Author Credibility

If you can't tell from my backlist, historical western romances are my favorite genre to write, although the most challenging. A lot of time and effort goes into writing any story, but I spend even more time researching my work and making sure my historical facts are correct. There is no faster way to lose credibility as an historical author than to refer to equipment not yet invented in your era, or speak in a manner not befitting the time period.

In my debut novel, Prairie Peace, I took my first adventure to the Dakota plains. Although cast iron stoves were available, my astute editor pointed out that it wasn't very likely that one would be in a run-down shack in the middle of no where. First they were cumbersome and hard to move, and shacks generally consisted of one large room with a fireplace and hearth where cooking was done. I knew that, but in telling my story, I didn't stop to visualize the obvious.

 As an author, typing a story doesn't always allow your brain to stop and focus on what fits and what doesn't. This is a real great reason why critique groups come into play. I cannot give enough credit to the ladies in my historical crit group who have caught numerous things that were not historically appropriate for the western era, or suggested that I tweek my language skills a tad.

Words as simple as "kids" referred only to goats, so to have a mother refer to her children in that manner was something you wouldn't hear. You certainly would be pulled right out of the story if a pioneer woman fired up a vacuum to clean her rugs instead of hauling them outside to beat them with a straw broom. The images we paint have to put the reader in the moment, and the moment has to be right.

In Sparta Rose, I spent a lot of time researching pistols.  My heroine goes to the mercantile to buy one in order to teach herself to shoot.  Her goal is to best the hero in a contest to win favor with her pa.  It was extremely important to gun experts who might read my story that the model I selected by appropriate for a woman's smaller hand while assuring it was one offered for sale in the 1800s.  I learned more about guns that I ever expected to know, but there are those folks who read with a critical eye for detail, and you want yours to be spot on.  A gun is not just a gun to everyone.

In Odessa,  although I had creative license with names of characters, I researched Wells Fargo for their stage coach runs, the railroad for the date they came to Phoenix, AZ, and also made sure of the existence of the towns I choose to showcase.  Yep, research teaches the author as much as it does the reader, and I love it.

I lived in Show Low, Arizona for a while, knew it's history, and I was fascinated about how the name came to be.  I used that little tidbit in the story, and I thought it added interest to an exchange between my heroine and a young man she met in the saloon who was from there.

For the sequel to Prairie Peace, White Heart, Lakota Spirit, I spent even more time researching the rituals and lifestyle of the Lakota Sioux as my heroine was their captive.  I'm fascinated with the American Indian, and this is probably my most favorite topic to delve into.  The Sioux, along with most other tribes, were and continue to be very spiritual people who believe that even something as simple of as the number four is symbolic.  Visions questions, Sun Dances held in the summer, sweat lodges, women's huts...who could ask for more interesting fodder for books.  The secret is peppering the facts into the novel so that the story doesn't resemble a history lesson yet still provides interesting details that put the reader in the time and place.

So, you see, there is a lot that goes into creating a novel, especially historical ones that require accuracy in detail.  It's always important to make a story as believable as possible...if not the plot, then the personalities of the characters.  If the reader cannot connect with those who hold the starring roles, then they are more likely to lose interest.  Hooks, conflict, and emotion go a long way to creating the desire to continue turning pages.  My goal is to put my readers in the character's shoes and have them feel the emotions, the wind, the pain, smell the aromas, and cry real tears.  If I'm lucky, I'll remember to SHOW rather than tell to help them make the connection.  As an author, I learn something new almost every day. 

Have you read any good books lately.  Leave a comment and share what about them made them more memorable for you.  In case you'd like to give one of mine a try, you can find them all listed on Amazon, most in print and download.  Of course, I recommend Kindle cause I'm in love with mine.  :)  I also have trailers for most of my books posted on my website.

The Cowgirl Behind the Dreams...

My guest today, award winning author Heidi M. Thomas, is sharing with us the story behind her books.  I hope you enjoy her post as much as I did.  Welcome Heidi, and thank you for being on Cowboy Kisses today.  On with your post...

The Cowgirl Behind Cowgirl Dreams and Follow the Dream

In a scrapbook my grandmother created is a clipping from the Sunburst Sun (Montana) newspaper, Aug. 26, 1922, that reads:

Program

1:00 Parade of cowboys and cowgirls, headed by Cut Bank brass band

2:30 Tootsie Bailey will enter competition with entire field, riding wild steers with only one hand on cirsingle

Another clipping states “Tootsie Bailey won first and Mary (Marie) Gibson second prize in the steer riding.”

Marie Gibson was a well-known Montana cowgirl and won national awards for bronc riding.

Tootsie was my grandmother and she would have been 17 at that time. I did have the opportunity to spend time with her, ride horseback, and get to know her pretty well before she died suddenly when she was only 57 and I was 12.

I know that she was an avid horsewomen and that she was more at home on the back of a horse than behind a dust mop. My dad told me she had competed in rodeos, riding steers, when she was young. I kept thinking how courageous that was, especially as I got older and watched bull and bronc riders. Grandma was petite—five-feet two-inches and weighed a little over 100 pounds. I was amazed that she would pit herself against an animal that weighed 900 pounds or so, one whose sole purpose was to get that pesky rider off its back and then maybe stomp on her!

My character, Nettie, has a dream to become a rodeo star and the tenaciousness to follow that dream. In Cowgirl Dreams  (EPIC Award Winner), during the 1920s, she faces family and social barriers to that dream. The sequel, Follow the Dream (a WILLA Literary Award Winner), finds her still holding on to her dream. But the drought and depression of the 1930s forces her to make some tough choices and rethink how her dream works in with her family and life in Montana.

Excerpt from Follow the Dream:

Sunday, August 10, 1930

Dust still blowing. Will it ever stop? So long since we’ve had even a drop of rain. Worried about the horses. Not much grass left. Jake’s not himself….

Nettie stopped writing. What was that noise? A low clicking hum. The wind? No. She’d never heard it like that. The sound grew louder. She stood and went to the window.

At first she didn’t see anything. The air hung hot and still. Her mind filled with confusion. Then a movement down by the corral caught her eye. A dark river of motion, flowing, clicking, humming.

Grasshoppers.

Nettie sprinted for the door. “Neil! Where are you?”  Frantic, she ran toward the barn. “Neil!”

“Here I am, Ma.” His small voice came from the hayloft. He pointed to the mass off to one side. “What’s that?”

She climbed up the ladder inside the barn and sat beside him. “Grasshoppers, honey. They won’t hurt you.” The whirring, low-flying cloud clung to the ground, slowly moving through small patches of withered grass, leaving the ground as bare table-top, swarming over the corral fence. What was left of the posts stood like skeleton bones, stark and fragile.

Her son’s eyes were wide, pools of gray-green in the dim light. “What are they doing?”

“They’re eating.” Revulsion fought her calm words.

“Why did they eat the corral poles?”

“Because there aren’t any crops and not much grass left.” She tried to still the fluttering fear inside her stomach. Now there won’t be any grass left for our horses.

Nettie and Neil watched until darkness settled around the path of destruction left in the insects’ wake. Jake rode in from town and found them still sitting in the open door of the hayloft.

Both books are available through my website http://www.heidimthomas.com, from my publisher http://www.trebleheartbooks.com/SDHeidiThomas.html. Follow the Dream is also available on Kindle and Cowgirl Dreams on Nook.

Heidi M. Thomas grew up on a ranch in eastern Montana and now lives in western Washington where she writes, edits for other authors, teaches community writing classes and blogs http://heidiwriter.wordpress.com She is a member of Women Writing the West (http://www.womenwritingthewest.org, Skagit Valley Writers League (http://www.skagitwriters.org) , Northwest Independent Editors Guild (http://www.edsguild.org) and VBT—Writers on the Move (http://www.vbt-writersonthemove.blogspot.com) .

It ain't Western, but it's true!

I'm going to veer away from promotion today and talk a little about the impact of self-publishing on all authors, not just those deciding to feature their debut novels or stories through that venue.

Ten years ago, I decided to pursue my dream through Internet publishing companies, believing that the E-book revolution was a dream I could hold onto.  I was right, as now, even mainstream authors are jumping on our bandwagon...or "peeing" in our territory, as a dog owner might say.  The number of authors has grown exponentially over the years, with many who claimed to be readers years ago now possess their own published work.  The competition has become very keen and E-book sales are rocketing because of the huge interest in E-readers.  Amazon's KDP program has proven itself a success to many of us.  But is our image as Internet published authors being tarnished by the amateur mistakes of those who jump into the business too soon?

I've always been a team player, and believe in helping my fellow authors, but what irks me the most right now are those who are taking advantage of the self-publishing platform without benefit of knowing the ropes.  When I say 'ropes,' I think of all the things I've learned in these years from editors and publishers who have helped me hone my work into the best it can be. I also give credit to my critique groups...partners who have been candid and made my plot lines more focused by their suggestions, or strengthened my characters by highlighting flaws that might not have been obvious to me. Great feedback is key.

 In fact, with every book I write, I always find myself wishing I could go back and redo the previous one, applying the new things I've learned.  I've done that with three of my previously pubbed works, making them a much smoother and more well-written read. Sadly, there are those who publish books filled with redundant facts, word echoes, head hopping, tense issues, and frankly, plots that leave the reader unattached to the characters because as an author, they've done more telling than showing.  These are the things you learn from editing and critique groups.  Even learning to write a query letter and synopsis is a valuable part of our writing education and many have totally side-stepped the "class."

Every day, I get a list from Amazon which lists the 200-500 free reads for the day, and one thing I've learned...you can pretty much tell the "virgins" by their poorly written blurbs that contain no hook whatsoever to draw one in.  I hope this doesn't sound bitter, because that certainly isn't my intent.  Debut authors who step out onto the stage without rehearsing (my equation of working with a strong publisher/editor) deserve the lack of applause at the end of their performance.  Writing is where first impressions really count, and when you run out of relatives and friends to fill your audience, where will you be?  Anyone disagree?

Taking A Break

This is me taking a break.  I won't be gone long, just until March 1.  I'll be back soon with lots more from the old west, interesting guests, and strivin' to be the best.  Get ready to "Cowboy Up."     Ginger

Meet Grace Cummings, AKA Fawn Dancing

Today my guest, Grace Cummings, the heroine in White Heart, Lakota Spirit is here to tell us how she survived being held captive by Indians.  So, without further ado, let's begin the interview:

Just for clarification, HOST will indicate the interviewer’s questions below:

HOST:   It must have been a very traumatic ordeal for you.  Can you tell us about it.

GRACE:  It was horrid. (She shudders) I still hear my mother's screams in my head.  I… 

HOST:  Do you need a moment to compose yourself?

GRACE:  No, I'm fine.  (Deep breath)  It was 1874. My family had moved around a lot because my father, bless his departed soul, was a restless man.   It was hard for a girl my age to make friends, not living in one place for very long, and just when Ma, Kevin and I thought we might settle down, General George Armstrong Custer made an announcement about gold being discovered in the Black Hills of Lakota territory.  That's all it took!  Pa loaded everything back into our Conestoga and insisted this was his chance to strike it big. 

HOST:  Why didn't you mother put her foot down?

GRACE:  You have to understand that back then, women were expected to know their place.  Ma pretty much did as Pa said.  Besides, he promised her that when he hit the mother lode, he would buy us a new house; new furniture and we'd never have to move again.

HOST:  I can see how that might have sounded pretty enticing.

GRACE:  It was.  We all had visions of putting down permanent roots, so being out on the plains, cooking over a campfire again and roughing it for a just a little longer was worth it if Pa and my brother, Kevin, found gold. 

HOST:  Tell us more about your experience, please.

GRACE:  Okay.   We had made camp at the base of the Black Hills, near a sparse stand of trees.  There was a small stream nearby, so water was plentiful.  Ma and I slept on a pallet of blankets in the wagon, while Pa and Kev slept in a makeshift tent.  We had just finished breakfast one morning and were laughing and talking before Pa and Kev went off to the mine, when I happened to spy some riders on the horizon. It soon became clear from the whooping and hollering that they were being attacked by Indians.

HOST:  Oh my goodness, what did you do?

GRACE:  Pa immediately yelled for Ma and I to get back in the Conestoga, and he and Kev grabbed their rifles and crawled underneath.  I hunkered down behind the tailgate, waiting for Ma, but she never came.  I was so scared, hearing the sound of gunfire and those blood-curdling war cries, I covered my ears, but it didn't help.  When I got the courage to peek outside, I saw the Indians circling our wagon and Ma running in the opposite direction.  I think she was trying to draw them away from me.  I didn't realize it at the time, but Pa and Kevin were already dead.  They were easy pickings with no real shelter.

HOST:  How awful. 

GRACE:  You have no idea!  (Stopping to bite her knuckle, then staring straight ahead). They…they shot my ma down in cold blood right before my eyes.

HOST:  Oh you poor thing.  What did you do then?

GRACE:  (Dabbing at eyes with hanky) I curled myself into a ball and prayed that it was all just a bad dream, and that I'd wake up.   When I didn't hear anything for a while, I found the courage to rise to my knees and peer over the tailgate again.  I almost had heart failure when I came face-to-face with the ugliest sight I'd ever seen.

HOST:    Oh my gosh, I have goose bumps. What was it?

GRACE:  It was the person I later learned was Black Crow.  His face was painted with bright yellow lightning bolts, and he had a scar that ran from ear-to-ear.  He pulled me out of the wagon, barking orders in a strange language, and threw me to the ground.  I felt like my heart was going to pound its way right through my chemise. (Holds hand against chest)

HOST:  Lord, what was going through your head?

GRACE:  I was certain he was going to kill me, too.  I think he might have had it not been for one of his friends.  The one, called Little Elk, seemed to step in and calm Black Crow down.  Still, it was an awful thing to go through, wondering if you were going to live or die.  After Black Crow tethered my arms together and dragged me along behind his horse, like I was nothing more than an animal, I almost wished I had died.  I fought to keep up all the way to the Indian village.

HOST:  How far was it?

GRACE:  (Holding out her wrists).  I'm not sure, but you can still see the scars where the rawhide bit into my skin.  I didn't have time to get my shoes on, so my feet were pretty raw, too.  I'm used to walking beside the wagon every day, but being dragged is quite different.  It took forever.

HOST:  What happened when you got to the village?

GRACE:  I was so tired I could barely stand, but I dared not drop to the ground when it seemed like the whole village stood in a circle around me, staring and laughing.  I thought for sure I was about to meet my maker, but something very surprising happened.

HOST:  Don't stop now!

GRACE:  A beautiful green-eyed woman walked into the midst of things and protected me.  She spoke their language and dressed in their clothing, but it was evident from her flaming red hair that she was white.  If it hadn't been for her I would never have survived to tell this story, that and the fact that Black Crow's mother didn't like having a white woman share her home.  (Grace chuckles)

HOST:  What happened?

GRACE:  After only one night in her tepee, Black Crow handed me over to Little Elk. He, at least treated me with kindness, allowing Green Eyes to help me bathe and wash my hair.  I was still scared, but not nearly as much.  Pa always said I was headstrong, and it almost got me into  trouble when Little Elk gave me a new name.  (Sitting up straighter, squaring shoulders)

HOST:  Oh gosh, we're almost out of time and I hate to make you stop.  Can you give us a brief summary, and quickly?

GRACE:  Although there is so much more to tell, I'll just say that Little Elk played a big role in the decision I made when the white soldiers raided the camp. Unless you want to invite me back for another visit, I guess you'll just have to read the book.  (Holds out a copy)

HOST:  Is this for me? How nice, and it's autographed.  Grace Cummings, thank you so much for spending time with us and sharing your captivating story. I'd like to remind our readers that White Heart, Lakota Spirit by Ginger Simpson is offered at http://www.eternalpress.biz and on Amazon, available in both print and download.  There's more to story, and if you're like me, you want to know how things turned out.  Happy reading!

Are you "Piss Poor?"

I can't take credit for this, but I'd like to thank the 'unknown' source from whence it came.  So, I'll ask again...are you piss poor?  Read below and figure it out.  *smile*

Interesting History

Back in the olden days,  urine was used to tan animal skins, so families all peed in a pot. Once the container was full, the urine was taken and sold to the tannery... if you had to do this to survive you were "Piss Poor".
But worse than that were the really poor folk who couldn't even afford to buy a pot...they "didn't have a pot to piss in" and were the lowest of the low.

The next time you wash your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:

Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and they still smelled pretty good. However, since they were starting to smell, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor.  Hence the custom today of carrying a bouquet when getting married.

Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it, hence the saying, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water!"

Houses had thatched roofs-thick straw-piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained the roof became slippery and the animals often slipped and fell off the roof. Hence the saying, "It's raining cats and dogs."

Because of thatched roofs, all kinds of things fell into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings messed up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how canopy beds came into existence.

Inside, floors were usually dirt unless you were rich, hence the saying, "Dirt poor."  The slate floors of the wealthy got slippery in winter, so they used thresh to help keep their footing.  As the wet weather wore on, more thresh was added, so when you opened the door, the straw slipped outside.  A piece of wood, placed across the entrance-way held the thresh in place.  Hence:  a thresh hold.

(Getting quite an education, aren't you?)

In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and didn't get much meat. They'd eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme:

“Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old”. Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special.

When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could, "bring home the bacon." They would cut off a little to share with guests And would all sit around and chew the fat.

Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, tomatoes were considered poisonous.

Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or the upper crust.

Lead cups were used to drink ale or whisky. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days.

Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence the custom; “of holding a wake”.

England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (the graveyard shift.) to listen for the bell; thus, someone could be, “saved by the bell” or was "considered a dead ringer”.

And that's the truth. 

Now, whoever said History was boring!!!
So get out there and educate someone! ~~~

Say Howdy to Meg Mims...

 My guest today is Meg Mims, a friend and fellow author I've recently met and come to admire.  It's always good to have like-minded friends, and I'm pleased she agreed to come here and share her western historical romantic suspense, Double Crossing.  Welcome Meg:

http://www.double-crossing.com

Yep, Double Crossing also has a mystery element and a touch of inspirational. I call it a “blended genre” read – check out my 5-star reviews on Amazon and Goodreads!

A murder arranged as a suicide … a missing deed  … and a bereft daughter whose sheltered world is shattered.

August, 1869: Lily Granville is stunned by her father’s murder. Only one other person knows about a valuable California gold mine deed -- both are now missing. Lily heads west on the newly opened transcontinental railroad, determined to track the killer. She soon realizes she is no longer the hunter but the prey.

As things progress from bad to worse, Lily is uncertain who to trust—the China-bound missionary who wants to marry her, or the wandering Texan who offers to protect her … for a price. Will Lily survive the journey and unexpected betrayal?

Why did you set Double Crossing on the transcontinental railroad?  Did you learn anything about trains that surprised you while writing this book?

 I loved True Grit (the original book, the movie in 1969 and the recent version also) and was inspired to use the “premise” of a young woman whose father is murdered, setting her on a quest for justice. Because I had to “twist” it (in many ways, since I couldn’t use Rooster Cogburn either!), I chose the transcontinental railroad because I’d always been fascinated by trains. Since the UP and CP first came together at Promontory Point in May of 1869, I decided that setting Double Crossing several months after that historic event seemed a ‘natural fit.’ And the research all seemed to fall into place, with a book written in 1872 about an English nobleman taking a train trip from New York to San Francisco, plus other interesting sources.

The most surprising thing I learned while writing this book – most people assume trains had normal “washroom” facilities like modern trains. Think again! Basically they were ‘outhouse’ holes with waste falling to the track, and caused major hygienic problems over the years. If your great-grandparents or grandparents were told to stay away from playing on the tracks until the 1930s, when plumbing was introduced to passenger cars, there was a good reason for that! Imagine how cold that would be in winter, too.

Since you mentioned Rooster Cogburn, did you create a character with the same role?

That was also tough – I rolled Rooster and the Texas Ranger LaBoef into “ Ace” Diamond, an ex-Confederate cavalry soldier, poker-player and wanderer… how did he end up in Omaha, Nebraska, without his horse? I’m considering writing a brief “prequel” short story to explain that soon! He may not be one-eyed or a drunk, but he has an interesting history nonetheless.

Tell us about Lily Granville.  How did she introduce herself to you?

 Lily went through many transitions. First she was as young as Mattie Ross, 14 years old and so whiny and spoiled, I disliked her. So I stuffed ‘Linnet,’ kicking and screaming, back into the centrifuge. Out popped Julia, who was 17, religious and quite bent on revenge for her father’s murder. Enough to shoot the killer, in fact, which wouldn’t work – she needed to be vulnerable. Needy. Yet spunky enough to undertake a 2,000 mile adventure and seek justice, not revenge. ‘Julia’ morphed into Lily, who loved her father yet quarreled with him – and then overcame her heartbreak to track the man she believed responsible for his death. Lily, at 19, has many choices ahead of her and discovers her own resilience is much stronger than she ever knew in Double Crossing. She’ll need that for the next adventure in Double or Nothing!

Here’s an excerpt, where Lily is in Omaha, painfully aware she’ll need protection from the growing danger – and then her domineering aunt shows up to persuade her to return to Chicago:

My face burned. I gritted my teeth, aware of the curious diners’ hushed whispers around the room, and lowered my voice. “I overheard your plans about Bellevue. Did you think I’d allow you to shut me away in such a place?”

Aunt Sylvia glared. “We only have your health in mind.”

“I’m in perfect health. You’d better take the train back to Chicago, because I already bought my Pullman ticket.”

“You cannot travel alone with Mr. Mason. You’re not engaged.”

“Uncle Harrison is expecting me.”

I ignored a twinge of guilt while the fib hovered between us. Her mouth pinched tight, she drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. Charles stood quiet, his face beet red, one hand smoothing back his fair hair, the other adjusting his collar and tie. Angry yells and shouts drifted through the window panes from the street, drowning out the resumed conversation around us, the clatter of plates and flatware. Outside, I caught sight of several men who fought with bare fists. They kicked, bit, scratched and pummeled each other. Sir Vaughn glanced out the window and then sat across from my aunt. He waved a hand.

“Common ruffians. These rustic surroundings breed a lack of manners.”

“Lily, you have no idea of the dangers. My husband traveled to Nevada earlier this year,” Aunt Sylvia said. “Neither you or Mr. Mason have considered the impropriety of this.”

“He’s a gentleman for escorting me.”

“I can see for myself what you both are—”

A blood‑curdling yell, similar to what I’d read about an Indian war cry, stopped her cold. The moment I glanced up, the window exploded. Shards of glass rained on us and a man rolled over the table. Scattering plates, flatware, cups and teapot, before he crashed onto the floor—unconscious, and half‑draped in the tablecloth among the broken china and glass.

Mere inches from my feet.

Ebook:  ISBN# 978-1-936852-48-2   Print: ISBN # 1466223200
BUY LINK:  Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes & Noble
Check out the reviews on Amazon and Goodreads!