Journal Notes

As a Christian I know that worrying doesn’t add a second on to your life, but I can’t seem to help being worried all the time. Nothing in my life seems settled and as I approach my 48th birthday I had hoped things would be settled to some degree. The publishing house that I work for has been telling me for months that the proposals I submitted last year will more than likely be approved, but that hasn’t happened yet. Meetings to approve those proposal continue to get pushed back. The publishing house filed bankruptcy a few weeks ago and employees had to take a 10% pay cut across the board. Given those circumstance I am worried that the proposals will not go through at all. I’ve contracted to do a book with Chronicle of the Old West that I’m excited about that and have proposals out at a few University Presses, Far Country Press, and Harlequin Romance, but it will takes months to hear back from any of those companies. I’ve written 22 books for Globe and felt like I was on my way to establishing myself in the niche market of women of the Old West, but it looks like I’m going to have to start over now from scratch. Lately I don’t think I have it in me to start over again. From a financial standpoint the need to find something soon is great. In addition to all the other daily things you need to pay for I’ve got to think of supporting my brother that’s in prison too. They’ve made several cutbacks and he has to be supplied with food and medicine. That only happens when a family members puts money in his account. Did I mention that I haven’t gotten paid from Globe this month yet? I worry. It’s a worthless emotion, but it is all consuming at times. I have no plans to abandon writing, but I did think I was at a place where that was now my full time job. Maybe a burst of good fortune will present itself while I’m on this book tour to promote Thunder Over the Prairie. One of the signings I arranged will take place in Rolla, Missouri. One of the reasons I wanted to set up a signing there was to have a chance to see my niece Nickol and possibly work through some of the grief we are both feeling, but I don’t think that’s going to happen either. She sent me an email and it was harsh and accusatory. Guess I shouldn’t have tried to reach out – now I just hurt more. I’m tired of scratching and fighting with life to make things happen. I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I sure wish one thing in my life was easy. I worry that it never will be. I’ll continue on with the plans for the major promotional tour through the Mid-West for the new book. What happens after that is a big mystery. I prefer mysteries in the form of a Sue Grafton novel, but I guess this will have to do. Can’t say I’m not worried about the outcome though. And now we’ve come full circle.

The book tour through the Mid-West for Thunder Over the Prairie begins May 28th. I know it’s too early to make follow up calls about the promotion, but I have to sit on my hands to keep from picking up the phone. As I’ve said before, I’ve invested a lot in this campaign and hope it pays off. Larry Bowen at Readers Corner Book Store in Rolla has been very kind and I’m looking forward to the signing there. I want the event to be a success for his book store too. He’s gone out of his way to help and it would be a shame if no one showed. I’ve done signings where no one has shown. I’ve been at signings where shoppers have told me, “We hate history. We like books on magic. Have your written any of those?” I’ve had the flu for the last few days so that has curtailed my desire to make phone calls about the promotion a bit. Whenever I get sick I treat it like a CSI episode. I spend a lot of time trying to figure out where I could have picked up the flu! My imagination runs wild too. I’ve decided if I’m ever stuck on a respirator or a life support system I definitely want to be unplugged. But not until I’m down to a size eight.

I’ve teamed up with Dakota & Sunny Livesay from Chronicle of the Old West to write a book about women journalists on the frontier. The book will focus on the women who made the front page news they wrote. One of the women I’m researching is Elizabeth Cochrane. She was better known as Nellie Bly. She went to great extremes to get a story – including faking a mental illness so she could be institutionalized. She was so convincing as an insane person that on September 25, 1887, four eminent physicians from Bellevue Hospital had her hauled away to famous Blackwell’s Island in New York. Nellie wanted to do an expose about how patients in a mental institution were treated. The article was historic and not only changed the way people with mental illnesses are treated, but changed the way the world saw women journalists. The book Front Page: Old West Headlines and the Women Who Made Them will be in bookstores by Christmas 2010. What I like about Nellie was the fact that she wanted to achieve great things not simply because she was a woman, but because she knew it would give her a certain amount of power. She used her power for good, but I know many people with power who don’t. I think power is one of the most sought-after, addictive, seductive, abused drug there is. Compared to power, crack is a Cinnabon. People crave power. Power over corporations, laws, other people, blindly sad circumstances?. Whether it’s heading a major publishing company or just spraying that cockroach in your kitchen with a steady stream of Raid and pretending you’re Tom Cruise’s character from Top Gun shooting down Val Kilmer’s character from Top Gun. It’s easy to think if you don’t forgive someone in your life who has done a horrible wrong that you have all the power, but nothing could be further from the truth. You’ve done nothing more than give what power you do have away. I wonder if Nellie wrote any articles about the power to forgive? I’ll look into it later. Right now all I can think about is a Cinnabon.

It’s seems wrong that I should spending a big chunk of the day thinking of every way possible to promote the next book. It’s too pedestrian to contemplate what I want for dinner or to speculate about what time the cable guy will actually arrive tomorrow. The concerns of my everyday life are too ordinary in comparison to the life my brother lives in prison. I try not to dwell on it, but I know he was raped and severely beaten and the thought of that violent act and his current physical condition as a result haunts me. As I address more envelopes for the launch of the book in Dodge City in June, thoughts of Rick break into my mind and stop me cold. I quickly say a prayer that God would take him now and not let him suffer any longer. It’s amazing how eagerly I wait for news that he’s gone. My brother trusted me to help him and I let him down. Shakespeare wrote, “When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, but in battalions!”

It’s April already. Just 30 days out from the release of Thunder Over the Prairie. I so hope all goes well with it. If feels a bit like I’m sending a child off on their own for the first time. I’m very protective of it and don’t relish the thought of any bad reviews. I don’t happen to think any publicity – good or bad – is a plus. I do like the good though! I subscribe to the idea that if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all. I subscribe to that saying – I don’t always practice it. I think the key thing to remember about critics is that they’re dependent on the innovator, the person doing the real work of creating. And because many critics just sit on the sidelines of life, never the hunter, they are doomed to be forgotten. And no one wants to be forgotten. But it’s not all their fault. I mean, we give them their chance when we rely too much on critics to make our choices for us. We think we need help sorting out books, films, restaurants, or whatever. I guess we think if we don’t have that we don’t have all the facts. But you know something? We don’t need help! You like the Red Skelton paintings? Buy the Red Skelton paintings! What do critics know anyway?

It seems like I’ve been working on the story of Sam Sixkiller for a while. But I’m just as fascinated with the lawman’s life now as I was when I first began the research.
The history of the frontier Indian police of Oklahoma would not be complete without the story of Sam Sixkiller. Sam was one of the most popular and accomplished lawmen in the territory. He built a police force that took on bootleggers that threatened to destroy the lives and culture of the Native Americans in the central plains. He was the Eliot Ness of the Old West.
In 1886 Sheriff Sixkiller was shot and killed in an ambush. After the killers escaped indictment by the tribes, Congress passed a law giving the district Federal courts jurisdiction over any Indian who committed a crime against a federally appointed Indian police officer or United States deputy marshal.
I thought I’d post a bit of the Sixkiller story today. Enjoy.
Lawman Sam Sixkiller led his horse through a belt of sparse timber along the Illinois River in Southeast Oklahoma. He was a stocky, heavy-shouldered man with a neatly trimmed, droopy mustache and small dark eyes that were flatly calculating. They shifted purposely from the streams of sunlight off a growth of yellow sagebrush to the rocky path before him. In addition to the sound of the roan’s hooves slowly moving through the mesquite and buffalo grass, there was the mingling of a trio of agitated voices wafting through the warm air.
Sam urged his ride into a clearing where three Cherokee Indians sat playing dice. In between rolls of the pebble dice the men drank from a bottle of whisky they eagerly shared with each other. Scattered beside the men were four empty bottles of liquor. The drunken Indians barely noticed Sam watching them in the near distance. He scowled and inched his horse into their crude camp. The men were undisturbed by the rider and continued with their game. They argued over whose turn it was, nearly coming to blows before settling on which player went next.
Sam watched them toss the dice on a thick blanket. At first glance the blanket appeared to be draped over a log. The closer Sam got to the action the more it became clear that the make-shift table was actually the body of a fourth man. A stream of dried blood had trickled out from under the blanket and pooled around a stand of butterfly weeds. Sam scrutinized the scene more carefully, spotting a massive knife within reach of the Indian closest to him. Every nerve in Sam’s body tensed. He refrained from any sudden moves that might betray his next move. He casually pushed his jacket over the six-shooter strapped to his side, revealing not only the weapon, but the slightly tarnished badge that showed he was the sheriff of the Cherokee Nation.
One by one the men turned and looked at the lawman. For a breathless instant Sam watched the knife, expecting one of the Indians to snap it up. Without saying a word the three gamblers got to their feet, wavering a bit in the process. Sam pulled his gun out of his holster and leveled it at the men as he lifted his 5’8 inch frame off his horse. He motioned for the Indians to back away from the body and they reluctantly complied. Disgusted, Sam walked over to one of the bottles and kicked it hard. It spun into a nearby rock and broke. What little booze was left in it spilled out and was quickly soaked into the ground. With his gun still trained on the Indians, Sam made his way to the motionless man on the ground. Using the toe of his boot, he rolled the man out from under the blanket. There was no mistaking he was dead. There was a deep cut across the man’s throat and his limbs were stiff.

There are some aspects of my job I enjoy more than others. I particularly love going to schools and teaching children about women of the Old West I’ve been able to write about. I have such a good time teaching children’s Bible study on Wednesday nights. I always learn so much more from them than I expect. Visiting the students at Clear Creek School wasn’t any different. The class made up thank you notes for me after my visit and some of those notes are so dear I had to share them. “Dear Ms. Chris Enss, thank you for coming and teaching in our class. I had a very interesting experience. Once again, I thank you.” Josh signed that very formal note. “Dear Ms. Chris Enss, thank you so much for being our guest on Tuesday. That was the most interesting history I’ve ever heard and what was awesome is that you made it funny too. I’m glad you were able to interest me in history for once! I am actually seriously convinced and considering, buying one of your books! You’re AMAZING! You inspired me to learn more about the miners, or the Donner Party, all that! You make it sound so interesting! I also loved how you had little artifacts from that time. You ROCK! Your new #1 fan!” That note was signed Brittney Huseboe. Those notes made me feel so special. I needed it too – after writing a note to my niece Nickol and never hearing back from her. Not only did I not hear back from her, but she removed herself from Facebook. It made me feel like I was some sort of predator or stalker or something. Oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about any of that. I do have many children in my life that I’ve adopted as my family and they call me Auntie. I’m grateful for them and thank God for the times they’ve let me know I’m loved.

Thunder Over the Prairie Prize Giveaway!

The true story of the trek the most intrepid posse of the Old West ventured on in pursuit of a reckless gunslinger is the subject of a new book entitled Thunder Over the Prairie. Thunder Over the Prairie rides into bookstores in June 2009. The year was 1878. Future legends of the Old West-lawmen Charlie Bassett, Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp, and Bill Tilghman-patrolled the unruly streets of Dodge City, Kansas, then known as “the wickedest little city in America.” When a cattle baron fled town after allegedly shooting the popular dancehall girl Dora Hand, these four men-all sharpshooters who knew the surrounding harsh, desert-like terrain-hunted him down, it was said, like “thunder over the prairie.” The posse’s legendary ride across the desolate landscape to seek justice influenced the men’s friendship, careers, and feelings about the justice system. This account of that event, written by Howard Kazanjian and Chris Enss, is a fast-paced, unforgettable glimpse into the Old West. The launch of the new book will be held in Dodge City, Kansas at the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City on Saturday, June 6 at 5 p.m.. The authors would like to give a lucky western fan a chance to attend the festivities. Enter to win two night’s stay at the Dodge City Hotel, a copy of Thunder Over the Prairie, admission to the launch party, a complete library of the author’s other works, and why you like their books by emailing gvcenss@aol.com with your idea for the next western you would like to see written. One winner will be selected from the entries and notified by the authors on April 15th.

Good luck!

I had the pleasure of participating in a signing this past weekend with three lovely authors – one of whom was a New York Times Best Seller. Brenda Novak was smart and engaging and I enjoyed hearing how her work made it through a slush-pile of submission that flood a publisher’s office everyday. She read the first few pages of her book to the group and it was easy to see why she is a success. I like to see a talented person get ahead in this world. I don’t care much for those who get to the front of the line based solely on hype. A lot of so called celebrities got what they are based on hype. Dennis Rodman for example. He is the Sistine Ceiling of hype. I’ve been watching Celebrity Apprentice and it makes me sad. I don’t think he’d be the star he is today if it weren’t for hype. He was a solid basketball player, but come on, being the leading rebounder in the league is like playing first chair tuba at the Des Moines Pops. Clint Black?now he’s talented and deserves to be a star. One of the best written songs of all time is Killin Time. He owes his fame to talent not hype. He doesn’t have to dye his hair to resemble the muted rainbow of bad meat – he’s just talented. Like Brenda Novak is talented. All that being said hype is here to stay because we live in an increasingly narcissistic universe that everyone believes they’re the center of. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m prone to think that myself from time to time.

Just finished packing for my trip to Monterey. Among the standard items tossed into the suitcase are my school books. I’m training to become a private investigator. I have a whole Phillip Marlowe scenario playing out in my head. This venture will either turn out to be an unexpected pleasure or another sitcom waiting to happen. I’ll be listening to the third book in the Twilight series as I drive. I’ve really enjoyed the series but at times my mind tends to wander while the book is being read. I’m not as moved by the werewolf aspect of the story. Werewolves?of all the monsters, the Wolf Man had it the worst I think. More body hair than Ed Asner in a line trap, never able to have a white couch in his house…. I do like a man with a mustache however. Now if I could only find a man who likes the same thing in a woman. But I kid. The Twilight movie comes out on DVD on Friday. How pathetic! I’ve set my sights on spending the weekend lost in a teenage driven film. Well, not the entire weekend. I’ll be working on the many opportunities the world of private investigation promises to deliver. Behind every failure is an opportunity somebody wished they had missed.