Remember when I had a nibble from that UK publisher?

I finally had my Zoom meeting (cameras off) with the guy. He likes my writing style but says he likes his books to be around 35K rather than the 90K I’ve got now. My dictionary says 35K is a novella not a novel, but whatever, right? Now I have to retool the novels to see if I can get something down around that level instead of the normal sized novels I have written out now. Must remember to toss in more conflict, too. If I’m going small, I have to go tense.

My alter ego still has had no luck with the anthologies, but she’s plugging away at them. Working on a gay-friendly theme now called “It Can Only Get Better” about the (fictional) future of the LBGT culture — or a fictional account of an alien society with one. Sounds perfect for the velyr, no? And a couple of anthologies are judging this month and should send word out in early March.

What are your experiences with publishers (or agents)? Good? Bad? Indifferent?

If Outlaw Security were made into a movie, who could play our heroes? Of course, I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of picking any actors, but I did find a couple who (with a little time-traveling) would fit the bill. I’d post the photos, but I don’t have permission … you can Google these gentlemen to see what I’m talking about.

Adrian Grenier (Vincent Chase in Entourage) would make a fine Chance Knight. He’d have to grow his curls out just a touch, so they fell into his piercing eyes, but other than that, he’s just about perfect.

And Keith Carradine (with a bit of time-travel so he’s Adrian’s age) would be the perfect Kye (who Chance says resembles Bill Hickok). Cut the Wild Bill hair, of course, because Kye wears a more modern short cut, but otherwise Keith has the right look.

In the latest book, the lads (and friends) must travel across the country by train. Here’s an excerpt from that chapter for your enjoyment:

Half the car had been arranged almost like a pair of parlor sitting rooms, with large cushioned chairs facing one another and a small table between. I spotted the curtains that would be pulled around to form our “bedrooms.” We even had a sofa large enough for Kye to nearly stretch out on, in the back of the “parlor.” There was a coal-burning stove at one end of the car, which did wonders toward dissipating the damp chill in the air. I left Kye examining the chairs, which would fold out into our beds for the night. The table folded away into the wall as well. Our trunks and dressing cases were settled neatly in the back corner of the car, where we could easily get at whatever outfit we desired. One side of the car was to be mine and my “wife’s,” while Kye would take the other side. 

The forward end of the car contained a dining table and chairs. Kye set the picnic basket on the table, with a longing backward glance. We had our own kitchen at this end, with a cook and two waiters. 

“Once we cross the Rocky Mountains,” I told the ladies, “we will have a dining car on the train, like a moving restaurant.”

Emily clapped her hands. “I cannot imagine why I have not traveled more, if it is this comfortable.”

“Hardly as comfortable for the masses,” I replied. “Second class consists of hard benches arranged in rows. Even the ordinary first class passenger must share a compartment with others.”

“I remember the train to San Diego. It was not so bad, sharing a car, and I did not think that there were so many other people.”

More than I like on a journey, and I’m a man who enjoys company. “We weren’t on that train for 10 days, my dear.”

I also enjoy my privacy when it’s time to retire for the evening, and I like a bit more than just a curtain between me and my fellow passengers. I rang for a porter, gratified at the speed with which the man appeared. We might even have our own porter on this journey.

The porter — they all answered to “George,” after George Pullman, who invented the cars in which we rode — was a tall, thin, black fellow in a spotless white uniform. He flashed a grin at the coin I slipped into his palm, and brought a nice bottle of brandy and a box of cigars. The smoking car, he informed me, was only two cars in front of us, just past the first class compartments. Kye and I would be spending a good bit of time there, or on the platform at the rear of our car.

Barbara had been busy unpacking all the things that a lady needs to entertain herself: a selection of magazines, a basket of sewing, a writing kit, and even a sketching book. The car looked practically like a real parlor. I poured a brandy and took a seat opposite Emily’s. Kye and Barbara would have the chairs beside ours, at the opposite windows, until it was time to retire. Then, Barbara would remove herself to the servant’s area beside the kitchen, where she had a small but comfortable-looking compartment.

“We shall all have excellent views,” Barbara said now, watching out her window as the baggage handlers hurried about, loading the baggage car. She had set a canvas bag at her side, most likely containing an assortment of the lurid dime novels she read. If Barbara Myers had been born a man, she would likely have been an even more flamboyant outlaw than yours truly.

Emily prowled the car with Kye, poking her nose into all of the ingenious contraptions that made a railroad car into a living space. She and Kye exclaimed over the lamps, set in such fashion that they swayed with the motion of the rail and remained upright, rather than pitching from side to side. I busied myself watching the passengers now boarding.

There were the usual assortment of Traveling Salesmen, of course, weary-looking men clutching their sample cases. They spent much of their lives on the road, and thought of the hours ahead as something to be endured rather than enjoyed. They’d probably be good for a card game when the ride grew too boring. I spotted a couple of Young Families, the wives herding their offspring onto the car, or sending an older child scampering after a straying younger brother or sister.  An Elderly Widow ascended to first class, followed by her sour-looking maid. I felt sorry for whoever sat next to that pair.

A few last-minute arrivals bustled over, and were hurried on board. With a whoosh of steam and a series of great jerks, the double engines pulled us away from the station. A cloud of cinders flew past the windows, sparkling in the gloom, and the scent of wood smoke stung my nose. That ash would get everywhere if we opened the windows or left the car. Our clothing would require a good cleaning once we reached our destination. I had to remember that it was small price to pay for such a speedy journey. After all, it had taken our grandparents months to travel across the country. Just because I’d prefer to be relaxing within my own drawing room was no reason to disparage the wonders of modern technology.

This is part of the scene where the lads (and Emily) head off to New York for their new case:

A few last-minute arrivals bustled over, and were hurried on board. With a whoosh of steam and a series of great jerks, the double engines pulled us away from the station. A cloud of cinders flew past the windows, sparkling in the gloom, and the scent of wood smoke stung my nose. That ash would get everywhere if we opened the windows or left the car. Our clothing would require a good cleaning once we reached our destination. I had to remember that it was small price to pay for such a speedy journey. After all, it had taken our grandparents months to travel across the country. Just because I’d prefer to be relaxing within my own drawing room was no reason to disparage the wonders of modern technology[ Check etymology].

Emily and Barbara stared eagerly out the windows as we rode through the Sacramento Valley. This late in the year, the harvest was all gathered, but the valley was still green and lovely. The train swayed and jerked, and the constant rattle of the wheels lulled one into a daze. I pulled out The Mysterious Island, a new volume by Jules Verne. That, a couple more new books and a few old favorites should last the journey. I didn’t look up until the train began to climb the Sierras. The setting sun turned the rocks of the mountains golden. My appreciation of nature may be less than that of modern convenience, but I can recognize beauty when I see it.

We broke out the fried chicken dinner Mrs. Rowell had packed, and made use of the dining table. The porter, when summoned, was happy to fetch a coffee service and pour the wine, especially when I dropped another coin into his palm. These fellows made little or nothing from the big bugs of the railroad, and depended on their tips to make ends meet. A well-greased wheel moves easiest, and Chance Knight is all for greasing the wheels of society. “George” agreed to keep the coffee pot filled for us.

“If you like, sir,” he added, “I can provide an informative lecture when we reach the most interesting spots on the journey.”

“Oh, we should enjoy that very much,” cried Emily. “I’m certain you have seen every inch of the countryside by now.”

“George” smiled and nodded his curly head. “Yes’m, and I’ve got some mighty interesting stories, too. You’d be surprised what happens on a train.”

The landscape outside the windows changed from rolling fields to rugged cliffs and ravines and broken ridges, covered by dense stands of pine. The odor of the evergreens overpowered even the scent of the ash flying alongside the windows. I reached for my book.

“About our conversation the other day…” Emily said with a smile that raised the hackles on the back of my neck.

Kye had the audacity to chuckle.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said, opening the novel pointedly.

“Your memory is perfect, my dear. You are well aware that I am discussing Devon Day and the Sweetwater Kid.”

No one day in Chance’s hectic life can be considered ordinary, but we can make some generalizations.

Chance generally rises later than his partner. His active mind often makes it difficult for him to get to sleep and stay asleep, so he frequently dozes off around the time Carmela is starting the kitchen fire. Once up and moving, he’ll stop by the kitchen for a light breakfast with plenty of strong coffee. Before that, however, he must shave and make certain he is the epitome of masculine fashion.

After breakfast, he and Kye usually read through the morning newspaper in search of entertainment. Chance usually spends the afternoon working on whatever project he’s got going, whether it’s collecting information for their next job, practicing his card games or lock-picking skills, or writing the next installment in the Devon Day and the Sweetwater Kid dime novels.

 

If left to his own devices, Chance might forget to eat lunch. If he’s at home, one of the servants will remind him to eat, or if he’s with Kye, he’ll get dragged into whatever restaurant is closest. Chance tends to have his heaviest meal in the evening, and he likes fine dining. If not dining at home, he’ll choose one of the best restaurants in town and be certain he has reservations for the evening.

He and Kye usually spend the evening in search of entertainment. Chance prefers more excitement, while Kye is more comfortable with a few friends. Chance is likely to be found at any large social gathering, at the theater or a lecture, or anywhere people gather. He’s just as likely to be found in the “bad” section of town, too, though he’ll wear his oldest clothes in that case rather than dressing to the nines.

Chance enjoys strolling the streets of San Francisco, and often doesn’t stroll back home until early morning. He might have a pocket full of cash from a poker game, or he might just have spent his time exploring his city.

Kye’s day begins simply enough: Grab whatever’s handy in the wardrobe, shave, then head downstairs for a huge breakfast from Carmela, with a pot of strong coffee.

After reading the morning newspaper with Chance, Kye usually spends the day working on one of his projects. If he’s not tinkering with something in his workroom or out in the shed, he’ll probably be over at Red’s working on some sort of firearm, or at one of the town’s blacksmith shops learning a new technique.

Lunch is whatever’s handy. He might eat at home, or he might stop at the closest restaurant or pub. Kye’s not nearly as picky as Chance is – he’s more drawn to plain cooking and large servings (or “all you can eat”).

If he’s not in the middle of a project, he might hook up with Chance in the late afternoon, for a visit to Woodward’s Gardens or a matinee performance at the theater.

Evenings might be spent in any sort of search for entertainment: theater, sports (Kye is partial to boxing matches), visiting or hosting friends, or attending a lecture or other educational exhibit. Kye and Chance generally eat dinner fairly late, either at a restaurant or at home, and stay out until all hours of the morning. This explains why they’re not usually up and about until well after most people have already eaten breakfast and gone about their daily business.

Once he gets back home, Kye is likely to tinker some more on his latest project, and then retire to his or Chance’s sitting room for the evening newspapers and conversation (with brandy and/or coffee and a cigar or cigarette).

Carmela’s day starts early. She’s got to cook her own family’s breakfast before she leaves for Chance and Kye’s house. Fortunately, the lads usually sleep late, so she’s got a little leeway to stop by the market on the way and pick up fresh ingredients for the day’s meal.

She’s also got great employers, which means she’s got a modern kitchen with the best equipment. It doesn’t take long to get the fire going in the stove and start the coffee. Before starting breakfast, she’ll put lunch on – usually a big pot of chili or soup, or maybe roast beef or chicken that she can slice for sandwiches later. She’ll also pop the day’s bread into the oven.

Carmela’s day is unusual for a cook because of the odd hours her employers keep. Breakfast can be as late as 9 or 10 o’clock, with lunch (when the lads are actually home for it) in the early afternoon. Their largest meal is the evening one, but Chance and Kye don’t expect her to stay until they arrive. They’re perfectly happy to have her leave a roast warming in the oven, or a pot of stew on the back burner.

Of course, when Chance throws one of his frequent get-togethers, the timing of the meals shifts around. Lunch will more than likely be a light affair, perhaps only a sandwich (or two or three, in Kye’s case), and dinner will be in the early evening. That’s when Carmela really gets to shine. She’ll spend the entire day working on the meal, producing four- or five-course meals that never cease to amaze the lads. They’ve offered numerous times to hire an assistant, but the most she’ll accept is a part-time scullery maid to wash and prepare the vegetables and meats.

She does accept the assistance of a couple of day-maids on such occasion, to clean up after the affair. This leaves her free to start the bread for the next day and get home to her own family at a reasonable hour of the evening.

Here’s an example of a fairly typical Victorian Era feast:

• Savory soup
• Roast turkey with dressing – or Chicken fricassee with rice – or Roast pork with potatoes
• Two vegetable side dishes
• Citrus ice
• Fresh dinner rolls with butter
• Jams, jellies and sweet pickles
• Fancy cake
• Punch, coffee and water or wine

It’s official – Devon Day and the Sweetwater Kid will be joining the Wolf Creek gang for the great poker tournament!

The anthology, LUCK OF THE DRAW, will be published later this summer – details to follow as I get them – and will feature 4 or 5 more stories, as well as a background murder mystery.

If you haven’t read the Wolf Creek books, here’s the first one – I guarantee you’ll get them all! It’s a shared universe story, with several authors combining talents to write as “Ford Fargo.”

I’m just a little hopeful that I’ll be invited back to Wolf Creek someday…

As this blog is to be about the writing process and my experiences as a writer, it seems only reasonable to start at the beginning. I’ve been telling stories my whole life, but it was only recently that I’ve started thinking of it as a second career instead of a hobby, that I’ve been writing for publication instead of thinking “someday I’ll write a book.”

 

I’ve always loved trickster characters, and I’ve had this one rogue inside my head since I was a teenager: a wise-cracking scoundrel who’s not entirely on the right side of the law, good with his tongue or one of his blades, expert at knowing just what you want to hear and making sure you hear it just when he needs you to. Over the years, he picked up a big, quiet partner who’d be the rational anchor to his wild ideas; the one man he’d trust to ride the river with. The two of them, under various names and in various incarnations, starred in quite a few tales in several genres, not all of which I’ve written down.

 

A few years ago, the pair started showing up with regularity as a couple of Old West outlaws trying to go straight. I’ve always been fascinated with stories of real-life “badmen” who turned into lawmen, and I started thinking about what my lads might do with themselves if they decided to hang up their six-guns and try out the other side of the law for a change. Not become policemen, I decided, but they’d need something that would use their special skill set. I hit on the idea of them starting a security firm, something that would protect the average businessmen from exactly the sort of people that the lads used to be.

 

I’m a member of an online critique group, so it was only natural to share a few of my stories with them. One of my best friends – we met through the group – picked up on the fact that these two characters were essentially the same two men. Barry challenged me to start writing seriously about them, and that November, challenged me further: to sign up for NaNoWriMo* and start on an actual novel about their struggles with this new concept of honesty. I’d participated before, so I knew I could make the 50,000 word goal, and I took the challenge.

 

I had a basic idea, but no real plot for the lads. I knew I wanted to show their skill as outlaws somehow, and I knew I wanted them to solve some sort of mystery. Then one morning I woke up from a sound sleep with the idea of a train robbery. Now, I just had to figure out a way to tie that into the rest of the plot. I started writing the first chapter, which eventually became the preface, and thought about how they pulled off the robbery. What if they used the same technique to help them solve their mystery?

 

By December, I had the bones of the novel down, and was ready for some serious writing. I’d imagined myself quite the polished writer, but trying to pull off a novel certainly altered my thoughts. It took a lot longer than I thought it should, for one thing, and I found myself floundering around in spots, knowing that some of what I was putting down was dull and uninspired, but not certain how to fix things. I pushed through and finished the manuscript over the spring and summer – and then I attended a local writing conference. The idea was to pitch my novel to some of the agents there, but I changed my mind after the first day’s lectures. I got so many great ideas, both from the classes and from talking to agents, that my pitch sessions included the phrase “and I’m going to edit the hell out of it once I get back home.”

 

I’m on the third (hopefully final) edit now, and I look back at the first draft with a rueful smile. I can only hope that the writing process becomes easier as I learn the proper techniques and keep practicing, much as any skill does. I’m still working things out as I go along, so hopefully this blog will help some of you learn what I’ve had to figure out the hard way.

*NAtional NOvel WRiting MOnth