horses were common (along with horse dung) all across the country, whether for riding or pulling omnibuses, wagons and stagecoaches. So the “beef vs. mutton” dispute is news to me.

Let’s face it, cowboys (cow hands, really, since they were anything but boys) worked cattle drives on horseback. After the buffalo herds were slaughtered, the open range favored cattle driven northward on “trails” to stockyards where they were sent east to meat-packing plants in St. Louis and Chicago. Ranches could be small or huge, sprawling affairs, and disputes arose about rustling or branding mavericks to swell the herds. But sheep? Cowhands considered them an insult.

What factors played a role in the conflict between cattle and sheep men in the Old West? First, some believed that sheep with their smaller mouths grazed closer to the ground and ruined the range, and that cattle would not drink from water sources “polluted” by sheep. Second, ethnicity may have played a shadowy role – men of Spanish origin herded sheep, and herders worked the sheep on foot or burro, sometimes on horseback. The ratio of animals to men were far smaller with sheep than cattle. You can imagine how “outnumbered” the sheep and herders would be in a range dispute.

For example, Charles Goodnight’s cowhands drove over four hundred sheep into the Canadian River and drowned them after herders “invaded” their range along the Texas-New Mexico border in 1875. 2400 sheep were slaughtered in Oregon in 1903 by driving them off a cliff, or “rimrock,” and the survivors shot. Other sheep herds were stampeded or poisoned.

But some disputes turned into murder. The 1886-1887 Pleasant Valley war (not so pleasant, really) in Arizona between the Graham and Tewksbury feuding factions resulted in about thirty dead men. Plenty of books and movies, some factual and some far-fetched, were spawned out of these Old West range wars.

By 1920 disputes between cattle and sheep ranchers cooled down, since the “open range” had been fenced off by that time. I'm partial to beef burgers over mutton on my dinner plate, but I do enjoy gyros. That's about as close to a cow or sheep I'll ever get.

Here’s a few interesting books, blogs and movie resources.

Dane Coolidge, Hidden Water, 1910

Bill O'Neal, Cattlemen vs. Sheepherders: Five Decades of Violence in the West, 1880–1920, Eakin Press, 1989

http://www.ohs.org/education/oregonhistory/historical_records/

http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/azs01

The Sheepmen – 1958 Glenn Ford film

Picture credits: 

Book cover and illustrations by Maynard Dixon, from the 1910 edition of Hidden Water – which I “rustled” from Ron Scheer’s BUDDIES IN THE SADDLE blog. Slaughtered sheep image from en.wikipedia.org

Meg Mims is the award-winning author of DOUBLE CROSSING (2012 Spur Award - Best First Novel, Finalist in Best Books of 2012 by USA Book News), available on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords, in e-book, trade paperback and hardcover. To the right is the cover for the HC large print edition from Center Point Publishing.

Meg is working on the sequel, DOUBLE OR NOTHING, and hopes to release it in early spring. Want a sneak peek? Check out her blog for The Next Big Thing!

A. J. Russell, Photographer Extraordinaire

While researching Double Crossing, I utilized several photos taken by A. J. Russell during the construction of the transcontinental railroad. They came in handy for describing the historical landscapes - completely changed by now, after over 125 years. I didn't think much of these photos, except how convenient they'd been and easy to find on the internet. I saw this photo of the Dale Creek bridge and used it for my book's central danger point -- which I have to admit, came in very handy. Call it exploitation, if you will.

Shame on me.

I didn't consider the man behind the camera lens. These photos are true gems, taken by a courageous American. They are more than mere historical photos of a time period in our country's history. They reflect a rugged natural world, true. But they also reflect the man who carried his equipment across country, sharing the ordeals of the laborers who built the railroad, the tough conditions experienced by surveyors, the hastily built bridges and tracks laid down in the race against time between the Union and Central Pacific railroad companies. Russell was present at Promontory, also, for the famous May celebration in 1869.

Born and raised in New York, Andrew J. Russell worked as a portrait and landscape painter. Perhaps that's where he developed such an eye for grandeur. In 1862, he assisted in organizing the local militia to serve in the "War of Rebellion." A.J. no doubt trudged along with his Army compatriots and faced the fears and boredom until getting an opportunity in February of 1863 to learn photography. From a cameraman, E.G. Fowx, associated with Matthew Brady's studio--what a happy chance.

Russell became the Army's first official photographer and worked under General Haupt's direction, taking photos of busy army engineers' work -- especially on railroads. Which led to surviving the worst of that time of war, and segued naturally into an interest in photographing the construction of the Union Pacific railroad in 1868, only five years later. By that time, Russell's skills had been surely honed. You can see the evidence in the product. The railroad executives cooperated with Russell, of course, no dummies they, since they needed investors and politicians' support -- along with the public once the line was finished. Even the Shoshone Indians, to the right, posed for a photo. Behind them lies the unspoiled west, soon to host sprawling suburbs and strip malls within a hundred years.

Russell traveled three times out west between 1868 and 1869, with multiple cameras, chemicals, glass plates plus a portable darkroom. Yes, *glass* plates. And chemicals. Cameras like the Brownie box style or handy  Polaroids and digital models hadn't been invented back then, too bad. But despite the difficulties, using his own "wet-plate" negatives, Russell documented the railroad's construction work. Amazing.

We have much to be thankful for when seeing these photographs. They show the American west at its most innocent, unspoiled time. Russell's work -- 200+ negatives and 400+ stereographs -- has a home in the Oakland Museum. They portray a changing America, a healing America, and the one major engineering feat that brought East and West together via the transcontinental railroad. His images were used in advertising, in a book put out by the Union Pacific, to illustrate guides for travelers and for public lecturers talking about the American West.

I don't know how much Russell earned from his photographs. Probably not enough. The photo to the right was taken by General Haupt, probably during the War of Rebellion -- known now as the Civil War, although there was nothing civil about it. He looks young, an adventurer and willing to undertake just about anything. Especially a project as daunting as traveling out west before the railroads had been completed.

Russell died in 1902, back in New York. I'd like to raise a Thanksgiving toast to Mr. Russell's memory. Thanks, A.J. We'd never have seen the west before it was truly conquered if not for your work.






Images courtesy of http://beinecke.library.yale.edu/

In the Zone - with Meg Mims

TV jingles make me crazy, since I rarely watch the tube. But one inspired me to think of that sacred place a writer (hopefully) gets into when a work-in-progress is chugging along. Any interruption is met with dismay. Whether it's another let-the-dogs-out... let-the-dogs-in, telephone call, bathroom break, mealtime or when's-dinner type of interruption. So when I'm In The Zone -- The Writing Zone...

I want to keep writing. I don't want the TV on when I can listen to music or blessed silence. I don't want to hear barking dogs, the doorbell, the telephone. Even listening to the answering machine is a distraction. Call me crazy. But blame it on being In The Zone -- The Writing Zone.

Wild horses running... yep! That's being In The Zone -- The Writing Zone. You get excited, you write for the sheer joy of it. To get to the next page, the next scene, the next chapter. Pantsers are especially good at this. But Plotters can get Into The Zone too! Just follow the outline, and if you get a little off-track, you can get back on without a problem -- unless it's a "happy accident" as Bob Ross used to say.

Thankfully the dogs and I time ourselves for bathroom/outdoor breaks. I grit my teeth when the phone rings, and I've been known to turn it off. I can't prevent the dogs from barking at neighborhood cars, walkers, Mr. Brown delivering UPS packages anywhere on my street, or the mailman (they particularly dislike anyone daring to come so close to the door.) As for meals - I have breakfast, quickly check my mail and approve Triberr posts (trying to avoid Facebook and Twitter), write, then "take a lunch" and get back to writing afterward. Dinner is either something fast, something left-over or something take-out.

Hey. I'm In The Zone -- The Writing Zone! But derailment happens.

When it does, I get cranky. Even routine planned-ahead stuff can derail The Writing Zone. Whether it's a doctor's appointment, a lunch day with friends, an evening meeting, a weekend event... augh! It's enough to seriously get you out of The Zone. What can you do to get back in, to refresh those juices?

I'm writing this blog post now to get myself back Into The Zone after an event across the state. It was fun, great meeting fellow authors, but that little devil whispered in my ear...  "if only you'd stayed home -- you'd be fifty pages ahead!" I try to ignore it. I did find it worthwhile talking with the other writers and meeting new readers. Gone are the days when writers were in their caves hibernating and The Editors were the contact people. You gotta meet-greet these days, in conferences, workshops, school appearances, book clubs, or checking Facebook or Twitter, updating your website. It all takes time. Precious writing time. But the overall goal? To make it to the end.

So what can you do?

Courtesy of http://web.mit.edu

Schedule that PRECIOUS writing time, like the spurts between the Pony Express stations over a hundred years ago. Check your schedule. Block out several days -- or one day. Or a weekend spurts, or evening spurts, or two-three hour morning spurts. Whatever works for you.

And then get yourself In The Zone -- The Writing Zone.

...Meg Mims is In The Zone, at work on the sequel to her Spur-Award winning book, Double Crossing. Check out her website for updates on The Double Series and her WIP, Double or Nothing.

Badlands of South Dakota

You haven’t truly seen “the west” until you’ve seen the Badlands.

Why do I say this? I am no expert, but to me, this area had a surreal quality about it. A weather-beaten aged beauty. Lots of dust, and those varying shades of rust, brown, gold I’d always envisioned “the west” to be. I could picture horse herds here more than anywhere else, and bands of Indians (er, Native Americans) roaming the prairie.

On a drawn-out trip out west to visit family in Montana in 2002, my husband, daughter and I decided to hit a few landmarks along the way in South Dakota, plus Yellowstone. The Corn Palace was one, since I’d run across that oddity (to us) on some type of “Don’t Miss” travel tips. Wall Drugs was another, of course, due to all the signs we’d seen. Mount Rushmore, of course—and I was stunned that we could glimpse part of the massive stone heads from the highway. That was a majestic sight. But we all loved seeing the Badlands.

And I mean big time “l-o-v-e-d” as in “we HAVE to stop here on the way home again” love.

Why? We couldn’t explain that. Sure, they have a ‘rugged beauty’ and ‘striking geologic deposits’ according to the National Park website. It’s nice to know that ‘ancient mammals such as the rhino, horse and saber-toothed cat once roamed here.’ Yes, it’s astonishing that it covers almost a quarter of a million acres, that it includes mixed-grass prairie. And that ‘bison, bighorn sheep, prairie dogs and black-footed ferrets live there today.’ Great.

I don’t know about the other animals, but we saw prairie dogs. Hundreds of ’em. I could have watched them pop in and out of their holes for hours. Cute little buggers.

First of all, a disclaimer. I live in a state known for its “leafies” – oak, maple, elm, birch, ash, pine plus plenty more, and that’s just in my neighborhood. Michigan is known for its forests and Great Lakes, plus all the small lakes in the Mitten and the UP. Green and blue are the primary colors (and I’m not talking green and white for Michigan State or blue and maize for UM). The prairie, as I first caught sight of it when we crossed from Minnesota farmland into South Dakota farmland, was fairly green, mostly brown. Wide open spaces, as the song goes, cottonwoods (I think) that usually grew near creeks or rivers. You could see rain clouds in the distance and never get wet. Very odd to us. Even the trees looked different.

So at first we didn’t notice a whole lot, driving the expressway – being from Michigan, a car ride can be pretty much "same old, same old" boring. Then we turned off to where we’d scoped out Google maps ahead of time. No trees here. Like none. Just a few scattered houses in dry, brown land. I have to say it was the middle of a hot summer, too. Anything above 85 is hot to us. It must have been 90+. And don’t tell me it’s a dry heat. Hot is hot. We drove down a two-lane country road and suddenly the world dropped off.

That’s the Badlands to me.

We stopped the car, although the road curved along the rim’s edge – maybe for a ways, we didn’t know. Or care. We all piled out. Stood on that rim, my husband and daughter closer than I ever could get to the edge. And just stared. Awestruck. The rock formations, the little gullies, the striations in the soil and the way the sunlight hit them just right, giving the browns, gold and rust hues a tinge of purple, blue, rose, even a faint gray brown. It was marvelous. No photograph can do it justice.

I can’t even describe it here all that well. But my imagination lit up, and whether or not any cowboys drove their cattle along the rim or the Indians meandered around the gullies at the bottom, I had a sense of the true magic of “the west.” Yes, the Rockies are just as magnificent. I’m sure there are other canyons that are just as wonderful. I guess it struck me so hard because this was my first visit past the Mississippi River. I’m still a greenhorn. I haven’t seen Wyoming’s Wind River range, or Colorado’s Pike's Peak, or Utah’s Green River area, or Nevada’s desert, or even Idaho and Arizona. We saw plenty of cowboy gear at Wall Drugs. Hats, boots, scarves, chaps, belts, weapons and spurs, you name it.

There was no fence along the rim. A sign here and there, maybe, warning of a sheer drop off and the danger in trying to climb down. On our drive back home from Montana, we chose a spot where we could drive through a larger area (off 240, or whatever they call the roads there) and that was even better. Again, hard to explain the scenery. We parked and walked along part of the gully bottom, saw the interesting types of “greenery” – not sure if they were grasses, or cacti, or some type of heather or what have you – and my husband and daughter climbed to a rocky hill (I’m too chicken and dislike heights) so I could take photos.

Alas, I haven’t scanned those in yet to my computer. But we sure enjoyed our visit out west. To me, the Badlands epitomize what “the wilder west” might have looked like when I thought of “the Hole in the Wall” and other remote spots for black-hat bad guys to hide.

The Badlands do not figure in my book, Double Crossing, which is set for the most part on the transcontinental railroad from Omaha, Nebraska to Sacramento, California. But it did win the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel! That's a great honor.

Check out the 5-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads!

2012 Spur Award Winner for Best First Novel from

Western Writers of America

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Spurring Me On ... To Keep Writing

I learned over a month ago that my “blended genre” novel, a historical western suspense published in August of 2011, Double Crossing, *WON* the 2012 Spur Award for Best First Novel from the Western Writers of America.  SAY WHAT?

Once I verified it wasn’t a joke, I felt very honored and blessed. Like someone said, “You’ll always have the Spur.” Thanks to Jacquie Rogers, I know more about real spurs and how they were used in the Old West. Back when I started promoting my book, I posted this quote on my website from Louis L’Amour. It seemed appropriate in my case. 

“If you write a book about a bygone period that lies east of the Mississippi River, then it’s a historical novel. If it’s west of the Mississippi, it’s a western, a different category. There’s no sense to it.”

Did I set out to write a “western” in the typical sense? No. In fact, I didn’t even think about it being a western. Historical, yes. Suspense, yes. Even a hint of romance and inspirational, yes. Oh, and since the “setting” moves across America via the transcontinental railroad from Evanston (north of Chicago) to Sacramento, California, I still didn’t consider it “western” except in the setting and details.

Sure I entered the Spur contest, but I figured my chances equaled a snowball’s chance in H-E-double hockey sticks. Life is full of surprises! Not only has the award fired me up for the sequel, Double or Nothing, I'm thinking I need to write a few more western-style yarns. But I have plenty on my tin plate right now. So in Albuquerque, I’ll mingle and “jingle” Spurs with other finalists and winners at the WWA Convention. And lo and behold, this year Loren Estleman is being honored with the Owen Wister Award for “lifelong contributions to the history and legends of the American West.” Say what?? Another Michigander?

My first thought was, “He wrote westerns?” (Please forgive my being a total igno-ra-moose.) Long ago I read his novel, Billy Gashade, set in Detroit – fabulous in its historical detail. Estleman is prolific in writing about Detroit, with his Amos Walker detective mystery series (among other books.)

But westerns?

You learn something every day. And you bet I've trawled his whole back list. I bought several to get his autograph, too, for myself, family and friends. I also found out one of the “bennies” of winning a Spur was automatically jumping to active status in the Western Writers of America – after joining, of course, which I did. Once I got the “booklet” they sent, I looked through it (being a total greenhorn) and realized as a Spur winner, I’m joining esteemed company. Me?

First, a bit of history. WWA came about in 1953. They started handing out awards right away. The first woman to win the “Medicine Pipe Bearer Award” for best first novel was Charlotte Hinger for Come Spring in 1986. The following year Elaine Long won for Jenny’s Mountain, and Ann Gabriel in 1989 for South Texas. Then came a dry spell (mostly men winning or no winner chosen) until 1996 when Allana Martin won for Death of a Healing Woman. In 1998, LaVerne Harrell Clark won for Keepers of the Earth and in 2003, Debra Magpie Earling won for Perma Red. Except for Clark, all had Big Six publishing houses.

The Medicine Pipe Bearer Award was changed to a Spur for Best First Novel in 2004. Carol Buchanan won for God’s Thunderbolt: The Vigilantes of Montana in 2009. Now I’ve joined the ranks of other Best First Novel Spur Ladies. Not to knock the men who’ve deservedly won a Spur for their first novel, but I'm grateful. Seriously.

Now for the mixed Spur Award company—any type of Spur. Imagine my shock when I read names like Louis L’Amour (Down the Long Hills), Larry McMurtry (Lonesome Dove, Comanche Moon), Loren Estleman (Aces and Eights, Journey of the Dead, The Alchemist, The Bandit and The Undertaker’s Wife), Tony Hillerman (Skinwalker, The Shape Shifter), Joan Lowery Nixon (The Orphan Train, In the Face of Danger),Stephen Ambrose (Undaunted Courage, a non-fiction historical), Ronald L. Davis (Duke: The Life and Image of John Wayne), Michael Landon (a Little House on the Prairie TV script), TV scripts for How the West Was Won, plus a Lancer episode and several for Gunsmoke, and movie scripts such as The Shootist, Dances with Wolves, Sommersby, Wyatt Earp, Comes a Horseman, The Grey Fox, Broken Trail, Unforgiven, Purgatory, Hidalgo and… last but not least, True Grit by the Coen brothers! 

Wow.

No wonder I’m still a bit “cowed” by it all. (Sorry for the pun!) I have seen almost all of these movies and a huge amount of television westerns. As an armchair westerner, I feel very lax for not reading many books in the western genre – and admit that I had the mistaken belief, like many have about romance being for women, that westerns are primarily written for MEN. (Er, hide that horsewhip!) I’m making up for it now. I promise.

And, as my dad would tell me, “Get off your high horse!” No resting on the laurels for the weary, and I’m sure people are heartily sick of hearing about my award. But I must admit that winning has “spurred” me on to write the sequel, Double or Nothing, with a little more hope. Better sales, if nothing else, and I’d like to explore real-life characters in the Old West for future western novels, short stories and blog posts.

Next month, I’ll bring some interesting tidbit of research to match the excellent past posts here (trains, the Nez Perce, western romance books, guns, cowboys, brands and house cleaning) on the blog.

There’s stories in them there hills, so I’ll mosey along and start digging.

You never know when or how the next inspiration will hit.