OUR CHANGING WORLD

     As I drive through town to Whirlpool Corporation, where I work part time, I see incredible changes. As did many cities in the mid-sixties through the mid-eighties and even beyond, current events of the time brought the collapse of numerous factories and businesses, leaving the city in a bad state. So many small businesses were lost, along with a way of life that will never be the same. The same thing happened to Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, NYC, St. Louis, Atlanta … on and on. The most dramatic changes occurred in the East and Midwest, because it is these areas in which a huge percentage of manufacturing took place - manufacturing that has disappeared forever.

       This blog is not meant to be political, or to be critical of the hundred-and-one reasons why all this happened. I am simply reminiscing. We became part of the “rust belt,” with abandoned factories and store buildings everywhere. I only write this because it saddens me to remember what a wonderful city this was when I was a teenager and a young adult. For years, driving through here brought the ugly sight of blight and abandonment. Factories stood empty, building roofs collapsed, graffiti was splattered everywhere, and the city, like so many others, developed an undeserved bad reputation.

     After all these years, factories have been torn down and replaced by green grass, while some of those sites saw the development of a top-notch golf course, cleaned-up beaches, housing developments and new businesses. Some of the locations are now just empty lots waiting to be filled through progress and federal loans and such. But to me, things will never be the same. I try to explain to my sons and grandsons what it used to be like here and how excited I used to be when we would take a bus from the small town where I lived (and still live) to this bigger city, just to shop all day or go to a movie or to the beach. This town had two movie theaters (now both gone) and a wonderful beach amusement park (also gone now). The once-big stores of Sears and Penny’s and others are also gone, as are most of the restaurants.

 

      I “see” all those places when I drive down the main street.

 

     “There is where the bigger theater used to be, where hubby and I went on our first date.” (62 years ago). “There is where we used to shop at Sears.” (Or Penny’s.) “There is where we went for ice cream sodas.” “There is where I used to work when I was in my 20’s.” “There is where we went to the amusement park on the beach.” “There is where Whirlpool had all its manufacturing, before they moved all of that to other cities, states, and even other countries.” Thank God, Whirlpool kept their world headquarters right here, where it all began with the invention of a wooden washing machine in the inventor’s garage. Whirlpool remains the backbone of this city and actually a huge part of the whole county.

     Everything changes with each generation. I remember when radio stations and tv stations would not broadcast rock ‘n roll because they considered it sinful. I remember when women could not wear pants, especially not blue jeans. I remember drinking out of the hose, and I remember hauling my sons as babies just one year apart by laying them down in the back seat of the car. I remember my parents heating the house with coal and when the family had only one car and my mom didn’t even drive. I remember telephone party lines and when gossip was spread only that way or person to person, rather than being broadcast to the whole world through the internet. I remember when people dressed up for ballgames or just to go shopping, and when people treated each other with respect and accepted different ideas and religions without prejudice and cruel judgment.

 

     I worry about all the changes, too many of them not for the better. But then I remind myself that with each new generation, the old one has trouble accepting the new ways and new ideas. I remember when people panicked over all the riots and political movements created because of Viet Nam. I remember when everyone panicked over Y2K and thought the world would come to an end when the clock would change on December 31st, 1999. I’m sure it was a frightening time when people had to ration gas and nylon and certain foods and a hundred other products during WWII because such things were needed by our soldiers overseas. And, of course, 9/11 certainly did not bring calm to our souls.

     But life went on. The world didn’t explode. The sky did not fall. The horrible, rebellious teenagers of my generation grew up to become mothers and fathers and politicians and lawyers and doctors and engineers and carpenters and brick layers and factory workers and writers and teachers … on and on … living their lives in pretty much the same way most people always have, other than enjoying all the new inventions that come every ten years or so. Today those things seem to come much faster, but we absorb them into our lives as naturally as breathing.

 

      Sometimes change can be hard to accept, but to keep living a normal life and to be at peace inside ourselves, we have to realize that this is how life is today. Yesterday is gone, other than in our memories. Hopefully, society will continue to preserve the old ways through those old movies and through old news, through antique stores and through books, both societal and educational. We have to pray that the history in those books will be truthful, and that man will remember how important it is to LEARN from history - learn to avoid the things that bring mankind to war and confusion and chaos. Acceptance is the best way to keep the peace. Keeping the arts and religion of all faiths alive is another way. 

    Pray daily that God will guide you through all the changes in life, both in your personal lives and the worldly changes. Pray daily that God will watch over and bless your children and grandchildren and all those born of your blood who will live long after you are gone. And remember that usually change is good. It creates new avenues for a person’s skills and dreams. It saves lives through advances in medicine. It brings innovation, forces our miraculous brains to seek new ideas and inventions. 

 

    It keeps us active and alive -- and fills us with hope for the future!

 

(Photos courtesy of Pat Crean, Flying Spots Photography)

 

ALL PART OF HISTORY

       Most of us think of history as the Revolutionary War, the Alamo, The Civil War, the world wars, fallen dictators, Pearl Harbor, Viet Nam, Nine-Eleven, on and on – mostly conflict but also great accomplishments like wonderful inventions, from electricity to today’s AI and plans to settle on the moon and beyond. But when hubby and I watched the movie FORREST GUMP a few days ago, it struck me that history is not just the big events. Rather, it’s the daily events, little moments we don’t even realize will go down in history, and more than that, WE ARE ALL A PART OF IT.

       Some day we will all be gone from this earth, but we will always remain a part of history. In watching FORREST GUMP, I realized “that’s me.” “That’s us” (hubby and I). We lived through all the moments/events in that movie, from the phenomenon of once-in-a-lifetime stars like Elvis Presley to the first man on the moon, the hippie generation, the riots over the Viet Nam war mixed with hubby being in the army during that time and being a part (as a military policeman) of the race riots that were also taking place during that time. 

       We used dial telephones, tv’s with small screens and knobs you had to get out of your chair to turn, and antennas you had to climb up on the roof to turn by hand. Our conversations on the phone were not private because we were on “party lines,” sharing our phone line with others. We drove cars with no seatbelts and few other safety features. Those cars had cigarette lighters because everybody smoked and even doctors were part of cigarette ads. 

       We lived through the Korean War, Viet Nam, wars in the Middle East, and all the frivolous, unnecessary wars that still go on today in man’s foolish efforts to rule the world. I vividly remember when President Kennedy was shot, when his brother Robert was shot, when Martin Luther King was shot, when President Reagan was shot, when John Lennon was shot, when Princess Diana was killed, when computers were just an idea and big-screen TV’s were unheard of. I remember one day when I was sitting in a doctor’s office and I picked up a magazine to read an article about a young college student who was destined to be a big part of the future of technology. His name was Bill Gates.

       Through all that has taken place over time, we have our own personal history, events special just to us, graduation, college, marriage, our first baby, family triumphs and tragedies, births and deaths, and moving through all the nuances life throws at us from being children to the teenage years, early love, first jobs, raising children, then ageing into grandchildren, and (for me now) great-grandchildren. We look back on our lives and realize that through all those famous and infamous moments in recorded history, we, too, were living our own historical moments and were a part of it, just as our parents and grandparents were part of the world wars and (for some of us), part of the immigrants now woven into the fabric of the United States of America.

       I cry every time I watch FORREST GUMP, and I tell my children and grandchildren that if they want to know what life was like and how history unfolded during our lifetime, just watch that movie. It’s wonderful how real history is so cleverly woven into that movie, to the point that, for those of us who lived it, we feel like we are a part of that movie. We remember Elvis, the hippie years and the upheaval of youth who protested the war and a hundred other causes. To this day protests against any number of things continue, nearly all committed by the youth, who think they know everything but understand nothing.

       The key to knowing if your “cause” is valid and necessary is to study, learn, know, understand history. I have preached this for years, and as I have said over and over, we must insist that our schools teach history – REAL HISTORY – the good and the bad of it. IT HAPPENED. Why hide or try to change any of it? We are supposed to LEARN from history. We are a PART of history. And history helps us know the right and wrong of what is going on today. It helps breed patriotism, but it can also teach us what is still right or wrong with today’s government and with our outlook on life and death, disease and governance. In their own minds, every person has a legitimate reason for his or her beliefs, their religion, their outlook on life and how to live it, and how their country should be ruled, laws and lawlessness.

       Through it all, we are all a tiny part of history every day that we live, our lives woven into the larger scope of what will be recorded in future history books. We simply have to live our lives the best we can, appreciate each day we are here on earth and realize we are a part of real history every time we take a breath. And don’t let the powers that be try to change that history from the TRUTH to what THEY want it to be. Always educate yourselves and LEARN from history. Teach your children and grandchildren to appreciate history. There are a lot of exciting stories and interesting facts woven into real history. It’s food for story plots and feeds the imagination, imaginations that can lead to writing, acting, sports, heroism, dreams, and wonderful inventions.

Just my opinion, folks.

Rosanne

SOILED DOVES

       As most of my readers know, I have used prostitutes in many of my stories, some of them prominent characters who had a direct affect on the plot/heroine/hero. Who can forget Anna Gale in Savage Destiny #3, RIVER OF LOVE? And how about Gretta MacBain in Outlaw Hearts #3 – LOVE’S SWEET REVENGE; and Dallas Blackburn in Outlaw Hearts #6, SHADOW TRAIL?

       Gretta was a prime example of the fun-loving, good-hearted type – a true “Madam,” as compared to the common street prostitute.

       Anna Gale was kind of in the middle of good-hearted and scheming. She truly loved Zeke Monroe, and she managed to blackmail him into sleeping with her. You will have to read RIVER OF LOVE to see the reason. Zeke was never truly unfaithful to his Abbie-girl.

       And then there is Dallas from SHADOW TRAIL. She is a good example of the really wicked type, and she nearly got Jake killed, then re-entered his life after he was happily married and helping raise a big family. Dallas awakened things from Jake’s past he would rather not revisit. He hated the woman, but the news she brought him later in life forced him to let her back into his family circle in order to rescue a granddaughter he never knew about.

       Soiled Doves, Whores, Painted Ladies, Prostitutes, Madams, Ladies of the Night, call them what you will. For some strange reason I love including prostitutes in one way or another in my stories. They add wickedness, comedy, challenges to the heroines, temptation to the heroes, and are a great catalyst for plot involving the hero and his past.

       In the book SOILED DOVES (Prostitution In The Early West), by Anne Seagraves, you can read about women of the night – all sorts of women with a host of reasons for what they did. Some died of disease or suicide. Others became famous and quite wealthy. We all know that overall, prostitution, especially “back in the day,” was a miserable profession that usually led to an early and miserable death. But it wasn’t always so.

        Yes, some women were forced into the profession to make enough money to eat. Some were sexually abused from a very young age and it was all they knew … or because of the abuse, they felt unworthy of a normal life with husband and children. Some just flat-out enjoyed men. And some saw a way to get rich by following the railroad construction sites, hanging out in mining towns and around Army forts, or just providing fun for philandering husbands in the city.

       Who can explain men’s sexual needs? No need for romance when it comes to pure pleasure … usually drunken pleasure with a woman who was not looking for a relationship. Some men could be happily married fathers who enjoyed secret relationships with “bad” women. Lord knows (sadly) such things still go on today. And, of course, there were plenty of lonely men out west, men starving for a woman’s touch, army men and prospectors and men who went west to claim land and intending to send for their families once they were settled – all wanting a woman to satisfy those uncontrollable desires. We “normal” women can’t understand why men are so needy in that department, but prostitutes had no trouble finding plenty of business in places where men outnumbered women about 50 to 1.

       A lot of this is tongue in cheek. I don’t mean that there is nothing wrong with what some call the oldest profession in history. Of course it’s wrong – and dangerous – and traumatic – and sad. We turn up our noses at such a life, but it did exist (and of course it still does, mostly illegally unless you are in Las Vegas). You can’t write the Old West without involving prostitution, just as you have to involve outlaws and Indians and buffalo and cowboys.

       Of course, I have written the ugly side of prostitution, where a woman is forced into the life. There is nothing fetching about the filthy red-light districts, or about men who sometimes got their kicks by beating a woman first before having his way with her. Some of these women were sold into slavery, and that is a side of the profession I have also written about a few times, always with compassion and making sure (in my fictional stories) they find a way out of their situation and those responsible for their fate meet their own bad ending.

       But I have to admit it is a bit fun writing about the fancy Madams who ran their own brothels and loved men. Women like Gretta MacBain are a hoot. They flaunt their profession and advertise it just by the way they dress and walk. The “good hearted” Madam is such a great character, like Belle Watling in GONE WITH THE WIND. Such women were often like sisters or mothers to the women who worked for them. And they could actually be good friends with men like Rhett Butler and truly understand what that man needed. Such was Gretta MacBain to Jake in my Outlaw books. Jake never touched the woman sexually, but she sure tried his patience. She loves and wants Jake, but at the same time she respects his marriage and his deep devotion to his wife. And in Book #3 she testifies at a trial that could send Jake to prison. Her testimony helped keep Jake out of jail, and his whole family loves her for it. In the Outlaw series, Gretta eventually marries one of Jake’s ranch hands and lives a good life as a devoted wife herself. I just love Gretta, which is why I kept her in future stories after book #3.

       Well, I promised a blog about ladies of the night, mainly because one of my fans said she loves reading about the prostitutes as much as about the heroes. I think it’s the challenge I place between the two that makes the story more interesting. And it’s just plain fun writing some of these women. Let’s face it, most of us women love the thought of being daring and wild sometimes … the thought of being bold and saying whatever we have on our minds with unabashed flair … dressing sexy, being glamorous and high-spirited, flaunting our best assets at will. Of course, we don’t follow through, at least most of us don’t. But when we read about women like Gretta and Belle, we smile, and we understand them.  And sometimes, we even dress up as them for writers' conventions.

       Meantime, no man in any of my books understands such women like Jake Harkner does. He grew up with them. Some were like mothers to him, protecting him from his cruel, drunken, abusive father when Jake was little. I love the fact that Jake understands these women and in some instances actually defends and befriends them, while remaining devoted to his wife, who in turn understands Jake’s reasoning and the early life that led him to befriending such women. You have to read OUTLAW HEARTS to understand all of this, but I absolutely love writing about Jake, who is a very troubled, confused man who can love mightily and hate just as mightily. One thing Jake never puts up with is the abuse of a woman, no matter what her reputation. Jake’s past makes him a tremendous psychological challenge to write, and I love that challenge.

       I’m glad my readers understand when I sometimes make a prostitute a major character in my stories. It’s almost impossible not to when I write about Jake, but I have used such characters in other books with never a complaint from a reader. It’s just a part of life in the Old West, and many of the big Western movies from the 60’s through the 90’s involved prostitutes or featured one or more as main characters.

       Such is life, and that’s what I write – real life. No fluff. No cupcakes. Just damn good westerns that tell it like it really was. Watch for my next book – BE STILL, MY HEART, which involves a “virtuous” woman who is involved with TWO MEN, a handsome, skilled guide and hunter … and a hot, hot Cheyenne warrior. She also loves a little Indian boy who steals her heart and forces the heroine and both men into a heart-breaking decision. 

 

 

 

IN LOVE WITH SUPERMAN

     

     I recently watched MAN OF STEEL with my husband, and, yeah, it’s really a movie for young people, but I really enjoyed it. And something about the ending got to me. In this particular movie (there are so many Superman movies) Lois Lane learns who Superman really is and ends up involved in his fight against those who represent his father’s planet of Krypton and want to destroy Superman. The whole movie is about that battle, and, of course, is full of constant action and impossible victories, but then it’s a kid’s movie about a superhero. At the very end, Superman knows he has to keep his identity hidden from the general public because of the chaos that seems to follow when people realize who he is, so he dons regular clothes and puts on those dark-rimmed glasses, and that nerdy persona we see in most of his movies. We know he will go on to save people and the planet and keep his identity hidden from all but Lois Lane.

     Why did that scene where he puts on those glasses and becomes the Superman most of us identify with touch me like it did? I think because it brought back memories of so many years of Superman movies and when there was a Superman TV series. i.e. It brings back my youth and the good feelings I had when I watched superhero movies and read their stories. Overall, it made me realize how much most people, even adults, like stories and movies about heroes.

    My grandsons are 25, 24 and 22 now, two of them with babies of their own already. But from the time they were eight or nine years old through high school I went to a lot of superhero movies with them, mainly as just one of the things we did together, and being young, those were the kind of movies they wanted to see. I never would have chosen them on my own, but I usually ended up liking each movie more than I thought I would. We watched all the Transformer movies, the several Superman movies, Batman movies, The Hulk, all those Marvel heroes and whatever else is out there.

     Silly as those movies were, and impossible as some of the action and victories were, something rang true and comforting in each movie. Something made me feel good. Something made me yearn for real heroes in life. And I believe they were good for my grandsons because they instilled in them a desire to be heroes themselves, and that meant being true and respectful, standing up for what is right and protecting good people and those they love.

     I am being a bit nostalgic here, but I love watching superhero movies more than an 81 year old woman should, I guess. No matter what her age, most women want that for themselves, a real hero. I have no doubt that’s why women love romance, and why my heroes are, in a more realistic way, like superheroes. They may at times seem a bit too heroic, but I try hard to keep things realistic.

     There are many forms of being heroic, and sometimes, rather than just being good with fist and gun, or being incredibly brave, heroism can be a man who is totally devoted to the woman he loves. He honors and respects her and loves her devotedly. He works hard to provide for her and his family and would lay down his life for any one of them.

     Let’s face it … Heroism is romantic. Heroism is honorable. And heroism is an important element in writing romance. I just never realized how much influence those old Superman movies and the TV show had on me when I was young. Combined with growing up with tv westerns as well, I’m sure the combination is what led to me writing western romance. It’s like the Bonnie Tyler song says: “I Need A Hero.” And I think all women who read romance are looking for the same thing. Kathleen Woodwiss started the trend with THE FLAME AND THE FLOWER. Romance was born. Men scoffed at it. Women devoured it. And a hot, popular, never-die genre was born.

Coming in late 2026!

 

PEACE THROUGH TOUCH, TASTE, SIGHT, SMELL AND HEARING

       It is Saturday, September 13^th as I write this. Those of you who watch the news are aware of the senseless murders that took place all this week. In this world of constant bickering, noise and hurry, fear and distrust, we need a way to find peace in our hearts and souls. I could talk religion here, but faith is something different to each individual. I just hope all of you DO have some kind of faith in a higher power, a Being to whom you can turn in prayer in these times of grief and worry. Lately I find myself wondering if I am safe anymore, even in this very small town where I live. I never dreamed that in this wonderful country where our ancestors fought for law and order that I would be afraid to walk into my favorite little restaurant because someone might walk in and shoot everybody for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

       It is time to find ways in addition to God and prayer to find peace in our hearts and souls. I find that peace through the five God-given senses most of us enjoy. Even those who cannot hear can enjoy life through their remaining senses. It’s the same if you cannot see. Each sense can be magnified and trained to make up for the one a person might have lost. The point is, we all have favorite pictures, food, music, touchable items or a certain scent that makes us sigh and think of things that make us happy and bring us peace.

       Who doesn’t love the feel of a dog’s thick fur, a cat’s vibrating purring, even the cluck of a chicken or the crow of a rooster? Close your eyes and picture a meadow where chickens strut, cows moo softly, the sound carried in a gentle wind. Once in a while a horse whinnies, birds chirp and fly about. Maybe a little yellow bird perches atop a fence pole. Wildflowers bloom in a rainbow of colors. Numerous shades of green abound from grass to tall trees, and in autumn, a few colors of red and orange mix with the green to create so much color you can hardly take it all in. The sky is a deep blue with white, puffy clouds that sometimes shade a brilliant sun. At times the soft breeze brings the small of a distant campfire or someone grilling a steak. Imagine all of this in the country, where there is no sound of traffic. You have left your phone and computer somewhere in the house and you don’t care. Your car sits silent because today you are going to stay home, sit outside, and just let all your senses bring you peace. Maybe you have a cup of coffee with you, along with a muffin or a cookie, either one still warm. You bite into that muffin or cookie and relish the taste of sugar and berries or chocolate chips, then sip your hot coffee, maybe black, maybe with cream.

       Perhaps your preferred sights, sounds and smells are mountains (oh, I love the Rockies!), or a small pond, a lake, the ocean with its rhythmic pattern of in-coming waves. And, of course, we can’t leave out our favorite music. I call it mood music. Music can bring immediate calm to the soul, and we all have our favorites.

Whatever your favorites are as far as using all your senses, I hope you are able to close your eyes and take yourself into that scene, that place, that taste or smell, hear that music, and … more than all of that … bathe in a memory that makes you sigh with happiness. Memories are a part of all the senses that can bring us peace. Fight the bad ones. Concentrate on the good ones.

       Personally, one of my favorite ways to find peace is to listen to Christmas music and picture an old-fashioned Christmas with the smell of a turkey and pies in the oven, children laughing amid their new presents, the Christmas tree glowing with decorations. Grandma is in the kitchen mashing potatoes the old-fashioned way rather than with an electric mixer, or maybe she is making home-made gravy from the turkey drippings. Maybe YOU are that grandma. Everyone sits down to a big table and eats off of real china. No one has a phone with them. The TV is off. And Christmas music from a speaker in the kitchen or a distant room accompanies all the talk and movement. I see snow falling, people who are actually dressed nice and are friendly no matter what the religion or beliefs of their loved ones or even strangers they meet. I see smiles, grace, love … and peace.

       Another release I enjoy (and feel blessed to have the gift) is my writing. I can leave my world and walk into someone else’s. I can leave my house and walk in the mountains or ride a horse through a grassy valley. I have the power to create whatever characters I want to create. For a while I can leave my troubles and today’s news and craziness and go back in history and write stories that help readers understand and appreciate what it took to settle this wonderful country called the United States of America.

       I hope all of you will turn to your senses and memories when in distress. I hope all of you appreciate the freedoms we have here in America. I hope all of you have a faith to sustain you. I hope all of you realize that there are times when we need to put down the cell phone and turn off the TV and take some “my time” in whatever fashion you need to use to find peace in your hearts and souls. And be sure to share that peace with friends, loved ones, and especially with your children. Today our children are hit from all sides with every belief imaginable, with hate speech and neglect, and worst of all, they are listening to chatter and rhetoric on TV, the internet and their cell phones. Please, please find a way to limit your child’s time on today’s methods of breaking into your children’s minds. Please, please teach them that the higher power they should turn to is NOT AI. AI is fake. AI bots is NOT REAL and is NOT THEIR FRIEND! AI has its good uses, but befriending your child is not one of them! Children need love, advice and hugs from REAL PEOPLE.

       I could go on and on about all the things that are thrown at us in today’s world. Instead, I hope you find ways to escape from it all by taking the time to use your own senses. And I can’t end this blog without one of the best escapes of all … READING A GOOD BOOK that takes you into a world of history and romance, a good book that is truthful and about real life and love, a book that always leaves you feeling good at the end.

 

 

THE WESTERN ERA

 

       I spent most of today Sunday watching movies about Louis L’Amour’s Sacket brothers. A lot of you remember those stories, I’m sure. The best part is that most of those movies starred Tom Selleck, Sam Elliot and Ben Johnson, as did a lot of other westerns. What’s a western without those three? Tom and Sam were such natural “old west” characters.

       I miss the days of good western movies. Today, Hollywood is too removed from reality to know how to make a true western anymore, and not teaching history in school the way it should be taught has stolen children’s minds of the excitement and admiration for how this country grew. There are no westerns on TV anymore, no real heroes, no conception of the bravery and fortitude of our early pioneers.

       I wonder how many of you remember the TV mini-series called CENTENNIAL. That series took western settlement from the early days of the fur trappers and mountain men through the land rushes and pioneers, the Indian wars and struggles, the building of the railroads and the sad killing off of millions of buffalo, the gold discoveries and the growth of big cities like San Francisco, the struggles with outlaws and finally the establishment of law and order in a wild, sometimes cruel land that was sometimes savage and brutal itself. Who else but James Michener could write such great history? The series was based on his book, which is set in Colorado, as is my own series, SAVAGE DESTINY. Michener wrote those “big, fat books” I always loved to read, including one about Hawaii.

       CENTENNIAL inspired my desire to write a big story about the settling of the West. I love using the gradual settlement of a certain area as the background for my books. I try hard to use only truth when it comes to events and places, with only the characters being fictitious. In today’s modern world it is really hard to get your mind and spirit into yesteryear. A writer needs to study hard, to be alone and use every facet of the imagination to be able to place himself or herself into those “old days” of no conveniences, no A/C, no refrigeration, no running water and toilets, no electricity in remote places, no fancy furniture or comfy mattresses, no convenience stores for a quick quart of milk and ready-made butter, no showers and fancy soaps, and worst of all, no ready-to-buy medicine for colds and flu and pain. Yes, the “good old days” were more peaceful and probably better for teaching young ones how to work hard and earn their way, but when it comes to medicine, they were not such “good old days” at all.

       I am sort of rambling here, but watching a movie based on a Louis L’Amour book refreshes my memory of how and why I started writing westerns and history itself. My books are not always westerns. I have covered pre-Revolution years through post-Revolution years, the Civil War, the War of 1812, the Mexican war, the building of the Transcontinental Railroad and other historical novels, but my first love and the bulk of my writing involves my favorite subject of all – the Old West, cowboys, Native Americans, pioneers, outlaws and lawmen.

       It's too bad that today’s TV and movie-makers seem to have abandoned that theme, but what goes around usually comes around, so I always hold out hope that such subject matter will rise again in the minds and hearts of movie-makers and the viewers. I think one of the best movies that depicts the gradual demise of the true “cowboy” is MONTE WALSH, starring Tom Selleck. I always cry at the end of that movie. And the best movie about the end of the old “live by the gun” lawmen and shootists is the movie THE SHOOTIST, starring John Wayne. Not only is that movie a great depiction of the end of an era, but it was John Wayne’s last movie before he died. How perfect and fitting is that? My God, what a career that man had.

       Maybe it’s just my age that makes me nostalgic about those old westerns, and maybe the general public will continue to lose its interest as younger people move in to take over, but there is always hope that “The Wild West” will rise again in the minds and hearts of movie makers and movie viewers. We need more Kevin Costners, one of the few modern men who seems to understand how to make a good western, like OPEN RANGE. It’s one of my favorites. And then, of course, there is DANCES WITH WOLVES. Even YELLOWSTONE is, in its own way, a western. So much of the dialogue in that series is so true and heartfelt when they talk about what is happening to Montana. How absolutely fitting it was that the Yellowstone Ranch ended up being gifted back to the Native Americans. That says a lot.

       Well, so much for my nostalgia. It hurts my heart to realize that most young people have little appreciation for how this country was settled and the bravery it took to do it. But that’s not their fault. It’s the fault of our teaching system that leaves out so much of our important history. I hope you will do what you can in your local school system to bring real history back to our classrooms.

INSOMNIA

       It’s one of those nights. I’m sure you have all experienced it. You are so sleepy. You go to bed. Two hours later your eyes pop wide open and every “to-do” item begins marching through your brain, along with old memories, and all the “what if’s,” and the worries over children/grandchildren, or maybe a sibling or parent that is having problems.

       I should sleep because I have so much to do tomorrow. But you can’t sleep because you can’t stop thinking about all the things you need to do tomorrow (or perhaps “today” because the wee morning is already here.

       How can I stop this? How can I shut off my brain?

       Well, usually it can’t be done. TV gets so boring … all those old shows you have watched for 50 years and know all the lines to … all those tedious shopping networks … all those advertising programs, vacuum cleaners, magic spot removers, leg exercisers, massage mats, hoses that crinkle back into a fist-size ball … you know what I mean. Late-night/overnight TV is incredibly tedious and repetitious.

       My biggest problem with sleeping through the night is thinking about all the stories I still want to write, as well all my characters from all my books. They are so alive to me, and I can’t help hoping they will live on long after I am gone. It’s a nice feeling to know I will leave something behind for others to enjoy, and that a part of me will still be with my readers and with future readers I will never meet.

       I guess I’m getting too sentimental here. That, too, seems to move in with force in the middle of the night. Seems like every memory and emotion becomes exaggerated and magnified when you are lying awake and staring at the ceiling.

       I refuse to take sleeping aids. They can be habit forming and I usually feel crummy in the morning. I figure if I can’t sleep, I will get up and do something … write. That is why I am writing this blog. I didn’t plan it at all. When I blog, it is usually spontaneous, and usually at 2:00 am or some such ungodly hour. I never have slept in. Ever. If I sleep past 7 am I feel guilty for being so lazy. Even when I am wide awake at this ridiculous hour, if and when I fall asleep, I still don’t sleep past 7. But 99% of the time I am awake again at 4:00 am and I get up and get things ready for the day, like laying out some clothes, putting away dishes from the dishwasher, making coffee, packing a little food and notebooks for my part-time job at Whirlpool, things like that. Sometimes I pack my laptop because I write everywhere, including at work when things get slow.

       That brings back memories of writing itself. That’s how I used to write when my boys were little and I had a full-time job. I did what I call “sneak writing” at work and I wrote through my lunch hours. I wrote early mornings. I wrote after supper and into the night after the family went to bed. I almost never watched TV because it took away from my writing. I wrote in the corner of the living room in our then-tiny house while the boys wrestled and goofed off 3 feet away and the TV blared 5 feet away. I learned how to block things out. I got lost in my stories and ignored everything else. I will never know how I did it or when I slept, other than knowing I never got more than 4-5 hours of sleep at night.

       My only problem now is that it’s a lot harder for me to sit for hours and hours at the computer, and it’s harder to multi-task like that. It takes me longer to finish a book now, and that’s one of the things I lie awake at night thinking about. I think I should just get up and write, but I’m a bit worn out … kind of like a brick layer or someone on an assembly line or a waitress who has spent years on her feet. The body just gets tired. And for a writer, even the brain gets tired.

       Thank goodness, I still have lots of energy … but not the energy I had “back in the day.” That doesn’t mean I’m not writing, because I am, and I intend to keep doing so for however many years I have left on this earth. I just don’t turn out a book every 4-6 months like I used to. So, please hang in there with me because I still love writing and love my characters and love all of you readers for sticking with me and supporting my writing.

       Meantime, here I am wide awake. I am printing out the first 4 chapters to IF I LOVED YOU, which I have edited over and over. After all the books I have written, somehow I have been doubting myself and feel like I just can’t get this story right. But, as I have done before, I decided I had better just keep going. The stories usually always work out, and by the time I finish, I already know how to handle the beginning. But I will save an explanation for how I come up with my stories for another blog.

       I hope you are enjoying the summer!

 

 

Motherhood

       Something recently happened to a close friend of the family that made me give more thought than usual to motherhood. Our children likely take it for granted that mom will always be there for them. I felt that way myself through most of my life. But in the case of my friend, her daughter-in-law gave birth to a beautiful baby girl just a week ago and all was fine … they thought. 6 days later the mommy died … totally unexpected. It was a huge shock to the family. The ordeal of a difficult birth did more damage than anyone realized, and her organs suddenly shut down, leaving her husband with a son almost 4 years old, another son only 2, and now a brand new baby girl to care for. Mommy was a fabulous mom who did all kinds of activities with her youngsters, was all set up to home school them, and in so many ways went beyond the norm to be a good mother … and now she’s gone. The baby girl will never know what a wonderful person her mommy was.

         Have you ever watched a Killdeer running back and forth and squawking her head off almost constantly if you get anywhere near her eggs? Killdeers lay their eggs in rocks or gravel, and they can be very annoying as they give out an endless piercing cry to protect their eggs or the babies that come out of them. Robins can be annoying, too, if they build a nest on your front porch. The mother will fly in and out, swooping very close to your head if you are sitting on the porch. She is trying to warn you to back off. And, of course, we have always heard never to get too close to the babies of any wild animals. The mother might attack, especially mother bears. All they are doing is protecting their young, just like human mothers do.

        I know Mother’s Day is over, but every day should be Mother’s Day. Mothers do so much to love, care for and protect their children physically, emotionally, and sometimes financially. Often, when a child reaches 12 – 18 years in age, mom continues to push for too many hugs because there is nothing she loves more than hugs from her babies, but then the child becomes more proud and independent and no longer wants those hugs. He or she hides their head when riding with mom to school or a ballgame. They don’t want to be seen with a parent, especially a clinging mom. Heaven forbid mom should lean in for a kiss on the cheek in front of others. That’s when Mom realizes it’s time to let go.

        But we never let go, do we? It’s impossible. That child could now be 50 years old, but to mom he is her “child.” It helps when we have grandchildren and great-grandchildren to dote on, but the soul connection of mother and child is very strong. And eventually, the child who didn’t want hugs in front of their friends comes back around and begins to appreciate mom all over again. The sad part is, we appreciate our mothers more than ever once they are gone. I wish I could have a second chance with my mom, to tell her all the things I should have told her when she was here with me, a chance to give her all the extra hugs I should have given her then.

        With this recent loss of a baby’s mommy, it hit me how lucky I am to have known my own mom all my life. There is a little baby girl out there now who will never have a true “mommy,” and two little boys who will be wondering why mommy will never come home again. I can’t imagine what that would feel like.

        So, treasure mother and thank God that you were blessed with her presence and her love for most of your life.

        Happy Mother’s Day to all of you each and every day … not just one day a year.

 

My Mom, Ardella Williams Reris, at 91.