SO, where do I go from here? Delbert and Miriam embracing in their ‘birthday suits’ in a darkened room with a bed at hand. What next; in the past, I have ‘cut’ away to the next day. If I keep going with this (entirely natural and familiar) activity, I wonder – will I feel compelled to publish the novel under a pseudonym? My good friend and writing critique partner, romance author Mara Fox ,publishes under her maiden name – but I don’t have one of those.
What would you do? Maybe I should keep writing this scene; I can always take it out later. It will probably be ‘cheesy’ anyway. This stuff isn’t easy to write.
PS: “in your birthday suit” was what my mother called being naked.
The RV bedroom is something like this: 
Cross Mountain at frontal passage
This morning I took my two border collies to Cross Mountain not long after sunrise. I wanted to beat the forecast for storms and cold. Both arrived hours earlier than predicted, and the wind shifted to the north and turned cold when we arrived at the summit. Now it is 25 degrees. Yesterday was 85. I get a lot of my inspiration walking at Cross Mountain or Enchanted Rock, but I write at home. Too cold to be outside now. Here is the last paragraph I have written for Fort Davis Rocks:
“Raquel put two glasses filled with ice on the table, opened the bottle, and poured each glass half full.
Delbert picked up the glass, held it in front of him, and looked at it. The drink was the color of liquid gold. He swirled the glass, washing the whiskey around the ice cubes, then brought it to his nose. The scent was familiar, although slightly different from what he was familiar with. Its allure was overpowering. He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, still holding the glass. He looked at Miriam. Synapses fired in his brain, putting images and thoughts in his head as rapidly as fireworks at the end of a Fourth of July celebration. In front of him were two great passions; a beautiful, sexual woman, clearly interested in him, and a glass of pure gold. The confusion in his head from Raquel’s kiss disappeared into nothingness. The glass in his hand was steady. He brought it to his lips, smiling. I can handle this.”
I am not sure what happens next. Working on it. Makes me a bit nervous.
Robert
Bearded Writer
I grew a beard by accident in December. All my life I have been clean-shaven, perhaps because I was an Air Force officer in my formative years. But, in December I went to a stunning yet desolate part of northern Mexico, the village of San Vicente, on a trip sponsored by Mision de Candelilla. A cold front blew in, and it was too cold to bathe, change clothes, or shave. When I got home I had something of a beard (and a better appreciation for electricity and hot water). I let it go, and before long it was respectable beard.
I looked around and discovered that beards are everywhere! I was in the midst of some kind of trend, or even a movement! Not used to being in sync with what is happening in the rest of the world, I rushed to shave it off. I caught myself at the last moment, razor in hand, looking in the mirror. Hemingway had a beard. Edward Abbey had a beard. Maybe, just maybe, that was part of the secret of their success.
It is too early to tell. I’m writing some pretty difficult scenes next. I’ll let you know.
Cold weather is good for getting words on paper, although our worst weather would just be normal in Ohio. Delbert may have some bad luck soon, but I’m not going to post that part of the story.
I got the cayenne pepper in coffee idea from fellow writer Ottis, and tried it myself this morning. I was up at o-dark-thirty to visit a friend in the hospital; the pepper gives little electric-like jolts to the back of your mouth. Jami had left her Miracle Grow beside my Truvia (both green packaging) and in the darkness I might have used one instead of the other. If I have a growth spurt soon, that’s why.
Up on Scobee Mountain, Raquel came into the kitchen. She was wearing the white terry cloth bath robe, but her hair was wet from a hot shower.
King looked up from his laptop.
“That omelet still an option?”
“It’s in the fridge. I’ll put it in the microwave. More coffee?”
Raquel sat down at the table. “That would be nice.”
“You feeling better?”
“Yeah. Not going to get much done today. Don’t know what came over me. It’s your fault, anyway.”
“How is it my fault that you drank all my scotch and have a hangover?”
Raquel put her head on the table. “I’m a plaintiff’s attorney. It’s always someone else’s fault.”
King set a cup of coffee in front of her, and placed a shaker of cayenne pepper beside the cup. “I didn’t know if you wanted the red pepper in your coffee this morning.”
Raquel picked up the plastic shaker and put some of the ground cayenne pepper in the coffee. “Might as well. Could only help.” She took a sip of the coffee, and grimaced slightly, then closed her eyes and smiled. “I think it’s going to be OK.”
King sat back down at his laptop and looked at the screen. Raquel slowly ate the omelet. Outside, a black vulture soared over the ridge.”
Tonight at 7:00 PM I will be presenting to the Fredericksburg (Texas) City Council an ordinance to limit outdoor lighting. I believe this is the next big step in improving the quality of life in this unique place.OLO PresentationPDF
This may be as controversial as the sign ordinance. Twenty five years later, the proof is in the pudding; no one says that our main street looks like “The Las Vegas Strip.” (This is frequently heard about another hill country city).
Rock House Fire (Marfa)
The Marfa Rock House Fire started in the middle of the afternoon on April 9, 2011. Winds up to 30 mph from the south blew the fire north towards Fort Davis. This fire is the beginning and ending of Fort Davis Rocks. I have been researching this fire today to fit my fictional story into the real story. A few months after the fire, Fort Davis resident and the owner of the coolest hotel in Texas Randall Kinzie took me on a tour of the path of the fire into the city and described what it was like. Marfa Public Radio has a thirty minute recording of their reporting of the story. The fire ultimately burned 25 houses in the area and 314,000 acres of land over 23 days.
I only need one chapter of the fire, but I must get it right. I can see that I am going to have to make another trip to Fort Davis to talk to people about their experience (I love visiting Fort Davis!). The what happened is easy to find; what it felt like is much harder. If it doesn’t seem authentic, the novel is doomed.
This will be the most significant test of writing ability yet.
PS: The prologue to Fort Davis Rocks is available here.
Fire damage from space
National Geographic Image
I spent a lot of time over the last few days researching. Fortunately, government in Texas has made a great deal of information on their processes and rules available on the internet. My plot has shifted slightly; I am afraid my first idea, the reason for the conflict, was unrealistic. I must be sure the plot is plausible. Now I understand the landscape better and am moving forward. The final details will work themselves out (I hope!), and if a reader knows what is happening in Texas, they will take it for truth.
The final action scene in Enchanted Rock Blues took me two months to work out. I needed four characters to arrive at the same remote location in the park at the same time, but each with a different reason. I walked, and walked, and walked, and studied the landscape, until I knew the story. I probably spent forty hours walking that part of Enchanted Rock SNA until the story became clear. Perhaps I should make a trip to Fort Davis soon, and on the way there, make a detour through Reeves County.
Here is the closing of Chapter 14:
“He put on his uniform, the heavy gun belt, the radio, and his TPWD cap, and went out the door. The sun was low on the western horizon. Dust in the air turned the setting sun into a golden ball. He turned to the east and looked down the length of his little river valley. A cow turned towards him, munching on a mouthful of hay. The subtle colors of desert plants weren’t so subtle in the golden glow of the setting sun. Calm came over him. He knew he couldn’t sell this place and leave; this was where he belonged. He could leave with Miriam, perhaps, for a while, but his family had been planted here for three generations, and his roots were deep.
One day at a time.
As Delbert drove out of his ranch, E W watched from his perch on the rocky hill just south, across the dry river bed and up two hundred feet. Even at this distance, and through binoculars, E W could see from Delbert’s body language that he was satisfied with his place in the world. He needed to know who was in the red Jeep winding its way out to the highway. E W had never met an adversary he couldn’t charm, bully, or buy off. An idea came into his head, just a glimmer of an idea, a faintly visible flash, a barely formed thought, but that was all he needed. He knew that the idea would grow and form itself into a plan. Delbert was his. The ranch below, and the well, and the sweet water, would soon be his. E W glowed at the thought; his destiny was all but assured.”
Look what I found! I wrote Awol 21 from memories of my time as a T-38 IP at Williams AFB in Arizona; this week, while searching for a book, I found my checklist and in-flight guide. The details of our departure and arrival routes, flying areas, radio frequencies, standard and emergency procedures – all there! I have been saying I was going to re-work the story and start promoting it, and this is just what I need.
That base is closed; the flight rooms once full of activity are gone, the whine of jet engines no longer fills the days. A budget-conscious Air Force no longer eliminates a student from pilot training so readily as they once did, and many classes lose few if any students to flying deficiency (my class, Vance 74-07, graduated 58 out of 80), and not all pilots train in the T-38. It is a different world. Here is my promo:
We called her the white rocket, and for many of us, she was our first true love. She was sleek, sexy, and fast. When you climbed the ladder into her cockpit, wearing a flight suit, g-suit, parachute, and helmet, and strapped into her, you were tense with apprehension, sweaty with fear, brain buzzing with procedures, excited with anticipation. We also privately called her a bitch and a whore, because she could kill you, too, and she did kill some friends of mine. When you rolled her over on her back and pulled her nose down, and shoved her throttles into afterburner, you’d be supersonic in a couple of seconds. As we said, she flew like a bat out of hell.
AWOL 21 is a story about that love affair. Tom Harter is the new IP in the squadron; he has captains bars on his shoulders, wings on his chest, and the sun devil on his sleeve.
Here as a link to the Kindle version. If you read this story, I would love some feedback.
I went to San Vicente, Mexico last week with the Mision De Candelilla team. The village of 120 people is spread along several miles of the Rio Grande (they call it the Rio Bravo) just south of Big Bend National Park, right across from the southern tip of the big bend in the river. The team has provided health care in seven villages in that area for 28 years, although this trip was simply to say we care about you with gifts from families here to families there. This remote place is at the end of hours of barely passable dirt road, after some not so good paved road, so there aren’t a lot of visitors, much less drug trafficking or related violence . If you happen to come upon a vehicle driving the other direction, both groups stop and get out and say hello, because you probably know each other. We slept on folding cots and the ‘facilities’ are a privy.
Many of the people look more like Indians from photos two centuries ago, others like modern Mexican citizens. Many make their living as cowboys riding horses. The only electricity for over a 100 miles comes from a car battery charged by a solar panel at each adobe house, most provided by the government. Therefore, there aren’t any lights late at night, and no television, and no cell phone signals or internet access, no store, no gas station. They do drive pickup trucks, and must have a cooperative effort to have gasoline available. There are lots of children, the people are shy but friendly, the home-cooked food we had was amazing.
I wasn’t sure what I could add to the trip, but found my niche as the photographer. The other people on the team were awesome and we had lots of sharing. I haven’t shaved off the beard started there (yet, and have never had this much beard in my life!) I can’t wait to go back. New experiences like that really help my creativity and reinforce my understanding of it is better to give than to receive.
There are more pictures on the Mision De Candelilla Facebook page.
I ran into Ira Kennedy at Artisans at Rocky Hill in Fredericksburg, where his visual art and my novels are sold, and we agreed to trade books. He got the better end of the deal. I have read much of this story in bits and pieces, but Ira puts it in a chronological context from his unique perspective (he’s a Commanche) and beautiful prose. The history is available at Fredericksburg Pie Company for $19.95, and goes well with cherry pie.
You won’t be disappointed in either.
robertcdeming 