I spoke at a book club event this past week and a nice lady who organized the meeting at a local public library took me to task on not releasing a new book in the Red River Series in the last year or two. She caught me the moment I walked into the building.

“I’m tired of waiting.”

The event began at two o’clock, and I walked in ten minutes early. She sounded like my late father-in-law who insisted being at least thirty minutes early to everything.

I squinted at her, trying to see if there was some family relationship. “I would have been here earlier if you’d asked.”

“That’s not what I meant. I want another Red River book. I like those the best, then your other series, even though one of them was about Tom Bell in the 1930s. You need to hurry up and bring everyone back in the next one. I want my adopted family.”

“Ah.” I turned the tables on her. “So what do you like best about that series?”

Her face brightened. “They take me back to when I was a kid.”

“These books are a time machine, then.”

“I suppose.” She led me into the meeting room. “The way you write is so…familiar. I feel comfortable with all of your characters and the music in there is what I listened to back you’re your history is accurate, and I love everything about those books, except that you kill animals in almost every one of them.”

That second zinger caught me by surprise. “Well, you realize no animals are harmed in these novels. They’re fiction. I made them all up.”

“But I love dogs, and now that you mention it, you killed a cat in one of those Sonny Hawke novels.”

I couldn’t let that go. “Again, we’re talking fiction here.”

“But I don’t like to read about animals being hurt or injured.”

I neglected to bring up the subject that some of my most heart-wrenching newspaper columns involved the loss of dogs, and I always hear from readers who say I touched something deep inside them, and thanked me for it.

In fact, just this past weekend I helped my little brother bury one of his dogs, because he was
both physically and mentally unable to do it by himself. You see, he lives out in the country and rural life is hard on animals.

The dog he cared for wasn’t his. Rocky (and that’s his given name) granted an elderly man’s dying wish that he look after Tig after Charlie passed. The old dog insisted on staying at the empty house down the road, because that was his home and he refused to move in with Rocky who fed and watered him for three years.

When a car sped by this past weekend, going way too fast on an asphalt county road, Tig hadn’t completely crossed the road. His back was broken, and the poor dog was so mangled that Rocky had to do what country folk have done all their lives to end suffering.

So we buried Tig, another in a long line of faithful companions I’ve had to lower into the ground.

As he and I were finishing up, I thought back about that book club lady and pondered a strange thought. Thrillers and mysteries are filled with murder and mayhem. I can kill a hundred people in one of my books (all made up, of course), and readers seldom say anything about the body count.

But if an animal dies, folks gather up torches and pitchforks to chant in front of my house, hoping to toast some marshmallows as my computer goes up in flames. Even the spouse of one of my oldest friends refuses to read any of my books, because she’s afraid I’ll waylay her with a deceased animal.

When fictitious animals “die” in my novels, it’s to advance the plot, or to allow the reader, in the case of my aforementioned Texas Ranger to show this character was under a great deal of stress and dealt with running over a feral cat that darted out in front of his truck with tears and a near emotional breakdown.

But at the same time, the Book Club lady loves to think about those days when she grew up in the country. But doesn’t want to dwell on the reality of life itself.

In my view, animal deaths are not off limits as long as they aren’t gory and serve the story.

Come on, Old Yeller and Where the Red Fern Grows wouldn’t be classics without these events.

So authors, have you killed off an animal in one of your novels?

And readers, what are your thoughts on this very real part of life in a fictionalized world?

Back in my larval stages, which occurred in the mid-1960s, my buddy Gary Selby and I were partners in a field day event called the Three-Legged Race. Field Day was how they ended the school year back then, and the late May air was perfumed with fresh-mown grass, gardenias from some lady’s yard across the street, and dill pickles.

Beneath the scraggly elm trees outside our old school, the teachers sold those delicious green mouth puckers as a fund raiser for the next year. After I was grown and became a middle school teacher, I figured out they used the money for a much-needed end-of-the-year happy hour. They also sold cheap homemade Cokes and Dr Peppers (syrup from clear gallon jugs hand-mixed with tap water), weakly flavored snow cones, and popcorn that didn’t sell the year before.

There were other drinks of course. Water in a five-gallon metal water cooler they filled from the hose, and if an elementary student was brave, a Suicide (Coke, Dr Pepper and pickle juice).

All for a dime each. Even the hose water, because it had ice in it.

At the starting line that warm sunny day, Coach tied my right leg to Gary’s left, and we waited for the starting pistol with our arms over the others’ shoulders. At the crack, we were off in fine rhythm, and had a great lead by the time we were five yards from the finish line. That’s when the knot came untied. We crossed as victors, but were disqualified by a sour old math teacher, and I lost the only opportunity to win a ribbon or trophy in my entire twelve years of public school.

I didn’t win a darn thing for the next fifteen years until I took a college course in photography to supplement my assignment as a middle school photo teacher and placed first in the Silhouette category. I had that trophy in my office until it disappeared in a move several years ago.

All this leads back to one day in the 6^th grade when I came across a Newberry Medal winning book in the school library titled, Across Five Aprils. I picked up that little novel because of the gold emblem on the cover and absorbed it in one sitting, sparking a lifelong interest in the War of Northern Aggression.

Finishing that, I looked for other books Newberry winners such as Island of the Blue Dolphins. Those titles took me to Robinson Crusoe, Swiss Family Robinson, and ultimately, and this is a weird connection, The Old Man and the Sea and my introduction to Hemingway, which intersected with Steinbeck and eventually Robert Ruark, the writing mentor I never met.

Newberry made me aware of Caldecott Awards, and when I got older, Spur Awards on westerns caught my attention. Hugos, Edgars, the ITW, and Pulitzers to name only a few told me these authors, and ultimately their works, were worth reading.

Awards and the resulting recognition are important personal achievements that can stimulate a flagging author. Writer awards are also a great way to fast track a literary career. They provide professional recognition among your peers, and in my case, are a significant source of personal satisfaction.

Awards are endorsements of your book, and therefore, showcase your talent. They tell the world that the novel you bled for is worthy of the price and can be an incentive for online shoppers to add more titles to their list, or cart. They boost self-confidence and self-esteem, and impress the heck out of potential agents and publishers.

Most of those awards I’m familiar with don’t bring in much in the way of instant cash, and I’m not talking about grant awards which is an entirely different discussion, but recognition among literary peers serves as a springboard to help authors rise above the relative obscurity of thousands of books published each year.

My first novel, The Rock Hole, won the Benjamin Franklin Award, and at the time I had no idea what it meant to a budding career. The folks at Poisoned Pen Press had to explain that one to me (as well as the importance of Starred Reviews from Kirkus, Publishers Weekly, Booklist, and a host of others). I had my sights set on others, too. They served as personal goals and milestones, that kept me plugging along.

At one point confidence sagged, and I seriously wondered what I was doing at the keyboard, but a Spur Award from the Western Writers of America came my way, and then another, along with Will Rogers Medallions, and I was back on the mental track to keep plugging along. Because of renewed enthusiasm, I kept at it and that led to several honors and accolades now hang on the walls of my office. When I have any doubts about my work, and all authors do at some point, I only have to look up and am once again energized.

The addition to mentioning awards on your website, Facebook, Instagram, or any other platform that showcases your work, this recognition can lead to an increase in sales. When marketing, they lift your brand, and help others celebrate your success in this race to be recognized as professional authors.

Mentioning that you’re a finalist on social media can put you on a stage in which others share your anticipation and excitement, maintaining interest and conversation for months at a time as everyone waits for that announcement. Those who might know only your name can be prompted to look up your backlist and elevate sales.

Don’t hesitate to enter these contests, even though winning might a longshot in your own mind. Sure you might lose, but you’ve already taken a whale of a step by getting that novel published, so don’t let self-doubt dissuade you. Some of these have entry fees, so research those you’re interested in. Don’t hesitate to reach out to other established writers to make sure they’re legit. There are a lot of scams out there. Other competitions are financed by grants or outside entities, and only require copies for submission and no fees.

Writing contests are also a source of great satisfaction when you place. Some of you might have heard of the late Pat McManus, the legendary and hysterically funny columnist for Outdoor Life and Field and Stream. He and I became friends decades ago, and he urged me to enter a Humor Category in a contest sponsored by the Outdoor Writers of America. I did, and my column came in first with Pat taking second. He called to congratulate me, and the excitement in his voice was worth as much as the paper certificate I framed.

The honor of winning that contest sparked me to work harder on a writing career.

Even seasoned writers are excited to hear their latest novel has been honored with such recognition. I was humbled to stand in front of a banquet hall full of writers I’d read for years and accept my first Spur. It was a goal and dream come true.

But don’t be disappointed if you don’t make the cut right off the bat, or even after several attempts until you finally succeed. Participation ribbons aren’t part of this business, so just square your shoulders, congratulate those who won, and keep trying.

As I always say in all things. Never give up.

One complaint I often hear about plots is that coincidences come too frequently, or they’re unbelievable. Coincidences in fiction makes readers mad, even though they might have actually happened.

My example: Way back in 1982, my former wife and I were dining with another couple at The Shed, a steakhouse in Dallas. It was the new In eatery that everyone had to experience. Of course since it was new, the place was packed that particular night and we had to wait nearly an hour to be seated in one of the smaller dining areas off the main room. It didn’t matter, I liked the smaller area that wasn’t as noisy.

Even though my friend was a cop, I was sitting with my back against the wall with a view of the door and a dozen tables. A foursome composed of two distinct generations came in, an older couple and a pair of young folks who looked to be around eighteen or nineteen.

The young lady in a cream-colored sweater and her escort sat facing us, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the dark-haired woman. It became so awkward on my part, that I had to purposefully engage those around me so I wouldn’t stare, something that had never happened to me before.

Halfway through the meal, the young woman and her beau had a disagreement that caught my attention. The older man with them patted the air to quiet the young couple down, and the girl rose and walked out. She returned a few minutes later and all was well. The foursome finished the meal in quiet conversation.

I confess, I kept sneaking glances at the dark-eyed young lady until we paid out and left. As we walked by their table, I took one last glance at her when she smiled at the older couple, and we were gone.

Thirty years later, the Bride and I were sitting by the pool one late evening, drinking wine and talking about our past before we met. Since she grew up in a small town about forty miles from where I did in Old East Dallas, the conversation drifted to the Dallas clubs that used to line Greenville Avenue, a hotspot for the Baby Boomers such as us. In fact, I was born on this date way back in 1954, one of the earlier Boomers, and she came long ten years later almost to the day, as the last of our generation, and will celebrate her birthday on the 29th.

WIth this almost exact ten-year difference in our ages, (and by the way, our 26th anniversary is on her birthday, only three days from now) but we’ve found we share similar memories of that time in the ‘80s before we met.

The music playing through our outside speakers helped recall those days and one song reminded me of a place I enjoyed. “Hey, do you remember Spaghetti Warehouse out on I-35?”

Her white teeth flashed in the fading light. “My high school boyfriend took me there before we went dancing at Bell Star.”

“You had to be twenty-one to get into Bell Star.”

She gave me a look over the top of her glass. “I’ve heard.”

“Man, there were some great clubs and restaurants down there back then. The Longhorn Ballroom, Whiskey River, The Western Place. I loved The Old San Fransciso Streakhouse –––.”

“With the girl on the swing over the bar!” Her eyes lit up at the recollection.

“Yep, but my favorite was Baby Doe’s Matchless Mine.” The Dallas restaurant on the only hill in Dallas (and that’s a stretch to say) had a great view of the Trinity River down below, and about a million cars stuck in traffic jams off of I-35.

“I liked it, too. Especially the cheese soup.”

“That reminds me, did you ever eat at The Shed? It was a steak house in North Dallas.”

“I loved that place. My parents used to take me there–––.”

My head spun and my breath caught. I was back in That Place, staring across the restaurant at my future wife. “You were there with them and someone else once. You were wearing a cream sailor’s sweater.”

Her expression was one of shock. “I did wear that sweater when they took me and my boyfriend out to eat one time. We broke up a year later, but how did you know? ”She tilted her head and took another sip. “I’ve never told you that story.”

“Didn’t have to.” I described the scene as she nodded and listened with a frown across her forehead. “I was there and couldn’t take my eyes off of you from across the room. Y’all had a disagreement and you got up and left.”

“We sure did. He was back from college and I’d just graduated. It was the beginning of the end for us.”

For the next hour we talked about that night, how I was taken with her almost to the point of embarrassment, though I have to admit, she hadn’t noticed me at all. We talked of our lives with other people for the next eight years until a mutual friend introduced us in Austin and we married another eight years later.

It was an unbelievable coincidence, and when I used it in a manuscript, my agent urged me to take it out. “I love the story It’s too unbelievable in a book.”

“But it really happened.”

“You readers won’t like it, or believe it’s possible.”

I found out she was right once again as I went down a rabbit hole of research concerning reality and fiction. In real life, coincides are seriously cool, but in the worlds we create, the same rules simply don’t apply. Constant or poor coincidences are startling to readers, and their ability to suspend disbelief (though we always do that in fiction) can draw them out of the plot and drive ’em to complain in two-star reviews. Readers hate sudden, lazy coincides.

However, on the flip side, that interesting confluence of people and events works at the beginning of a novel because technically, all stories start with a coincidence as….

…two men just happen to be fishing under a bridge one night when the body of a woman drops into the water and the story takes off.  (John D. MacDonald in Darker Than Amber). It worked so well that particular Travis McGee novel eventually wound up on the big screen, and I know, because I saw some of it at a drive-in theater one night in 1970…never mind.

But if such a thing happens at the end of your novel, when the antagonist is about to shoot the protagonist under that same bridge and another body falls on his gun hand and saving our hero’s life, then you’ll hear about it. I guarantee.

These Rules That Aren’t tend to apply more to thrillers and mysteries. If you’re writing fantasy, horror, or romance, then you can get away with it, because it seems that readers of these genres are more open to fate and such similar interactions.

Come to think of it, maybe I can go back and dust off that old manuscript and dabble in romance for a while. Anyway, careful what you create in the way of falling bodies or chance meetings, and let reality and past memories rest for quiet discussion some night over wine.

After struggling for years, maybe decades, you The Writer gets published. Celebrations! Parties! Champagne! Now you can legitimately call yourself an author. The book is a modest success and if you’re lucky, there’s a two or three book contract and eventually a world of your own making grows in print.

Like most of us have experienced, it probably won’t be that hoped-for blockbuster, because as I read last weekend, there are a million traditionally printed books released each year, and if we add in self-publishing, it jumps to four million titles clamoring for attention. That equates to about eleven thousand books hitting the figurative shelves each day. To put it simply, all this makes it hard to get noticed.

But you’re published and the fruits of your imagination are out there for everyone to read and enjoy. If you produce two novels in the same genre, you’ve most likely established a “brand.” You now write thrillers, mysteries, cozies, science fiction, fantasy, and any number of other genres.

Let’s say you write thrillers. The cover bears your name, and you’ve figured out how all this works. Unlike that first one that you toiled and sweated over, the second manuscript comes a little easier, mostly because you have a contract specifying a delivery time and by golly you’re gonna make it.

The next book comes out, and a year later, another. Though you still haven’t made the bestseller list, the checks keep coming in and the reviews are great. You’re on a roll.

The phone rings. “Uh, Author? We’re negotiating the contract for a new book.”

“While you do that, I’m going to write something different. I have an idea for a romantic thriller.”

“That isn’t what you write.”

There. You’re pigeonholed to only do what you’ve done in the past, but is that a bad thing? Most authors have stories that swirl like the little birds around a cartoon character’s head. You’ve been reading thrillers and after finishing the last one you told yourself, “I can do better.”

You’ve always wanted to be published, and so should you just settle in and stay in that lane?

My answer is no, if you want to experiment with ideas outside of what you’re doing. After writing mysteries for several years, you want to do something different and that’s perfectly understandable. You and your readers love those characters and the fictional world you created, but if you read everything from thrillers, to westerns, to nonfiction, you might feel a calling to trying something different.

Is it a career killer to switch genres?

Ask A.A. Milne. He wrote murder mysteries, after he tried his hand in writing humor and plays before Winnie the Pooh was born.

Cormac McCarthy wrote literary fiction for years before releasing his outstanding western titled, Blood Meridian. He also penned a number of contemporary westerns and eventually moved on to the apocalyptic novel, The Road before writing historical fiction.

With more than 225 romance novels in her backlist, Nora Roberts decided she wanted to write futuristic police procedurals. You might know her as J.D. Robb.

And did you know that fun movie that came out in the 1968 with Dick Van Dyke as the lead character was written by the creator of James Bond? Ian Fleming wrote Chitty Chitty Bang Bang in 1962.

Dean Koontz began his writing career by producing lean mystery novels, many under pen names early in his career such as Brian Coffey (Blood Risk in 1973), before moving to horror, (Intensity), and now a flood of suspense thrillers. But within these current pages, he also adds elements of horror, fantasy and science fiction. He’s blending genres.

Larry McMurtry wrote western novels such as the nontraditional western Horseman, Pass By (1961), to Moving On (still another contemporary western about marriage and adult relationships), and literary fiction utilizing dark comedy and romance (The Evening Star). He concentrated on these genres for years before writing the Pulitzer Prize-winning western novel, Lonesome Dove. In his later years, McMurtry switched from one genre to another, even producing nonfiction books on the old west.

You roll your eyes at these examples. “Yeah, but these folks are famous!”

They are now, but they all started out with that first novel, then the second, until they gained enough experience and confidence to branch out, despite possible warnings from friends, publishers, and agents.

In my opinion, and with the examples above as evidence, you don’t have to “stick with what brung you,” to borrow and old southern saying.

It’s your work, your brand, and your name, and you should follow your instincts. For some authors, producing only one novel a year is almost overwhelming but satisfying and that’s enough. For others who like to play with their imaginary friends, two, and maybe three books a year is a real possibility, and that gives you the opportunity to experiment and branch out.

No matter how you do it, under your own name, or with a pseudonym, do your own thing.

I seldom turn down the opportunity to speak, and more than once there’s a monetary loss for gas and even a hotel room to make those events. Civic organizations, book clubs, and groups such as retired teachers or other professional organizations all have me on their annual speakers lists, and at first I thought that was a problem, because prepared speeches aren’t my thing. I didn’t want to bore them with the same talk time after time.

Watching someone stand in front of a room, reading from a script is mind numbing. Those folks are usually nervous, or unfamiliar with public speaking and it’s obvious in the way they stand and present their talk, barely looking up from their notes or pages.

That kind of thing would be a disaster for me, and like the way I write, when I give a talk I have no idea where I’m going until I get there.

Calls came in right after my first novel released back in 2011 to come talk about The Rock Hole. Having been a classroom teacher for ten years, I knew I could stand in front of a crowd and hold their attention, because if you can keep a class full of middle school students’ interest for fifty minutes, you’re a speaker.

I disremember if that first group was Kiwanis, or Lions, or Rotary, to name a few. It was a luncheon event, though, and I stepped up to the lectern and simply followed one story or idea after the other as I recounted the disastrous road to publication I’d just endured. Folks laughed at the right places, showed concern when I told them of losing my first manuscript, and clapped with enthusiasm when the story came to full circle with a tender surprise.

Oh, wait, but first let’s Let’s start with the basics and clear something up. People often confuse lectern with rostrum, podium, and dais. Personally, I’d prefer not to stand behind any of them, because I tend to move around.

A lectern is the slant-top high desk a speaker uses to read presentation notes. I prefer not to use the term lecture, because I’m a storyteller, but to remember what you’re hiding behind in that sense, think the word “lecture.”

Sometimes large audiences require a podium, which is a raised platform that places you higher than those staring upward at you with blank, expectant faces. Hint, quickly find the friendliest face in the room. He or she might be smiling, or nodding, or changing expressions as your talk proceeds. Use them as a yardstick and an anchor if you feel as if the room is drifting away.

And then there’s the rostrum or dias, which is a larger platform, or maybe a stage, on which a head table is placed during a formal dinner. You’re usually smack in the middle of those dignitaries who invited you, and a trick is to talk to them as well as the audience in order to engage those who are sitting up there with you. Make eye contact, and they’ll appreciate you even more.

As a repeat speaker for annual events, I can’t use the exact same talk each time. Right after I started this journey, I once looked out over an audience that was strangely familiar, and then realized they were a mix of organizations I’d talked to in the past few months. I sure didn’t want to tell them the same stories, so I had to adapt and improvise, to steal from Clint Eastwood’s Sergeant Highway in Heartbreak Ridge.

That was the day I realized that audiences don’t want to be lectured, but prefer to be entertained. As authors, we can stand in front of those people (some of whom are looking at their watches) and talk about outlining, character building, and motivation. But for the most part, the members of these organizations aren’t writers, they’re a captive group who’ve been subjected to countless lectures on everything from recycling to what kind of fertilizer to use on Bermuda grass.

That’s where stories come in and we become entertainers in still another sense. I don’t have any particular ideas written down to use as notes, but I’ll talk about what comes to mind and tie it all together with something to make the audience laugh.

Like the night John Gilstrap and I went out on a Florida beach at midnight after a conference to finish off a bottle of brown water only to find the resort chained and locked that return access at some point and we had to climb over a fence to get in. And for me, that fence somehow undulated like the ocean we’d been watching as I attempted to vault over it like I was a kid. I wound up hanging halfway over it like a deer strapped to the hood of a truck.

Getting John over involved curses, grunts, groans, and threats, all of which came from him.

Or the day at another conference when Lee Child told me a shocking story about a woman who’d been faking his signature on his books until she had the opportunity to get a genuine John Henry that made her so proud she admitted to being a forger. That was a two-part story, but I only hard half because a conference official took his hand and led him away to “bend his ear” for a while and he looked back at me like a dog headed for the pound.

Or back to Gilstrap again when he and I were in a crowd of thriller and mystery writers at eight in the morning when two hookers came through the hotel lobby and asked us for directions to the ladies room. Speechless for once, John pointed, and followed by their pimps, the “ladies of the morning” wove without notice through the oblivious authors who make their living about crimes and criminals. Fascinated, John and I followed them down a hall to watch their fighting men keep a lookout as the ladies eventually emerged in their “work” clothes and the entire assemblage stepped onto an elevator and headed up.

We broke off our surveillance at that time, and went back to being observers of conference life.

Depending on the crowd before me, if they’re not writers I’ll tell stories of my childhood or life as a writer that relates to the work in progress. And it seems they always do. Just recently I talked to a civic organization about my newest contemporary western series beginning with Hard Country, and told them the real story of how we owned a ranch across the gravel road from a meth house, and how those brain-dead individuals were always breaking into the house and that I’d learned they were related to someone in the sheriff’s office who tended to look the other way.

The questions that followed were fun, quick, and interesting for me and the audience.

I included those same stories at a book club event, but talked to them, not at them, about the development of two new series, my traditional western featuring Cap Whitlatch (below), and the upcoming weird westerns that will begin with Comancheria. I was surprised to find they were more interested in the horror aspect of westerns and fielded a lot of questions after that.

I think part of that was because I tend to converse, instead of using a prepared speech or lecture.

It’s all part of being an author, and though I don’t sell a ton of books at these events, they always pay off with name recognition and recommendations to to their friends and family to read my work.

No one told me this was part of the job, but I’m having a helluva time doing it, and if you’re nervous about public speaking, just get in the car and talk to yourself aloud, following a train of thought that leads down unexpected trails. It’ll do you good in the long run.

Now, as a side note, I was discussing my first western with a civic group last week and told them The Journey South is now out, but only as an eBook. That was followed by a firehose of questions concerning electronic vs. physical books, and the publishing industry itself, that led to even more stories and fun rabbit trails that interested the audience.

With that, I’d appreciate it y’all would pass the word that there’s a new western in town, and it ain’t as traditional as you’d think.

Much obliged.

I’m typing this slowly today, but a hard deadline looms and despite the vertigo threatening to wash me off this desk like a rogue wave/waive, I’ll try to make sense/cents through all the fuzziness in my frontal lobes. I feel unanchored and today’s blog post tends to drift as well. If you’ve never experienced this malady, let me explain. A single snowflake would look like a blizzard the way my head is spinning.

But to use a stolen line, I shall endeavor to persevere.

Rev, don’t move your head too fast, and keep it still. At least you aren’t leaning over the porcelain throne like the first time in Key West with the Gilstraps…and it wasn’t the gin or wine/whine then, either. Quit wandering around and focus, Spin Boy! 

All right. Debbie Burke’s fun post on A Pair of Pants several days ago brought to mind something that’s been bothering me for a good long while/wile. I guess I shouldn’t let the little things irritate me, but trying to lie/lye still all day yesterday, I found my fuzzy mind wandering, especially after looking at Facebook for a couple of minutes when the world settled down for a moment. This came to me.

I’m afeared the English language all us writers cherish is slowly deteriorating, and it might/mite due to social media.

Authors can use a number of platforms to promote their/there/they’re work, but I’m of the age to embrace only a couple. Facebook works best for me. (I’d always said I’d never have an FB account and avoided it for years until my first book was published. I knew so little about it, I once called it MyFace.) I eventually learned to link it to Instagram, figuring two/too/to birds were better than one.

So that’s where I settled, and I’m dismayed by all the abbreviations and the posters’ inability to use the correct words in a sentence or idea, let alone punctuation. Good lord, we all took English in school, and someone please tell me, did half the population of this country sleep through that class!!!???

Sentence structure aside, it’s/its/its’ the wrong words people select that drives me nuts. I suspect those folks don’t know/no the meaning of the word homophone. I’m not trying to be mean here, but I’m seeing more and more of those same issues arise in novels, whether/weather they’re self or traditionally published. I ask, “where were the copy editors!!!???

Biting down the rising nausea in/inn my office that refuses to be still, let’s get back to the classroom. A homophone is each of two/to/too or more words having the same pronunciation but different meanings, origins, or spelling.

Yep, these words can cause confusion when we use them in error and most word programs should catch the issue, but then again…

For the past few years, I’ve judged professional writing contests and the problem seems/seams to be getting worse. The wrong words with innocent intent are getting through. Here are just a handful I’ve seen in recent weeks, especially on social media and in other places, and in no particular order…wait, urk.

Getting back from the water closet and feeling like a freshman college student on their/they’re/there first night in the dorm, let’s/lets continue with our homophones.

Shear/Sheer

Sale/Sail

Sight/Cite

Bare/Bear

Peel/Peal

Whole/Hole

Roll/Role

Tale/Tail

Waste/Waist

Weather/Whether

Cell/Sell

Four/For

Break/Brake

Die/Dye

Heel/Heal

Creek/Creak

Idle/Idol

Knot/Not

Wright/Right

Sole/Soul

Accept/Except

Affect/Effect

Immigrant/Emigrant

Deer/Dear

Pear/Pair

Whole/Hole

Knew/New

Stationary/Stationery

Flower/Flour

Style/Stile

Know/No

Right/Write

Pane/Pain

Way/Weigh

Sweet/Suite

And of course, There/Their/They’re

Most of these came from Facebook posts I’ve collected over the past several months. Speaking of that platform, when I first became an FB user, I had the noble/nobel idea that it was a new version of the front porch on an old general store where people would/wood sit exchange positive ideas, stories, and information. Instead, it’s become a wasteland of manipulated videos, trolls who incite/insight fright or anger, and political antagonism promoted by those who hide behind an electronic wall and spew anything they want without fear of real/reel repercussion. If any of that had happened in front of a store when I was a kid, someone would‘ve gotten their nose busted and for good reason.

But back to what I was saying, this particular issue with the English language can be traced back to the way vowels were pronounced between the 14^th and 18^th centuries as individuals were more and more influenced by the introduction of other languages by migrants who moved to England after the Black Death.

Or/oar it might have come from what are known as “French loan words” (where the introduction of these words forced a change in the way English was pronounced). Another suggestion is that as the French language made/maid its way into everyday use during the war with France, general anti-French sentiments caused the middle class to deliberately make English sound less like the French.

Pronunciation is another key, and it’s hard to get specific vocalizations into what we write/right. It originates, I suspect, with our ancestors and region. For example, my former secretary from New Jersey and I often argued over the pronunciation of pen vs. pin. Each time I’d ask for a pen, she’d bring me a needle or map pin just for meanness. Here in Texas, the words are distinguishable only by spelling.

Take the word “here” for example. In Texas, we make it two syllables, whereas country music stars Dolly Parton and Dwight Yoakum have a unique Appalachian pronunciation that’s hard to duplicate unless you’re from that part of the nation. It’s an Old English soft sound produced at the back of the throat and can only be written as “hyer,” but not spoken as harsh as the spelling would dictate. In fact, I prefer their version, and though I’m a fairly good mimic, I can’t get that one down.

I believe those from the Ohio Valley pronounce “hear” with two syllables the way we do down hyer in Texas.

Trying to steer back to my original discussion in this mental tempest, no matter the origin, I suspect there are hundreds of other homophones I haven’t thought about. I bet you have your own to add, along with stories that tweak your Irritation Nerve.

And with that, I hope others find some value here in my version of English 101.

Everyone shout in agreement, here here! Which is what I thought people we saying back when I was in elementary school, (supposedly to authenticate our presence, I suppose). but then again, I soon found that the “dawnzer-lee light” was actually “dawn’s early light” in the Star-Spangled Banner, (it made sense since we pronounced “window-light” for a window pane) but I digress…and the spins are getting worse.

It seems that going down a rabbit hole while doing online research is a given. Sometimes we find what we need at the outset and can escape within minutes, but I’ve spent hours following one lead to another only to wind up watching cute puppy videos.

When writing these days, I might come to a place that needs specific details such as a type or caliber of pistol, or what to call the round hole in a wood stove (the hob), or the vegetation in a specific part of Texas, but I do my best not to get sidetracked. Instead, I use those opportunities as short breaks from the work in progress to add bits and pieces of accumulated background information to my story, instead of spending days or weeks digging around to find so much minutia that the manuscript will resemble an eycyclopedia.

But I’m working on the second weird western in a new series (the contract is almost here!) and this time needed a little background information about the lands owned and controlled by the Comanches in the middle to late 1800s. I’d looked at a number of online maps to get a sense of the area called Comancheria, but I needed to walk the country and see and smell it up close for myself.

To do this, another couple we’ve known for decades joined the Bride and I in a week-long getaway to the Texas Panhandle, and specifically the Palo Duro Canyon, the Lone Star version of the Grand Canyon.

Some of our plans went awry when wildfires swept across the panhandle, preventing us from visiting a couple historical sites I wanted to see. Instead, we traveled south of that area, settling ourselves in a wonderful house on the rim of the canyon. It became our base camp of sorts.

The first trip was to visit the Charles Goodnight home, a restored structure built in 1888 by a bigger than life cowman and plainsman who was instrumental in settling west Texas. He served as a Texas Ranger, scout, established the JA Ranch in the Palo Duro area, invented the chuckwagon, and blazed a number of trails for cattle drives all the way to Wyoming.

We hiked the canyon, found the location of Goodnight’s 1877 ranch at the bottom, watched wildlife, sunrises and sunsets, and studied the light that seemed to change down in there every hour. We stood where Comanches camped, and imagined what it was like when the cavalry finally caught up with them one morning and broke the back of that tribe’s resistance forever by massacring women and children.

When we returned, my traveling buddy, Steve Knagg, (who has been a fan of Mr. Goodnight for years) gave me a biography first published in 1936. A history buff anyway, and knowing this volume contained enormous amounts of information, I sat down to read and couldn’t stop.

Before long it was full of notes on scraps of paper, marked pages, and sticky tabs. I quickly realized that Goodnight and the country he rode would figure predominantly in my next manuscript. However, it won’t be the first time his exploits have appeared in a fictional novel.

Most native Texans know the story of Goodnight, and the establishment of cattle trails in the 1870s and 80s, and are somewhat familiar with the famous Goodnight-Loving trail. I’d read books about this time period and these men before, and knew that Larry McMurtry loosely based Lonesome Dove on their adventures. I was surprised to see how well he used history to support the storyline.

The fictional and actual events paralleled closely as I read the real account of early Texas, written by J. Evetts Haley. It was eerie, since I’ve absorbed the novel Lonesome Dove at least half a dozen times, and watched the movie more times than I can recall. It sparked an interesting sense of déjà vu.

That came from the amount of real history McMurtry wove into that Pulitzer Prize winning novel released in 1985.

For example, did you know that August McCrae and Woodrow Call were based on Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving? Many Texas history buffs have an inkling, but those two wonderful fictional characters are rooted in Texas lore.

The near-fatal engagement between Gus and the Cheyenne in Montana was based on a fight between Goodnight and a Comanche war party. It really occurred on the Pecos River in New Mexico and his real partner who escaped to find help was named One-Armed Wilson (in the book it was Pea Eye, played by Timothy Scott in the movie).

In the book, Gus lost his leg in Miles City after a long cattle drive, but in reality, Oliver Loving lost an arm to gangrene in New Mexico. Both eventually passed away from their wounds.

Like Woodrow Call who hauled Gus back from Montana to a pecan grove in Texas, Goodnight brought his old friend back from Ft. Sumner, New Mexico, to Weatherford, Texas for burial, (nearly 450 miles), but he didn’t make the trip alone. He was accompanied by half a dozen cowboys who escorted the body in a somber funeral party.

One of the characters in the book, a scout named Deets, was inspired by a cowboy and close friend to Goodnight, Bose Ikard (inset below). Unlike Deets who was killed by a young warrior, Ikard died of natural causes in 1929, but Goodnight’s respect for the man was so high that he really did carve a headstone with some of the same phrases later used in the book and movie.

Actual Epitaph: Served with me four years on the Goodnight-Loving Trail, never shirked a duty or disobeyed and order, rode with me in many stampedes, participated in three engagements with Comanches. Splendid behavior.

Fictional Epitaph: Josh Deets. Served with me 30 years. Fought in 21 engagements with the Comanches and Kiowa. Cheerful in all weathers.

I’ve had writers tell me they’re afraid to use real people or events because they feel it’s some kind of plagiarism, or they’ll face legal challenges from family or other entities, or at the very least, it’s stealing in some sense. The discussion above proves it’s perfectly all right to base characters on historic figures who inspire a story, and by changing the names, locations, and specifics to suit the plot under construction, the fictional actors are yours.

McMurtry did it, and wove an incredible story of two men who have immortalized the old west, even though Lonesome Dove was never meant to be a faithful depiction of Charles Goodnight and Oliver Loving, but became a wonderfully failed attempt to demystify traditional westerns.

Oh, and full disclosure about that great author, I have a story about how he snubbed me over twenty years ago by turning his back and walking away as I thanked him for his inspiration and body of work, but that’s another story.

Here’s the point. It’s all right to draw from history to create fiction, and the truth be told, I followed McMurtry’s lead and used historical characters and events in my aforementioned upcoming weird western, Comancheria, so I’m-a doin’ it again with this second book in the series.

No one told me when I first got into this writing business that I’d be standing before large and small groups and organizations these past thirteen years, talking books and this art form I’d chosen to pursue. It comes easy to me, because I’m a natural born BSer, but some find standing before the public to be a daunting task.

Through the years I’ve learned that different audiences have their own personalities. Some small groups are in a party mood, ready to be entertained and full of questions and comments. On the flip side, I’ve talked to groups who stared at me as if I owed them money, only to have the attendees swarm the signing table saying I was the best presenter they’d heard in years.

Go figure.

Large audiences are typically more open and responsive. You just never know.

Civic organizations always need speakers, and I’ll talk to them all. Dinner clubs are fun, and those folks are usually full of questions, which I love.

I have no set talk. I verbally wander around like a toddler lost in Walmart, starting out with one idea and getting distracted by a recollection only to bounce onto another anecdote or  writing tip. I watch people out there with pen and paper, scribbling furiously to keep up as I offer suggestions ranging from authors I like, to those who influenced me, to books on writing and publishing.

Talking about books and writing is almost a hobby for me. I look forward to different groups interested in learning the trade. In fact, this coming September I have the honor of being the first author to appear in the inaugural Garland, Texas, community-wide reading program called One Book, One Garland. According to organizers, the goal is to get as many community members to read Hard Country as possible and to hold a three-day series of programs and events.

Saturday, September 14 at 6pm – Evening with the author: Talk on Reavis’ personal journey to publication, followed by book signing.

Thursday, September 19 at 7pm – (More exclusive event) Author visit with our book clubs: This will be a collection of at least three book clubs in the Garland area. They will be combined for one meeting to talk with the members and the Friends of the Library about Hard Country.

Friday, September 20 at 6pm – Writing workshop

Hard Country is my most recent novel, featuring a contemporary special ranger for the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association. These agents investigate rural crimes, and my characters, Tucker and Harley Snow, are based on two brothers who worked undercover narcotics here in the state back in the 80s and 90s. The novel is based on a real meth house that was across the gravel road from our ranch in Oklahoma, and it debuted as one of Amazon’s picks for the month of August, 2023.

My talk for the Evening with the Author, “The Road to Publication and Other Great Disasters” is the most popular presentation I have, and it’s full of information, humor, and anecdotes about writing.

I’m excited to speak before any group. This past week I met with a retired teachers association to discuss my early career in public education, and then this second career as an author. Another such organization in a different part of the state is on the books next month.

On the day of this post, I’ll be in Dallas, part of a panel discussing literature as a whole, publishing, and “common misconceptions people have about being an author.”

Now that’s funny.

It takes time from writing, but in my opinion, it’s an essential part of being a successful author.

So what do you think? Is this difficult for you? Do you take the Cormac McCarthy path and avoid talking in public, or are you like me, do you set your soul on fire for the sheer joy of talking with readers and fans?

Finishing up a novel this week, I went back and read through it one last time before sending the manuscript on to my agent. This one wrote itself fast, and I was confident there were few issues to deal with in post.

Ummm hummm.

The entire novel takes place in 24 hours, and as usual for me, contains many moving parts and a lot more characters than I expected. The Bride read it at the same time and we compared notes to find there were a couple of continuity issues.

Those were cured by simply deleting specific references in dialogue. I talked by my protagonist Ridge about that. “Ridge, in Chapter 15, you were on the far end of the street how long ago?”

“I said twenty minutes when I was talking to Zeke.”

“At the same time you were talking with the antagonist at the opposite end of town, and then got in a fight.”

Ridge paused, considering our dilemma. “Dang it. How’re we gonna fix that?”

“Don’t make any more specific references to time and we can smooth this one over. I’ll move that scene and it all should mesh.”

“Good,” Ridge glanced over his shoulder. “Now, can I get back to trying to avoid those people who’re chasing me?”

“Go on, we’re good now, but I still have to do something about Chapter 22.”

That one was the real problem, because when I went back and read Chapter 22, it contained brilliant dialogue and an excellent sense of place but did nothing to move the story forward.

It was a rookie mistake, and I am ashamed.

Chapters might be hard for some folks, but I’ve never given them much thought.

I don’t consciously think about how long they are, but after going back and re-reading my work, I find the first two or three are somewhat short, establishing scenes and characters, and setting the tempo.

They become longer as the story arcs develop, and then in the third act, as the climax nears, they grow progressively shorter, adding to the quickening pace of the action. They end when they should, sometimes with cliffhangers, or times after a character says something thoughtful, or foreshadowing.

But what does a chapter do? The Chicago Manual of Style Shop Talk says. “A chapter accomplishes something. It might develop a character, or a relationship between characters; it might build a world or set a scene, it might tell a shorter story that moves the larger story forward.”

But it has to do something.

This is where some authors dig in their heels. “I liked that chapter. The dialogue was great and the interaction between the two characters just makes me feel all sparkly and now I need a tasty beverage.”

Okay. Finish your drink and then delete the chapter. If you can’t bring yourself to send it to the electronic netherworld, cut and paste it into a blank document somewhere and when you read the manuscript again, you’ll find it wasn’t the least bit necessary.

I just finished a book by a well-known and respected author, the sequel to one of his most popular novels. It seemed to have been written by committee, and a third of the chapters failed to carry the story forward. Instead, the protagonist thought, considered, wandered from place to place, ate (and it sometimes felt as if I was reading a menu), drank, and slept. In fact, had he taken out those static chapters, he would have finished with a novella.

If you still can’t part with all the offending chapter, consider pulling some of the dialogue and plugging it in somewhere else (note I said “some” of the dialogue).

In any case, there are no rules for what’s found in a chapter. Use them to set the pace, move the action forward, advance conflict, reveal information or twists, and increase tension. Think of it as a mini story that takes us forward.

Your readers will love you for it.

Faithful readers might recall that a couple of weeks ago my blog post revolved around how books were once sold on display racks or shelves in drugstores, bookstores, and department stores. As a young reader back in the 1960s, the length of a novel wasn’t high on my somewhat limited radar.

I still have paperbacks purchased off those racks with the price tag of 35 cents stamped in the upper right-hand corner. Prices changed though the years. They rose to 75 cents, 95 cents, and ultimately cracked the one-dollar ceiling. At the same time, the length and page count of those pocketbooks didn’t seem to budge.

For full disclosure here, ninety-nine percent of my reading material came from libraries and was in a variety of genres from science fiction, history, anything else that caught my eye. Most of those novels I spent money on and collected back then were westerns by Louis L’Amour and a stable of similar artists.

Cranked out in a matter of weeks, or months, the vast majority of these books ranged from 28,750 words for Shalako, to 60,000 for one of his most popular releases, Hondo. Despite their length, both books, and many more by this prolific author became successful movies. In his later year, L’Amour’s novels became heavier and some even broke that 124,000 mark.

Short novels back then weren’t limited to paperbacks, or westerns. Like most boys, I finally got my hands on those wonderful hardboiled books by Micky Spillane and absolutely absorbed them. One I, the Jury comes in at slightly more than 53,000 words, and the hard-hitting sequel, My Gun is Quick is slightly longer.

My point here is that the length of a novel doesn’t determine the quality or success of the work. Take a look at the length of these million-selling books from years past that were eventually filmed.

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald, 208 pages, 47,094

Murder on the Orient Express, Agatha Christie: 336 pages, 58,514 words

Double Indemnity, by James M. Cain: 115 pages, 30,072 words

Rosemary’s Baby, Ira Levin: 245 pages, 56,044

The Postman Always Rings Twice, James M. Cain: 116 pages, 35,000 words

The Big Sleep, by Raymond Chandler: 234 pages, 56,955 words

The Hound of the Baskervilles, Arthur Conan Doyle: 128 pages, 57,689 words

The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger: 234 pages, 73,404

A Farewell to Arms, Earnest Hemingway: 332 pages, 74,240

Carrie, Stephen King: 320 pages, 61,343

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, J.K. Rowling: 309 pages, 77,325

Things, they are a-changin’. My first manuscript weighed in at 140,000 words before my editor at Poisoned Pen Press, Annette Rogers, suggested (no, ordered) that I cut 50,000 of those little gems. I did, crying great crocodile tears, until The Rock Hole was 90,000 words, the length of the average novel. When I was finished, I didn’t miss a thing and the work read much better.

My contracts today specify the work’s length from 90,000 to 100,000 words for all mysteries, westerns, and contemporary thrillers. Some authors struggle to reach the lower end, while others routinely crack the 110-120,000 ceiling or more without breaking a sweat.

One of my publishers recently told me that he prefers a novel to register at 90,000 words, because it’s only fair to the reader, since the price for paperbacks have increased and they want to give readers their money’s worth.

That also works great for those who embrace technology, because there’s no printing cost in this new media and readers don’t have to lug around doorstops that can be ten times the length of a Stephen King novel. In a similar vein, I’ve talked to consumers who say that because hardcovers are more expensive, readers tend to gravitate toward meatier publications. More bang for their buck(s), I guess.

But is it length that makes a successful novel? Those listed above, and millions more, fall well below the average length and to me, that’s just fine. I recently finished writing a novel that originally topped out at 80,000 words. At that count, the fast-paced story was told, complete with plenty of tension, red herrings, and a satisfying plot that surprised even me.

But my contract required that holy grail of 90,000 words, so I went back and lo, the count rose and the novel came in at the appointed amount. Did those extra words make it better? Were they a determent to the finished product? That’ll be up to my readers to determine.

Maybe those additional pages filled out some descriptions, or detailed the five senses we should all include. I wonder.

On the other hand, I recently sold a short story that was too long, more of a novella, and the publisher is going to serialize it, because the new up and coming magazine is looking for something completely different in westerns and that story filled the bill. Here’s an interesting point, the story is the first act of a short novel I wrote decades ago that finished up at 50,000 words.

As I dug around the internet to find titles and their length for this piece, I came across the website, Book Riot, that asks this question that I couldn’t phrase any better. “Have consumer tastes and habits changed that much in 100 years? Have authors themselves changed in the last 100 years? Why has the big book come to outweigh the short book in the hearts and minds of readers? Is the short book dead? Or just on a reprieve?”

So I wonder about this magic 90,000-word target. What do you think?