Susan's Meadow Knoll Journal

March 1.

For me, this is the prettiest time of year down by the creek, with the banks mowed and the water cool-weather clear. (In the summer, it fills up with algae and duckweed.) Bill and Miles have been cutting dead wood out of the lot and stacking it for next winter’s fires. They’ve cleared out the area under Helen Nearing (a live oak in the middle of the woods, named for one of my favorite back-to-the-land writers), and are getting ready to burn the brush pile—a big job that happens three or four times a year, depending on how much clearing we do.

March 2. Last night, our Austin Story Circle group answered phones for the public television fund-raiser. It was good publicity for Story Circle and interesting to be on the inside of that production and see the way they put it all together, but not fun to drive home at midnight—an hour’s drive on a lonely highway. I used to be a night-owl, but no longer. I could hardly drag myself out of bed this morning. But a couple of cups of rosemary tea has done wonders, and I’m just about ready to go to work.

March 3. One of the women who came to the fund-raiser asked me to contribute some tips on plotting to an article she is writing. This is what I came up with:

1. The richest stories are created of a number of plots, not just one. The easiest way to create multiple plots is to develop a beginning-middle-end plot for each character. You don't have to show all the actions in each plot in your story: some are in the back-story, most are off-camera. In an ideal multiple-plot novel, all the plots are related.

2. If you're creating a story with multiple plot-lines, a story board helps to keep track and show you where there is room for more plot elements. Bill and I collaborate on multiple-viewpoint mysteries that often have five or six plots. To manage this complexity, we write plot elements on 1x3" pieces of paper and pin them, in columns, on a 3x4' cork board. Each plot is associated with one of the viewpoint characters and has a separate column on the board.

3. When I write, I revise daily, reworking the previous day's work in the morning and using that momentum to coast into new material in the afternoon. (I aim for 1500 words a day.) The next day, I repeat the process. In terms of the book as a whole, I work up to the last couple of chapters. Then I go back to the beginning, revise the whole thing (tying up loose ends and correcting problems along the way), and use that momentum to coast into the last few chapters.

That’s what I’m doing now, coasting into the last few chapters, while Bill goes back over the whole book, checking to see that we haven’t missed anything.

March 4. Mama Superior, one of our four gray Toulouse geese, built a nest in the cattail marsh last week and laid three very large and tempting eggs, but this morning I saw that something—a raccoon, a skunk, maybe even a coyote—had raided the nest and eaten the eggs. Mama came up for corn with the other geese this morning, so she escaped the predator, whoever it was. We find ourselves facing our annual dilemma. We could perhaps have goslings if we found her new nest, took the eggs, then (when we have six or eight) penned her up with them, safe from the predators. We’ve talked about doing this, but it’s a lot of work, and Mama (who isn’t exactly a tame goose) would probably not be very happy with the arrangement. So we’ll leave it to nature. If there are goslings, fine. If not, I can always go to the feed store and buy a few.

March 6. We’re celebrating the northern return of the sandhill cranes this evening! Two flights of them, perhaps 300 birds, flew over just before sunset. We heard them before we saw them—high, wild, warbling calls that never fail to thrill me. They’re strong flyers, and it’s likely that they left the Texas coast this morning and won’t stop until they reach the Platte River in Nebraska, where they rest and feed. Another celebration today—it’s the shelf date for the first hardcover Robin Paige! Amazon.com is shipping today, but Ingram’s (the major distributor for independent bookstores) didn’t enter the shelf date in their computer and hence all their shipments are days late. Oh, the joys of the book business!

March 7. Our editor’s assistant, Esther, emailed us today to tell us that Berkley had its preliminary cover conference, and nobody was "comfortable" with the cover concept we proposed, the Dartmoor Prison. They want something that has a "less dark, cozier" look. We suggested the ubiquitous moor thatched cottage, and the moor itself, and the famous Dartmoor ponies, and the Gothic great hall where some of the action takes place. We’ll see what they work out. And speaking of the moor, I heard a story on television today that the awful foot-and-mouth disease has been discovered on the moor, and that sheep are being destroyed. If the report is true, it’s dreadful, because the sheep graze on the vast common lands—and it’s spring there, and lambing season.

March 8. The scrub jay is back at the kitchen door, fiercely battering his reflection in the glass. He thinks it is another jay invading his territory. Our peacock—the dominant male in the flock—did the same thing, strutting up and down the porch in front of the glass patio door, attacking his reflection. Then he took to flying onto the hood of the truck and pecking at his reflection in the windshield. Amazing creatures, these birds.

March 10.

Our first signing for Death at Epsom Downs, at Remember the Alibi in San Antonio. It was a small group, because it has finally stopped raining and people are out in their gardens. But we left plenty of signed books, and Patsy (the store owner) is confident that she’ll sell them. It’s wonderful to work with a good independent bookseller who knows her stock and her customers. Here’s a picture of Patsy (on the left), me, and Barbara Peters, a Story Circle member who is also a mystery lover.

March 12. We’re printing the book this morning, and FedEx is picking it up this afternoon. What a marvelous thing, this technology. I’m old enough to remember the laborious job it used to be to type the whole darned thing, and retype and retype endlessly, getting it right. And then there were the carbons (this was before photocopiers), and (later still) Liquid Paper. Now, revisions and corrections are a matter of retyping one section. Nothing has to be adjusted, no page renumbering—it’s all just like magic!

Rain last night. Our weather radio woke us up three times to tell us that there were storms sixty miles to the south of us. We’re going to have to program that thing so that it is more specific. But it’s another wonderful piece of technology. Between the weather radio and the radar on the computer, it’s like having a window into the future. Well, the next half-hour, anyway.

March 14. We’ve had a visitor, either a bobcat or a mountain lion. Our neighbor on the ridge to the south, a half mile away across the creek, saw what he thought was a mountain lion a couple of years ago. I didn’t believe him, but now I’ve seen both tracks and scat, and a large animal (larger and stronger than a bobcat), dragged an eight-foot piece of six-inch plastic pipe about twenty feet. It was probably after a midnight snack—a rabbit or a mouse—that had hidden itself in the pipe. There are teeth marks (fang marks, actually) in the ends of the pipe. The Texas Parks and Wildlife people have been conducting a mountain lion survey in South Texas, about 120 miles to the south of us, and have learned that lions are on the increase and their range is expanding. They’ve been sighted in the Hill Country, too. I wonder if it was a lion who killed our nesting geese last year. I love the idea of being part of a landscape that also includes a such a wildness.

March 15. More sandhill cranes, long, looping skeins of them, calling in their harsh, wild voices. Closer to earth, it’s almost time for the hummingbirds, who usually arrive here around St. Patrick’s Day. I’ve hung out a feeder, in case one comes a little early. Several winters ago, I hung a suet log from a place where, the previous summer, I’d hung a hummingbird feeder that was host to hundreds of visitors a day. I was still feeding suet from the log when, one blustery March day, a hummingbird arrived and buzzed the log. I could only conclude that he was a return visitor from the previous summer, who had somehow remembered where he’d found food—a hummingbird diner, so to speak, along the aerial highway from Mexico to points north. The feeder I hung is filled with the usual brew: 1 part sugar to 4 parts water. The feeder itself has red plastic parts, but I never use red food color in the water.

March 18. A cool, rainy Sunday. Yesterday I drove to Georgetown and loaded the truck with some plants for a new section of garden: an assortment of salvias, a tray of 3" herbs (including a beautiful bronze fennel that will go into the ground beside the bird bath), and more annuals for hanging baskets. I also bought some granules of polymer material that retains water, releasing it when the plants need it. I’ll add it to the potting mix I use for the soil in the baskets and deck boxes in an effort to cut down on the watering. But planting will have to wait until tomorrow, because today is a good day to stay indoors. Yesterday I made a lemon meringue pie (I always think of Mom when I make a meringue, because hers were so glossy and beautiful) and today I’ll make a pizza. Bill wants to watch a movie on TV, and he’s already built a fire. I have a new needlework project, a counted cross-stitch Mary Englebreit teapot. Altogether, a lovely, cozy Sunday.

March 19. I was saddened to learn today that Liz Squire has died. Liz was a mystery author whose books were also published by Berkley (our publisher), an active, energetic woman, an accomplished writer, a generous friend. She believed in her books—the Peaches Dann series—and made extra efforts to let people know about them. Liz was one of those wonderful people who turn their challenges (for her, it was dyslexia) into triumphs. We’ve lost three mystery authors in the last few months: Chuck Meyer (an Austin pastor who wrote the God Squad books), Anne George (the Southern Sisters), and Liz. We miss them all.

March 20. Our small-town (very small: 842 people) post-office is the place you go to catch up on the latest news. This week’s news is that the mesquite trees are leafing out—according to Dolly (assistant post-mistress and resident expert on local weather, animals, and anything important) a sure sign that spring is on its way. I mentioned to her that the small mesquite by the barn has been out for two weeks already, but she just shook her head. "Those little mesquites, they can’t be trusted," she said. "They don’t have enough life experience yet. A day or two of sun, and they get over-enthusiastic. A mesquite has to be big enough to have a few years of late frosts under its belt. Don’t pay any attention to those mesquite babies."

So I’ve consulted the big mesquite outside the kitchen window, which says that yes, indeed, spring is on the way. Little green leaves, all over, a shimmer of delicate color.

March 21. Mesquites are a nuisance tree, at least as far as the farmers are concerned. But I love their graceful, delicately green leaves, which seem to me so characteristic of Texas and the whole southwest, as indigenous as mocking birds and rattlesnakes. The Indians liked them too, and depended on them for everything from food (the dried beans make a high-protein flour) and drink (fresh beans squeezed for their juice) to medicine (to treat fevers, open sores) to fiber and fuel. Bill has turned some beautiful vases from mesquite limbs, and we use the twigs for barbeque fuel, while the roots release nitrogen into the soil. All this from one tree—a wonderful, natural bargain!

March 25. Home again after a swing through East Texas—to Palestine, where Bill and I talked to a Friends of the Library group and I gave a program for the Women’s Club; then on to Houston, to Murder by the Book, for a book signing. The drive was very pretty—dogwoods and redbud in the woods, bluebonnets and paintbrush along the roads. And almost all the chairs were filled at the bookstore, which made us feel very good. There’s nothing more disheartening than a book-signing that nobody attends. The book-signing from hell, as Joan Hess puts it!

Tomorrow morning early, I’m off again, this time to New Mexico for a week’s retreat on my friend Amelie’s ranch. Bill will be holding down the fort at home, and enjoying his solitude as much as I’ll enjoy mine. We’re together so much of the time—it’s good to have a few days apart. So I’ve spent the afternoon loading up the car, hoping I haven’t forgotten anything. The weather is supposed to cooperate and I’m looking forward to the drive, to my stay on the ranch, and to all the reading and writing I hope to get done!