I’m asking if you’ve read My Everest and enjoyed it (or not) if you could leave a little review on Amazon and/or Goodreads, I’d be very grateful. I’m not trying to make money on this book, but I’d like it to have a high enough ranking that others who might enjoy it can find it. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!!
Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/My-Everest-Thirty-Years-Hiking/dp/1975994337/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1518040162&sr=8-1&dpID=51v7eEpj8OL&preST=_SY291_BO1,204,203,200_QL40_&dpSrc=detail
I just want to wake up some morning, look at the news and NOT see something completely wack and absurd coming out of the Twittering “mouth” of the whatever that is occupying the White House. I say this without even being a liberal. I don’t ‘understand why anyone complains about His Grossness being at Mar-a-Lago playing golf.
In other news, I’ve resolved the question of the protagonist of my novel-in-progress. I think I knew all along, I just had reservations because I just don’t much like the guy. BUT what makes him unlikeable to ME is the same thing that makes him an interesting, compelling, character, so I am slogging along, trying to balance the background information my readers need while (hopefully) writing an interesting story and creating, replicating a world. Always the problem of someone who writes historical fiction. It is not always fun. (What? Not always fun?)
Fortunately, I have my assistants to keep me on the right track and remind me that the really important stuff is feeding them, cleaning up the yard after them, taking them for a walk and generally arranging my life for their convenience. 😉
Yesterday, not long after my blog post went up, I got a text from one of my neighbors who’s currently a “snow bird.” “I want to read your hiking book.” She’s originally from San Diego and her grandson lives within sight of the main locale of the stories.
I texted her back, “It’s not happening,” with a little explanation, then I went about my morning. In the back of my mind was the book, of course.
The book is flawed. I don’t think there’s anything I can do about that. Its flaws are, in their way, reflections of MY flaws. I fixed the two new typos I’d found and closed the file.
Then I did my chores, thinking the book was a done deal, a closed subject.
I looked at Bear’s blue eyes, which are very beautiful but they are also, probably, the reason I have her.
“Whoa,” I thought. “Whoever bred Bear thought they were a flaw. Thought they indicated deafness or blindness or?” Then I thought of Dusty T. Dog. He was so flawed the shelter didn’t think he was adoptable. He’s STILL flawed, but WOW. For nearly 12 years he’s been my loyal, loving companion no matter WHAT.
Then I thought of Mission Trails Regional Park itself — the location of most of the stories in my book. It’s not perfect. It was never where I WANTED to be. It was simply what I had, the only place I could hike with my dogs during a long and VERY flawed time in my life. And it ITSELF was barely snatched from development and freeways — by whom? A group of San Diego citizens INCLUDING me! I, with all my flaws, was one small agent in the protection of 5800 acres of chaparral for future generations to see, know, enjoy.
BEYOND that, the place itself has seen a lot of life (and destruction) before it became a park — dirt bikes, ATVS, and people four-wheeling up the steep slopes. Stolen cars dumped in the stream and over the embankments. When I first started hiking there, a Ford pickup from the 40s rusted away in the stream leading to Oak Canyon. During WW II it was a military training base, including exploding shells (some unexploded shells have been found in recent years). There had been developer dreams of cutting across the hillside with a four lane freeway on the bed of a road that had been used by the water department. Neither it nor I are a pristine perfect flawless wilderness. I began to wonder if maybe it was a BETTER book because it’s not perfect.
And more… My father’s flaws, his MS, inspired me to propose, design, and raise the money for the building of a wheelchair accessible guided walkway to one of the most interesting historical features in California, Old Mission Dam.
Late yesterday, I decided to write a note for the readers of my book explaining its flaws, that Createspace COULDN’T print the cover right no matter what and directing readers to the website where they could see the actual photo (including the featured image for this blog), apologizing for my weak proofreading skills and the relentless and (to me) invisible typos (just now found another one 😦 ) and explaining that it all reflects my flaws and the flaws of the world as it is.
“Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.” M. Teresa
As for “jolly” the word of the day, it’s one of those Christmas words. I never use it. Sorry WP.
After being surprised by good news yesterday about my novel, Martin of Gfenn, of course, I felt like dancing, but my house isn’t conducive to it (too much furniture for a small room, too many dogs on the floor and my kind of messed up body) so instead I hugged my big white dog for a long time and thought about how you really never know. You just have to keep trying (and forgetting about your efforts).
In other writerly news, a few days back I took a look (after a several month hiatus) at what I call (working title) “The Schneebelis Go to America.” I was surprised. It’s a strong story.
I’ve been disgusted by writing for a while, disgusted by writing itself and by all the BS surrounding publishing etc. I had to come to grips with the external aspects of writing (that really do not concern me) vs. the seminal aspects of writing that concern ONLY me. I had to figure out what it means to me to write. Oddly, the answer came to me when I was thinking about the spiritual practice (newly acquired) of one of my friends.
She’s had a hell of a year and, though she’s hiding it, denying it, scared of it, she’s lost. One morning she got up and decided to take a drive. All drives here are long, though we are a “neighborhood” (as big as Connecticut) and she ended up at a meditation garden in San Luis. San Luis is the oldest town in Colorado. It was founded by Spanish immigrants and it is a very, very beautiful place.
This part of the American southwest is littered with churches, old churches, mission churches, ruins of mission churches and rebuilt mission churches. It’s a place that has an intense and somewhat scary spiritual past. In San Luis is an old church. There is also a new church on a hill built like an old church. On the hill is a trail with bronze sculptures representing the Seven Stations of the Cross. The figures are life sized.
But this place was not the objective of my friend; she was going to something else. There’s a labyrinth and meditation garden dedicated to Mary, the mother of Jesus. My friend had a major spiritual experience there and, when she came back, she came to tell me about it and invite me. I said I would go with her (and I would) if she needed me to, but I also know this is absolutely categorically not and never will be my thing. The mere thought of walking around in a labyrinth — even one that’s open to the sky and easy to navigate — well, life is already labyrinthine enough. I could see doing it for fun, but as a route to God? In my mind it was “Walk THIS path” and that’s not new.
Then I wondered, “What is my thing?” It’s kind of bewildering that I have written three novels about Christianity and I’m working on a fourth. I’m really intrigued (I guess) by the human search for God. I’m most intrigued by those who fall outside the borders of the established church. But I’m not “consciously” intrigued. I don’t go around thinking, “I’m interested in lepers and Mennonites” — not at all. I’m not even all that interested in Christianity. So where is it?
When I returned to my abandoned story, “The Schneebelis Go to America,” I also began, again, to research things I need for the story. The research was suddenly easy; sources appeared where they hadn’t been last time I looked. For me, that’s a “sign.” Reading (as I am now) an online book, Mennonite Immigration to Pennsylvania in the 18th Century by Henry Smith, Ph.D (1929) I finally had a linear narrative that ties together all the little pieces I’d assembled by myself AND more. I found other things, too. Somehow, I found the “open sesame.” I have no idea how — maybe by stopping and thinking things over.
My life hangs on two hooks; wandering around in nature with my dogs and creative work. These are whatever I have of a spiritual practice.
CHAUCER BOOK AWARDS 2017 Short Listers for Historical Fiction pre-1750s
This is the Official Semi-Finalists List of the Authors and Titles of Works that have been SHORT-LISTED for the Chaucer 2017 Book Awards. These titles will now compete for the First In Category positions.
The Chaucer Awards FIRST IN CATEGORY sub-genres are: Pre-Historical Fiction, Ancient Historical Fiction, World/International History (non-western culture historical fiction pre-1750s), Americas-Historical Fiction Pre-1750s, Dark Ages/Medieval, Renaissance, and Elizabethan/Tudor 1600’s.
- Kenneth W. Meyer – Lion’s Shadow
- Edward Rickford – The Hawk and the Serpent
- K.M. Pohlkamp – Apricots and Wolfsbane
- Richard T. Rook – Tiernan’s Wake
- DJ Munro – Slave to Fortune
- Catherine A Wilson and Catherine T Wilson – The Traitor’s Noose: The Lions and Lilies
- Crystal King – Feast of Sorrow: A Novel of Ancient Rome
- Gita Simic/G.T. Sim – Occam’s Razor
- Lilian Gafni – Flower from Castile: A Safe Haven
- Elizabeth Crowens – A Pocketful of Lodestones, Time Traveler Professor Series Book 2
- Val Jon Jensen II – The People’s Crusade
- Joseph Scott Amis – To Shine with Honor, Book One: Coming of Age
- Marcia Fine – Hidden Ones: A Veil of Memories
- Elisabeth Storrs – Call to Juno: A Tale of Ancient Rome
- Susan E Kaberry – The Good Shepherd and the Last Perfect
- Brett Savill – The Medici Apprentice
- Leigh Grant – Mask of Dreams
- Susan E Kaberry – The Chatelaine of Montaillou
- Ken Frazier – Alexander of the Ashanti
- Prue Batten – Guillaume: Book Two of The Triptych Chronicle
- Martha Kennedy – Martin of Gfenn
- Christian Kachel – Spoils of Olympus II: World on Fire
Good Luck to all of the 2017 Chaucer Short-Listers as they compete for the First Place Category positions.
First In Category announcements will be made at the Awards Ceremony. The Chaucer Grand Prize Winner and First Place Category Winners will be announced at the April 21st, 2018 Chanticleer Writing Contests Annual Awards Gala, at the Chanticleer Authors Conference that will be held in Bellingham, Wash.
Sometime early this year I sent in some money and entered this contest. And then (as I have learned is wise) I forgot about it. An announcement showed up on my Facebook Author Page telling me Martin of Gfenn had been short-listed. Still, the short-list is pretty long so it’s probably a good idea to forget about it again. 🙂
Sunday morning, foggy and wet here in Colorado’s high desert, though the sun is trying to come out. We’ve had so much rain in the past three days that the ditches — which had been turned off — are running again.
I think I may be nearing the end of my WordPress daily prompt experience. It’s been a good, long run but increasingly I have nothing to say in response to the prompts and I’m reading fewer blogs written by other people.
I remember how this started. I got a book about how to market a self-published book (of which I had two). One of the first things I was supposed to do was to write a WordPress blog. My Blogger Blog wasn’t going to cut it. It had to be WordPress or nothing. So, I sat down, examined the platform, and began. I don’t remember now what I did first — THIS blog or the blog for Martin of Gfenn. I have now written more than a thousand of these posts, have multiple blogs and really, the book was wrong.
Saturday I got a box of books. They are all The Brothers Path. Not one was sold from any of the three Tattered Cover stores in Denver. I paid $17 to ship them back to me. It’s OK. That’s the deal in the contract. So now they sit, nicely wrapped up, in a corner of my living room. I was kind of mad at them for a while — irrationally, I know — but I was. Then I remembered a night long, long ago when I was a 20 something living in Denver and working at a large, downtown law firm.
I was busy writing stories and submitting them in big brown envelopes that also enclosed an envelope to return the story. I was at the beginning of my arc of dreams. My life centered on the creative work I was able to squeeze into Friday night, Saturday, Sunday. The rest of the time, I earned a living. This segregated me from my colleagues and friends whose lives centered on what a “normal” 20 something’s life centered on.
But that afternoon a couple of colleagues (other paralegals) invited me out for drinks at a new bar in a part of Denver that was being rehabbed. It was the beginning of the “rejuvenation” of Denver. The 16th Street Mall was new, just built. It was a glitzy place — breaking away from the 70s “fern bar” motif, it was all glass bricks and stainless steel. We were in the 80s now.
These two women had boyfriends who were coming to meet them about an hour after we got there. Accountants. It seemed there was a “thing” between accountant men and paralegal women; a common pairing. They showed up. The party changed. Finally, one of the girls said, “We’ll drop you home, Martha.” I didn’t drive to work in those days. I lived close enough to walk and I did.
So I got in the back seat of the guy’s very nice car (BMW?) and was dropped off at my apartment building. I went in the front door and opened the mailbox. The mailman had crammed three big brown envelopes into the little space.
In those days, a rejected story came with a pre-printed note. “We’re sorry to have to inform you, your story does not meet our needs at this time.”
I was a little drunk, drunk enough that my emotional armor was down. I took my treasures into my apartment and ripped them in shreds and I cried. Then I looked at all my paintings — watercolors on paper — and I cried some more. THOSE girls had boyfriends and I had rejection notes and a bunch of paintings. I cried some more. Then I went to bed, crying, covered in paintings and shards of stories. I woke up a couple of hours later and understood that the trade off had been necessary. That I’d had the hours of joy writing the stories and making the paintings. I truly could not imagine a relationship as satisfying. By then I was already divorced and scared.
It was a lesson in “I don’t have this, but I have this.” A lesson in gratitude.
It’s the same with the 9 copies of The Brothers Path. They’re now on sale directly from me at cost, $3 plus shipping. Just let me know if you have a burning (ha ha) desire to read about the Protestant Reformation from a different perspective than Anne Boleyn or Martin Luther. There really was a lot more to it that the two stories that are rehashed constantly as if there were no others.
As for this blog, I won’t be writing it for a while.
It has been said that I have a penchant for big dogs. Actually no one ever has said that and I don’t expect them to. “Penchant” is one of those $20 words you just don’t hear every day. Not everyone has twenty bucks to buy a word and not everyone has a penchant for using them. I did as a young person. I had a definite penchant for words like “bellicose,” “enervate,” and “sturm and drang.”
There’s a young guy whose blog I read whenever I get the chance. I love what he does, his pictures are incredible, but his writing is still in the verbosity stage. I want to teach him. I want to say, “You’re writing about landscape. Don’t alienate people. Let them IN. Why write if you’re not going to? Clearly you want to share this experience.’
But I’ve done my time as a writing teacher, and I don’t want to insult him or make him feel bad (he should NOT feel bad) so I don’t say anything.
I think about this because I’m still working on my hiking book. I don’t think any project has meant more to me, and I’m not even necessarily planning to sell it. I even found a photo of me with legendary climber and egoist, Reinhold Messner to include to give me some creds.
One of the best lessons in writing I have had was reading The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen and absolutely loving it. It is a first-person narrative of Matthiessen’s experiences going with George Schaller into the Himalaya where Schaller was studying the populations of Blue Sheep on the Tibetan Plateau.
Then, some years later, I read the same story in Schaller’s Stones of Silence where it is related completely in one chapter.
Matthiessen’s book is focused on his internal search for peace and religious truth; it’s a spiritual quest. Schaller’s chapter is about looking for blue sheep and having the good fortune to see a snow leopard. Because Matthiessen did not see the snow leopard, the book would have to be about the quest. There’s definitely that, but the effect of the two mens’ penchants makes the difference. Schaller is a wild-life biologist; his concern is landscape and animals. Matthiessen is a writer who might go into an experience with the intention of writing about it afterward. That means he has already decided how, what, he will see; he knows he’s bringing back a story. Schaller might go out and come back with nothing. Still the point is clear. If you want to see a snow leopard, you have to go either to a zoo or to the place where they find food. Once you are there, you must stay a long time out where the food is. And, for your own peace and happiness, you must not be invested in the outcome.
Stones of Silence is one of my favorite books and in the great book purge of 2017, it stayed on my shelf. I don’t have The Snow Leopard any more. Still, it is in print and Stones of Silence is not. I think this is because a quest is within everyone’s reach. I can’t say the same for blue sheep and snow leopards.
Been there. Done that. 38 years. Made a difference. (Ha ha ha ha ha ha, OMG! Ha ha! Laugh Emoticon.) Moved on.
Still working on the hiking with dogs book. I decided to include photos of dogs. Who doesn’t like photos of dogs? No one. Everyone yearns — secretly or openly — for more photos of dogs.
The white dog is Ariel Punky, she was a Siberian Husky/low content wolf. Her sidekick is Mathilda, a sheltie chow mix I had only for a short time. I found her another home. She was an awesome dog, but too feisty to live with four old dogs (Truffle, Molly, Kelly and Lupo). Ariel was unlike any other dog I’ve lived with. To find out how, you’ll have to read the book 😉
Hmmmm… I’m working hard (it isn’t hard. It’s fun) on the little compilation of nature essays based on my years of hiking in San Diego. It is a focal point for a book that is SO SMALL as to be almost invisible. 5800 acres out of the vastness of the world. But it was there I learned my true size. 9 inch feet and a stride of just under two feet on a good day. 7 writing classes, a shitload of grading, some dogs and a few friends. That’s the book.
I’m continuing to refine the prose at this point and I decided to add photos. I don’t know if it will ever be for sale. Some people will be inflicted with it for Christmas.
It’s an answer to the question no one is probably ever going to ask me, “So, Martha, what did you do with your life?”
“I went hiking a lot with my dogs.”
At 18 I would not have thought of that as an answer worthy of my brilliance and my energy, but I didn’t know much about life. Now I think I did good.