Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Meet Heather Lockman

 
Please welcome author Heather Lockman today. She writes about the Pacific Northwest and she has a brand new novel out from Musa Publishing - which won an Editors Top Pick award. And I love this cover - don't you?



  Heather, tell us a little about The Indian Shirt Story.
 
It's a book that's hard to pigeonhole--part love story, part modern politics, part historical saga. I call it literary, my agent calls it women's fiction, and my publisher is marketing it as literary/contemporary. On the other hand, it's stayed consistently in the Top 100 "Native American" titles on Amazon since its release two weeks  ago. Portland Book Review calls it "charming, lovely, funny and sad," which is pretty much where I was aiming.
How did you come up with the idea for this novel?
I once helped launch a historic house museum in the town where I live--a pioneer home built by settlers who crossed the Oregon Trail. There was a certain family story associated with the house that was especially problematic for us because of the appalling way it portrayed American Indian people. Yet it was an important story to the older generation of the family and likely had its roots in something that really took place. All of that got me thinking about what might have actually happened back in the 1850s, and what the Native version of that same encounter might have been. So that's how it started. The salmon, the beer, and the country music came later.
 
How long did it take you to write it?
Pretty much forever. The biggest surprise for me in writing fiction is that takes just as long as writing nonfiction. I somehow thought it would go faster if I could make things up. It doesn't. You still have to choose every word.
 
What was the most difficult part for you?
The hardest part was cutting for length. I had to throw out about 30,000 words in order to hit the hypothetical industry maximum of 120,000. And some of that stuff was really good.
 
 
How long have you been writing, Heather? Can you tell us how you got your start?
I was 19 when I sold my first article--a personal essay to The Seattle Times. Two years later I sold my first national story to The Christian Science Monitor. I've been very, very lucky to write professionally ever since. It's been mostly a nonfiction career, though. I never intended to write fiction.
So what happened?
I was writing a lot of magazine travel stories, which obviously were assignments that required me to leave town. But travel got increasingly tricky as my husband's aging parents started requiring more and more assistance at home. When I had to postpone one trip three times because of parental emergencies, I realized I'd hit a point where I could no longer commit to magazine deadlines with any confidence that I could meet them. It was my husband, bless him, who said, "Maybe this is when you write a novel."  That project got derailed periodically by eldercare, too. Let's just say that when it came to writing the retirement home scenes in The Indian Shirt Story, I had plenty of good material.
Both of your non-fiction books are about cities in Washington state. The Indian Shirt Story takes place in a fictional town in Washington, right?
That's right. Although the fictional town of Port Heron might seem a lot like some of the hipper small towns near Seattle.
 
Explain the importance of a sense of place to you, and how it comes out in your writing.
I'm a fourth-generation Northwesterner. All four sets of my great-grandparents uprooted their families from the Midwest and brought them to Puget Sound country in the early 1900s. All that iconic Northwest stuff--the scenery, the history, the salmon--is stamped right into my DNA. I'm not sure I could write convincingly about any other place. At the same time, I wanted to write a Northwest novel that wasn't all brooding and dripping with moss. The contemporary plot of The Indian Shirt Story takes place in a single Puget Sound summer--and summer is our big secret out here. Contrary to popular belief, barely any rain falls in Seattle between July and mid-October. People who move here thinking they won't have to water their gardens in summer are in for a huge surprise. 
Tell us about your decision to publish The Indian Shirt Story as an eBook with Musa Publishing. How has the experience been for you?
I waffled for more than a week before accepting the contract from Musa. Literary readers have been notoriously slow to embrace electronic publishing, and I knew I would to have to sell my readers on a whole new kind of technology before I could sell them an ebook. But traditional publishing has changed a lot, too. It's harder than ever these days for an unknown writer to catch the attention of a major publishing house, especially with mainstream fiction. I wrote about this subject on my own blog recently, which is very handy for answering this question. Here's the link if folks are interested: http://heatherlockman.com/blog/ebooks-and-real-books/
What’s next in your writing career, Heather? Any new projects you can share with us?
 
These days my nonfiction career leans more toward writing text for museum exhibits and outdoor interpretive panels, which is very different from writing for magazines. I swore while working on The Indian Shirt Story that I'd never tackle another novel, but it's possible I was wrong about that. We'll have to see what happens.

To learn more about Heather, visit her website: http://www.heatherlockman.com/
See more about The Indian Shirt Story at Amazon or Musa Publishing.
Thanks so much for stopping by the blog, Heather, and best of luck with The Indian Shirt Story!

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Can Kindness Be Learned from Books?

I grew up with books. My mother read to me and I had exposure to lots of books around the house, and stacks of them from the library. I learned to read very early, somewhere between ages 3 and 4, I think. As a grown-up, I still adore picture books. I love reading them to children and I also read them myself.

So I was pleasantly surprised to spot one that felt so familiar on the shelves of our public library. I'm sure it was read to me as a child. I checked it out lovingly, and could hardly wait to dive into the pages again.


Make Way for Ducklings, by Robert McCloskey, was first published in 1941 and won the Caldecott Medal as the most distinguished American picture book for children in 1942. It tells the story of a family of ducks who are trying to make it to the Public Garden, only to encounter traffic problems along the way.



Set in Boston, this book, which has sold over two million copies, still spoke to me as I re-read it again today. Of course I remembered the kindly policeman, who sends in a traffic alert for patrol cars to stop traffic so that Mother Duck can safely get her babies across the street.

Did this early story seep into my consciousness and make me a kinder, gentler person today?
I like to imagine that one of my best traits in life is kindness to animals. Was I inspired as a young child by the art and the words of Robert McCloskey?

Could this be why I stopped my car on the road just last week, so a family of fourteen wild turkeys could cross the road safely?

What do you think? Can kindness by learned from books? Does it seep in unconsciously from the literature young people are exposed to?

Do you have a favorite children's book that might have influenced your life?
This is a totally un-scientific study, but let us know!

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Duck Drama

If you missed the first installment of my adventures with ducks, right here, we left off with my three boys ducks, Hershey, Snickers, and Roscoe, serenely swimming in their canal, and my plan to get them some girl ducks. So I found an ad for some Swedish Ducks, and since this was a breed that I wanted to try, off I went with my pet carrier, and promptly brought home Maggie, Mary Ellen, and Blue (back row.)



They were only 3 months old, and although they were feathered-out and appeared full-grown, they were really barely teenagers. But the boys seemed to like them (especially Roscoe, who took to them immediately) and everything went swimmingly at first.


Here is Roscoe with his "women." Maggie and Mary Ellen are Black Swedish, and Blue is a Blue Swedish.


The young ducks played like teenagers at a pool party. Splashing and chasing and diving and generally being goofy. I loved watching them. I adored the way they used their little feet, piddle-paddle, piddle-paddle as if they were bicycling, stirring up the mud and algae beneath them to get food.

Everything was peaceful on the canal for the first day or so, where the two big boys, Hershey and Snickers, hung out by themselves, while little Roscoe quietly shepherded the girls around their new surroundings.


But then . . . the big boys decided to act badly, chasing the young girls unmercifully, and it really wasn't pretty. It was a full out bar brawl, and the girl ducks were totally too young for all that. Finally, I had to separate them. *sigh* And then I had to make a choice. Did I really need all these ducks? Or should I find some of them a new home?

So . . . after much deciding . . . the two bad boys went to a new home, where they will each have their own wife. And guess who got to stay here on the farm, and escort three beautiful girl ducks around all day?


Little Roscoe, who had the last laugh after all.


Finally, all is peaceful on the canal once again.
Gentlemen, be nice to your womenfolk.

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Adventures with Ducks

My latest passion is not a handsome stranger. It's not writing, or horses, or donkeys, or chocolate-chip cookie-dough ice cream (well maybe.) No, lately, I have been totally obsessed with Ducks!

Our new place has a small meandering irrigation canal running through it. And as the days warmed, I thought wouldn't it be cool to have some ducks floating there?

So, because I'm the kind of person who likes to learn about things first, (and get all of my ducks in a row *grin*) I promptly ordered every book that I could find from our local library on raising ducks/ geese/ or waterfowl.



I studied. And I googled. Do you know how many breeds of domestic ducks there are? Besides the normal white ducks (Pekin) and Mallards, there are Rouens, Cayuga, Muscovy, and Swedish Ducks. There are Crested, and Buff Ducks. Bantam ducks and Magpie Ducks. There are Khaki Campbells, Cayugas, and Indian Runner Ducks. And more!

Did I want just plain white ones, like the Aflac Duck? Or did I want something more exotic? The local feed stores were filled with adorable cheepy ducks, and there were online hatcheries where I could order whatever I wanted, to be delivered by the local postman. How to even choose?

After much consideration, I decided to find some already grown-up adult ducks to start. Although we have a very good dog, I didn't really trust my outdoor kitties to be nice to little cheepy things. And I was hoping to get some pretty ducks - something a little on the special side.

First, though, I had to convince wonderful hubby to build a secure duck pen. Because I knew that if we just got some ducks and turned them loose, they would soon be eaten by a predator, in the form of coyote, fox, raccoon, weasel, or who knows what else? And I didn't want tragedy and tears.

Soon, we had a duck pen and a duck yard. And I found three boy ducks (for free!) on Craiglist.



I named them Hershey, Snickers, and Roscoe. The two brown ones are Khaki Campbells, and Roscoe is a little mallard.

We kept them in the pen with kiddie swimming pools for a couple of weeks, until they got used to their new home and knew where they lived. And because I couldn't leave well enough alone, I found some more free ducks, and brought home Pork Chop and Prince William.


But Pork Chop was kind of a bully, and didn't play well with others. He hogged the pool and wouldn't let anyone else in, and then he started picking on little Roscoe (the mallard) and running him into the fence and biting him. Enough of that stuff! I gave both new ducks away the very next day.

I decided I'd just stick with my three very nice ducks, and started letting them out to wander down towards the canal. They meandered down and peeked, but decided it looked very scary, and would not go in at all. Until yesterday, when suddenly - all three of them were In The Canal!

Swimming merrily!
 
Frolicking!
 
Diving!
 
And so today, since I saw how much fun my three ducks, Hershey, Snickers, and Roscoe are having in the canal, I came up with another brilliant idea.
 
 
Maybe they'd like to meet some female ducks!
(to be continued)
 

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

2013 Finalist - Best Children's Book

Hi everyone - I was pleasantly surprised to be notified that *drum roll please*
The Girl Who Remembered Horses is a 2013 Finalist for
Best Children's Book at eFestival of Words.


If anyone wants to drop by and give it a vote - here is the link:

http://www.efestivalofwords.com/vote-here-for-best-children-s-lit-t404.html

I believe you have to register at the site before you can vote, so many thanks up front to anyone who takes the time to do so!

Also, The Girl Who Remembered Horses is still priced at only $0.99 on Amazon, so if you haven't read it, scoop it up before my publisher decides to change the price back. *wink*

That's all for now! Hope you are having a great summer, which involves finding some fabulous new books to read!

Monday, July 8, 2013

Surprise, Surprise!

Moving through the seasons at our new place, I've been amazed at the variety of wild plants sprouting and blooming. I've been researching them, cataloging them, and finding all of their scientific names.

Blue-eyed Mary Collinsia sparsiflora

I've thrilled to showy masses of native wildflowers on our side hill, and wafts of perfume drifting up from wild azalea and mock orange thriving in our wetlands area.

Mock Orange   Philadelphus lewisii

And yet the spot of color that suddenly appeared in a crack on our back patio caught me most by surprise.

Common Petunia

Nature's will to survive is the most amazing thing of all to me.

Monday, June 24, 2013

The Chatterbox

After moving last winter, I was excited to identify the wild birds at our new house. We had the regulars that are easily spotted: robins, chickadees, juncos, and spotted towhee (a favorite.) We had a raucous hawk perching at the edge of our wetlands that I finally identified as a red-shouldered hawk. But as the songbirds returned for their spring courtship routine and I turned my ear to identify them, suddenly I was awakened every night by the ridiculously constant chattering song of something from the creek and marshes below us. What &*^$% bird sings all damn night?? I crammed the pillow over my head, forced myself to sleep, determined to find the source of all that racket.



Mind you, it wasn't a horrible song. Just a mixed-up mess of singing, whistling, and some other weird noises. After spending several days trying to spot the culprit out in the thicket of willows and brush down by the canal, I thumbed through every bird book I had. Was it a cat bird? ( I mean, some of the noises sounded like "mews.") A mockingbird? Finally, I turned to my trusted resource: the Internet! I googled "birds that sing at night," copied all the likely suspects, and then tried to find sound clips of each. Yes, this was an exhaustive process, but I was already exhausted from the dang bird singing all night. And now my curiosity had the better of me. I had to know what it was!

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology operates a fantastic site with clips of the songs of every bird, as well as pictures and life histories, and maps of where they live. So I studied each bird, trying to determine which one I had. Whatever it was, it was nesting, and the way it carried on, it was obviously quite proud of itself.

Finally, I clicked on Yellow-breasted Chat. I had never heard of this bird. The Cornell site describes their song as "a collection of whistles, cackles, mews, catcalls, caw notes, chuckles, rattles, squawks, gurgles, and pops." Bingo! And after listening to the sound bite, I had my bird!

The Yellow-breasted Chat is a seasonal visitor, here for the spring and summer, and I suppose it will fly south to the tropics eventually. Maybe then I can get some sleep. Actually, I've grown kind of used to the racket now. Good night, little chatterbox.