The Rabbit Hole Seduction

                                     by Janis Patterson

No matter what we write, we’ve all been there. We’re writing along happily, the scene is working, the tension is building, our characters are behaving the way we want them to for once and - boom! - suddenly you need a tiny little fact without which nothing works.

Sometimes you can skip over it and finish the scene, vowing to go back and fact-check later (and sometimes you forget, for which fans will inevitably ding you) but often if the action is to proceed as you want it to you need an answer, as it might change the action.

In a way research was simpler before the internet. A trip to the library or the encyclopaedia if you were fortunate enough to own one, or a phone call to some authority, and you felt safe. You had done your due diligence and could feel fairly secure that you knew more about whatever it was than the majority of readers.

It’s different nowadays. Everyone has access to the internet, and let’s face it, a lot of information on the internet is confusing, contradictory and sometimes just plain not true. What’s a curious writer to do?

Research, research and more research. Some things are pretty immutable and easy to find out - the date of a battle, for example, or the reaction between two common chemicals. It gets a bit dicey, however, when you get into more esoteric stuff, for example, when did metal-spring hoop skirts become indispensable to ladies’ fashions? It’s fairly easy to find out the date of their first release (England, 1855 is the best date I can find) but when did they cross the pond to become available to Southern belles? What was a common recipe for home-made ink during the 1860s? And my own personal bête noir, did the 1916 Jordan Sport Marine automobile have a self-starter or were they only available with the old-fashioned and very dangerous crank? (Aeons of research have never yielded a definitive answer, so like my betters I have taken refuge in weasel words, saying that my heroine’s machine is an ‘experimental model.’ However, once the book is released I fatalistically await some reader to excoriate me for not having the correct answer. Sigh.)

I am beginning to appreciate why so many writers are now choosing to do urban fantasy, pure fantasy, science fiction, etc. Their world, their rules.

There are two main problems with research - one is that it takes time from writing, but this can be countered with the absolute necessity for at least believable accuracy. And yes, accuracy is important. I point to a Regency romance in a contest I once judged where the hero reaches into his pocket and pulls out a fountain pen, which although primitive ones were first patented in the 1830s were not commercially available until the 1850s, some thirty years after the Regency. When I counted this faux pas against the writer that absolutely furious young woman wrote me back, demanding to know why, especially since it was an old fashioned pen and who would know the difference anyway? Double sigh.

The second problem with research is its seductivity. You flip over to the internet to find out the date (say) whalebone was first used in corsets or the chemical formula for gunpowder and three hours later you are engrossed in reading the life cycle of the water nymph (dragonfly larvae) without really knowing how you got there, since neither dragonflies nor nymphs (insect or mythological) have anything to do with your story. Seductive, indeed!

Unfortunately, there is no cure that I know of for such a predilection to wander off into the arcane pathways of interlocking knowledge. After years of trying to discipline myself I have given up and allowed my mind to dive down the rabbit hole and follow the seductive lure of unknown fields. At least, for a while. You never know when you might find a nugget of knowledge that will enhance your story, or even give you a new one. (Yeah, like we really need new story ideas to add to the 200+ year stockpile we already have, right?) Besides, it’s inevitable. There is just too much fascinating information out there. We’re doomed.

(And I apologize for any weirdnesses in formatting - this new Blogger upload interface and I are not getting along well together! I don't see why companies insist on changing things for the worse!)

The Perils of Having a Writing Wife

by Janis Patterson

I married late, well after my writing career was started, so The Husband knew exactly what he was getting. Sort of.

A down-to-earth and sublimely practical man of science well into a long and honorable military career, he knew I was a writer of fiction. He also knew that writers were thought to be eccentric. He just didn’t know how much.

Luckily he is a courageous and adaptable man, for as our marriage progressed, he learned more than I think he ever wanted to know about the unknown side of writing.

For example, he will leave in the morning after kissing a pajama-clad me in my office, already sitting eye-to-eye with the computer. He will come home some eight or nine hours later to find a pajama-clad me in my office, exhausted and emotional, sitting eye-to-eye with the computer. The laundry is undone, the bed unmade, dinner is a frozen lump still in the freezer, and I will look up in surprise, asking if he didn’t leave just a little while ago.

He has gotten used to me murmuring the name of my hero (or villain) in my sleep without wondering about the possibility of infidelity.

He has finally learned to accept that when I am asked what I do, I smile sweetly, give the questioner my best grandmotherly twinkle and say in soft, mellifluous tones, “I kill people.”

He no longer becomes alarmed when he finds books on poisons larded among my cookbooks.

He has become accustomed to my handing out business cards (with my websites only – no phone or address) prodigiously and has even learned to carry a few of them in his wallet. Apparently being married to a multi-published novelist carries a certain cachet.

I’m glad, because on retrospect I’m not sure writing is a lifestyle I would have chosen. I believe that almost anyone can write, given enough time, training and work, but that writers cannot help but write – it is an inescapable part of them, like some sort of birth defect. He has learned that when I stop in mid-word, my face goes blank and my eyes focus on some distant point that I am not having a fit, merely an idea. This is usually followed by a frantic scribbling on anything around, from a cocktail napkin to the back of my hand. He realized early on that I carried enormous purses not for make-up or other feminine junk, but to accommodate my tiny notebook computer, which he called my ‘purse computer.’ Now that my uncertain back has put paid to large purses, he never sees me without a pen and scratch pad – and usually a few choice (and unacceptable) words, because I loathe having to handwrite anything.

Unfortunately, the creation of worlds and populations on little more than caffeine and imagination can be an unsettling process for a non-writer. Currently I am working on a book set in contemporary Egypt – yes, yet another one. One of the side effects is a profusion of photographs of obscure archaeological sites blooming all over my office. Another is that our dinner menu has suddenly leaned heavily towards kushari, kibbe, hummus and tabouli. Luckily The Husband is as big an Egyptophile as I (doesn’t everyone know by now that he proposed to me in Egypt?) and he takes this with equanimity.

I’m not always that lucky. While writing Dark Music before my marriage, I lived in an apartment. The hero was a concert pianist who specialized in Chopin. I played Chopin almost 24/7 for the three months it took to write the novel. Though I tried to be quiet and respectful, before long my neighbors were begging to know when I would finish the book.

When I was writing The Hollow House, a cozy mystery set in 1919, I pestered The Husband about WWI and suitable firearms. Being something of a WWI/WWII historian, he happily complied.

He was less happy when, at a very crowded local gun show, we saw an automatic M96 Mauser Pistol Rifle, the firearm I had decided on for my villain to use. It’s a very distinctive and rather rare piece. I pointed it out gleefully and said to The Husband, “Look, darling, isn’t that what I used to kill Jake?” The gun show might have been packed, but suddenly there wasn’t a single person within arm’s length of me for a long time.

Due to several ancient accidents, I sometimes have a slight limp, especially when I’m tired. In Exercise is Murder, the heroine has a severe limp, though hers was caused much more dramatically by a bullet wound. As my tattered and beloved sweatshirt says, “It’s All Research.” The Husband has become accustomed to my asking all kinds of sometimes bizarre questions wherever we go.

I’d like to say I’m strong-minded enough to keep control of my characters, to keep them on the page instead of letting them seep into my life, but I’m not. As every character, good and bad, shares at least a few aspects of its creator, so does the creator reflect – at least temporarily – a modicum of the character. We create our characters from the inside out, and I believe Loucard’s Principle, that when two things touch, there is inevitable transfer from each to the other, however small. 

I realized that The Husband has not only learned but accepted this, for when I am in full damn-the-torpedoes-and-write-mode, so submerged in the story that I never get out of my pajamas and we survive on take-out suppers, he has developed the habit of peering around my office door and asking, “And who are we today?”

Maybe he’s lucky. He remains faithful, but still gets to live with a wide variety of women, all in one package.  He married a writer.

The Research Monster, or Down the Rabbit Hole Part Two

by Janis Patterson

My name is Janis Susan and I am a research geek.

Last week on the Ladies of Mystery blog I wrote about the necessity and moral imperative of accurate research in our writing. Once it was finished, though, I realized it told only half the story. Well, I realized it before I was finished, but just how long can you make a blog piece? It's a blog, not a novel!

So, I decided to carry on here and talk about the irresistible seductiveness of research. Currently I am working on a novella where the more research I do, the more I need to do... and even more I want to do. The book is part of a Christmas anthology set in Regency England, and while it has a mystery in it, it's primarily a romance. (Hey, we have to take the contracts as they come, don't we?)

As you probably know, I'm a dedicated pantser. That does not mean I don't have a bare-bones sketch of the book in my head that I might - or might not - follow. It's a starting point. The trouble with this is that while it's okay to think 'the heroine creeps out of the house and goes to a coaching inn where she catches a mail coach north to begin a new life, but ends up hiding from the villain in a church.' Reasonable sketch of proposed action, isn't it?

Ha! First, I need to decide which city she is heading for and how much she can afford to pay for a ticket out of her scanty funds (like all good romance heroines she has little/no money). Then I have to decide which London coaching inn serves that particular route, is there a church nearby and which church is it? For that matter, did the stage coaches run at night? Believe me, most readers of Regency romance/mystery are dedicated enough to know this kind of thing and will eat any writer alive who doesn't get the details right!

Thanks to the blessings of the internet it's not all that difficult to get enough information to be accurate in just a short time. Thanks to the curse of the internet it's far too easy to search on and on, getting just one more bit of information to increase your verisimilitude until you aren't really researching at all, you're just enjoying reading.

Like last night. I had gone as far as I could without more research in one of the climactic scenes building to the big finish, so I kept looking. The Husband asked if I wasn't going to come to the TV, as one of our favorite programs was on. Without even raising my head I said I'd come, I just needed another minute or two. An hour or so later he came back to say it had been a good program, but now it was time for another of our favorites to start. This time I did raise my head, frowned mightily and told him I had told him I just needed a few more minutes. (He's used to me - we do this regularly.) Finally he came back to tell me he was going to bed and was I coming. You've got it. I told him (this time without frowns, as I was too tired to frown) that I'd be along in a few minutes, I just needed one more reference...

I finally got to bed around two, but I did find everything I needed, and it's all extremely real. The London coaching inn is The Swan With Two Necks, the church is St. Lawrence Jewry rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1666 by Christopher Wren, the destination town is Coventry. I know why the inn has such a strange name, what is remarkable about St. Lawrence Jewry (and how it got that odd appellation) and yes, the coaches did run at night.

All for a small, three page scene, hardly more than a transition from one plot point to another.

However... I firmly believe that all knowledge is useful. Sometime I might write a book where some of this extraneous information is crucial. I might not remember it by that time, but I will probably remember that it exists, and have a vague idea of where to find it. Then I will have the sublime pleasure of going back down the rabbit hole one more time, probably finding more fascinating facts that I missed this last time. It's inevitable.

Help.

The Fun of Research

If all goes well, when this appears I'll be on the road to Tehachapi. For those of you who have no idea where or what Tehachapi is, it's a mountain community off Highway 58 between Bakersfield and Mojave.

It is famous for it's huge wind farm--monstrous wind turbines cover the hillsides.

And something called The Loop also draws visitors. It's a place where freight trains over a mile long go around a hillside, and if you are lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, you can watch the locomotives (four or more) pass over the end of the train.

The reason I'm going to visit is because my next Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery is set in Tehachapi. Though I've been there several times, I want to make sure I get descriptions of places right--and also that the places I've made up could be where I've set them.

It should be a fun and rewarding trip.

I'm woefully behind writing this book. My Tempe Crabtree books usually come out in August, but this year not only have I been re-editing some of the earlier ones, I've been doing the same thing with my Rocky Bluff P.D. mystery series. Plus, of course, life has intervened as well.

My intention, of course, is to make this next Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery the best it can be. More about the trip next time.

Marilyn

Procrastination as a Fine Art

by Janis Patterson

I spend waaaay too much time online. First, there's email to check, just to make sure there's nothing that has to be attended to, as everyone knows email is the best way to contact me. Then there's my twice-daily check of my sales stats - lately that has been a masochistic exercise in depression, to say the least! Of course, there's research to be done, for I simply have to know the depth of a stylish hem flounce in 1816 or the exact caliber of a Broomhandle Mauser... All legitimate reasons, all time-consuming, and if I would just stop there I would be all right.

Unfortunately, minutes spent online are far too much like potato chips or jelly beans - far too easy to overindulge in. I promise myself just one quick look on Facebook or Twitter, just long enough to do a little promo and do a fast check to see what my friends are doing... then sometimes at least an hour later I'll notice the clock and scream Noooo! It can't have been thaaat long!

Even more unfortunately (from a time sense only, as I am very happy), I have a husband and a home and an extended family to look after. Clothes must be washed, the kitchen cleaned, meals cooked, dust bunnies rearranged, errands run... the minutiae of daily living. Unlike the internet, each of these makes a perfect excuse not to write. I won't struggle with this chapter right now, especially since (insert household chore of choice here) has to be done.

Back when I was single my late mother used to swear she could tell how my writing was going by looking at my kitchen. If it was a disaster area almost fit for condemnation she knew the new book was going well. When she came over to find me cleaning the gasket of my dishwasher with a cotton swab and alcohol for the third day in a row, she would suggest that I start checking the want ads for a real job.

Make no mistake - I am a professional writer. Writing is my job. When I don't write I don't get paid. (Sometimes even when I do write I don't get paid, but that's another rant for another blog.) And I do my best to treat my writing just like I would an office job - dedication, responsibility, reasonable hours, decent output, respect for my craft.

Unexpected exigencies aside, I try to ration the lunches with girlfriends (though some still cannot understand why since I work at home - and therefore obviously don't have a 'real' job - I can't just drop everything and go run and play at any time) and other social/political necessities. I spend very little time at the store, meaning primarily the grocery store, as I dislike shopping and am known for wearing clothes until they are old enough to vote. There is one exception to this - when my dear friend from Peru comes up once or twice a year for a visit we spend a great deal of time shopping, as for her it is almost a religious experience. So much so that some clerks remember us from one excursion to the next!

Sometimes looking at my life I wonder that I get anything done, let alone why I put myself through such hard work and dedication and mental gymnastics for such a (recently, at least) insultingly paltry return. (Something really must be done about falling book sales!) It took me a long time, but I finally figured it out...

I can't do anything else. There are times I hate writing, there are times I vow never to write anything but a grocery list again, there are times I really wish the characters in my head would just SHUT UP... but there are more times I glory in the act of creation, feel delight that something works out swimmingly when I had feared it would take days of effort to make the situation work, joy that my characters have morphed into real, believable - albeit incorporeal - people with minds of their own...

In other words, I love writing. I can't imagine ever spending my life doing anything else. No matter how creative I can be in avoiding doing it!

The Research Trip to End All Research Trips

by Janis Patterson

It has often been said that research is the bane of a writer’s life. Not only must it be done and done well unless the writer wants to appear as an ignoramus to his readers, but to most writers it is a delicious time sink. One fact leads to another one to another one and so on and before you know it you’re on an entirely different subject and a whole day is gone – enjoyably spent, but still spent.

I personally love research, and just not when it takes me all over the world. Yes, the world. If you know me at all you know I love Ancient Egypt. While writing THE EGYPTIAN FILE (a romantic adventure done by my Janis Susan May persona) I received lots of help from Egyptophiles all over the world, including an ex-pat Brit who rents flats in Luxor and the director of an archaeological dig. We became friends, to the extent that the dig director (Muddir in Arabic) invited The Husband and me to come stay at the dig house during the next season to research a new idea that was boiling in my brain.

Civilians are never invited to stay at dig houses, so of course we said yes, practically before the pixels were dry on his invitation. And, because it seemed foolish to go all the way to Egypt just for a few days, so we decided to tack on a couple of weeks and make a real holiday of it. We hadn’t been to Egypt since 2010 and had been planning to go again in 2016, so adjusting our plans was easy.

We didn’t know until just a couple of weeks before we were to leave if the dig house stay would come off – we had to be given written permissions from two separate branches of the Egyptian government (The Antiquities Commission in Cairo and the Aswan Governate) and had to coordinate our time at the dig between other visitors, such as other archaeologists coming to study and the BBC, who was shooting a documentary.

However, like all good fairy tales, everything fell together perfectly. Our permissions came through easily and we were off. Unfortunately, we flew Lufthansa, which is rapidly becoming my most hated airline, but everything else was a charm. We rented a West Bank flat from the fantastic Jane Akshar – who had so generously acted as my researcher-on-site for THE EGYPTIAN FILE when it had become obvious that we wouldn’t be able to make it to Egypt for that book. The flat was fantastic – 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, lounge, dining room, kitchen and balcony, and oh what a balcony! It overlooked the Gurnah hills. With the telephoto lens on the camera (forgot binoculars, darn it!) we could see Deir el Bahri, the temple of Hatshepsut. Every morning I woke just at dawn, made a cup of tea and sat on the balcony watching the sunlight dribble down the hills as the hot-air balloon flights went up.

We also got to go to our hostess’ birthday party, where we were entertained by a 14^th century Sufi dance, a fantastic display (most definitely not the everyday Whirling Dervishes) that none of the guests (all of whom were Luxor residents save us) had ever seen. I will remember that all my life. Since we were not on a tour (I hate the “on-the-bus-off-the-bus-you-have-30-minutes-to-see-whatever” kind of thing) we were free to do what we wanted. We spent two entire days at Karnak temple and didn’t cover all of it. We didn’t visit things that most tourists do – the Valley of the Kings, for example, or Medinet Habu. We’ve done those several times before. We preferred to see less well known things. Also, we remembered that this was a vacation as well as a holiday and spent a lot of time relaxing. I took my computer so we could both keep up with email – internet access came with the flat. And, believe it or not, the flat with all its space and luxuries, was roughly the same cost per day as a plain room in a mid-star hotel.

I even got the first few chapters of the new book roughed in. Want to know about it? It’s a cozy mystery, written by my Janis Patterson persona, and will be called A KILLING AT EL KAB in a unique mix of fiction and fact. If all goes as planned it should be in publication this fall. When I was roughing out the story at the dig house all the archaeologists were fascinated, wondering who would be killed and speculating with what. Actually, they had some pretty good suggestions, some of which will be incorporated into the book.

Now I have read incredible scholarly articles by these people. They all have practically an alphabet soup of degrees after their names. I was in total awe of all of them. The afternoon of the first day I had an idea on how to start the book, so I hauled out my computer, put it on the dining table and started to write. Suddenly I noticed that everyone was very active suddenly, walking behind me quite slowly, craning their necks so they could see what I was doing without really appearing to snoop. I even heard one whisper to the other in tones of awe, “She’s writing a novel while we watch!”

Wow. Just wow.

I even broke my cardinal rule of never letting anyone see anything of a work in progress and offered to let anyone who was interested read the first chapter – as long as they understood that it was raw copy just as it fell from my fingertips. About half of them did, and were most lavish in their praise. I’ve never been treated like a rock star before, and probably never will be again, but it was nice. Very nice.

Yes, research can be fun.

And there’s one thing more I must add. When I said that we were going to Egypt, some reactions just stunned me. The general consensus was fear, predicting that we would be hacked to death with scimitars the moment we stepped off the plane. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Egypt was just Egypt – lovely and calm and welcoming. The lack of tourism due to unwonted international hysteria is worrying, because those in the tourist industry are suffering, but there was no sense of danger or urgency or anything. The Egyptian people love Americans and are all warm and friendly.

Another thing that astonished me was I wrote a friend an email and almost instantly received back a surprised reply “I didn’t know they had the internet in Egypt.” It had never occurred to me that they wouldn’t! Live and learn, I suppose.

We’re already hoping to go back next year.

Following New Directions--Or Where My Research is Taking Me

While I'm busy planning promotion for my next Rocky Bluff P.D. mystery, Violent Departures, I'm writing a new Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery.

To keep the series fresh, Tempe is going to solve a crime in a new place--Morro Bay. I picked Morro Bay because it's spot we've often visited.

Morro Rock is the tip of a no-longer producing valcano and has some history, folk-lore, and spirituality with the two local Indian tribes. Since Tempe is an Indian, there is a strong connection there--one I can include in the plot.

Three characters in the book are Ethiopian--as far as ethnicity is concerned--though American citizens. This made it necessary to do some reserach about Ethiopia. Besides the Internet, I connected with a fellow Central Coast Sister in Crime member who served with the Peace Corp in Ehtiopia. Perfect.

I'm only on Chapter 5--but the ideas keep flowing--all I need more of is time.

Writing two very different series at the same time isn't easy--but I have to admit that I do enjoy it.

Marilyn

Some more Neanderthal research

Buy at Untreed Reads

It’s been awhile since I posted the research behind DEATH IN THE TIME OF ICE.

One thing I gave my Neanderthals was speech. It’s debated whether or not they could speak, so I went back and forth, but finally decided to take a middle ground. I gave them rudimentary speech. In my fiction, they (usually the leader) use speech only for important ceremonial or decisive announcements. I did a lot of research for this, but, since I once wanted to be a linguist, it was tons of fun. I studied how babies learn to talk and the first sounds they make in different cultures, how people with speech problems are treated with therapy, and the roots of the earliest languages as far as anyone knows them. Here’s the quote I used for Chapter 15:

//

Chapter 15 – speech

Neanderthals, an archaic human species that dominated Europe until the arrival of modern humans some 45,000 years ago, possessed a critical gene known to underlie speech, according to DNA evidence retrieved from two individuals excavated from El Sidron, a cave in northern Spain.

The new evidence stems from analysis of a gene called TOXP2 which is associated with language.

The New York Times, Neanderthals Had Important Speech Gene, DNA Evidence Shows, by Nicholas Wade, October 19, 2007

//

Since they had the gene, I have to assume they had the physical equipment, even though it may have been a little different from ours.

For Chapter 16, I chose to explain how I had these Neanderthals get to North America. You know, the further and further east they find remains in Asia, the more I think it could have happened!

//

Chapter 16 – crossing and the north star

The author: It is believed that prehistoric people reached the American continents via Beringia.

Bering Strait: Strait connecting Arctic Ocean and Bering Sea (q.v.), and separating Asia (Russia) from North America (Alaska); at narrowest point 53 mi. (83 km.) wide…A drop in sea level during the Ice Age is believed to have exposed a land bridge (Beringia) connecting Asia and North America. Strait traversed by Danish navigator Vitus Bering 1728.

Merriam-Webster’s geographical dictionary

The author: The Big Dipper has been known as a guiding bear for a very long time.

The Iroquois Native Americans interpreted Alioth, Mizar, and Alkaid as three hunters pursuing the Great Bear. According to one version of their myth, the first hunter (Alioth) is carrying a bow and arrow to strike down the bear. The second hunter (Mizar) carries a large pot — the star Alcor — on his shoulder in which to cook the bear while the third hunter (Alkaid) hauls a pile of firewood to light a fire beneath the pot.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ursa_Major#History

In ancient Sanskrit and all modern Sanskirt-based languages, the noun tara means star. One of Tara's ancient names was Dhruva, also the name of Polaris, the Pole, or North, Star. In the 108 Names of the Holy Tara, She was the "Leader of the caravans...who showeth the way to those who have lost it." (Purna)

Today, it is difficult to understand the extent to which our ancestors traveled and relied on the stars to guide them. Sophisticated astronomical systems of the early historic period, the worldwide Neolithic standing stone observatories, and the lunar calendars on stone and bone, dating to the Paleolithic and possibly earlier (from 30,000 years ago to 300,000 years ago), indicate that our foremothers mapped the heavens. Clearly, they relied on their knowledge of the stars, moon and sun for safe passage. For the native peoples of the Indian subcontinent, bordered by two oceans and the daunting Himalayan mountain ranges, and covered with dense wilderness areas, the Pole Star was a constant indicator of true north, and the heavenly bodies in relationship to it, a celestial map. Tara, star and goddess, was the matron deity of travelers.

http://www.goddessmystic.com/CoreCurriculum/Goddesses/Tara/TaraAttributesStar.shtml

Owen Gingerich, in his article "The origin of the zodiac." (Sky and Telescope, Volume 67, 1984, Pages 218-220) proposed that a bear constellation crossed the Bering Straits with ancient migrants.

//

Hoped you’ve enjoyed this peek into my thrilling prehistory research!

Some more research into the last Ice Age

These were two of the favorite topics I researched, telepathy (after I decided to make my Neanderthals telepathic) and giant beavers!

I simply loved researching for DEATH IN THE TIME OF ICE. The book is available as an e-book or paperback at Untreed Reads.

Chapter 11 – aborigine telepathy

There is little documented evidence of the ability of the Australian aborigines to convey messages telepathically, but much anecdotal evidence. The method of communication is sometimes called ‘bush telegraph’ or ‘mulga wire’. This passage is taken from

The Bone is Pointed: An Inspector Napolean Bonaparte Mystery by Arthur W. Upfield

p. 46

"I saw him at ten o'clock on the evening of the eighteenth, the day Anderson rode Green Swamp. I went as usual to the stable to see that the horse kept there for duty had been properly fed and bedded. Abie--that was his name--was then asleep on his stretcher in the adjoining stall."

"How did he receive word about the sick lubra?"

"I don't know. Mulga wire, I suppose."

Chapter 12 – giant beavers

Beavers

Family Castoridae

The biggest of all rodents during Pleistocene time—or any time, for that matter—were beavers of the family Castoridae. These semi-aquatic rodents of the Northern Hemisphere existed in North America as long ago as early Oligocene time, 35 million to 30 million years ago…

Giant Beaver (Castoroides ohioensis)

The giant beaver was the size of a large black bear and weighed 330 to 440 pounds (150 to 200 kilograms). It measured t least 9 feet (3 meters) long and stood about 3 feet (1 meter) tall at the shoulder. In comparison, the modern beaver measures up to 3.5 feet (more than 1 meter) long and weighs from 20 to 86 pounds (9 to 39 kilograms). While resembling a modern beaver, the giant beaver had a longer and narrower tail. The giant beaver had huge incisors up to 6 inches (15 centimeters) long. Researchers have found no evidence to tell us whether this heavyweight built dams or felled trees, but base on the giant beaver’s build, paleontologists believe it behaved much as living beavers do…

The abundance of fossils suggests the giant beaver’s favorite locales were ponds, lakes, and swamps south of the Great Lakes, where it ate coarse swamp vegetation.

Ice Age Mammals of North America: A Guide to the Big, the Hairy, and the Bizarre Ian M. Lange, p. 120

Two American Indian beaver legends found at http://www.bio.umass.edu/biology/conn.river/nalegend.html:

The Great Beaver, whose pond flowed over the whole basin of Mt. Tom, made havoc among the fish and when these failed he would come ashore and devour Indians. A pow-wow was held and Hobomock raised, who came to their relief. With a great stake in hand, he waded the river until he found the beaver, and so hotly chased him that he sought to escape by digging into the ground. Hobomock saw his plan and his whereabouts, and with his great stake jammed the beaver's head off. The earth over the beaver's head we call Sugarloaf, his body lies just to the north of it.

Field, P., 1870-79, Stories, anecdotes, and legends, collected and written down by Deacon Phinehas Field:

In History and Proceedings of the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association, Deerfield MA, v. 1, p. 59.

The great beaver preyed upon the fish of the Long River. And when other food became scarce, he took to eating men out of the river villages. Hobomuck, a benevolent spirit giant, at last was invoked to relieve the distressed people. Hobomock came and chased the great beaver far into the immense lake that then covered the meadows, flinging as ran great handfuls of dirt and rock at the beaver. Finally he threw a bunch of dirt so great upon the beaver's head that it sank him in the middle of the lake. Hobomock, arriving a few minutes later, dispatched the monster by a blow with his club on the back of the beaver's neck. And there he lies to this day. The upturned head covered with dirt is the sandstone cliff of Wequamps (Mt. Sugar Loaf), and the body is the northward range. The hollow between is where Hobomock's cudgel smote down his neck.

Pressey, E.P., 1910, History of Montague: Montague, MA, p. 64.

Some Facts about Neanderthals

I did tons of research for writing DEATH IN THE TIME OF ICE. I used it in the book, of course, but I’d like to share some of it with you. Everyone is interested in Neanderthals, right?

Here are some notes for the first five chapters with source references:

Chapter 1

On current evidence, the Neanderthals lived between about 230,000 and 30,000 years ago--a huge span of time by any reckoning.

In Search of the Neanderthals Christopher Stringer and Clive Gamble, p. 7

In ancient times women ruled, because they had the magic masks, or the magic flutes, but men spied on them and stole their magic away.

Indians William Brandon, p. 20

Chapter 2

The high incidence of degenerative joint disease in Neanderthals is perhaps not surprising given what we know of the hard lives they led and the wear and tear this would have produced on their bodies. But the prevalence of serious injuries is more surprising, and indicates just how dangerous life was, even for those who did manage to reach ‘old age’ in Neanderthal societies.

In Search of the Neanderthals Christopher Stringer and Clive p. 95

Chapter 3

A remarkable feature that occurred in the older part of the shelter¹ fill was a man-made rock pavement that rested on the surface of Zone 3² clay and was overlain by travertine, clay, and limestone grit (Zone 4). … Several small patches of cobblestone pavement apparently were found at a level below the main rock floor pavement, and [Glen] Evans thought these might be evidence of human activity in Zone 3.

Taken from http://www.texasbeyondhistory.net/index.html, a site of the University of Texas at Austin

¹Kincaid shelter in Texas Hill country

²Late Pleistocence, 126,000 to 11,500 years ago

Chapter 4

New evidence has emerged that Neanderthals co-existed with anatomically modern humans for at least 1,000 years in central France. …Neanderthals lived in the cave between roughly 40,000 and 38,000 years ago…. Homo sapiens …inhabited caves for about 1,000 to 1,500 years…. At that point, Homo sapiens moved out and the Neanderthals returned, staying for a period that went from about 36,5000 years ago to 35,000 years ago.

From http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200509/s1450949.htm, ABC news article September 1, 2005

Chapter 5

Neanderthals seemed to suffer a high frequency of fractures…. These fractures are often healed and show little or no sign of infection, suggesting that injured individuals were cared for during times of incapacitation.

T.D. Berger and E. Trinkaus (1995). "Patterns of trauma among Neadertals". Journal of Archaeological Science 22: 841 - 852. Retrieved on 2007-06-28.

Found at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Homo_neanderthalensis#_note-26

illustration from http://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-19960748

The Quicksand on Your Desk

by Janis Patterson

On my desk there is a dangerous sink of quicksand that can pull me down in a minute. I’ll bet there’s one of your desk, too.

It’s called the Internet.

Yes, the Internet is a great invention. It has made research a snap, giving writers access to information which would have been difficult if not impossible to obtain otherwise. It has created a community of writers from the heartland to the Antipodes, allowing a heretofore unparalleled exchange of information. (Much, I think, to the chagrin of the traditional publishers!) It has allowed writers to publish their own books and claim the well-deserved lion’s share of the income for their hard work. (Causing, I think, an ever-increasing malaise among the traditional publishers!) It makes it easier for readers to find, follow and befriend their favorite authors as well as discover authors they might not have found any other way.

But there is no rose without a thorn. While it has been intensely liberating for both writers and readers, the Internet is sort of like one of those carnivorous tropical plants – alluring but deadly.

Say it’s a bright new day, and I decide that this is the day I’ll finish that pesky midsection of my work in progress. There’s not that much to do, so it shouldn’t take too long… First I’ll just check my inbox. Three hundred and some-odd emails later, I’ve read a great deal, written a goodly number of replies, and a large chunk of the morning is gone without my having accomplished anything substantive.

Well, it’s not that late, so I’ll just take a minute to check out a few of my favorite blogs – after all, they’re writing blogs, so it’s not really taking time from work, it’s professional research.

How did it get to be lunchtime so quickly? Well, I’ll just have a quick sandwich here in front of the computer, and so I don’t waste time, I’ll research that little fact that’s been snagging my storyline to see what I can do about it.

I am startled to realize that lunchtime is long over, the plate of crumbs and curling crusts is balanced perilously on my printer and I’m reading something which has nothing to do with my work in progress, but where I’ve been lead by a tantalizing trail of links and curiosity.

Worse yet, suddenly it’s late afternoon and I haven’t done a lick of work.

See what I mean? Quicksand.

Now it’s not usually anywhere this bad – though this exact scenario has happened – but it is so easy to be seduced from work into Internet play. When faced with the siren allure of the Internet writers need concentration and discipline, two virtues which I most notably lack.

Unfortunately, unless we want to go back to the clumsy, time-consuming old days of handwritten letters and trips to the library, the Internet is now an integral part of our lives. We must make sure it doesn’t take over our lives.

Just be careful of the quicksand on your desk…