Vicki Lane's Blog, page 535

More Spring

Spring . . . it's almost more than I can deal with. I spent the day outside, planting, pruning, weeding -- and almost every five minutes there was something that demanded a picture.  A flush of shitakes, the first tree peony blossom (it went from tight closed to open in the course of the day,) Eddie showing off, the azaleas in bloom, and the hostas unfurling. Oh, what a glorious season!

Library Week - Memories

 It's Library Week -- a good time to think about showing your support and appreciation for your local library. Most all of them are in trouble -- budgets being slashed -- just when they're the most needed.
My love affair with libraries began in Tampa at Roosevelt Elementary school in the early Fifties. My third grade classroom had a small library with lots of what we called 'little orange books' -- simple biographies of famous people as children.  I blazed through all of these little orange books but my great joy was the weekly trip to the school library. I could walk in right now, I believe, and put my hand on the Oz books. 
There was one that featured a sea of vegetable soup and big soft pillowy, buttery rolls -- not unlike those served by the school cafeteria. Though I own most of the Oz books, I've never been able to track down that particular scene. Ah, but I remember it fondly...and the rolls.
At about this time I also accompanied my parents to the 'downtown library' once every few weeks.  Oddly enough, I have no memory of getting children's books here -- I was in a serious cowboy phase and Will James and Zane Grey were my choices. 
The library at Wilson Junior High was well stocked with horse books -- all the Walter Farley books -- as well as various series  --the  Cherry Ames , the Nancy Drews, the Dana Girls ... 

But the Hyde Park Branch Library -- just a short walk away from Wilson -- ah, that was the library of my dreams. My first library card (orange, with a little metal inset) was issued there.  And there, in the children's section I found the Narnia books, Enid Blyton's Adventure series, more horse books, Noel Streaton's Shoes series, and title after title of YA science fiction -- Heinlein's The Rolling Stones, Andre Norton's The Stars Are Ours!, a wonderful time travel adventure, (with a title I can't remember) involving Vikings landing on the Yucatan peninsula  ...


When I'd exhausted the childrens section, I was at last allowed (it took parental permission) to check out adult books -- historical fiction, books on ancient history and archaeology, and Richard Halliburton's travel books were my reading choices as I moved into high school.

Every week I checked out a great stack of books and every night I read late -- traveling, learning, experiencing other times, other worlds, other lives.
As Emily Dickinson put it, "There is no frigate like a Book/To take us Lands away . . .'  What were the frigates of your youth?

What Do You Say? - FAQ

Q:  I'm nervous about speaking in public -- do you have have some tips on  speaking to a group? When you have a book out and you do a presentation at a bookstore or library, what do you say? What about just reading from the book?

A:  One encouraging thing to remember about speaking as an author is that your audience is made up of people who have chosen to be there -- unlike the 'audience' a teacher faces every day. Even better,  your audience wants to know more about you and your book -- subjects on which you are the expert. Still, a little preparation is certainly helpful.

A typical presentation lasts around an hour -- maybe twenty or thirty minutes of speaking, ten or fifteen minutes for Q and A, and the remaining time for selling and signing books. 

When a new book come out, I prepare a little talk and pick out a few short bits to read. Most audiences get a little twitchy with twenty minutes of straight reading -- unless the reader/author is David Sedaris or someone equally compelling.  I print it out and read it over to time it.  I take the print out with me to the bookstore but usually end up just glancing at it to remind me of what I want to say next. (Of course, I have the bits I'm going to read bookmarked in my reading copy.)

When my first two books came out, I would spend some time talking about how/why I got started writing so late in life and what my inspiration was. Now I concentrate on the story behind the new book -- though often in the Q and A period, someone will ask how I got started and I'll tell the story one more time. (It always gets a laugh.) 

And speaking of Q and A -- sometimes the audience will just sit there -- no one wanting to be first. You can prime the pump by having a friend in the audience with a few questions ready. Once the ice has been broken, others will join in.



This below is my standard talk for The Day of Small Things.  
DST talk 30 min + Q & A

Thanks, insert name of introducer ,  thanks to name of bookstore or library for being such a good friend to me, and thanks to all of you for coming out.
It's been a long journey to the publication of this fifth book of mine and there've been some detours and dead ends – which is one reason I didn't have a book out last year.
As far too many people remember, I ended my last book, IN A DARK SEASON on a cliff hanger -- a question about Elizabeth and Phillip's relationship. At the time I confidently expected to resolve that question in a book called UNDER THE SKIN – in fact, I'd already begun to write that book when I met with my editor. 
"Why don't you do a spin-off before you do another Elizabeth book?" asked my editor (aka Herself), during our yearly conference at Bouchercon a few years ago. "A stand alone — a non-series book. Maybe about one of your minor characters. No Elizabeth."
Hmm. After four books about Elizabeth Goodweather, I was open to trying something new. Besides, when Herself speaks, I tend to listen.
"I could do that," I said. "What if I picked up where I left off in the historical subplot of  Signs in the Blood? I'd been thinking it might be interesting to tell Clytie's story – you, know, Little Sylvie's sister. I could …"

I could tell Herself wasn't interested. She was gazing off into the middle distance as she said, "Mmm, I was thinking about one of Elizabeth's neighbors . . ."

That's how Herself operates. She doesn't so much tell me what to do, as nudge me till I end up where she wants me.

"A book about Miss Birdie." I said. "You want a book about Miss Birdie?"

"What a good idea!" Herself exclaimed. "I can't wait to read it!"

Miss Birdie is Elizabeth Goodweather's eighty-something year old neighbor. She's based on several of my own neighbors and is a gutsy little woman who reminds many of my readers of a favorite grandmother or aunt. A cute little lady who says 'Ay, law' a lot, she bustles around her kitchen making cornbread and dispensing local color. A wonderful minor character – but could I write a whole novel about her?

What did I know of Miss Birdie's past? Not much – her husband Luther was dead as was her only child, a simple minded man named Cletus  -- the only child that lived after several that died young.
About this time, while I was trying to decide if there was an interesting past to Miss Birdie, my friend Kathy (the original of Sallie Kate, Elizabeth's realtor friend) told me a heart-breaking story about a local woman who had always been kept at home by her mother, not even allowed to attend school. Why? The mother had wanted to be sure that this youngest daughter would never get married and move away – this daughter was raised to be her mother's caretaker in old age.

Building on this true story, I began to imagine what Birdie's life had been before she was that quaint old woman down the road from Elizabeth's farm – before, in fact, she was Miss Birdie.

I began with Birdie's birth and childhood. In this selection, Least, as she is known, is eavesdropping when a neighbor comes for a rare visit . 
Read: pp16 -17 ( 4 minutes)
 Oh, my! As I wrote, more and more of Birdie's past made itself known – from her early life close to nature in a lonely mountain cove to the raucous setting of a local tavern/dance hall/brothel. There was Cherokee magic, there was romance, there was unsolved murder.

After a crisis at home  Least, as her mother called her, runs away and reinvents herself as Redbird Ray. She finds work as kitchen help and later as a dime-a-dance girl at a local dance hall/tavern/brothel. In this scene she is being pressured go upstairs with the sheriff – who generally has free run of the girls at the tavern. Redbird has only been a dancer previously, taking part in dance downs where the last man standing wins a bottle of whisky --- unless he is bested by one of the dancing girls. 
Read pp 162 – 165 ( 6 min)
And finally, in the present day section of the book, I was back to the Birdie of the first four books. But a funny thing happened. I've become increasingly aware of the  invisibility  of old women and of how easily they are dismissed and I decided I wanted the eighty-something year old Birdie to be a force that couldn't be ignored.… 
And as I wrote, Birdie emerged in all her strength – not the cute little neighbor who seemed to sit around waiting for Elizabeth to drop by and bring her to life, but a woman of power – capable of risking all in defense of a child. She began to remind me of Merlin at the end of his life as portrayed by C.S. Lewis in That Hideous Strength.
Read pp 384 -386 (3 minutes)
I really loved finding out more about this woman I thought I'd invented. And I've decided that there are no minor characters – in fiction or in life.

They're all just waiting to have their stories told.
We have time for questions...

 

Nine Thousand Words... and a Few More

 Spring has me in its clutches -- I'll get back to visiting and commenting and. oh, yes, a FAQ post tomorrow.  Until then, a picture is worth a thousand words.

 Bleeding Heart  Wisteria  Marigold and Justin    Trillium (Wake Robin?)  Dogwood  John is building a more permanent house for the broiler chickens.  Yellow trillium  Pink Dogwood

Spring's Passing Parade

 Saturday evening...We linger with our wineBy open, screenless windows,  Lightning flashes in the distance. A freshening breeze -- The crabapple tree sways,Explodes in a shower of pink. Damp petals swirl through the windows,Flutter down to pattern the table before us.Spring's discarded finery.  On Sunday morning, the goldfish Swim beneath the flung confettiOf Spring's passing parade.

One Day in April - Silent Sunday

Rediscovering/Uncovering the Garden

 Yesterday was spent delivering part of the garden from weeds -- John tilled and I hacked and pulled.
 But how could I hoick out these little Confederate violets, nestled so sweetly amidst the garlic chives?
 Maggie appreciates a newly tilled bed.  And I kept finding things to make lay down my implements of destruction and pick up my camera -- an early butterfly, enjoying the thrift (creeping phlox)...
 The chickens, having a WONDERFUL time. Alas, they will have to be confined to the chicken yard again once the garden's planted.  At one point, just above the chicken house a pair of turkey gobblers were strutting and displaying for one very bored turkey hen. Unfortunately, I was sitting and weeding and my camera was well out of reach --  I was afraid that if I stood up to fetch it, the turkeys would hurry away. So I just admired them and their blue faces.

 At last the box beds were weeded!  And I found that the clary sage I planted last year was thriving.  I have no idea what do do with it -- I'm just a sucker for any herbs. 
It seems like I recall it has something to do with clear sight... maybe visions. But the little plastic label in the ground mentions salads and stews. It's a rather fuzzy leaf that I don't think I'd like in salad. Any suggestions out there?    One last look -- all those cleared beds -- and a HUGE pile of weeds by the road! Feeling tired and sore but oh! how virtuous...

Hunting and Gathering and the Game Called Spring

Actually, just gathering. 
I spent much of yesterday in Asheville -- buying seed potatoes here, printer ink there, olive oil and other supplies at a big discount store ...

Then to the Oriental Market for Vietnamese sweet chili sauce, mushroom soy sauce, and Sriracha hot sauce -- three staples our kitchen can't be without.  A final stop for vacuum cleaner bags and where had the day gone?  It's a question I find myself asking every afternoon as I realize it's time to feed the dogs and think about fixing supper... and the days are only going to get busier.
John has been plowing and tilling; I have seeds and onion sets and some vegetable starts ready to go in the garden; there are those potatoes to plant; and 25 baby chicks arrive today.
Oh, yes, the game called Spring is definitely afoot! 

Dent de Lion

Is it a weed or a wildflower? Dandelions are showing their cheerful sunny faces all over our farm just now.
Its jagged edged leaves, which account for the name "Tooth of the Lion," pop up in gardens and lawns everywhere. Perfectionists deplore the dandelion but herbalists  value its diuretic powers. (An old name for dandelion was 'Piss-a-beds.') 
In earlier times, the young leaves were a welcome Spring addition to the diet as a salad (or 'sallet' in the old time speech)or briefly sautéed with bacon and seasoned with a little vinegar.
And, of course, there's dandelion wine. It sounded so magical-- all summer in a bottle--in the Ray Bradbury tale of the same name but was truly foul in my one (failed) attempt at making it years ago.
Have any of you ever tasted -- or made dandelion wine? 

Elsewhere in My Neck of the Woods...

Yesterday I went to speak at a library in the next county. I traveled a road I'd passed by many times but never followed and discovered a lovely area, not thirty minutes away from where I've lived all these years. Rolling land, ringed with mountains, and some green, green pastures.  
As I drove along, the remains of an old water wheel caught my eye...  And I stopped for a closer look...
It was a nice group of folks at the library -- some old friends and acquaintances and several of those 'small world' moments. It's always nice to spend time with folks who like books -- and especially fun when I can discover a new-to-me corner of my world. An attempt to capture the eyelash moon that was waiting for me as I emerged from the library. . . it's there in the center -- really!