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.