Lifescapes

sandhills

We heard sandhills flying overhead yesterday, an undulating vee of birds flying north to their breeding grounds, heard their wonderful wild, warbling call, the song they sing to keep them all together as they fly. (I borrowed this photo from the National Geographic's crane cam site, where you can find more photos of this magnificent bird.) There is something about that call, that song, that seizes me, pulls me out of myself, sends me soaring. I stood utterly still, watching, listening, until they were gone from sight.

Tonight, we watched, holding our breaths, as one single crane, perhaps separated from the rest of his flight crew, flew low over our meadow, wide wings outspread in a great, powerful arc. We think he must intend to spend the night in our neighbor's pond, which the drought has reduced to such an insignificant puddle that it's not safe for him. There are too many predators--coyotes, mountain lions, roving dogs--out and about.

But now, with the avian flu virus, the birds aren't safe anywhere. There's no threat to the cranes this summer, perhaps. But next, and next . . . who knows? It is a reminder for me of the fragility of life, the thinness of the line between here and not here, like the brief ripple in the grass passed over by wind. It is all a wonder, a great wonder.

Reading Note, from A Sand County Almanac, by Aldo Leopold:

Someday, perhaps in the very process of our benefactions, perhaps in the fullness of geologic time, the last crane will trumpet his farewell and spiral skyward from the great marsh. High out of clouds will fall the sound of hunting horns, the baying of the phantom pack, the tinkle of little bells, and then a silence never to be broken, unless perchance in some far pasture of the Milky Way.

Book report

I see that Dead Man's Bones has just been released by Recorded Books, bringing to six the number of books now available in this series. Somebody wrote to ask if BLEEDING HEARTS would be available in audio; the short answer is "How the heck should I know?" The longer answer: "I just have to keep checking the Recorded Books website until I see that they've released the title--but they may do one of the other books (maybe LAVENDER LIES?--before they do HEARTS. The author is the last to know."

Sounds weird, doesn't it? The author is the last to know. Honest-to-pete, I am not complaining, because I feel very fortunate whenever any of these "extras" shows up on my horizon. Feels like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, even when there isn't any money in it.

But "the author is the last to know" is true for just about everything in the writing biz, from the pub date to the ISBN number to the flap copy to the price on the book to sales figures. I never know what the cover is going to look like until my editor's assistant (who is really VERY good about keeping me posted) sends me a jpg of what's called a "cover flat," which is the front cover without the flaps, back copy, etc. I find out about the Mystery Guild selection when I get the Guild catalog. Foreign translation rights: my editor usually lets me know, but sometimes it falls through the cracks and I find out when I get a print copy of the foreign publication (always an amazing surprise, whether I know it's coming or not). Translation, audio--these are called "subsidiary rights," (sub rights) and are usually part of the contract the author signs. Smart authors keep the dramatic rights, though. So if any of you know of a producer out there who is dying to turn one of my books into an Oscar-winning film, let me know--and watch my smoke.

On the home front, I've been getting my act together for the April-May book tour: hotel reservations, maps (decided against GPS, which seemed like a good idea until I calculated how much extra work it would take to get it set up), material for various talks, bookmarks and other goodies. I've also posted a couple of new entries on my Amazon blog. I'm using it to expand on some of the "narrative strategy" topics I've introduced here. And yes, I'm writing: up to 53,000 words on the next Beatrix Potter, which I won't quite finish before I go. Busy days, and even a few nights. But when I think I'm busy now, I just remember back to the days when I was a grad student, teaching, writing my thesis (which turned into a book), and being a single mom to three kids. Whew. Now, THAT was real work.

Reading Note:

Dear authors! suit your topics to your strength,
And ponder well your subject, and its length;
Nor lift your load, before you're quite aware
What weight your shoulders will, or will not bear.
                                       --Lord Byron

cozies, violence, and bleeding hearts

With BLEEDING HEARTS due out in another month and the tour on the near horizon, I've been interviewed several times recently: newspapers, a magazine, a couple of radio shows. Somehow, the subject always gets around to cozies: what they are, why people read them, and why the China Bayles mysteries aren't quite as cozy as they may seem at first blush. I thought I'd write about this, since I'm thinking about it. (This is a double post: you can also find it on my Amazon blog--scroll down to the bottom of the Profile page.)

The "cozy" mystery, as you probably know, features an amateur sleuth whose "official" job has nothing to do with crime-solving, is set in an environment removed from urban dark alleys, and is mostly free of graphic violence, sex, and profanity.

The China Bayles mysteries generally fit the description of cozies. China is an herbalist, with a full-time interest in the green life. The books are set in a small town, generally (but not always) in Texas. The bloodshed, profanity, and sex is kept to a minimum. The relationships within the ensemble of main characters are generally positive, the books are lightened with humor and (inevitably) recipes.

But in each of the books, I've tried to remind us that "cozy" is a dangerous myth. Even the most pastoral environment has its dark side, and the hidden personal violence that takes place in our homes and communities can be even more vicious and destructive than any random violent mean-street mugging. Indigo Dying, for instance, is about the violence that humans do to the earth, and how eco-violence can lead to human violence and to the death of our communities. 

When I set out to write Bleeding Hearts, I chose another tough topic: the sexual violence that takes place in our schools. I took my cue from a series of articles in the Houston Chronicle, detailing the very real problems we've had here in Texas. But Texas is no different than your state, and Pecan Springs is no different than your home town--what happens here goes on everywhere. I hope that  Bleeding Hearts will raise your awareness of this issue, and call your attention to a kind of violence that you may not have noticed, unless it has happened to you or someone you love. And that, I'm afraid, is becoming all too likely.

If you'd like to read the first chapter of the book, you can go to our website, click on "China Bayles" and follow the links to the Bleeding Hearts page. It's a pdf download.

Reading Note, from Bleeding Hearts (the headnote to Chapter 3):

Dicentra cucullaria, Bleeding heart’s white-flowering cousin, was used by Menominee Indians as a powerful love charm and aphrodisiac. The blossom was thrown by a young man at the girl he fancied; if it hit her, she was bound to fall in love with him. The young man chewed the plant’s root and then breathed on the object of his affection. It was believed that the fragrance of his breath would charm her, even against her will.