What Else Have You Got? by Sharon Wildwind

Sharon Wildwind's first mystery series is the Elizabeth Pepperhawk/Avivah Rosen Viet Nam veteran series.  She also wrote a non-fiction book about her year as a nurse with the U.S. Army in Vietnam.  

 

Other works in progress include a mystery-romance series set in a nursing station in northern Alberta. She's also working on some plays.

 

As a fiber and paper artist she designs and make clothes, costumes, quilts, book bags, tea cozies, greeting cards, decorated boxes, shrines, and non-traditional books.

 

 

 

 

What Else Have You Got?
by Sharon Wildwind


In case you missed Calgary news about a month ago, the city was under a state of emergency from June 21st to July 4th. A combination of unusual weather patterns, flooded rivers in southern Alberta, including two in Calgary. Here is a photo of downtown Calgary from  the Calgary Herald on June 21.

 

See those trees that appear to be growing in the middle of the Bow River? That’s all that’s visible of Prince’s Island Park, named after Peter Anthony Prince, the founder of an early Calgary lumber mill. The Park hosts many local events, including the Calgary Folk MusicFestival, scheduled to happen five weeks from the day this photo was taken.

 

The Festival not going ahead would be a disaster on a lot of levels, but for me it was intensely personal. I’d planned to celebrate a renewal and rebirth there this year.

 

Last November the final book in my first mystery series came out. If you’re familiar with that series, you know the protagonists are Viet Nam veterans, that it’s set in the late 1970s, and the cut line for the series is “For these veterans, adjusting to civilian life is murder.”

 

I won’t say the series wrote itself. It was the usual hard work, but I had great research resources, since I’m a vet myself. Writing the final book was a scary place to be. I was done with the veterans’ experience. A voice in my head kept asking, “Sweetheart, what else have you got?” The answer repeatedly came back a depressing, “I don’t know.”

 

I went to hear a friend open a Saturday night concert at a local folk club. The audience was packed with older, grey-haired people like me. I thought, heavens, we folkies have been doing this for a long time. Like about 50 years for my generation. The first album I bought (with babysitting money) was Peter, Paul, and Mary: it had the cover with the brick wall behind them; Mary holding a bouquet; Peter and Paul with their guitars. We’re talking back in the day here.

 

The guy singing that night was Tom Lewis. He sang a wonderful Mick Ryan song, “The Song Goes On.”  (You can hear a sample here.)

 

The opening verse went straight to my heart.

 

There are singers that we love as we sing our lives away,

And though we all fall silent in the end,

They will sing with us forever they’ll be singing every day,

When we sing the songs they sang.

 

It wasn’t just us oldsters in the audience. There were at least two younger generations in the room, growing up with music just as we had. But performers were passing. I ticked a list of voices forever silent, but that just depressed me, so I switched to ticking off other folk albums I’d bought, concerts I’d attended, festivals where I’d volunteered, parties — oh, yeah, parties—, musicians I’d met, and musicians I’d love to have met. What else did I have? I had a lifetime of listening to music and getting to know musicians.

 

In addition to hosting the festival, Calgary is ripe with folk and live music clubs. It didn’t seem fair to saddle an established club with murder and mayhem, so I created my own fictitious club, Green Flag Folk, which I housed it in a wonderful, historic building, that had been Calgary’s first sandstone school. Here’s the building in pre-flood days. Unfortunately, it was in the flood area, but it looked okay when I walked by it a couple of weeks after the waters went down.

 

 

To run the club I created the Breland family; Sid, the Club founder and president; Jay-Jay, his cousin, who lived and worked in Nashville, but came to Calgary often; and Robbie, also a cousin, a no-nonsense woman who had a lifetime hold on being the Club’s volunteer coordinator.

 

People trusted Robbie with secrets because she knew how to keep her mouth shut. All of those secrets had been stewing for a long time and one night they would boil over and a musician would die. For the title I chose Carrying the Blood, a line from one of Ian Tyson’s songs, The Steeldust Line.

 

What I wanted to celebrate on Prince’s Island this July was that the first draft of Carrying the Blood is finished. What else did I have? I had another book in me; one I’d never imagined I’d write until that night in the folk club.

 

Flood water receded. Mud and silt covered the island, threatening to kill the trees. Debris was everywhere. Buildings were damaged or destroyed. Electricity was out. City crews, along with Folk Festival and other volunteers, rallied. The call for volunteers was brutally honest. Volunteers had to be capable of working 12-hour shifts in a muggy, sodden, mosquito-laden environment; of shoveling mud and silt into wheelbarrows; and of pushing those wheelbarrows to the removal trucks. Still the volunteers came. Age and height prevented me from being one of them, but they had my thoughts and prayers.

 

The festival will happen, though our Volunteer Coordinator warned us to expect changes. Many booths and stages have had to be rearranged to accommodate the post-flood realities. I’ve got my crew assignment, my T-shirt, and my volunteer badge. I am, as my husband christened this photo from last year’s festival “The Compleate Adventurer.”

 

 

And this year, on the Island, several fictional characters and I will celebrate not only our city’s resiliency and co-operative spirit, but the spirit of authors everywhere who ask the question, “Sweetheart, what else have you got?” with the answer, “I have another book inside of me, of course.”

 

Sharon Wildwind is a Calgary, Alberta mystery writer. Her web site is www.wildwindauthor.com. She’s also on Google +, and tweets @sharww.

 

North Carolina, The Friendly State

As to biographical information, i. e., who I am; well I'm still trying to figure that one out. For more than half a century, I've hidden behind words, first as a news and sports reporter with a BS in Journalism from UT-Knoxville, my hometown.

Following that career, a quarter century was spent writing historical non-fiction.  So, it was with a lot of naiveté and way too much self confidence that I decided some five years ago to write a novel, a mystery. I managed to get a well-known mystery writer with some forty books published to review my first manuscript.  He sent me an eleven-page, single spaced letter. The first page and a half told me what I had done correctly.  The other nine and a half pages listed the things I needed to learn. I am still learning.


THE PROVIDENCE OF DEATH can be ordered as a POD trade paperback through Amazon, B&N or your local book stores, as well as an ebook for your Kindle.

 

 

First, I must say thanks to Kaye for letting me again be a part of Meanderings and Muses. As her list of guests dwindles, it is truly an honor to remain among the annual contributors.

 

 

North Carolina, The Friendly State

by Bronson L. "Bo" Parker

 

I know an argument could be stirred up by saying this, but I now live in one of the friendliest states in the union. I’ve not spent time in all fifty, but to my way of thinking, there simply cannot be one where the folks are friendlier than in North Carolina.

 

Not too long after I arrived the week after Thanksgiving last year, I made the comment to my son how friendly I found everyone. He response? “Now you know why I moved down here twelve years ago.” He was born and raised in Hampton, Virginia, the family home for nearly fifty years.

 

He continued by saying. “Down here, even the clerks in the stores are so friendly you feel guilty if you don’t thank them.”

 

These are two personal opinions. What have others said about the state?

 

Warren Bull, who grew up in Rock Island, Illinois, enjoyed a career as a licensed psychologist before becoming a full time, award-winning author of more than twenty published short stories, as well as memoirs, essays, and a novel.

Part of his graduate training in psychology was at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. He still speaks fondly of his experiences from more than thirty years ago. “I remember moving to a small town in North Carolina and learning to slow down the speed of my speech and practice more politeness.”

Warren also said he loved the local sayings. He passed on one example. “Cute as a speckled puppy barking in the rain.” Let that roll off your tongue a time or two, and it’s impossible to not smile at the image.

 

Beyond personal opinions, at least one institution of higher learning weighed in on the subject. Researchers at England’s Cambridge University determined several years that North Carolina was one of the “friendliest and most dutiful” states in the union.

 

That study resulted in this reaction from Jason Tomberlin, North Carolina Research and Instruction Librarian at the Louis Round Wilson Special Collections Library. He suggested that in addition to nicknames such as The Tar Heel State, The Old North State, and Land of the Longleaf Pine, the state could be called “The Friendly State.”

 

The Cambridge study prompted the state’s governor at the time to give this quote to the Raleigh News and Observer. “I’m happy to see that others are learning what we have known for a long time—that nothing could be finer than to live in North Carolina.”

 

That last line was a reminder of a song that been around for the better part of a century, one of the first songs I can remember hearing as a small child.

 

CAROLINA IN THE MORNING

Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning,

No one could be sweeter than my sweetie when I meet her in the morning.

Where the morning glories

Twine around the door,

Whispering pretty stories

I long to hear once more.

Strolling with my girlie where the dew is pearly early in the morning,

Butterflies all flutter up and kiss each little buttercup at dawning,

If I had Aladdin's lamp for only a day,

I'd make a wish and here's what I'd say:

Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina in the morning.

 

What is going on in North Carolina to create this state of friendliness? I have learned that is does not come from its native-born citizens alone. Some of the people who give the state this quality were born elsewhere, including our own Kaye Barley who was born in Maryland. To my way of thinking, she is the epitome of what my word cobbling is about.

 

So, how do the citizens of North Carolina achieve this level of friendliness? I found this as a quote in a state magazine. It had no attribution. But maybe it contains the answer in amongst what some might call fighting words.

 

 “It has been written of North Carolina that when the essential unpretentiousness of its citizenry is contrasted with the vanity displayed by Richmond aristocracy to the north and the haughtiness manifested by Charleston gentry to the south, the state can be viewed as “a vale of humility between two mountains of conceit.”

 

#################################

 

One final comment on another subject.

 

To the many folks who have been asking about the next Joe McKibben book, I can tell you the second one is nearing the point where I’ll be looking for test readers who want to be a part of the process. A wee bit of physical inconvenience got in the way.

 

It’s the story of how the retired detective handled, or mishandled, certain issues in his life during the year after he tracked down the man who killed Whitey Wheeler; a fellow retired detective and his close friend since academy days.

 

 It was a time during which Joe quit smoking after fifty years; become what some would call a wealthy man; and for a short period of time, experienced the feeling of being a suspect in a homicide. Last but not least, he and Marsha Fielding, the widow he met in Kent County, Maryland, moved past their long-distance, platonic relationship

 

 

A few words of thanks . . .

I've been having a really tough time with my writing.

I thought writing the second Whimsey would be a snap.

oh ho ho, have I ever been dealt a reality check.

Easy?  Pffft.

No.

far from it.

And then I had a little conversation with a friend who said she had moved to a different project because she was having a difficult time writing the sequel to her first novel.  I replied that I was having the same issues and for the very first time admitted I was worried I wouldn't be able to maintain the same level of magic I had for Whimsey #1 (as it's come to be called here at home).

And it's actually the first time I've admitted it to myself.

Because, honestly, I didn't even realize I was fighting with those feelings.

An honest chat with a trusted friend is priceless, isn't it?

Once admitted, and shared, another friend popped in to tell me that what I was feeling was normal to probably everyone writing their second novel. 

I cannot begin to explain how liberating all this has been. 

I feel like the walls around my writing have been knocked to the ground.  And yesterday was the first truly decent day of writing I've had since starting Whimsey #2.

HUGE thanks (along with a lot of hugs!) to my friends Dee Phelps (whose first novel will be released in September) and Beth Anderson (a deliciously grand writer of long standing).  You gave me what I needed when I didn't even know I needed it. 

And then - wow - then this lovely review pops up at amazon from  Elaine Drennon Little (who, I hear, has her own book out.  Just released - "A Southern Place.") - - -  

"Whimsey--Harper Collins /Webster's Dictionary defines it as " a sudden passing fancy." In Whimsey, a novel by Kaye Wilkinson Barley, it refers to a mystical island off the coast of the Carolinas, serving as a nirvana-like home for artists and artisans of the visual, spiritual, and creative arts. My first question, as I began to devour this lovely piece of southern Americana, was of course "does such a place exist?" I wanted to go there, to mingle among the natives, absorb their culture, and then hopefully become one with this magical pseudo-family of the gifted and talented.

I've read about many artists colonies; I've even applied and been rejected from a few, but this one seemed altogether different from the rest. On the positive side, the residents all spoke my language--a sweet, dipthonged drawl served best with sweet tea, shrimp salad sandwiches and desserts that made me drool as I read. They also welcomed stronger drink--from mimosas and mint juleps to wine, bourbon, and punch bowls full of happy liquids that invite all to share the laughter.

On the downside, there were fairies, pixies, spirits of "the other kind" and regular, normal people (who could converse with fairies and shed an effervescent glittery substance wherever they went!) There were also a few family ghosts who favored verandas and porches and told a decent story, when prompted to do so.

Aside from Dickens's A Christmas Carol and a few isolated Stephen King books, I don't naturally cotton to speaking with the dead or with non-human entities, yet I couldn't seem to put this book down. Barley makes these mystical creatures as easy to converse with as my cat on a cold night. The only thing I DIDN'T like was that I can't visit this place--the author was simply too greedy to share the isle of Whimsey's whereabouts, email, or dot com address.

She does, however, share several authentically scrumptious-looking recipes for southern and low country food.

Don't let the ghosts and pixies scare you away. If you're in need of a short vacation for talented, mystical artists like yourself, whisk yourself away to the magic of Whimsey. If we can't really GO there, at least we can pretend... "
 
Thank You, Elaine!

Friends.  I cannot imagine my life without my friends. 

And now I have a whole new group of people who I feel as though I need to include in this group.  And those are people like Elaine who I've never met and don't know other than through this lovely review she wrote after somehow hearing about WHIMSEY: A NOVEL.  And taking a chance on it, and surprisingly enough, enjoying it enough to take the time to review it. 

The reviews for Whimsey have knocked me off my feet.  I never expected to read such lovely words from people I don't know.  I thought Whimsey would get bought and read by friends and family and I hoped they would enjoy it enough to help spread the word.  What I've gotten is magic in the purest sense.  I'm humbled and grateful and totally gobsmacked. 

and all I have to give back are simple words -

Thank you.

but they come from so deep . . . oh, my - so deep.

The High Country Festival of the Book

This past weekend I participated in the High Country Festival of the Book in my own little corner of the world - Boone, North Carolina.
 
 
 

 

 
And this is the woman who has been the force behind the first two festivals.  Suzanne Thompson.  She is a Wonder Woman!
 
 

 


She managed to get Rita Mae Brown to come as the headliner for the first festival last year, and Sharyn McCrumb for this year.  Pretty cool, huh?
 

 Sharyn McCrumb

It's the first event I've participated in since I published "Whimsey."
 

 

And, let me just answer this question right off the bat - No, it was not a profitable day for me personally monetarily.  But, I had just as much fun as I knew I would.  Book events are just fun.  At least they are if you're a lover of books.  It doesn't matter if you read them, write them, publish them or all of the above - books and book people are just fun.  And that's every bit as important to me as selling Whimsey was this particular day.
 
I got to chat with book people, I got to have lots of books signed, I got to buy some new books and I got to lust after a few rare books that I couldn't afford.
 
 

 

I mentioned in an earlier post that I had finally met an author I have read and admired for years, Phillip DePoy, at Malice.  Well, he was a participating author at the High Country Festival of the Book and I was able to spend some time with him.  I now have this enormous crush on him (although I'm sure he never noticed the stars in my eyes - surely not).  The man is funny, smarter than your average bear, has done a lot of cool and extraordinary things, lived all over the world, is kind, a gentleman in the truest sense of the word, and just plain, in my honest opinion, sexy as all hell.  And did everyone here know he's an Edgar winner?  All this, and he is as down to earth and as unassuming as anyone I've ever met.  If you haven't discovered his work yet, I urge you to get on with it!
 
 

 

 

 

 

here's a few photos of the festival - Enjoy!

 

 

Jamie Mason and Susan Tekulve

 

 

 

me and Ann Hite

 

 

 

 Phillip DePoy, me, and Larissa Reinhart

 

 

 

 Me and Erika Marks

 

 

Phillip DePoy, Gayle Trent, Larissa Reinhart and Maggie Bishop doing one of the best panels I ever attended

 

 

 

 me and Gayle Trent

 

 

 

 

 

There was a super children's program

 

 

 

Two local heroes - Mr. Jack Pyle and Mr. Taylor Reese 

 

 

 

and finally - my own personal hero.

 

Celia Miles

 

 

She's going to kill me for putting her in the spotlight, but no one has done more for women writers in North Carolina than Dr. Miles. 

 

Her own writing (which is divine!) oftentimes takes a back seat to her mentoring of others. 

 

Including me. 

 

My first published  piece was in an anthology Celia and Nan Dillingham (a brilliant North Carolina poet) edited.  Clothes Lines.  I am prouder of that piece and that anthology of almost anything in my life.  To be included with the talent that is in that book isn't anything I'll ever forget.  And then, by golly, she let me do it again in Women's Spaces Woman's Places.

 

Whimsey would never have happened without a few people who encouraged me - Celia Miles is one of those.

 

I'll never forget and I'll always be indebted.

 

 

 She helped me know in my heart that for some of us it really is all about the writing, not all about the publishing. 

She helps me every "writing day" of my life (not that she knows that) and she helps me every day of my "promoting life" (I never told her about the blog who refused to let me promote my Whimsey with them because it's self-published.  Sadly, a lot of the people with this particular blog had been guests right here at Meanderings and Muses.).  She would never ever understand that sort of thing. 

Here's to Celia Miles - the most gracious, generous person I have ever had the honor of knowing.