Dianne Kowal Kirtley is here today with her main character from Point of Departure, her new historical fiction novel. I've never talked to a ghost before, but I found Charlotte to be quite nice. Read on!
What Dianne says about the book:
Charlotte
Mailliard, my husband’s great-great grandmother and inspiration for this
novel, was raised and educated with Napoleon’s nephews. But when
Charlotte was fourteen, her father Eloi Mailliard made the irrevocable
decision to leave France forever and move to America, specifically
Illinois, the western frontier. Although gifts from the Bonapartes
certainly facilitated their journey, the Mailliards escaped the intrigue
of France only to be exposed to not only the harshness of frontier
life, but a new nation that faced the cancer of slavery which ultimately
embroiled all of its citizens.
Interview with Dianne Kirtley
How long have you been writing, and how did you start?
I have been writing shorter pieces for many years (short stories, poetry, remembrances) as examples for my classes. However, Point of Departure, is my first novel and the research, writing, and rewriting took a period of seven years.
What do you like best about writing? What’s your least favorite thing?
I loved the research I did for this book and would often become so interested in the history that my story would be put on a back burner. Make no mistake, however, writing is hard work and requires discipline and passion. One quote that I love about writing came from one of my Journalism books: “You just stare at the paper (now we would say screen) until blood comes out of your forehead.” My students loved that quote.
How did you come up with the title Point of Departure?
The title comes from an excerpt of Alexis deTocqueville, who wrote his book Democracy in America in 1832, an incredibly insightful perspective on American life.
How did you create the plot for this book?
The plot developed from the Mailliard family’s papers, letters, books, obituaries which I found in my father-in-law’s “stuff” when he left his home and moved to a retirement community in 2004.
Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?
I had a very informal outline, and it grew and changed as I became more enmeshed in the characters and the story expanded.
Did you have any say in your cover art? Tell us about the artist.
I love the cover art and worked on creating it with a graphic artist Jesse Saenz, who works for Midwest Outdoors Publishing in Burr Ridge Illinois.
What books have you read more than once or want to read again?
My all time favorites are Beloved, The Great Gatsby, A Tale of Two Cities, Obasan, Pride and Prejudice (in no particular order). I could reread these at any time and enjoy them.
What’s your favorite line from a book?
I love the opening line to Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”
What do you do to market your book?
I’m not afraid to tell friends, acquaintances, or people on the street about my book. I always carry my postcards and bookmarks. I’ve also given copies to two local libraries and independent book stores.
How do you get to know your characters?
Reading Charlotte’s letters, obits, walking in the cemetery where Charlotte, her husband, parents, children, siblings were buried, made them seem very real.
Sophie’s choice: Do you have a favorite of your characters?
It is the protagonist, Charlotte, of course, but I also love the zest of her younger sister Zenaide.
When you start a new book, do you know what the entire cast will be?
Not all. Characters develop to complement the main character(s) as needed.
Which character did you most enjoy writing?
I really felt I could identify with Charlotte in many ways. How do you name your characters?
Names are tremendously important and convey ideas innately just by their sounds, level of sophistication, etc. I think about character’s names while I’m out for walks. I like to let my mind fill with ideas during that time.
What would your main character say about you?
I hope she would say that I told her story well.
Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
Charlotte Mailiard and her family were real of course. But Abe Lincoln, I think he was quite real also. Are you like any of your characters? How so?
I like the courage and independence of Charlotte and Zenaide. I hope I have some of that.
I like writing characters who do and say things I never would, as well as characters who do and say things I wish I could. Do you have characters who fit into one of those categories? Who, and in what category do they fall?
I think Charlotte’s incredibly naïve but wonderful gesture at the slave market was something we would like to have the courage to do. She was a person who saw an injustice and tried to correct it.
If you could be one of your characters, which one would you choose?
I really don’t think I would want to live in the 19th century when these characters lived. Life would so incredibly tenuous. The ironic fact, however, is that both Charlotte and Zenaide lived to be 94!
With which of your characters would you most like to be stuck on a deserted island?
Henry Moreau, of course. Okay, he’s good looking, but he’s also a great hunter and one tends to get a bit hungry.
Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.
I love the scene where Charlotte meets Henry Moreau, Swift Eagle, for the first time in the general store in Woodsville. Her breath is taken away by his appearance, but she also feels the sensitivity he has for her younger, somewhat awkward sister. It is his tenderness that she perceives, but, of course, he is also incredibly handsome.
Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix him?
I would love to meet Benjamin Franklin. For dinner, I think Ben would enjoy a nice beef roast, some mashed potatoes, fresh beans and definitely apple pie.
What book are you currently reading and in what format (e-book/paperback/hardcover)?
American Dervish in paperback.
How do you handle criticism of your work?
It is difficult, of course, because through your art, you have laid your soul bare. But there is always something to be learned, not only about your work but also about the one who is doing the critique.
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing? I am lucky enough to have a sun porch which is comfortable even in the winter. It is bright and, I believe, conducive to clear thinking.
Where’s home for you?
Western Springs, Illinois.
Is there anything in particular that you do to help the writing flow?
I need a sunny day. I feel much more creative when the day is bright.
What’s one of your favorite quotes?
It is Edmund Burke’s, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. "
What three books have you read recently and would recommend?
Killing Lincoln, Driftless, and Last Girls.
What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
I love to play golf, take long walks, and go out to dinner. My own cooking stinks.
If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying.)
Now that I have finished writing this book which contains French history, I would love to revisit France and actually stay long enough to learn French. If my publisher is really feeling flushed, I would also like to visit Russia since I have never been there and studied Russian for five years in college.
What are you working on now?
No novel currently on paper, but a strong idea is taking shape on a darker tale set in North Carolina. I am working on a shorter remembrance of my mother.
Character interview with Charlotte Louise Josephine Mailliard Simmons
About this character:
Charlotte Mailliard, educated and raised with Napoleon’s nephews, led a privileged life in France in the 19th century, but in 1841 her father made the irrevocable decision to move to the new world, specifically Illinois, the western frontier. Here, as Charlotte matures, she learns the meaning of love and loss and the evil that is slavery, a cancer on the new nation that involves her and her family in the specter of the Civil War.
Charlotte, how did you first meet Dianne?
I met Dianne Kowal Kirtley as she stood at my graveside in Avon, Illinois. I heard her words as she hoped she would tell my story well.
Did you ever think that your life would end up being in a book?
No, I feel my life was no different from many who came to the new world and had to forsake so much of the traditions of their previous lives.
Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.
I love the scene where I meet Henry Moreau, but there is something so comforting and unifying about our neighbors joining with us as we walk to the graveside of our daughters and our brother-in-law Alexander begins to sing “Amazing Grace.”
Did you have a hard time convincing your author to write any particular scenes for you?
The scene of the murders/suicide in the Tripp household was definitely upsetting, but I felt it needed to be included as an example of the harshness of life and specifically abuse that often occurs within families. The Tripp family contrasts sharply the support and love which I was so blessed to receive from my own family. The other scene that still haunts me is the death of my sister Amanda. I know I was not responsible for her loss, yet I was the last one to speak to her, and I was not patient and forgiving as I should have been.
What do you like to do when you are not being actively read somewhere?
I do quiet reading, often from the books my cousin Antoine has sent me.
If you could rewrite anything in your book, what would it be?
I would have liked just for one daughter to survive.
Tell the truth. What do you think of your fellow characters?
My husband George is a good, strong man, but I wish he would not have had such baggage from his early life. My mother is also tremendously single-focused on making sure all her daughters are married.
Do have any secret aspirations that your author doesn’t know about?
Someday I would love to travel to the grave site of Henry and truly say good-bye.
If you had a free day with no responsibilities and your only mission was to enjoy yourself, what would you do?
I would just love to sit quietly and enjoy a beautiful spring day and draw some of the lovely flowers in my garden.
What impression do you make on people when they first meet you? How about after they've known you for a while? My family and friends think I’m very serious, and that is true, but I do love to dance and sing and enjoy the humor in Benjamin Franklin’s writing. When I feel comfortable with people, I let that lighter side surface.
What's the worst thing that's happened in your life? What did you learn from it?
The worse thing that happened occurred when Henry was forced to leave our town because many thought he had stolen some money. He was the love of my life. I learned how prejudice can surface at any time. The terrible loss of my daughters, however, made me realize the fragile quality of life, especially young lives.
Tell us about your best friend.
My best friend is my younger sister Zenaide, even though I am much older than she. We have always been very close. She has all the zest I seem to have lost as I have become older. What are you most afraid of?
I am afraid that I will outlive my children.
What’s the best trait your author has given you? What’s the worst?
She has given me courage, a passion for life. The worse quality, hmm, I think it would be that I am often too quick in my judgment of others.
What do you like best about Zenaide?
My sister Zenaide is so forthright and often wears her feelings “on her sleeve.” Her honesty is definitely to be admired.
How do you feel about your life right now? What, if anything, would you like to change?
My life with George and the boys is very comfortable because George and I understand each other, I believe. I would love to have that one daughter in my life.
What aspect of Dianne’s writing style do you like best? I think she tried to portray my family and me honestly showing both our strengths and our weaknesses. If your story were a movie, who would play you?
In my teenage years, I believe a young Dakota Fanning could portray me quite well. As I became older, Mamie Gummer would be a nice choice. (That’s Meryl Streep’s daughter from Emily Owens, if you’re not sure.)
Describe the town where you live.
Avon is a sleepy, little town in central Illinois, and with the expansion of the railroads in the mid nineteenth century, the population grew.
Describe an average day in your life.
With each day, I think first about securing the water which I will need for the preparing of meals, washing clothes and cleaning my home. During the winter we will spend our days mending or sewing clothes and often, just trying to stay warm.
During the spring I would be planting my large garden, then harvesting fruits and vegetables in the summer and fall. Our root cellar is filled with dried foods which keep our families fed. I might also spend time visiting the general store for my staples such as flour and sugar. If a new bolt of fabric or ribbon catches my eye, I might think of making a purchase for a new dress for my nieces or a new decoration on my bonnet.
Will you encourage your author to write a sequel?
No, I think the high drama of my life is over, at least I hope so. I cannot imagine our town, family or myself surviving another war.
About the author:
For 25 years Dianne taught Creative Writing, Journalism
and English at Nazareth Academy in LaGrange Park, Ill. She is a graduate
of Loyola University and the University of Illinois, Chicago, but also
feels a strong connection to Beloit College in Wisconsin, which she
attended for two years.
Front Page Fatality: A Nichelle Clarke Headlines in Heels Mystery is LynDee Walker's humorous mystery published by Henery Press, and she's here today on her Cozy Mystery Book Review tour to tell us about it and to give us a sneak peak.
About the book:
Crime reporter Nichelle Clarke’s days can flip from macabre to comical with a beep of her police scanner. Then an ordinary accident story turns extraordinary when evidence goes missing, a prosecutor vanishes, and a sexy Mafia boss shows up with the headline tip of a lifetime. As Nichelle gets closer to the truth, her story gets more dangerous. Armed with a notebook, a hunch, and her favorite stilettos, Nichelle races to splash these shady dealings across the front page before this deadline becomes her last.
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Series Collection, if you like one,
you'll probably like them all! Front Page Fatality is the first book in
the Nichelle Clarke Headlines in Heels mystery series. Bonus: Includes
book club discussion questions.
Interview with LynDee Walker
Welcome to A Blue Million Books, LynDee.
Thanks so much for having me today, Amy! I’m excited to be here!
If you could be one of your characters, which one would you choose?
Nichelle—she’s
so confident and sassy, and she can run in stilettos! I’d love to be
her for just one day. But maybe not one of the ones where she almost
gets killed.
Yeah, those days can get a little dicey. Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.
Oh,
only one? In the interest of not spoiling the story, I’ll go with the
boat crash: I think the reader learns a lot about Nichelle and several
of the other characters in just a few pages. Describe Front Page Fatality in a tweet (140 characters or less).
Smart reporter+sexy mob boss+intrigue=story of the year. If she lives to see deadline. Plus: fabulous shoes & cute dog! #FrontPageFatality
You had me at smart reporter+sexy mob boss--the rest is just gravy. Do you outline, write by the seat of your pants, or let your characters tell you what to write?
I outline the mystery, because it would be a nightmare if I didn’t. Other than that, discovering what Nichelle and her friends have in store for me is a lot of the fun of writing, so I let them lead the way.
Did you have any say in your cover art? Who is the artist.
I didn’t for Front Page Fatality, though I was asked for input on the cover for my new novel, Buried Leads, which is due out in October. But I couldn’t be happier with the job they did on my cover. The artist’s name is Fayette Terlouw, and I think she has a magic touch, or is slightly psychic, maybe. It’s so close to what I wished for, it’s downright scary. I can’t wait to see the new one!
Which character did you most enjoy writing?
That’s a tough one! I love Nichelle to bits, but Joey is a pretty fun guy to write. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.
I’m constantly on the lookout for new names. How do you name your characters?
A writer girlfriend turned me on to an online random name generator that’s really helpful for me, especially when I’m naming unimportant characters. With recurring folks, I like to carefully consider their names (if I’m not lucky enough to just have one come to me), but for people Nichelle only interacts with once, the name generator saves me a lot of time.
That's a great tip. Thank you! Are any of your characters inspired by real people?
Bob shares a few personality traits and a fondness for his alma mater with my former boss, who is a good man and was a great journalist. Jenna is a talented artist with a big heart, much like my BFF, though there’s no real-life version of Pages. I wish there was, though. I’d go there every day.
What are your favorite books a) as a child b) as a teenager c) as an adult?
I’ve been a bookworm ever since I can remember, so in the interest of brevity, I’m going to choose just a few from each group:
a) Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, Nancy Drew, Little House, The Three investigators, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Half Magic, Encyclopedia Brown, Wait Til Helen Comes, and The Dollhouse Murders.
b) Anything Christopher Pike wrote, but especially Remember Me, Sati, the Final Friends trilogy, and Chain Letter; Gone With the Wind, The House of the Seven Gables, Wuthering Heights, The Stand, Nightmares and Dreamscapes, The Firm, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, Friday Night Lights, and The Forbidden Game trilogy.
c) Gone With the Wind, Rhett Butler’s People, the Harry Potter series, The Innocent Man, The Help, The Stranger, the Jane Austen mystery series, The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy, and The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants series.
There are so many I didn’t have room to mention! I love good stories and funny characters and mystery. A touch of magic or a dash of romance make things that much better. Honestly, the list of books I don’t like would probably be shorter. But that at least gives you a peek at my keeper shelf.
Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix me? I mean, him. Or her.
Laura Levine, hands down (I’d love to have you, too, Amy, but you said pick one)! She has been so sweet to me when there was no reason on Earth she had to be. She agreed to read Front Page Fatality for a blurb when she didn’t know me at all, and then she said such lovely, amazing things about it. And she’s going to read Buried Leads, too! I would love to hug her and thank her in person. I’d fix my killer taco salad with homemade salsa. I spent months getting my salsa recipe right, and it’s pretty darned good if I do say so myself!
What book are you currently reading and in what format (e-book/paperback/hardcover)?
I’m reading an e-book ARC of Larissa Reinhart’s new mystery, Still Life in Brunswick Stew, which will be out in late May. It’s hilarious!
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
Whenever the mood strikes me, and someplace where my children are not. I adore them, but they do distract me when I’m trying to write. My very favorite place in the world to sit and write is the beach, but I only get to do that about once a year. Other than that, the papasan chair on my deck and the old sofa in my sunroom are my favorite places to write. Starbucks works, too, if I need to get away from the littles.
Where’s home for you?
Now? Richmond. I love everything about living here. I grew up in Texas, and I do love to go visit (especially in the spring when the bluebonnets are blooming) but it’s not really home. My family has been blessed with wonderful friends and a great community, and we’ve built a wonderful life in Virginia.
Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do when it happens?
I walk, and I talk through it. Moving seems to get my brain working, so when I get stuck and the words won’t come, I have to put my laptop away and go walk. Outside is best, and if I have a friend along to be a sounding board, that’s wonderful. If not, I talk anyway. I figure most of the people who live around here probably think I’m at least a little crazy, since they see me out walking around the lake talking to myself fairly regularly.
What’s one of your favorite quotes?
“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams! Live the life you’ve imagined.” —Thoreau
I have that one on my fridge, because it’s a good general life philosophy, I think.
What do you like to do when you’re not writing?
Play with my kids and spend time with my husband definitely top this list. I have three young children and a wonderful “other half,” and they are the most important things in my world. I’m one of those moms who only has a clean house when company’s coming. I’d rather spend my days taking the kids to the park or the pool or the children’s museum than cleaning when I’m not working. And quiet evenings with my hubby are the very best kind.
If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
I love it here in Richmond, but if I could live anywhere, I’d want to live at the beach. Virginia Beach would be nice, I think, because it’s still urban enough for the city girl in me, but the beach is gorgeous.
If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying.)
Australia! Could my publisher also give me the confidence to go snorkeling on the Great Barrier Reef, if we’re playing daydreams? I’ve always wanted to do that, but I’m a big chicken when it comes to wildlife. I’d probably drown myself trying to run away from a fish.
What are you working on now?
I’m in edits on my next novel, Buried Leads, which will be out October 15, and writing a novella for a Christmas anthology with two of my fabulous author friends, Larissa Reinhart and Terri L. Austin. It’ll be on sale just in time for the holiday season!
Sounds great. Please come back and tell us about them both.
Excerpt from Front Page Fatality
Thinking about blood spatters and ballistics reports before I’d even finished my coffee wasn’t exactly how I wanted to start my weekend.
“More dead people? Really, guys?” I asked, as if the beat cops whose chatter blared out of the police scanner in my passenger seat could hear me. They, of course, kept right on talking. Apparently, this dead guy had lost a good bit of brains to a bullet, too.
I reached for my Blackberry, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and my eyes on the morning traffic. A body before I’d even made it to the newsroom was usually a good thing—-but not that Friday. If I’d had to pay by the corpse, my MasterCard would’ve been maxed out by Wednesday that week. Especially given the eBay charge for the new heels on my feet.
I glanced at the clock and stomped my sapphire Louboutin down on the gas pedal, thumbing the speed dial for police headquarters.
“Aaron, it’s Nichelle,” I said when I got the department spokesman’s voicemail. “I hear y’all are having a party out on Southside this morning, and I seem to have misplaced my invitation. Give me a call when you get a minute.”
Tossing my phone back into my bag, I turned into the parking garage of the Richmond Telegraph. I had been hoping for an idiot crook who’d opened an account with his real address before he’d robbed the video store. Anything but another body.
I flashed a semi-grin at my editor as I strode into his office a few minutes later.
“I’ve got another dead drug dealer on Southside. They just found him this morning.” My words dissolved his annoyed expression to one of interest, his perpetual aggravation with my last-minute arrivals for the morning staff meeting forgotten at the mention of a homicide.
“Another one, huh?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his massive mahogany desk. “Do we know if this one is related to the guy they found out there a couple of weeks ago?”
“Aside from the bit about him being a dealer I caught on the scanner, not really.” I dropped into my usual seat. “I left a message for Aaron White on my way in. I should have something for you by this afternoon.”
Bob nodded, appearing satisfied and moving on to the sports section. “What’s going on in your world this morning, Parker? Anything worth having an opinion on, or am I paying you to make stuff up yet?”
Our sports columnist (and de facto sports editor since the real thing was still on leave with his wife and new baby) raised his voice over the round of laughter and began a rundown of the day’s sporting events. “And I’m writing my column on the women’s basketball coach over at the University of Richmond,” he finished. “She’s in the middle of treatment for breast cancer, and she still led the team to the playoffs again this past season.” He glanced at his notes. “This makes four years in a row.”
“Nice,” Bob said. “I love a human interest story on a woman in the sports section.”
The international desk was following an uprising after yet another questionable election in the Middle East, and the government reporters were still covering the bickering between the senate candidates who were gearing up for the fall race.
Political jokes fired faster than a drunken celebutante’s antics circle the blogosphere, and I chuckled at the warring punch lines as my eyes skipped between the faces of my colleagues—-my family in Richmond, really. They had adopted me the second I’d stepped into the newsroom without a friend in a six-hundred-mile radius, the ink still wet on my degree from Syracuse.
Giveaway!
LyDee is giving away a $20 Amazon.com giftcard! To enter:
giveaway closes on April 23, at the end of LynDee Walker’s tour
winner will be contacted by email
About the author:
LynDee Walker grew up in the land of stifling heat and
amazing food most people call Texas, and wanted to be Lois Lane pretty
much from the time she could say the words “press conference.” An
award-winning journalist, she traded cops and deadlines for burp cloths
and onesies when her oldest child was born. Writing the Headlines in
Heels mysteries gives her the best of both worlds. Her debut novel,
Front Page Fatality, is a #1 Amazon,com new humor bestseller. When not
writing or reading, LynDee is usually wrangling children, eating
barbecue or enchiladas, or trying to walk off said barbecue and
enchiladas. She and her family live in Richmond, Virginia. Visit her at:
Diana Milesko is here to talk about Faith Stories of One Good Catholic Girl, a wry and thoughtful rendering of Catholicism that sheds new insights on the dichotomy between Church rulings and the message of Christ. Viewed through the author’s sometimes amusing experience as a Catholic as well as her research, it provides a compassionate look at the challenges and possibilities for renewal in the Church today.
Interview with Diana Milesko
I love the title Faith Stories of One Good Catholic Girl. How did you come up with it? Faith Stories of One Good Catholic Girl is the title for this book because, when we were children, a good Catholic girl was presumably the highest compliment anyone could bestow on my four sisters or me.
Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?
I prefer to write in my office in quiet.
Where’s home for you?
Sometimes I think home is my car, as I travel so much. Do you ever get writer’s block? What do you do when it happens?
When
I get writer’s block I do something else and forget about writing for
awhile. It lets my subconscious take over, so when I return to writing
my ideas have become clarified.
Is there anything in particular that you do to help the writing flow? Music? Acting out the scene? Long showers?
A good light, comfortable chair, and plenty of quiet help me write.
What’s your favorite line from a book?
“Knowing God is impossible
unless we enter into a life of love and communion with others.” (Quest
for the Living God, by Elizabeth A. Johnson.2007.P 223.
Did you have any say in your cover art?
I’m a photo-journalist and took the picture for the book’s cover. The sunrise and silhouette of a sea-gull seemed appropriate symbols of how we are drawn to enlightenment as well as to the cosmos.
Who are your favorite authors?
Currently my favorite authors are Sr. Joan Chittister, Elizabeth A. Johnson, Gary Macy, and Michael Morwood.
What are your favorite books or favorite authors...
a) as a child
As a child my favorite books were the Flicka, Ricka and Dicka and Snip, Snap and Snur series by Maj Lindman (c) 1946, probably because they were the first books I could read all by myself.
b) as a teenager
I enjoyed the Nancy Drew series as a teenager, as well as all of Agatha Christie’s books. I loved mystery stories and puzzling out how to solve the problem.
c) as an adult
It’s impossible to mention all the books I love and read as an adult. A few include William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, all of Donald Westlake and Terry Pratcher’s Books, and many of Janet Evanovich’s books. I’m a fan of humourous mystery stories. However, non-fiction is probably my favorite reading material. For example, Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert Massie is a riveting account of the last Russian Tsar before the Bolshevik Revolution.
Which author would you most like to invite to dinner, and what would you fix him or her?
It would be wonderful to meet and talk with Sr. Joan Chittister, who has written many books about spirituality. She is an eloquent and profound writer. I’d serve soup, because it is easy to eat and doesn’t get in the way of conversation.
Hike, bike, sail, swim, read, and play the piano. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?
Anywhere beautiful and safe.
If you could take a trip anywhere in the world, where would you go? (Don’t worry about the money. Your publisher is paying.)
If they’re REALLY paying, I’d take my entire family--spouse, children, grandchildren and self--on a first class trip to Alaska, New Zealand, and Australia. After flying to Alaska first class, we’d take an educational cruise to the glaciers and take side-trips to hike, kayak and visit other areas, then fly first class (it’s a LONG flight!) to Australia, Tasmania and New Zealand. They’d book educational tours at all places for us in advance.
What are you working on now?
Right now I’m planning that free trip! ;-)
BOOK EXCERPT from Faith Stories of One Good Catholic Girl
Why can’t I?
Children want to be many things when they grow up, and their ideas change as they mature. They may decide to be a doctor or astronaut one day, a fireman, engineer, policeman or priest, another day.
Seldom does an adult say, “No, you can’t be that. You’re not good enough,” because most adults know two things. First, a child’s career thoughts vary widely from day to day, and second, telling a child they can’t be something diminishes that child’s self esteem.
One of many careers I considered as a child was to become a priest, mostly because I couldn’t fathom God. I reckoned a priest got to shake hands with God. They were close; they understood each other. Another reason was that the priesthood was highly valued in the Church. I wanted the Church and God to value me highly.
At daily Mass before school, I marveled how the priest could chant a phrase, create magic, and turn bread and wine into the real body and blood of Christ even though it still looked like bread and wine. Since I could never figure out God, I thought it would be great to be a priest. Then I would know how God did it. I wanted to peek into the magician’s empty hat, as it were, and see how God pulled it off.
One day in first grade, Sister went around the classroom and asked each student what they wanted to be when they grew up. Before my turn came, I thought of many possible vocations, then settled on one.
At my turn, I stood and said, “I want to be a priest.” The class hooted with laughter.
Sister said, “You can’t be a priest.”
“Why not?” I was baffled.
“Because you’re a girl,” she replied crossly.
“Why can’t girls be priests?”
“Sit down,” she ordered. I sat down, flabbergasted.
Whoever heard of such a thing! A person couldn’t be a priest because she was a girl? Being a priest didn’t take muscles, like opening a pickle jar!
Now I began to think it would be great to be a priest. I would understand God, maybe, and help others to understand God. The giggles subsided, and we went onto arithmetic. That statement from Sister shifted my thoughts about Christianity. It wasn’t that I had a burning desire to become a priest. Children want to be many things. The upsetting thing was that Sister said I couldn’t be a priest just because I was a girl—not because of my desire to love God, or due to bad behavior or poor abilities. It was nothing I could work on or make better. I couldn’t be a priest because God made me wrong. Why would God make someone inferior on purpose? It was crazy. Girls were as good as boys.
Sister must be wrong, I thought. I’ll ask Mother. Mother confirmed what Sister said, but in kinder terms. “You wouldn’t want to be a priest. It’s too much work.” If mother said it was too much work, it probably was. I dropped the subject, but felt devalued. The Catholic Church, which was such a big part of my life, said I could only ever be a second-class citizen. It wasn’t fair! I didn’t understand how the priesthood worked. When my uncle was ordained, I wondered how a priest, a man, could marry God. But I didn’t puzzle over it. I had been told bluntly that ordination wasn’t my sacrament. Years later, I was able to articulate why the attitude of the Church is so destructive. Women are easily as spiritual as men, if not more so.
And they contribute in too many ways—-as homemakers, breadwinners, astronauts, engineers, theologians, educators, politicians, government and business leaders—to be told by their religion they are second-rate. It’s simply not true.
The belief that ordination is not a sacrament for Catholic women is changing with the worldwide ordination of women priests through the Roman Catholic Women Priests (RCWP) movement. Women priests were once the Church’s best kept secret. Not any more.
When women see a problem that’s not being addressed, they roll up their sleeves and address it—-with or without going through official channels. They believe sometimes it is better to ask forgiveness than permission. Women priests are a critical component of ordination. They represent the half of God’s love which flows in women.
Author bio:
Diana Milesko is a professional speaker, writer, and
photo-journalist who has taught humanities, media, and English at
universities through high schools in Illinois, Connecticut, and Florida.
Other careers include that of counselor, speech writer, and publisher.
She earned her bachelor’s degree at the University of Illinois, her
master’s at Loyola University Chicago, and her doctorate at Global
Ministries University.
Milesko has been a Catholic throughout
her life, serving as cantor, communion minister, and choir member in
several states, and in her earlier life, playing the organ and singing
for Masses and weddings. Her lifelong passion for music is demonstrated
by her love of playing the piano. At one time she sang in a female
barbershop chorus; as a young adult she played guitar and harmonica
(predating Bob Dylan), at schools and clubs.
Her engaging talks
at churches, universities, clubs, and libraries illuminate contemporary
issues such as ethics, health, and the environment. Topics include, "
What’s Eating America?" (about today’s food industry), "How to Live Well
and Long," and "Planet Pollution." She has participated in discussion groups
such as the University of Chicago’s Roundtable on Teaching the Adult
Learner.
Out of work fashion expert Samantha Kidd is strapped,
until the buyer of handbags for a hot new retailer turns up murdered.
When Samantha is recruited for the job, it comes with a caveat: she's
expected to find some answers. The police name a suspect, but Samantha's
convinced the label doesn't fit. With patent determination and a tote
bag of tenacity, she turns to a sexy stranger for help. As the walls
close around her like a snug satin lining, Samantha must get a handle on
the suspects, or risk being caught in the killer's clutches.
About the author:
I grew up reading both Trixie Belden mysteries and Vogue magazine and learned how to spot a counterfeiting ring and accessorize a wardrobe. When it was time to find a career I headed out to the mall...and nine years later was a buyer for one of the top luxury stores in the country. But while Paris, Milan, and New York satisfied my appetite for fashion, my passion for creativity went unfed. Now I sell fine apparel by day and uncover crimes of fashion by night, in the form of mystery writing. I still love accessories, only now some of them are accessories to murder.
Brian Connolly's latest book titled, ALPHIE, A Yellowstone wolf pup, was published in February of this year. He has written several books on the subject of wolves, but what I want to share with you today is part of his essay about a trip with his five-year-old grandson to Yellowstone. They made the trip just after Connolly underwent radiation treatments for cancer. He wanted to make memories with his grandson while he still had time. The essay was written for The Yellowstone Park Foundation and will give you an idea of his passion for wolves and his love of writing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
About the author:
Brian A. Connolly graduated from Edinboro University in Pennsylvania where he received the Finnegan Award for Poetry. He completed his graduate work at State University of New York at Oswego and Cortland, Elmira College and UMass at North Adams. In addition to being a Project Adventure teacher, Mr. Connolly taught creative writing in NYS public schools for twenty-eight years before moving to Bend, Oregon to write. He is the father of Nathan and Heather. Bradley's Christmas Adventure, a children's book of his, illustrated by Gina Diamanti, was published in 1990. Wolf Journal, his first novel was selected as a finalist for the Oregon Book Award. A study guide for Wolf Journal was published in 2005. His short stories and poems have appeared in many literary magazines from Maine to Washington. Mr. Connolly grew up in Port Allegany, Pennsylvania, the setting for Not Far From Town.
As an avid wolf watcher, he spends three months each summer and one month during the winter helping field biologists spot wolves and report wolf behavior in Yellowstone National Park. It was his observations of the Druid Peak Pack, the Slough Creek Pack, the Agates, the Molly Pack, the former Geode Pack and the Leopold Pack that inspired Wolf Journal.
Excerptof Arlie and Papa in Yellowstone
by Brian A. Connolly
August, 2011
The most difficult part of the cancer diagnosis in April of 2011 was telling my grandson Arlie that we would have to postpone our Yellowstone trip. For two years this little guy, now five,practiced using the high powered scope I had set up in my living room. Standing on a short step ladder, he honed his skill on chipmunks and chickadees. In the Deschutes National Forest near Bend, Oregon where we live, he learned to read tracks and identify scat.
He has his own room at my house which is not far from where he lives with his mom and dad. He called me into his room and pointed at June 15th on his calendar. “We better cross this off, Papa,” he said. We moved the date to July 15th. Because of the twenty-five radiation treatments that I needed for ‘Papa’s bump’, as Arlie called it, we crossed that date off, too. But then a window opened up in August. My surgeon in Portland said that the sarcoma tumor just above my right knee needed to settle down for three weeks after radiation ended on August first, my birthday. Arlie and I loaded up the truck and headed for Yellowstone on August fourth.
Even though radiation treatments sap energy, I knew that this might be the only chance to share my favorite place on the planet with Arlie. The results of surgery were uncertain. Would they get all the cancer cells? Would the cells enter the blood stream and lodge in the lungs? Would I be able to walk or hike afterward? Would I lose the leg? Arlie had already lost his other grandfather. Best to make memories now, just in case.
Yellowstone is a two day drive from Bend. Driving eight hundred miles across the high desert of Oregon and southern Idaho with a five year old in the back seat was a challenge. I removed the headrest from the front passenger seat so that Arlie could have an unrestricted view. Also, I set up my computer with headphones on the truck console and powered it with a little inverter so that he could watch Scooby-Doo. We had a few dozen episodes. What a life saver.
What Arlie didn’t know was ahead was the electronic ban in Yellowstone imposed by Papa. At the end of the first day of our trip, we pulled into a motel near Mountain Home, Idaho. The temperature broke a hundred degrees Fahrenheit. The clerk gave me the price for the night which was twice what I could afford. I told her we had just stopped because they had a pool. She looked down into Arlie’s angelic face and said, “If you go next door, you can get a double 1 for cheap. Then bring him back here, and I’ll give you a guest pass for the pool.” Arlie swam for three hours. Later that night he had trouble falling asleep because he was worried that the sprinkler system in the room might go off. When I fell asleep, he was still staring wide-eyed at the ceiling shower heads above his bed.
***
One of the few advantages to getting older is that, at age sixty-two, we can buy a ten dollar, permanent Senior Pass which gets us into any national park and gives us free parking and half price camping there and in all national forests. I flashed my pass at the west entrance to Yellowstone and in we went.
The road follows the Madison River. We had turned north toward the Norris Geyser Basin when Arlie, with binoculars hanging around his neck, asked, “Are we in Yellowstone?”
“Of course we are,” I said.
“Where are all the animals?”
I had forgotten about the films we had watched and the books we had read in preparation for the trip. They lead him to believe that animals are everywhere and always visible. I explained to him that because it was so hot, all of the animals were in the forest resting in the shade. Hopefully, they would come out near sundown when things cooled off.
“Remember, I said the time was called the crepuscular time of day, a word you’ll be able to pronounce when you’re ten.”
He repeated the word perfectly, and I acted shocked that he could already say it. We play that game a lot.
August is a difficult month in the park to see wildlife, but it was the only time we had. I had a slight panic. We hadn’t seen an elk, a bison, a blacktail deer or even a ground squirrel. Hopefully the elk hadn’t gone up to the high country and taken the wolves with them. But the landscape was still green. So I had a little hope. Arlie contented himself with the dramatic landscape. He loved Gibbon Falls, our first stop. Cool mist rushed up the canyon walls pushed by the thunder of falling water. Also, there was a low rock wall he could climb on. What I didn’t tell Arlie was that I was feeling nauseous and a little dizzy. Altitude can mess with you. I was sure it would pass as long as I kept hydrated.
A good friend of mine, Kathie, had recently bought a log cabin near Silver Gate close to the NE entrance of the park. So that I wouldn’t have to haul my camper on this short trip, she gave us her cabin for the week. We had to drive straight through the park to meet up with her and get a key.
We passed Canyon and drove over Dunraven Pass, so dramatic. Arlie held out his arms and pretended he was flying over the distant Yellowstone Grand Canyon. We slipped past Tower Falls and Roosevelt Lodge. Every place had memories for me, but I tried not to overwhelm Arlie with my stories in order to make room for the creation of his own. We turned east toward Lamar Valley. I slowed down on the high bridge that crosses the Yellowstone River. Arlie could see the rushing green water turn white as it crashed over boulders far below. He could hear the river’s voice, a rush of wind. Then he scrunched up his nose and said, “Papa, did you toot?”
I explained that the water contained sulphur which smells like poop and comes from geysers, hot springs and mud pots further upstream. Arlie loves volcanoes so he was excited to hear about all the hot lava under the park. I have spent two to four months of each of the past fifteen years in the Lamar Valley of Yellowstone as a wolf watcher. I have followed packs through the many years of their existence. I have known individual wolves through their whole lives. Wild wolves have walked within feet of me, dispelling all the myths that have so cruelly haunted them. With the help of friends, I created a YouTube video essay The Delisting of Wolf 253M. (Collared wolves have numbers for names.) Add to that the fact that since retiring from teaching creative writing in high schools back in New York State, I have become a writer.
At Pebble Creek Campground, I wrote two YA wolf novels, one in a tent, one in a camper. Even now I am working on the final book in a series for young readers that follows the life of a wolf pup through its first year. Much of the series was written at Pebble. The books are a way to share with young people the science of the wolf and its critical importance to wilderness. What a privilege now to share all of this with my grandson.
Arlie loved the Lamar, a broad, open valley framed by pine forests draped over high ridges and mountain slopes with the silver Lamar River snaking through it. There were the bison! There were the elk, the blacktail deer, and the pronghorn antelope! We cheered! Arlie admitted that he was most nervous about bison because his father had played angry bison with him and chased him around the house. Watching the huge beasts graze, calmed his fears.
Kathie was in the Hitching Post pullout east of the confluence of Soda Butte Creek and the Lamar River. This large lot is where many back country outfitters begin their trail rides. When we arrived, there was a buzz in the air. Laurie and Dan, good friends of mine, introduced themselves to Arlie and told us that a wolf had been spotted just up the road at Round Prairie. Kathie gave me the cabin key and jumped into her car to follow the line of vehicles heading east.
There were a dozen scopes set up in the tiny pullout when we arrived. Kathie leaned in the window and told Arlie, still in his booster seat in the back, that the wolf could not be found. Arlie pointed out the windshield across several hundred yards of grass and sage flats to the first line of trees of the forest. “How about that one walking by the tree trunks?” he said. Kathie put her binoculars on the distant forest. There was the illusive black. She turned to Arlie. “You are amazing!” Arlie beamed. She and I had forgotten how quickly kids can spot wildlife with their young eyes. I remembered being next to Kathie once when, after hours of searching a hillside, she located a wolf. The lady next to us quoted Pasteur, “Chance favors the prepared mind.” Today chance was favoring Arlie.
Moments later, standing in a line of wolf watchers, a man asked Arlie if he could find the grizzly that was thought to be nearby. Arlie pointed at the thick willows on the far side of Soda Butte Creek. “There’s something brown in there,” he said. Of course, it was the bear. Everyone was patting Arlie on the head. I was beaming! Arlie’s heart was racing. I knew he was hooked on nature. I wish every kid in America could have been in that pullout with us to experience real reality, nature, and be able to leave for a moment the virtual world so many of them inhabit. How do you explain to a child about the strength one gets and the calm one feels from nature? How nature can be the source of creative thinking? About nature’s ability to cleanse the mind? The answer is to give them time in a piece of woods. I think it is the obligation of every grandparent, parent, aunt or uncle to give that gift to children. Our trip was already a success, and we hadn’t even gotten to the cabin yet.
Kathie’s cabin, which is above seven thousand feet, was perfect. I spent early mornings with coffee next to the gas woodstove watching the valley fill with light. It gave me some alone time, before Arlie got up, to gather my thoughts and even make a few notes for my next chapter book. I hadn’t been able to focus enough to write since the spring, and it would be late December before the words began to flow freely. When Arlie awoke, he had room to play with his matchbox cars and draw and color at the table. Before the week was out, he wrote a story and illustrated it to give to Kathie as a thank you gift. From the deck we could see billions of stars at night and the steep, dramatic mountains by day. The first morning in the park we stopped at Barronette Peak to look for mountain goats.
The peak is over 10,400 feet high with three thousand feet of cliff face where goats forage for food. My scope has a 20 by 60 zoom with an 80 mm front lens which brings in lots of light. We found a half dozen goats including kids which looked like pieces of snow among the rock. Adjacent to the pullout was a large meadow. Before I knew it, Arlie had slipped away from me and was twirling in circles in the middle of the meadow singing some made up song. When I got to him, his face was alive and smiling. He said, “Papa, this field is so flowerful!” I looked around. It was full of wildflowers, unusual for August. For a moment we inhaled the perfumed air. It must be the altitude, seven thousand feet, that causes asters, yampah and wild onion to be the last to bloom and the first to catch the snow.
Unfortunately, I had to scold him a little about straying away from me. We sat down among the flowers and talked about the carnivores of Yellowstone. I began with wolves. We don’t have to worry about them. They avoid humans. However, Lesson #1: We are animals. Animals are made of meat. Bears and mountain lions eat meat. When we hike in Yellowstone, we are on the menu! (His eyes widened.) Never leave Papa! I showed him my bear spray. We talked about having a 360 degree awareness of our surroundings when in a wild place like Yellowstone. Bear attacks are rare, I told him, but they can happen if you don’t stay close to Papa. Arlie looked me straight in the eyes and said, “We’re animals?”
As a wolf watcher, it would not be uncommon for me to stand for hours in one place waiting for a Lamar Canyon pack wolf, or a member of the Blacktail Plateau pack, or for one of the Agates to show up. Or maybe a Mollie. I had to remind myself that this was mostly Arlie’s trip. We had to move to his rhythms. I was just a guide. After an hour of looking, listening and being still in the Lamar Valley, we headed for a hike at Trout Lake.
The first quarter mile of the trail is steep. Arlie wore shorts, a teeshirt, his Junior Ranger vest with sheriff’s badge, a camel pack with compass, light, and whistle attached with carabiners. In his straw Junior Ranger hat, he looked like a three foot tall mounty. His pockets were full of granola bars and cheese sticks. Before we got to the lake, I showed Arlie my favorite tree. He ran his hand over the thick, dark bark of the ancient Douglas Fir which towered above us.
“How old?” he asked.
“Hundreds of years; it was probably a hundred years old when this park was made a park over a hundred years ago.”
“I can count to a hundred.” He turned up the trail counting aloud on his fingers.
The trail levels out as it wraps around this pristine mountain lake with its backdrop of basalt cliffs to the north. Had we been able to be here in June, Arlie could have seen the cutthroat trout spawning up the inlet, so astonishing. It’s an event that attracts osprey, eagles, river otters, and a fishing coyote. There are large rainbow trout in the lake, as well. The worry is that these non-native fish might mate with the native trout creating a hybrid cutbow trout. While there is a limit, fisherman may keep the rainbows they catch.
Following Arlie along a trail is like following a bear. There isn’t a rock that isn’t overturned. He’s looking for worms, centipedes, spiders, ant colonies, beetles, and snakes. The garter snake he did find wasn’t under a rock; it just slithered across the trail in front of him. He was delighted and did a little snake dance. As we continued circling the lake, we could see trout cruising in the cool, dark water.
Along the trail were Everett’s thistles. I told Arlie the story of how it got its name from Everett who, in the late 1800s, got lost in Yellowstone for many months, but was able to survive by eating thistle roots. Later I heard Arlie repeat the story to a tourist. Pointing at a thistle he said, “This prickly plant is named after Everett, a friend of Papa’s who got lost in Yellowstone and nearly died. He was skinny as a squirrel and ate thistle roots to survive, but it made him so he couldn’t poop until he ate bear grease! That loosened him up good.”
As we continued down the trail, I began to feel dizzy. We sat on a log for a long while and watched a few goldeneyes paddle out into the lake where a breath of wind wrinkled the surface. I explained to him that I had been experiencing some nausea and dizziness. If it persists, I told him, we might have to go home. His eyes teared up.
“But you said I could earn my Junior Ranger badge, Papa,” he whispered.
“That’s true,” I said. “Just in case we have to head home, let’s go get started on that badge right now.”
He cheered up, and off we went to the ranger station near Roosevelt lodge. The nice girl behind the counter spent twenty minutes warning new backcountry permittees about the dangers of camping in bear country. The phone rang. There had been a wolf incident, and the family involved was on their way to meet with a law enforcement officer at the station. Finally Arlie got the ten page newspaper filled with activities for him to complete to earn his badge. Outside, a lady law enforcement officer was listening to the family of five tell about their wolf encounter. I was curious, but Arlie was already focused on earning his badge. Next to my truck, he and I perused the activities. I didn’t read to him the part that said if you were five, you only needed to do four of the ten activities.
As it happened, John, a ranger friend of mine who was in charge of many bear jams, arrived. He suggested that the wolf incident family talk to me. The mother said that near Slough Creek a wolf had walked up the trail toward them and had gotten quite close before it veered off. By now, the officer and the backcountry ranger were listening to what I had to say. The family wondered if they were in danger. I went on for half an hour about individual animals having different flight distances, about how lucky they were to have such a dramatic story to tell the rest of their lives, about my own close encounters with wolves (with the precaution that, when possible, a watcher should get in a vehicle to avoid habituating a wolf or any animal), and that when I visit schools, I tell students that I would rather meet a wolf in the woods than a human because you know that a wolf will do you no harm. The daughter had moved over by Arlie and kept him occupied during my impromptu talk. I finished by telling them that the wolf’s presence in the wild has an important, positive effect on trout, streams, willows, cottonwoods, aspen, eagles, ravens, bears, coyotes, foxes, pronghorn, moose and even elk with which they have coexisted for hundreds of thousands of years. I ended the talk with the fact that about a dozen wolves in the park had been killed by elk. Little did I know that within a few months, the mother, a teacher in Bismark, North Dakota, would have her students reading my stories.
“Lets go, Papa!” Arlie cried. “We have stuff to do!”
And stuff we did. We visited Old Faithful, hot springs, mud pots, canyons and waterfalls. We spotted coyotes, blacktail deer, bison, sandhill cranes, bighorn sheep, eagles and osprey. Arlie printed the animals’ names on a map to show where he had seen each one. He drew pictures of a geyser erupting. He drew a picture of himself as his favorite animal. His pages were filled with lists of plants, reptiles and small mammals. Arlie’s imagination was on fire! In his mind a ranger was equal to Superman, Batman or Ironman. He was about to become one of them, a superhero who would protect the animals in the park and bring bad guys to justice!
One morning, driving through Lamar Valley, we came upon a tow truck trying to hook up to a dead bison not far off the road. A ranger explained to Arlie that the bison had been gored to death by another bison in a fight over a female bison. It was still mating season. The two thousand pound animal with its legs up in the air had to be removed because it would be dangerous for predators to feed on a carcass so close to the road. We had already been in several bison jams unable to move forward because of the hundred animals in the road bellowing, head butting and mounting each other. In one jam I pointed out a bison that had his tail straight up in the air and explained to Arlie that the raised tail meant he was going to charge or discharge. Discharge means poop, I said. The bison discharged. The point is that Arlie had an understanding of and a respect for the primitive power of these magnificent beasts. I could tell he was moved deeply by the death of this animal. He looked at me with wet eyes and said, “I think he was just trying to defend his habitory.” I agreed.
By late Tuesday, our fourth day in the park, my dizzy spells and nausea disappeared. I discovered later in the reams of paper from doctors that make up the manual on how to understand and cope with cancer that those symptoms are common after radiation treatments cease. The radiation burn and the ugly red bump growing on my leg was something Arlie asked to see over the summer. His parents agreed that if we kept it hidden from him, his imagination would conjure up something far worse. He asked to see it often and would watch as I put ointment on it each day. His curiosity continued even after the bump was gone. He wanted to see the three and a half by four and a half inch incision as well as the curious red rectangles higher on the leg where skin was removed for grafting onto the incision.
Most days now he would ask, “How’s your bump doing, Papa?” When we would read, or color, or sit on a rock in the woods, he’d say, “Is this your good leg, Papa? May I sit there?”
Tuesday night we were back wolf watching at Hitching Post. Arlie found another garter snake on a rock. He showed the snake to Bob, a filmmaker who has made exquisite wolf films for Nature and National Geographic. Bob and Arlie studied the snake carefully. I photographed the snake. I realized then that most of my trip photos were of Arlie seeing things and not the things he was seeing. Also, I try to take a minimum number of pictures in order to experience nature and my grandson more deeply. A good story is worth a thousand photos I always say. Besides, wolves and bears are usually out of range of my camera, but not my pen.
We didn’t see any wolves that night, but a large grizzly made his way slowly up Soda Butte Creek. Arlie stood on the ladder and, using the scope, followed the bear for three quarters of an hour. He even called some kids over to look through the scope and taught them how to use it. When the bear came into focus for them, their startled responses made Arlie look at me and smile. ‘This is why you keep coming here, Papa,’ he was thinking.
Wednesday morning we finished the last of the Junior Ranger activities and decided to drive over to Canyon to the new visitor center where Arlie could see the displays, turn in his activity papers and take the oath. On our way we stopped to visit Dan and Cindy at their log cabin and photo gallery in Silver Gate. Dan had done the cover photos for both of my novels and my short story collection. Visiting him is like talking with John Muir. Dan is a naturalist first, a photographer second. He is full of amazing stories, something both Arlie and I are partial to. While he photographs wolves, bears, mountain lions and other charismatic megafauna, his real passions lie with pine martens and great gray owls, or any owl for that matter. He lectures, teaches, guides and photographs, but it’s Cindy who keeps him organized and the business moving forward. Arlie was star struck. The stories, the photos in the gallery, the woodsmoke and the log cabin made him swoon. We even got a chance, on a different day, to attend one of Dan’s owl talks at the historic Range Rider Hotel in Silver Gate.
Reluctantly, we moved on. The road from Tower Falls to Dunraven Pass follows Antelope Creek. We pulled over to walk in the fields and look for whatever might be moving. There are beautiful vistas across the creek where the Agate pack traditionally dens in April, over the Yellowstone River above which the osprey soar, along the south slope of Specimen Ridge where Wolf 42F met her end back in’04, and up to the ten thousand foot top of Mount Washburn where so often I have hiked with friends. The previous fall, this whole area burned. I saw the valley shrouded in smoke in October. Now much of it was once again green.
Our wilderness reverie was interrupted when my phone rang. I had forgotten that there was cell service there. Also I had forgotten that I had agreed to meet the girl who was on the phone. She had read my novels a few years ago and was now in college in Texas. She was here with her parents and just wanted to talk about being a writer. When they arrived, she and I talked shop while Arlie gave her parents a tour of the hillside. Good people. The girl had that unmistakable glow on her face of someone who knows her own dream. All she wanted from me was the map that shows the way. I think she already had the map.
“Let’s go, Papa!” cried Arlie. “We have to get the badge!”
The first thing the ranger at the visitor center noticed about Arlie’s activity packet was that he had completed nine of the ten activities rather than just the four required for little kids. She went over every page asking him detailed questions about each activity.
Then she said, “Raise your right hand and repeat after me:
As a Junior Ranger, I promise
to learn all I can
about Yellowstone
and to teach others
to love and respect
its beauty, its plants, and its animals.
Of course, my eyes teared up. The same was true for the dozen tourists who had gathered near the information desk. Arlie’s voice was steady through the whole ceremony; he knew this was an important moment. After the pledge, the ranger leaned over and pinned the badge on Arlie’s vest.
She said, “Arlie Connolly, you are now the newest Junior Ranger in Yellowstone National Park.” And she saluted. Everyone applauded. Arlie beamed. I cried.
When
three month old Alphie, a wolf pup of the Lamar Pack, woke up from a
long nap, he discovered that he was alone. His pack had moved to their
high country rendezvous at Opal Creek accidentally leaving him behind to
face the wild valley on his own. He was lost and frightened. His tiny
howls attracted a grizzly and a mountain lion.
After facing many dangers during long days and longer nights, Alphie
is rescued by an old wolf returning to the pack. Grandfather becomes
Alphie’s protector and teacher. Their meeting marks the beginning of a
long friendship that weaves its way through all of the exciting
adventures that Alphie experiences during his first year as a
Yellowstone wolf pup.
Alphie, a Yellowstone wolf pup is a verbal map of the northern range
of Yellowstone National Park. Beautifully rendered sketches fill in the
details. The story introduces young readers to this special wilderness
and wild places in general. Wandering the Lamar Valley, with book in
hand, a reader should be able to locate Druid Peak, the Ledge Trail, the
rendezvous site, Jasper Bench, Chalcedony Creek, as well as other
landmakers in Alphie’s Territory.
Reeling from his wife's unsolved murder, Malcolm Cutter is just going through the motions as a chauffeur and bodyguard for Hollywood's rich and famous. Then a pair of Guatemalan tough guys offer him a job. It's an open question whether they're patriotic revolutionaries or vicious terrorists. Either way, Cutter doesn't much care until he gets a bomb through his window, a gangland beating on the streets of L.A., and three bullets in the chest. Now there's another murder on Cutter's Mind. His own.
Praise for Athol Dickson's novels:
"Atmospheric, well-paced and powerfully imagined . . . a highly entertaining nail-biter." (Publishers Weekly)
". . . elegant prose . . . very well written." (The New York Review of Books )
Excerpt from January Justice
ONE OF THE STRANGEST THINGS ABOUT THE CITY was the sudden way it disappeared around the edges. One minute you were down on Sunset Boulevard surrounded by glass and concrete, and the next thing you knew you were up on Mulholland Drive, alone in the rough country. From a high window or a rooftop almost anywhere in Los Angeles you could see the mountains, and there was always something ravenous up there looking down.
I was up among the hungry creatures, standing at the edge of a cliff, with Hollywood and Santa Monica far below me in the distance. One step forward and I would be in midair. I was looking down and wondering if Haley had considered how suddenly you could go from city to wilderness. Then I wondered if it was a distinction without a difference, if the city might be the wilderness and the wilderness the city, and maybe Los Angeles’s edges seemed to disappear so suddenly because there really was no separation between sidewalks and mountain paths, buildings and boulders. Up in the mountains or down in the city, either way the carnivores were in control.
I imagined Haley, out of her mind, running full speed off the cliff. I wondered what it had been like, that final second or two before she hit. Had she realized what was happening? Did she recognize the city lights below for what they were, or did she really think she was flying toward the stars? And did she think of me?
Stepping closer to the edge, I slid the toes of my shoes into the air. I looked down two hundred feet, toward the spot where she had broken on the rocks. I stood one inch from eternity and tried to imagine life without her. I could not summon up a single reason why I shouldn’t take that final step, except for one. I thought about the kind of animal who would drive someone to do what my wife had done. Predators like that were everywhere. I should know. I had trained for half my life to be one of them. I was hungry, looking down on the city. If I was going to live, the hunger would have to be enough, for now. But I would sink my teeth into him, sooner or later. I would do that for Haley, and for myself, and then maybe it would be my turn to see if I could fly.
I stepped back from the edge.
About the author:
A master of profound suspense.
Athol Dickson's mystery, suspense, and literary novels have won three Christy Awards and an Audie Award. Suspense fans who enjoyed Athol's They Shall See God will love his latest novel, January Justice, the first installment in a new mystery series called The Malcolm Cutter Memoirs. The second and third novels in the series, Free Fall in February, and A March Murder, are coming in 2013.
Critics have favorably compared Athol's work to such diverse authors as Octavia Butler (Publisher's Weekly), Hermann Hesse (The New York Journal of Books), and Flannery O'Connor (The New York Times). Athol lives with his wife in southern California.
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