Photos from the Cataloochee Valley, North Carolina

Happy Hump Day, everyone!

It finally feels like Fall here in Western North Carolina. We woke up to 38 degrees this morning, which isn’t so unusual at all this time of year in the mountains, but hadn’t happened yet. If you’re planning to travel to see the leaves, especially on the Blue Ridge Parkway, this is definitely the time to do it.

Last week I posted about getting ready to head to the Cataloochee Valley of North Carolina to see the elk. Well, we went, we saw, and we had an incredible time. There were six of us: two of my best friends, one with her 2 year-old son, and me and my girls (ages 4 years-old and 5 1/2 months). We met in Waynesville, NC, which is about midway between all our towns and the Cataloochee Valley, regrouped, and caravanned into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. We’d waited for two weeks for the government to reopen so we could go, so we were psyched to be there among the gold, red, and orange trees, the other visitors, and of course the elk.

Driving through the Valley this time of year is a little like driving through a less-crowded

version of Yellowstone.

People stop their cars, hop out to take pictures, and get much closer to the wildlife than they should. This year there were signs near the road warning cars to stay out of the fields. You’d be surprised–or maybe you wouldn’t–at what some folks will do around wildlife.

Cough. Including us. We unfurled our picnic blankets in the middle of a meadow where a turn of the century (the 20th century) church sat, pulled out our PBJs, yogurts, Goldfish and hot chocolate (can you tell we were with kids?), and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. My 4 year-old and my friend’s 2 year-old ran around squealing like little happy banshees. (Yes, I know banshees are NOT happy. But that’s what they sounded like.)

During all this, my friends and I–all of whom have been outdoor educators and worked in the field–kept wondering aloud if it was really smart to picnic in the middle of the meadow during rutting season. But then we shrugged, since we’d done it before. About that time an enormous young male elk wandered across the creek from another meadow near by and walked right past our blankets. We gathered the kiddos close and stayed still. A park ranger with a big ol’ stun gun slung over his shoulder wandered our way and chatted with us while we watched it walk by.

Yep, we were THOSE people. We felt like idiots. But boy was it fun to see the elk up close!



The ranger told us that though the elk are doing fairly well, they’ve had a few die lately due to various causes, including being hit by a car, caught and tangled in underbrush, and shot by idiots. I mean people. One man apparently drove into the Cataloochee Valley, walked right up and shot one of the elk.

Eventually, of course, there’s hope that the elk will do so well that there’ll be a hunting season for them, especially since their ancient natural predators–mainly wolves and panthers–no longer roam the Southern Appalachians. But that’s a long time coming.

At the end of the evening, when the sun had set below the ridges and the clouded sky grew dark, we loaded up our cars and headed out of the Valley. One friend (sans kids) decided to camp. The other and I had to get our children home to bed. It was a 10-mile drive down a pitch dirt road to reach highway again. We all agreed we’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Joining the 21st Century ... via Cell Phone?

I have officially joined the 21st century, courtesy of my husband.

I, bemoaner of change, abhorer of text messaging and sitting at breakfast-lunch-supper with loved ones unable to separate from their phones, am now the proud (cough) owner of an iPhone4.

This is it. It’s pretty. I’m not sure what it does.

According to my husband, this little gadget will open up a world of possibilities for me. I can apparently check my email on it, respond to text messages, guage the weather, and share photos.

Oh, you’ve already heard of it? Interesting….

Really, it’s my husband’s dastardly plan to get me to actually answer the phone.

Here’s my old phone. I had it for 7 years. Apparently, you’re supposed to update these things.

But I cannot tell a lie: I’m not sad to see it go. It may surprise you (but not my family members or friends) to know that I am not a phone person. I didn’t buy one in the first place until 2002, when I started grad school and moved to the coast, and my father insisted I needed one for all the time I spent on the highway.

My phone, I tend to forget for days. It ends up in the glove compartment, the net pocket of the stroller, in the mini-pocket of my Camelback. Then people usually call my husband to find out whether I’m still alive. And when I finally find the thing, and charge it back into being, it’s usually loaded with messages. Oops.

So … texting. I’m going to try it. I think it’ll make me a better friend. At least one who keeps in touch.

But I’ll be gosh-darned if I’m writing in lowercase letters!

 

 

Novel Tag Lines & Cover Art

Credit: articlebiz.com

This has been an enormously fun and anxiety-inducing week in the world of readying a novel for publication. In the past few days I've discovered the following things:

1.) My agent and I chose the right publisher for KEOWEE VALLEY. They may be small in size, but they are mighty in generosity. In a huge publishing house an author's wishes are often lost, especially when it comes to cover art. Most of the time at houses like this, authors will not even lay eyes on the cover of their novels until they're already set in stone.

But at Bell Bridge Books--though the publisher ultimately makes the final call--the author (a.k.a me) is not only consulted on cover art, she is considered. And this is huge. I have spent the past few days in back-and-forth emails with the house's marketing director and cover designer, and most likely wore everyone down with my cover anxieties (I really don't want it to look like a romance novel, I really don't want a woman's face to show, etc, etc, etc). But they have responded with reassurance, generosity, and inspiration. And I'm so thankful.

credit: ushistoryimages.com

2.) There is virtually no good stock art out there of women in Colonial dress--or Colonial fashion in general, particularly representing the mid-18th century... at least not the kind adequately respresentative of my novel. Oh, there are heaping French dresses and shiny silk bodices and plenty of "pirate's ladies," but nothing quite suited to KEOWEE VALLEY, and to Quinn, my protagonist, who abandons a civilized Southern city and adventures into the wild Appalachian frontier. Who wouldn't have worn a ball gown into the the wilderness, but who also wouldn't have looked like a Pilgrim.

So we'll see what the creative team comes up with for KEOWEE VALLEY. There are talks of utilizing an artist, which big publishing houses often do, but for which smaller houses often lack the discretionary funds, and instead utilize stock art. No matter what, I'm (now, after the flurry of emails) confident that whatever image is chosen, it'll be a good one. And it won't be Fabio and his lady in a clutch.

Credit: romancebookcovers.com

Not that there's anything wrong with this image. It's pretty darn awesome. But it's not suited to my novel.

Whew... fanning my face and moving on....

3.) My tribe is creative, generous, kind, and unfailingly supportive. This week I enlisted their help with two things: my author photo for the back of the novel, and a tag line for the front. I posted three photos my husband had taken of me over the weekend and asked folks to choose, because doing so was making me, quite simply, lose my Cheerios. And they did--close to 70-something people responded, not only making me feel plain wonderful, but also giving truly well thought-out opinions. Putting your face on a book that (hopefully) many people will see is something I find to be terrifying. But I get by with a little help from my friends.

The tag line: I sent out an email to some creative folks I know for help with this one. A tag line is a pithy, punchy hook that appears on the front of a novel (movies use these all the time).

Some examples of catchy tag lines:

* from the cover of John Grisham's The Chamber: "Between the crime and the punishment is the truth..."
* from the cover of C. Hope Clark's Lowcountry Bribe: "A killer wants to make certain she buys the farm."

And a few from the movies:

* "The true story of a real fake" - from Catch Me if You Can
* "She brought a small town to its feet and a huge corporation to its knees" - from Erin Brockovich
* "There can be only one" - from Highlander

My tribe answered the call, even enlisting their own family members and friends to help. I gathered up their dozens of great ideas, mixed them with my own, and sent them to my publisher-s-who promptly found one they loved, tweaked it just a little, and we may have a tag line for KEOWEE VALLEY. Because of my Super Friends.

Writing a novel is often a lonely process. You forget that in a crazy world and in a highly competitive field, there are people cheering you on. And I'm finding that there's nothing more fun, especially at this point in the making of a novel, than sharing in the process.

Arguments Among Friends

 "The truth springs from arguments among friends."

~ David Hume, Scottish philosopher

I love arguing, especially with my friends. I get a little thrill, a ping beneath the skin, when an argument turns passionate and voices rise. And when the argument rides that wicked edge between debate and fight, I often feel myself coming alive in the blood.

This can be a problem.

Especially when you're arguing with someone who doesn't particularly like the practice. Especially when you're arguing with someone who considers all arguing to be distressing, distateful, or simply fighting. And, I admit, when an argument does cross that line from debate to full-on fight, I've got a fuse that can be extinguished so quickly it leaves my loved ones breathless. I can be ready to move on, and they're still mad.

Like I said, a problem.

But I don't think Hume meant "fights" when he wrote "arguments." I think he meant debate--good, old fashioned, disagreeing debate. We all remember those, right? The kinds of conversations where the speakers kept their minds open, and those minds could be changed?

The American conscious (and conscience) sprouted, grew and flourished because of debate: because smart people argued with each other--smart people who respected each other, even when they disagreed. Smart people who found the debate a useful, changing, and illuminating tool. Who were willing to see past the parameters of their own backgrounds and beliefs. And, like Hume said, the truth sprung. (Can I get an "amen"?)

Today, debate sometimes seems useless. Listeners often seem unwilling to crack the windows of their deeply-held beliefs, even to allow in the fresh air. And instead, in all situations and on all sides, the air grows stagnant, and eventually will stink.

I love my friends. I've got friends with whom I agree on just about everything: politics, literature, religion, football. I've also got friends with whom I disagree, on all the above. Most of my friends are willing to enter the argument: to talk, exchange ideas, to laugh with and at each other when it all grows ridiculous. I'm lucky for this. And I have friends with whom I've learned simply not to broach certain topics for the sake of the friendship. And this, too, is okay--though I long to enter the argument, I want to do so if only I could be assured its outcome would be that our friendship be unaltered.

DKG and me, after she signed my ripped event ticket because I'd loaned out her book

In the Fall, I was lucky enough to sit very close to a stage where Doris Kearns Goodwin, reknowned American historian and bestselling author of Team of Rivals, et. al.--also one of my very favorite writers--regaled a large audience with tales of ex-presidents, baseball, and history. In that audience sat folks of all ilk and belief, and Goodwin was a rock star. And I'm quite certain that everyone in the audience, be they Democrat or Republican, Manhattanite or mountain-dweller, Christian or Hindi, had a marvelous time. That they (we) all learned something. That we walked away from the presentation of an historical debate the better for having engaged in it.

I'm still working on my problem of enjoying the argument a bit too much. But the truth is, it's in my blood. And I hope beyond hope, that when it comes to most debates, my mind is open. That it may be changed. And that if it's not, that out of the argument the truth will spring in all its glory, and I'll catch a bit of it in my hands.



Favorites List: Things I Love About Life-Long Friends

This afternoon my daughter and I are headed to Charlotte, N.C. to visit two of my oldest and dearest friends. One of these women I have known since birth, and another since I was in kindergarten. Years ago our parents forged a bond of friendship (involving quite a lot of adult beverages, Motown, and beach/lake time) for which I am forever grateful.

I'd include photos here, of our parents and us, but that could be trouble. Instead, I'll share one of our favorite places:

The Lawdy Mercy, Garden City Beach, S.C.

All friendships are blessings--some of the greatest in this life. Whether old or new, friends bring color and relief and magic to our everyday spinning through space. But for today, here's to life-long friendships, and life-long friends!

10 Things I Love About Life-Long Friends:

1. They don't let you lie to them.

When you've been friends so long that you learned to potty-train together, you forfeit all subterfuge.

2. They really, truly think you're beautiful--and say so.

This one's important: No matter how fat or thin you grow, no matter how your belly and boobs change after childbirth, or how many wrinkles form at the corners of your eyes, these friends see you as you were 20 years ago, and as you are now. And they love you for it all.

This is especially important in the case of my particular friends, because I suffered the zit and braces-filled adolescent years with them. Years when my mouth and my nose were too big for my face. Years when I had bouffant bangs. The year of the perm.

3. They know how to mix your drink.

Heck, they know what you like to drink, how you like to drink it, when you like to drink it, and when you need a drink.

4. They share with you.

Their clothes, their shoes, their children, their vacation houses, their favorite new music, their secrets, their recipes. Life-long friends love you like family, and when they find or have something or someone else that they love, they want you to be part of it.

5. They're there for you, good times and bad.

This is a biggie. When you are, and have been, friends for life, you endure it all together: weddings, funerals, births, cancer, moves, job losses and gains, hearts merged and broken. Whether you're in the room or over the phone, or a thousand miles away from each other, you are there. And there's nothing more important than this.

6. They make you do things you don't want to do--but they do them with you.

Even if one of these (many) things involves a lot of wine, a sunset over the marsh, a band, a microphone, and maracas.

7. They put sunscreen on you.

This cannot be overstated. Lathering someone up with sunscreen is tedious, annoying and messy. You have to really love another person to commit to making sure they're not going to get fried in hot pink patches. I've estimated that these friends and I have been putting sunscreen on each other for about 20 years.

8. Their hearts break and swell with yours.

When you hurt or get hurt, life-long friends feel it too. This is different than being there in spirit or being there physically when something happens in your life.

The simple fact is, when you've been friends this long, you're part of each other's DNA. You feel for each other like family... really, in many ways, like something more than family, because you've chosen each other. And it doesn't matter if you don't talk on the phone every week, or if there are years when you see each other only once or twice. When they hurt, you hurt. And you're on your knees, in the dark, begging for their relief. When they rejoice, you rejoice. And you send your love out into the stratosphere like shouting into an emotional bull horn.

9. It doesn't matter how far apart you live, or how long it's been since you've last been together. When you get together, it's as if time has stood still, and you pick up right where you left off.

We have lived as close as half a mile and as far as 700+ miles apart. We've gone months and even years since being together. It just doesn't matter: our connection is rooted in the blood.

10. You are forever friends.

Really.

A Few of My Favorite Things...

Today, I'm taking a cue from Oprah and blogger "The Pioneer Woman" and sharing a list of the things I like. I love lists. I make them weekly, sometimes daily. They're usually brilliant and exciting, and look like this:

1. Write
2. Exercise
3. Wash clothes
4. Call Mom, Sister, Friend(s)
5. Take diapers to Daughter's preschool
6. Read for grad school
7. Grade papers
8. Drop off water bill

Wow. This is my life. I'm momentarily stunned. 

Moving on. Usually, about three of these get accomplished. Yes, I know it's sad that I have to add calling my mother, sister, and assorted friends (on the real list I give them names). You'd think a grown-up woman could do this without reminders. But for me, it's necessary. I have a hate-hate relationship with the phone. It hates me back because I accidently leave it in my car for days and it dies. And then my father calls my husband to make sure I'm still alive.

So (and I may make this a new Wednesday blog habit) here's my list:

10 Things That Make Me Happy (Man, I'm a titling wordsmith)

1. Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina -- I hike here several times a week, usually just me and my dog. The creek gurgles over moss-covered rocks, the winter light carves out far-off ridgelines in stark relief, and my dog does belly flops in the mud, then shakes on me. It's. Awesome.

2. My friend Liddell -- she came to visit yesterday, and we hiked and talked and then ate burritos and talked some more. Liddell is utterly authentic, pretty much automatic fun, and lives the sort of adventurous and wide-open life most people dream of but never follow through on.

3. DVR -- we just had the DISH guy come out to fix a problem on Sunday, and Lo, we have DVR! Oh, heaven sent. Oh, joy! So THIS is what the fuss is all about.

4. Parenthood, the TV show -- While we're on the subject of DVR, it sure is great for recording those 10 p.m. shows I've been trying to catch online the next day, because I'm usually writing or doing schoolwork or pooped out in bed at 10 p.m. "Parenthood" on NBC is one of them: charactered by some of my favorite actors (Craig T. Nelson, Lauren Graham, Peter Kraus) and produced by Ron Howard, the writing is some of the best I've seen on television. That writing combined with pitch-perfect performances makes the show pure, lovely and true. And in the world of the Desperate Housewives of [Insert city name here], it's hopeful.

5. Thin Mints -- God Bless the Girl Scouts of America! A sleeve of Thin Mints in my freezer means that all is right with the world. Recently I ordered 6 boxes from my former boss's daughter. I have to literally drive up a mountain to get them, but I don't care. I wonder if they're in yet? I hope she didn't forget me. Maybe I should call.

6. My Shorter Oxford English Dictionary -- My parents gave these two beautiful, wonderful tombs for Christmas a couple of years ago. Yes, I asked for them. I love them. They tell me things like the fact that "satin" is an Old French word, originally Arab; that it pertains to the town of Zaytun. So cool. I'm immediately picturing eighteenth-century, high-waisted gowns, pale blue. And where is Zaytun? It's a fabulous mystery.

7. Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs -- They come out once a year, and they are just so daggum good. The perfect ratio of chocolate to peanut butter. So what if they're the same amount of points as a whole Weight Watcher's meal, they're worth it.



8. Manners -- Manners are underrated. Thank heavens I live in a place where people still use "ma'am," "sir," "excuse me," "please," and "thank you"... and mean it. It's civilized. It's nice. It separates us from the base and ordinary. (I swear I'm in my 30s, not my 80s. Still.)

9. Budding, but still winter-bare trees -- Right now I'm looking out the window beside my desk, and the still-gray hardwood in my front yard is budding, lace-like, into the lilac sky. In the mornings, as the sun rises, these trees emerge first from the dark, so friendly with the light behind them. They're a touchstone.

10. Coastal Living magazine -- My parents have given us a subscription for the past few years, and each issue--especially in winter--is a burst of color and warmth. The photos are spectacular, the writing tight, when I read it I still believe that I'll one day have a beach house.



Happy Wednesday, everyone.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

It's only just topped 20 degrees this snowy, frozen mountain morning. I am a-sit at my fireside desk, considering the end of 2010. The passage of time like this has always seemed to me a cosmic joke, a bittersweet reminder of the nature of being wonderfully human--a treatise on the rare and precious nature of life.

For me, one of the loveliest, and at the same regrettable, aspects of time passing so lightning-fast is not the new wrinkles around my eyes or my daughter morphing into a literal little girl, or even my dog growing more gray about the muzzle: it is, instead, my inability to connect with old friends in a real way.

Certainly, there are the things that separate us: age, different lives and responsibilities, new ideas and cares, state lines, even continents. But though we are no longer children, teenagers--or even tanned, carefree twenty-somethings--what we share are memories of experiences that glitter momentarily in the mind, a Christmas ornament catching the light. And memories of time spent with friends, however ephemeral, cannot be lost no matter how old we grow or how much we change.

So....

For My Friends at Christmastime

I miss you.

I miss the days spent lakeside, fireside, schoolside--

the quick flash of laughter, the raucous freedom of being wild,

the stories and the trust and the secrets.

Know that if you wonder on me, I wonder on you--

that ours is a snow globe shaken.