Journal Notes

I’ve never been very good a writing letters. I can never really convey what’s on my heart and mind without it coming across rehearsed or disingenuous. I stare at the stationary, struggling to transform nothing into life. I only bring it up because I am about to write the most important letter of my life and I’m not sure how to begin and looking ahead, I’m not sure how it will be received. I suspect I won’t get an answer at all and if I do I don’t think it will be a positive. Still, I’m convinced I have to try. Life turned out to be so hard. I guess most people could say that. I was at an event not long ago and somebody was talking about the Good Old Days. At the time all I could think of was, “Which Good Old Days? During the McCarthy blacklist? Or when blacks couldn’t vote? When they burned women at the stake because they were herbalists? Those Good Old Days?” Maybe after I get the letter written I could send it off to my editor to look over. He did a great job on the posse book. I’m sure he’d appreciate his talents being used in such a way. If he were forced to do that as part of his job he’d be the one lamenting that life isn’t fair. And I’d have to agree. After all, if life were fair Elvis would be alive and the impersonators would be dead. I’ll do the best I can with the letter and pray for the best.

Thunder Over the Prairie came back from the editors with a few changes they would like to see made. Most of the comments center on bibliography and additional fact checking. It’s tedious, but necessary. I want to make sure everything is as accurate as I can get for this book so I don’t mind the effort. It is the less attractive aspect of the job however. The book is more than 40,000 word, but it still seems thin to me. The cover art looks great! Globe always does such a good job. I hope to finish the sample chapter for the book proposal I’m doing for Bethany House publishing this week as well as the last chapter of the Cody tome. It would be nice to have a few days off over the holidays and I don’t just mean from work. I’d like to take a trip from me. If worry and guilt were Olympic sports I’d win the gold every time. I once wanted to save the world – now I just want to leave the room with some dignity. It’s holiday time and it seems like everyone is having an office Christmas party. I’m a staff of one so an office party would just be pathetic. They’re not in existence anymore, but I always wondered where those people who worked in those Photo-Mat booths took their breaks or had their Christmas parties. Did they just duck down on the floor out of sight? Enough! I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll be with Bill Cody if anyone asks.

The last couple of weeks I set my usual writing assignments aside to embark on a number of ventures. I directed the annual Christmas in Bethlehem program at my church, spent time with my parents who were here, and traveled to see my brother at Terminal Island in Long Beach. I call it “visiting life.” It was an emotionally draining time and I feel like I’ve aged several years. No amount of makeup can hide the toll the situation with my brother has had on me. My skin is starting to lose its elasticity. I took a nap on a corduroy bedspread. It took six hours for the lines to come out of my face. But there’s always food. I ate too much over Thanksgiving. I always make too much food, especially one item, like 700 or 800 pounds of mashed potatoes. With that much potatoes I have to push them during the meal. “Did you get some mashed potatoes??.They’re hot. There’s more in the oven?some more in the garage. The rest are at the Johnsons.” I continue to work on the last bit of the Buffalo Bill Cody book and am looking ahead to the launch of Thunder Over the Prairie. I hope over planning for the event will help the book to be a success the first week out. How this title does will decide the fate of my writing career. I like my job and would like to keep doing it for some time to come. Everyone has a purpose in life. If mine isn’t writing, perhaps it’s watching television.

Family members visiting loved ones at a Federal Prison endure heartache the moment they enter the facility. After surrendering their driver’s license, filling out a barrage of forms, and answering a series of personal questions, they are subjected to a search and locked in a holding unit while waiting to see their relative. They’re stamped, processed and escorted by a surly, armed guard to a visiting room. The procedure is grueling, intimidating and difficult. There are numerous senior citizens that come through – dazed parents, handicapped grandparents, broken siblings, discouraged wives and confused children. The children are the most amazing visitors. Regardless of their age, they have to adhere to the same rules as everyone else. It’s moving to see them sit so still and behave so well. They greet their fathers with an eager smile. They’re dedicated, gracious, loyal and inspiring. It’s unfortunate my brother could not have been so blessed. His ex-wife and her daughter killed him. They are nothing less than murderers. I’ll never forget Rick or what they did to destroy him. The children I met at Terminal Island know exactly how I feel, but forgiveness overtakes their heart and that’s all you see. They are true heroes to me and I’m glad to be involved with the Angel Tree project this year. In some small way I can help give back to them what they’ve given to me. These children stand by their families and bring pure light to a dark situation. I hope to do them justice in the book The Deadliest Accusation due to be released in December 2010. Now that I’m home I’ll complete the work I started on the Buffalo Bill Cody book. Can’t wait to get back into it.

I generally divide my days into thirds and work on various writing projects or promotions in the time frame. I get to my desk about 8:30 in the morning and after a prayer and a Bible study, get busy writing. About an hour into my job I find I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I know a part of the problem is my diet. You know you’ve got bad eating habits if you use a grocery cart in 7-Eleven. I’m one of those people who believe that red meat is not bad for you. I particularly believe that red meat on a slice of pizza is not bad for you. Now, blue-green meat. That’s bad for you. There’s only one food I won’t eat, which is hot dogs at a movie theatre, because I feel like there’s no USDA preparation guidelines for this meat. They used to be impaled on spears rotating inside a Timex case. Suddenly that’s gone and replaced by the foot massage-log roll jamboree. And they never look like they’re cooking; they just look like they’re sweating. Anyway, after jolting myself awake with a cherry pop-tart, because I know I need that daily requirement of fruit, I was able to write a few more pages on the last chapter of the Cody book. I’ll have the manuscript to the publisher before the deadline. I participated in a writing workshop this weekend at the North Star House in Grass Valley. Respected architect, Julia Morgan built the home for author Mary Hallock Foote in 1905 and a group of concerned citizens are trying to preserve the Old West structure. The class of aspiring authors that participated in the talk were enthusiastic and entertaining. I enjoyed my time with them and look forward to a repeat performance in the spring. Visit www.northstarhouse.org for more information. I do believe that’s the last speaking engagement I have this year. Which is good. I need a nap. But first a piece of pepperoni pizza!

Much of what you do as a writer is trying to figure out how to best promote what you’ve already written. A good portion of my day was spent working on that very thing. I met with a couple of internet experts who are going to help bring more visitors to my website and hopefully more readers to my books. I’m very behind when it comes to technology. The whole world seems to be up to speed on this, but I can’t seem to get the hang of it. I just now got a cotton gin and I can’t figure out how to work that either. I’m on the phone every day with tech support, “Do I keep the seeds, or the fuzzy stuff?” I know I’ll be investing in more magazine ads in the coming months in order to promote Thunder Over the Prairie, but I would sure like to get more hits on the website from people interested in Old West history. I think the only way I’ll be able to master this technology is when produces food on demand. I’m waiting for the kind of computer where I can look at the screen and say, “Hey, I need a pizza,” and one comes out and hits me in the eyebrows. My brother’s birthday is Saturday. I miss him. I can be writing for hours about Buffalo Bill Cody, deeply entrenched in that story and suddenly a thought of Rick flashes in my mind and I miss him all over again. I blame myself for what happened. He didn’t do anything and I asked him to plead guilty. He was so distraught, unable to speak, and looking to me for help and I didn’t know the best thing to do after a while. Worse yet, I trusted our attorney. Things will get better. Guess I’m suffering from post-traumatic syndrome, and I’m going to keep talking about it until Daniel Craig comes and holds me. Maybe if I email Mr. Bond and tell him?. How do you do that again?

For several months now I’ve been working on a book about the life and loves of Buffalo Bill Cody. I received a final piece of information this past week that will make it possible to finish the last chapter. The book will include details about the many extramarital affairs Cody had and how these relationships naturally hurt his marriage. The research has been fascinating. Cody was not loyal and his wife, Louisa, was not kind. Prior to him becoming involved with other women, Louisa berated him in public over his overly generous nature and attachment to his sisters. The Codys had four children together. Louisa outlived all her children and Buffalo Bill. When their daughter, Arta, died in 1904, she left two children behind. Louisa offered to raise Arta’s son, but sent her daughter away to be raised by other family members. Louisa was never as close to her granddaughter, Arta Clara, as she was her grandson, Cody Boal. I suppose that’s understandable given the circumstances, but what I find distasteful is that when Louisa died, she left $5,000 to Cody and $1 to Arta. I don’t have any information that can shed light on why Louisa would do that. As I mentioned, she wasn’t a kind woman, but that seems vindictive and I’d like to know what the motive was. It’s not really relevant to the book, I’m just curious. Toward the end of his life Cody told a biographer that “no man was more blessed in his wedlock” than he was and that he had “only the fondest regard for Lulu.” I guess he wanted to leave this world in peace. The bulk of their married life had told people about how horrible Louisa was to him. He never retracted any of the harsh statements he made in court about her during their divorce case. Whenever he was asked about Louisa behavior he simply said that she was “much misunderstood.” The Codys were married more than 50 years to each other. They slept in separate houses, had separate dinner parties, took separate vacations and in the end Louisa said they were doing everything they could to keep their marriage together. The Life and Loves of Buffalo Bill Cody will be in bookstores this time next year.

It’s been a gloomy few days. I think about my brother a lot and want to give pause to the life that was for fear that he will be forgotten all together. I guess I do that too much. And then there’s concerns about my job, the current economy, my inability to commit to any kind of exercise. I hate to exercise. I need more than my life to get me on a Stairmaster for an hour. I view my body as a way of getting my head from one place to the other. I was talking about that very thing a couple of weeks ago at a Barnes & Noble signing. Most people were in complete agreement. I met some wonderful, fellow non-exercisers there that day. One of whom sent a package to me today. Christy Udall, a lovely woman who graciously purchased a couple of my books, sent a box of antique jewelry. It was a thoughtful gesture and the items are great! Kindness like that helps me to realize all is not lost yet. That kind of generosity does more for the heart than anytime I ever spent at a gym. Not that I’ve been in a gym?but I’ve watched people go into those establishments. I’d rather be writing.

November – a new month rich with possibilities. I hope this month to learn to better breathe through the punches in the gut I received professionally and personally in October and seize the moment. I’m going to do that by remembering all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart. First, I feel compelled to mention a story a gentlemen from church shared with me this weekend about employing a high school teenager to work at his store. After hearing about what happened to my brother and other men across the nation who have been falsely accused of sexual assault, he decided to let the teenager go. His wife reminded him that if the teenager felt like it she could ruin his life and reputation. If she wanted a raise and didn’t get it or a day off and was denied it, she could say she was touched inappropriately and it would be all over for him. It’s amazing how often this happens. I have to believe that evil will return to the evil doers who leveled my family and as long as I live I’ll warn people about such individuals. The work continues on the Buffalo Bill book. I hope to have chapter nine finished by the end of the week. My parents are coming to visit soon and will take part in the 6th annual Christmas in Bethlehem program at my church. They seemed to enjoy themselves last year and hope they have a good time again this year as well. I’ve got to start placing ads soon in the western magazines to publicize Thunder Over the Prairie. Bob Bell, editor of True West Magazine, had a great idea to publicize his western. The entire November/December issue is dedicated to telling the story of Mickey Free and the Apache Kid. It’s a graphic novel and it’s brilliant! The whole idea is brilliant! I think I’m going to need more than a great looking postcard to compete with that kind of marketing. I think Bell’s story is going to be a huge success.

Some days it seems Abe Lincoln has a brighter future than I do. After weeks of waiting and hoping, AMC has passed on making a film of Thunder Over the Prairie. They could be persuaded to change their minds if there was a prominent actor or director attached to the film project. I phoned Robert Duvall’s company about the material. I sent it to them about four months ago. As luck would have it, Duvall’s project about the Pony Express was just approved by AMC yesterday. So, he’s not interested in working on Thunder. I’m convinced the road to success is under construction. Okay, so I’ll never be a ballerina. I get it. At 47 I’m more convinced of that than ever, but I did have hope and some self-esteem. Now my self-esteem is so low I’m going to keep my keys on me when I walk through airport security just so I can get some acknowledgment. It’s not the end of the world and I know that?I just don’t know where to go from here. I like a plan, a goal. I’ve got book writing projects and I’m thankful for that, but it seems like there should be something more. I know what I want to do for a living I’m just not going to get the chance to do that. There’s no business like show business, but there are several businesses like accounting. If only I wanted to be an accountant. Perhaps I’m suited for a job as a coroner – performing surgery on dead people. What’s the worst that could happen? If everything went wrong, maybe I’d get a pulse. Well, back to the laptop.