Interview with Author Leon Stevens

By | Book Review | No Comments

Here is a humorous interview Leon Stevens did with himself:

In Conversation With: Leon Stevens

I’m hanging out with author Leon Stevens. I just heard you wrote a book.
[whispering] You are supposed to offer me a beverage.
Oh yeah, I forgot. Would you like a beverage?
No thanks, I’m good.
[silence] . . . Sigh, really? . . . Why don’t you tell me about your book?
Well, it’s a continuation of one of my short stories from—
The Knot at the End of the Rope. Yeah, I read it.
I know you read it—wait . . . How did you do that?
Do what?
Speak in italics.
I don’t reveal my secrets. Please, continue. Why continue a story?
Many of my stories, like a good short story, tend to end leaving the reader to think or to ponder about what may or may not happen.
Like a cliff hanger?
No, more like an open ending. Some readers commented that some stories left them wanting more, which was my intent, but the more I thought about it, the more ideas came to me.
So why continue The View from Here?
You have to teach me how to do that.
Later. Go on.
Anyway, I never felt I wrapped that story up effectively. Sure, I created a natur—
Hey, no spoilers!
I don’t think I’m giving anything away. Anyway, I changed the ending of the short story to allow it to continue.
You can do that?
Sure. I’m the writer.
Cool. So . . . not a short story then?
Nope. It’s my longest yet, 30 000+ words. So, it’s a novella.
Do people read novellas? Doesn’t that just make you a lazy novelist?
Books don’t have to be long epics to be good. Some of the greatest books are novellas.
Right. Name five.
Umm, sure. Be right back.

[silence]

Animal Farm, Of Mice and Men, Slaughterhouse Five, A Clockwork Orange, and The Call of the Wild.
Did you just Google that?
Maybe. But you have to admit, those is some fine readin’.
Yeah. You’re right. Are you happy with it?
Yeah. I think I wrote a pretty good story. And a cool cover. Want to see?
Sure!

Leon Stevens is a multi-genre author, composer, guitarist, songwriter, and an artist, with a Bachelor of Music and Education. He published his first book of poetry, Lines by Leon: Poems, Prose, and Pictures in January 2020, followed by a book of original classical guitar compositions, Journeys, and a short story collection of science fiction/post-apocalyptic tales called The Knot at the End of the Rope and Other Short Stories. His newest publications are the novella trilogy, The View from Herewhich is a continuation of one of his short stories, and a new collection of poetry titled, A Wonder of Words.

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

When Winter Came

By | Book Review, Uncategorized | No Comments

Last week I went to my friend Beth Obermeyer’s celebration for her new book When Winter Came, A country doctor’s journey to fight the flu pandemic of 1918. The book was published by the Mayo Clinic Press. The Mayo Clinic is a world-renowned medical center in Rochester, Minnesota. Her book is the first book they’ve published that isn’t a medical book


Fifteen years ago, I was in a critique group with Beth called The Caribou Scribblers. I still have a silver pencil from the time Beth had pencils made for us with the group’s name written on the side. 
It was fun to be a part of Beth’s book launch. It was a happy occasion with neighbors, friends, and other writers. It was held at friend of Beth’s beautiful mansion in Minneapolis.

Beth’s grandfather, Dr. Pierre Sartor, was a doctor in Iowa in 1918 during the flu epidemic that hit the world near the end of World War 1. The flu killed 50 million people. Dr. Sartor treated over 1,100 patients and by his reckoning only lost five. How did he do it? He was treating farm families who didn’t have electricity or indoor plumbing. They couldn’t call the grocery store for home delivery or open their freezer to find something to eat. They didn’t have a hospital or vaccinations.

From his journal, we know he kept the patients isolated. The sick person’s family would go to a neighbor’s home. He kept the windows open, burned sheets, and had people wear masks. He also prayed by the side of his patients.

He visited the flu victims regularly by car or switched to a horse and sleigh when the road conditions were bad due to blizzards. Moreover, he organized a team of townspeople to tend to the sick. And he told well people to stay home so the disease wouldn’t spread.

The book was a major accomplishment for Beth who is now 81. She said she’s been working on the book for ten years. She kept working even after her husband died suddenly and unexpectantly. When asked what she planned to do next she answered. “Play the piano.” She accomplished what she set out to do and doesn’t have plans to write another book. Though she can’t rest yet as she’s currently in the middle of promoting the book including traveling to Iowa. There she’ll be well received by the many families who wouldn’t be here if her grandfather hadn’t saved their ancestors’ lives.

As I read the book, I thought of cycles. Beth wrote the book during the covid-19 pandemic. Diseases often come in cycles. We’ve all heard of the bubonic plague in the mid-1300s in Europe and Asia. We’ve heard of polio and smallpox sweeping across the world.

There are also cycles of wars such as World Wars 1 and 2 and now the war in Ukraine and other places in the world. Other cycles include economic cycles of recession, depressions and inflation.

Seeing things from this larger overview of cycles makes it easier to accept the hard times. We know that this too will pass. Pandemics and wars end, and prosperity returns.

When Winter Came is a success story about Dr. Pierre Sartor. He was a sickly child born in Luxembourg. He immigrated to the United States where he became a doctor who saved many lives. His story mirrors many of the immigrants who have come to the United States. The story made me reflect on my relatives and what they sacrificed and suffered to leave their homes and come to the United States.

When Winter Came is available at bookstores across the country and online. It’s full of colored photos and three original watercolors

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

True Spirit

By | Book Review, Movie review | No Comments
True Sprit
The other day I watched an amazing Netflix movie called True Spirit, based on the true story of a sixteen-year-old Australian girl, Jessica Watson, who circumnavigated the world on a sailboat. When she was a young girl, Jessica heard about an eighteen-year-old man making the world record for a solo trip and decided to break his record. Her determination was impressive. She stuck with her dream for years, found a mentor to teach her sailing, and found sponsors to help pay for the trip. 

The story starts with a test voyage where she is sideswiped by a large boat. So much damage is done to her sailboat that it looked like she’d have to postpone her trip. Fortunately, other sailors come to her aid and repaired the boat.

Her parents, three siblings, and mentor become her support team and cheer her on. While on her sailboat, she recorded her adventure on a video blog telling the world about her experiences. We accompany her on this journey and see what the stars look like on a clear night at sea and a sunrise that stretch as far as the eye can see. We view flying fish, dolphins swimming alongside the boat, and a whale breaching.

One of her more difficult times is when there is no wind and her boat is becalmed at sea for days. But her worse challenge comes near the end when storms make her journey perilous and she has to decide whether to keep sailing or head for land. These were the most heart-stopping, scary parts of the movie for me.

At one point Jessica told her viewers that we all have the power to follow our dreams. “It can be really hard,” she said, “but it’s so worth it.” She also said that more people have been in space than have sailed around the world, which I found surprising.

People watched her videos from many different countries and were inspired by her courage and willingness to make sacrifices for her dream. One of the sacrifices was living alone for 210 days as she traveled 22,000 nautical miles in a thirty-three-foot sailboat.

Jessica’s the youngest person to sail solo and unassisted around the world, traversing the most dangerous and isolated oceans. You can watch the movie on Netflix or read her book: True Spirit: The Assie Girl who Took on the World.

Following your dreams was one of the themes of my first book, Red Willow’s Quest. Red Willow is a young Native American woman who wants to become a medicine woman. She follows her heart just like Jessica does despite all the obstacles and challenges of her journey.

We all need to have dreams. Our lives are richer and more meaningful when we are working toward something we’re passionate about.
Here’s the movie trailer. 
share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

Have you ever wondered where authors come up with their idea?

By | Writing | No Comments

Dear Friends,

Have you ever wondered where authors come up with their ideas for stories? Ideas come from everywhere such as reading an interesting article in the newspaper that sparks the imagination, a person’s own experiences, and hearing stories. Last week, my husband and I were up at Tofte, MN on Lake Superior. My mother owns a house on the lake and it’s a good place to write while listening to the waves crashing into the rocky shoreline and enjoying the peaceful setting. A blanket of freshly fallen snow covered the ground.

One day we walked to a nearby art gallery. The artist, Ron, who owns it is a friendly man and shared a bear story. He lives north of Tofte and one day he was putting food in the bird feeder near his house when he turned around and there was a black bear right in back of him. I make note of stories like this as you never know when they might come in handy. I’ve used He had a pan in his hand so he smacked the bear with it and yelled. The bear ran off. But then it stopped and turned to look at him. They stared at each other for a moment, then the man started yelling and banging his pan against the house and the bear ran off. Since then, the man has frequently seen the bear around. I’m thinking. “Dude, get rid of the bird feeder!” You don’t want anything around that attracts bears. I learned that when we were camping this fall in Glacier National Park.

I use my own experiences and encounters with bears and other wild animals as the basis of scenes in my books. Even though I write science fiction, I use real animals on Earth for ideas in creating an alien animal. There are some pretty amazing animals on our planet.

In my most recent novel, Call of the Eagle, in one scene the main characters, Fawn and Baymond, are alone in  the wilderness and have an encounter with an animal. Here is a short excerpt from the book showing how I took some of my own experiences with bears combined with stories I’ve heard to create a scene.

The aroma of the fish cooking filled Baymond’s nostrils and his stomach rumbled. It would be the first good meal they’d had since leaving the space station. The thought of eating the fish was pleasantly rolling through his head when he heard a deep growl followed by Fawn’s scream.

Baymond’s eyes flashed open as a large snarling beast ran toward him. Before he had a chance to move, it sunk its teeth into his thigh. He cried out in pain and blindly struck out at the animal with his fists. He started to rise, but the creature swatted him, ripping his jacket and shirt to shreds, and knocking him to the ground.

Fawn grabbed a branch from the fire and began hitting the beast with the burning end. The creature rose onto its hind legs, towering above her, and snarled. Fawn grabbed a branch from the fire and hit the beast with the burning end. The creature rose onto its hind legs, towering above her, and snarled.”

The next time you read a book, you might want to ponder what experience led the reader to write that scene. Or if you’re a writer pay attention to a unusual experiences you can use in your novel.

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

Is Science Fiction Just a Story Set in Space?

By | Uncategorized | No Comments

A friend recently said that science fiction is just a story set in space.
That got me to thinking.  Sci-fi should be more than just a story set in
space. Good sci-fi should ask questions and explore issues. By doing so it can
help us prepare for the future. Many ideas that were first explored in science
fiction become realities.

Some of the questions sci-fi authors and film makers have explored are: What happens if there is a world war and civilization is wiped out? (Apocalypse books) What happens if aliens attack earth? (Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card or Star ship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein) What will our first contact with other intelligent being be like? (ET)What if we use robots to do much of our work and they start acting strange? (HAL in Space Odyssey) What if we develop AIs that look and act like humans. Should AIs have the same rights as humans? Do we have the right to develop AIs as sex slaves? (Ex Machina) What if we could time travel? How would that change our present-day events if we went back and changed a past event? (The Outlander series) What if we can travel to other planets with space jumps. (Star Wars and Star Trek)

In my Star Rider series I explore many topics. Some of the questions I
explore include: How would you fight an evil ancient sorcerer that has declared
himself a god and is trying to take over the galaxy? What if there is an
interplanetary war over desirable planets with air, water, animals and plants
that can support life? Should we protect planets that have less advanced
intelligent beings from invasion? What is it like to dogfight in space knowing
you can’t eject out of the ship because you’d die in space? What would it be
like to be from a technologically advanced planet and find yourself in a
primitive planet cut off from any way to contact your starship? What kind of
plants and animals would there be? What would the landscape look like? What
would it be like to live in a dome city where you can’t go outside without a
spacesuit on? What would it be like to live on a spaceship and never be
outside? What will people in the future wear? What might other intelligent life
forms look like? What would it be like to use androids that look like us? How
would you travel faster than the speed of light? How would you contact someone
on another planet?

Next time you read a science fiction book think about the questions being explored and how this genre has enriched the world.

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

Wisdom from Hawaiian Artist and how it applies to Writing

By | Art, Uncategorized, Writing | No Comments

Angela Treat Lyon is a prolific and versatile artist who does drawings, paintings and sculpture. When I went to Angela’s site, I was struck by her art work especially the sculptures. I was also struck by her words and how they apply to all types of artists, including writers.

On her home page, Angela says when people asked her what her painting meant, she thought the person should allow the piece to speak for itself, not realizing that not everyone knows how to do that. A writer has to take that into consideration as well. An author wants a book to speak for itself, but a story means different things to different people depending on their past experiences and background.

For example, one person may relate to the characters camping in the wilderness like my characters, Fawn and Baymond, in Call of the Eagle. Other people may have never camped and be curious as it what the experience is like.

Angela said that a seasoned collector told her that people want an experience, to be drawn in as she was drawn in. “To be in your shoes as you create and bring this painting and sculpture into manifestation.” This is true for writers as well, the reader wants to be drawn into the story world, so they feel almost as if they are the character. In Call of the Wind as the reader you can experience what it’s like to ride on a sand tiger and feel the wind against your skin as you race across the desert.

This newsletter is another way I bring you into my author world, revealing how I create my stories, my characters and their adventures.

Angela, went on to say, “They (the viewers) want a shift of thinking that leads them from ordinary, everyday consciousness – a journey into the world created by the image or the sculpture – and out the other side with a new, wonderful perception.” This again applies to novels. The reader wants to be transported from their everyday world and journey into the story world where they are transported into a new exciting perception.

Angela goes on to say: “Art is about creating and transmitting new perceptions to you, the viewer. So that’s what I strive for: pieces that take you, the viewer, to another experience, another world, another realm, where you can enjoy rich, gem-like blasts of fantasy color, or rounded, voluptuous sculptural forms, and whimsical or powerful, poignant emotion.” Again this applies to authors as well. The writer takes the reader to another experience, another world or realm.

In my book, Call of the Wind, you can enjoy what it’s like to travel by spaceship to another planet where the people have green skin and gills, so they can swim without coming up for air. You can experience a world where the people are less technologically advanced, yet have skills we don’t have like communicating inwardly.

Here is a link to Angela Treat Lyon’s website.

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

Call of the Eagle

By | Book Review, Uncategorized | No Comments

The fifth book in the exciting Star Rider, space opera series, Call of the Eagle, has just be published and is now available on Amazon as a print book.

Here is the first chapter:

1 White Sand Desert

Baymond awoke to the rustling sound of his father entering the tent.

“Time to get up,” Michio said. “The tribe’s breaking camp.”

Baymond sat up, fear hammering through him. Samrat soldiers would be searching for him and his parents and their only chance of survival was hiding among the Bajava tribal people. He rubbed his forehead, feeling thickheaded with fatigue after only four hours of sleep, but he knew it would pass once he got moving.

His mother yawned and looked at her watch. “Why are they breaking camp so early?”

Michio began rolling up his sleeping blanket. “They travel in the cooler part of the day and rest when the sun reaches its zenith. Baymond, we need to report for guard duty. Touch up your face paint before joining the other men.” Michio already resembled a Bajava warrior. He’d grown a beard, blue streaks shone in his dark hair, and a pattern of lines and dots were freshly painted on his forehead. He was dressed in the tribe’s traditional male clothing: a wide-sleeved shirt and light-colored pants.

Toemeka pulled a kaftan over her knit top and the close-fitting pants she’d slept in, then stuffed her blanket into her saddlebag. Her movements were quick, efficient and nervous. “I’ll keep guard with you.”

“Sorry, that’s not an option,” Michio said, opening the tent flap. “All the guards are men. We can’t do anything to cause suspicion. Only Einherjar and his wife Qara Boke know we’re from another planet. The rest of the tribe thinks I’m Einherjar’s brother from another tribe.” He left the tent.

“How long have you been traveling with the tribe?” Baymond asked his mother.

“We met Einherjar a few days ago through the Resistance. This will be our first day traveling with them. We have limited knowledge of their rules and traditions.” She pulled out several small jars and opened them.

Baymond dipped three fingers into the jar with cobalt blue dye and ran them through his black hair to add streaks. His normally short hair had grown long during the nearly six months he’d been in hiding. After adding the blue streaks to his hair and beard, he rubbed brown cream on his neck and the upper half of his face to darken it. “You and Dad both have deep tans. How long have you been on planet Saroka?”

 “More than four months. We left home and made the long voyage to Saroka soon after Jake notified us that your G-4 Tornado fighter was hit by anti-aircraft shells and you were missing in action.” She started applying a pattern of red and white dots and lines on his forehead. It was strange to feel her tender touch and unconditional love as if he were still a child. He hadn’t seen her in almost two years. At sixteen, he’d lied about his age and joined the Coalition of Free Nations to become a fighter pilot.

She sat back and studied her work. “You won’t need brown face paint for long. You’ve always tanned easily. Why are you so pale?”

He rubbed brown paint on his hands. “I had to stay indoors so no one would discover where I was hiding.”

“Where were you hiding?”

“A young woman saw me parachute out of my fighter and her family hid me from Samrat Condor’s soldiers over the winter.”

Toemeka hugged him tightly. “I was afraid you were dead. There wasn’t any trace of your whereabouts until you were arrested and imprisoned.”

He felt her tremble as he hugged her back. “I’m all right now, Mom.”

“You must have been terrified, knowing you were about to be executed.”

“They thought I was a spy—I was out of uniform.”

“Being a prisoner of war wouldn’t have been a much better fate.”

“I spent the last four days in prison with a man named Norgrin.” Baymond pulled a small carved eagle out of his pocket and handed it to her. “He carved this for me using nothing but a small stone shard.”

His mother examined it. “It’s a beautiful carving.”

“Norgrin saw an eagle in his dream right before I was put in his cell. When he met me, he knew I was the eagle, the enlightened soul.”

“Interesting that he recognized you as the eagle from his dream.” She handed it back.

“He was a holy man and saw a vision.”

“I’m glad you had him as your cell mate. You’d better go join your father. I need to take down the tent.”

The tent was a primitive, handmade structure of cloth over wood poles. Nothing like the lightweight pop-up tents Baymond was used to. “Do you want some help?”

“No, the tribe considers it women’s work. You’d better go get your orders for the day.”

Baymond took a piece of meat jerky out of his saddlebag and began chewing it as he left the tent. It tasted gritty and probably had sand on it, but he was too hungry to throw it away. Outside, the sun was rising and the camp was already bursting with activity. The women were taking down the tents and packing the supplies. The children were carrying blankets over to the khevons. The sandy-colored beasts had large ears and a brown stripe down the center of their backs.

He looked in the other direction toward the desert. White sand stretched as far as he could see, with rolling dunes in the distance. It was devoid of life and eerily silent, contrasting with his memory of the woods near where he’d grown up that teemed with life.

Baymond’s gaze returned to camp. The guards were gathered around Einherjar, the tribal chief. He hurried over to them.

***

After taking down the tent, Toemeka tied it and their saddlebags onto the khevons. Michio and Baymond came over and thanked her, then mounted and rode off to patrol with the other men.

Once the caravan was ready to move on, Toemeka walked alongside Qara Boke. The elders and young rode in the wagons. The older children were in charge of the flock of neeree and of collecting the furry animal’s dung in baskets to use for fires. The neeree were funny-looking creatures with bushy tails that curled over their bodies and shaded their heads.

As she trudged along, Toemeka was glad she didn’t have a baby or toddler tied to her back like many of the women. She was still getting used to the heat and wasn’t looking forward to a day of walking across the sand in the sun. She adjusted her cloth head-covering so it covered her nose and mouth to keep from breathing in fine particles of sand.

After a while, an attractive young tribal woman joined them, introducing herself as Chrisshawna. Toemeka knew enough of the Deutzian language to hold a simple conversation. Chrisshawna was curious about Baymond and asked several questions about him, including if he had a wife.

When Chrisshawna wandered away to talk to some women her own age, Qara Boke stared thoughtfully after her. “Your son is handsome and strong, and Chrisshawna thinks he’s Einherjar’s nephew. You’ll have to warn him to stay away from her to avoid trouble. Bajava fathers are ferociously protective of their daughters, and young men don’t speak privately to girls of marriageable age without their father’s permission.”

Toemeka frowned uneasily “Thank you for warning me. Baymond’s used to men and women interacting freely. He’d think nothing of talking to one of the girls.” The last thing she wanted was trouble when Einherjar and Qara Boke had done so much for them. “Thank you for helping us.”

“It’s only right when your son came here to fight our common enemy.”

The morning grew hotter and hotter, and the tribe’s pace slowed. Sweat dripped down Toemeka’s forehead, and she felt it gather on her chest and back. “How much longer until we rest?” She stopped to take a drink from her water flask.

“We’ll stop soon. Your face is flushed. Walking is hard for people not used to the desert.”

The heat grew worse, and Toemeka felt like she was in an oven being roasted alive. She didn’t think she could go much further without rest.

Fortunately, Einherjar rode by on his khevon yelling, “We’ll break here.”

Toemeka helped set out the food and cut cheese made from the milk of the comical-looking neeree. After her morning trek, their bushy tails seemed to be sensible protection from the fierce sun. She placed the cheese on pottery plates, along with flatbread and dried fruit. While the meal was prepared, the men gathered in council, except for a few guards who rode the perimeter of the camp and scouted the desert.

When the council broke up, she brought plates over to Michio and Baymond.

Michio studied her. “You look exhausted.”

“Walking in this desert heat is draining. I’d prefer riding a sand tiger.”

Baymond finished chewing his cheese. “Maybe you could ride in one of the wagons.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not that old.”

He felt his face heat up. “I didn’t mean to imply you were, but you were up most of the night searching the desert for Dad.”

“I’ll lie down after I eat.”

Baymond yawned. “So will I. Can you stay and eat with us?”

“That’s not the custom here.” Toemeka returned to where Qara Boke was visiting with the other women. After washing down a piece of cheese with some water, she glanced around for a place to sleep and spotted a rock outcrop a short distance from camp that would provide some shade. Once she’d hiked to it, she lay down on the shady side.

Toemeka was just about to sleep when Michio yelled, “Toemeka, look out!” Instantly alert, she sat up. An enormous reptile was racing toward her. Terrified, she glanced around for something to defend herself with. Spotting a rock, she grabbed it and sprang to her feet. The lizard-like creature looked to be nine feet long and was approaching fast. She shouted at it and hurled the rock at its head. It bounced off its scales. The creature stood still, its round eyes watching her as it raised and lowered itself on its two front legs. Then it leapt at her.

A sharp crack reverberated in the air. The beast twisted in the air and fell to the ground. Still alive, it spun around and started toward Michio who had almost reached it. He fired his rifle at the creature’s head two more times. It thrashed back and forth on the sand for a few minutes, then lay still.

Toemeka pressed her hand against her breast, feeling her heart race. She stared at the reptile in horror, realizing how close she’d come to being torn to shreds. Rifle in hand, Michio hurried over to her and drew her into his arms.  

Einherjar rode up on his khevon. “Did the zellar monster bite either of you?”

Michio glanced at her, and she shook her head. “No, we’re both all right,” he said.

“I should have warned you to stay in camp, Toemeka,” Einherjar said. “Zellar monsters are rare, but their bite is deadly. Its venom paralyzes its prey to make eating it easy.”

Baymond arrived a moment later. “You all right, Mother?”

“Yes, just shaken.” She stared at the zellar monster. It was unusual looking with a gray and white striped body and a long, thick blue tail.

“That thing must weigh eight-hundred pounds,” Baymond said, studying it.

Michio gave it a poke with his foot. “It probably weighs more than that.”

Qara, Chrisshawna and some other women hurried over.

Chrisshawna gaped at the creature. “That’s a big one.”

“The desert gods are merciful!” Qara Boke said. “Few survive an attack by a zellar monster. It’s fortunate your husband was watching out for you, Toemeka.”

“I’m very lucky.” Toemeka felt Michio’s arm tighten around her.

Chrisshawna pulled her knife out of its sheath at her waist. “The meat from a zellar monster is delicious. Baymond, can you and your dad help flip it onto its back so we can slice through its soft belly? The scales on its back are too hard to cut through.”

Einherjar dismounted and, with the aid of his khevon and a rope, the three men managed to flip the creature onto its back. Qara Boke sliced down the middle of its stomach then she and Chrisshawna started cutting it up. The other women wrapped the chunks of meat in pieces of leather.

Chrisshawna smiled at Baymond. “We’ll have a feast tonight.”

Baymond grinned back. “Sounds great. I can’t remember the last time I had a feast. Can I help cut up the meat?”

She laughed. “That’s women’s work.”

Toemeka uneasily watched the friendly exchange. “Baymond, will you walk back to camp with us?”

He looked away from the butchering of the zellar monster. “Sure, what’s up?” He headed back to camp with his parents. Once they were out of earshot of the others, Toemeka related the warning Qara Boke had given about talking to young women of marriageable age.

“What a stupid custom,” Baymond said.

Toemeka narrowed her eyes. “Stupid or not, you’ll follow it, okay?”

“Yeah sure. I don’t want to be forced to marry Chrisshawna no matter how beautiful she is.” He looked back at the girl under discussion.

His parents exchanged a concerned glance.

Once all the meat was packed up, the camp moved on. Baymond rode alongside his father, guarding the perimeter of the camp. He was more diligent now that he knew to look out for zellar monsters as well as enemy soldiers and bandits. Einherjar said bandits weren’t likely to attack a large, guarded camp, but they’d been known to ride in firing rifles, snatch what they wanted, and ride off again.

“How long will we travel with the tribe?” Baymond asked.

“A few weeks. Once we reach the Hawyan Mountains, we’ll leave them and cross the mountains alone. On the other side is a coastal village that’s in unoccupied territory. Once there, we’ll contact Jake and he’ll fly us—”  The rest of his words were drowned out by the roar of engines. Baymond apprehensively gazed upward. The inhabitants of planet Saroka didn’t have any aircraft, so it could only be an enemy. Soon a Talon fighter appeared overhead, flying low. Baymond clenched his jaw, recognizing it as one of the spaceships he’d fought in aerial battles on the missions he’d flown. A patrol ship had landed near the caravan the day before and searched the camp. The soldiers hadn’t recognized him in his tribal disguise, but he couldn’t count on the same thing happening today.

The fighter slowed, circled around and flew over them a second time. Baymond knew it carried enough firepower to destroy the entire tribe in minutes.

“Stay centered and control your thoughts,” Michio said, startling him. “They probably have a sorcerer on board powerful enough to detect anything unusual.”

Baymond immediately put up an inner shield of light and took a calming breath, grateful for his father’s presence. Michio was the spiritual leader of the Secret Teachings and served as an inner and outer teacher and guide to his followers. Most of the time Baymond just thought of him as his father, but in moments like this Master Michio’s heightened awareness, serenity and love enabled Baymond to find his own inner stillness.

Together father and son watched the ship, relaxed, but ready to take action if needed.

When it finally flew off, Baymond sighed with relief, thankful he and his parents weren’t alone in the vast desert with no place to hide.

***

That evening, the desert air became pleasantly cool. After setting up camp, Einherjar and Qara Boke invited Michio, Toemeka, and Baymond to join them for an evening feast of zellar monster meat, cactus pads and flowers, and flatbread. Several families were already gathered around a large fire when they arrived.

Around camp, other groups were doing the same thing. Apparently, Baymond thought, families ate together for celebrations.

Chrisshawna handed him a piece of raw zellar monster meat on a skewer. “This is the best part. It’s the inner piece of the tail.”

Baymond thanked her then squatted by the fire and held the meat over some coals, wondering what the meat would taste like. The wind shifted and he breathed in the burnt grass smell of the neeree dung smoke.

Other tribal members held out their skewers competing for the same spot of red coals. The smell of meat cooking made Baymond’s stomach rumble. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good meal. Food had grown short at Rissa’s and in prison the gruel and watery soup had left him perpetually hungry. One time his soup had an eyeball floating in it.

He turned his stick in the fire so the meat would be browned equally on all sides. It was taking too long to cook so he put it directly over the flames. It quickly became charcoal on the outside and he moved it back to the coals.

The wind blew smoke into his face, making his eyes water. He squeezed them shut, opening them again when the wind shifted.

Finally the meat looked and smelled done and he stepped away from the fire. He was so hungry by now that he didn’t care what it tasted like. He blew on the meat to cool it off and took a bite. It painfully burnt his tongue. He blew on it some more, then took another bite and chewed it slowly, analyzing the meat’s flavor. It was sharp and slightly fishy with a firm and chewy texture.

He looked up and saw Chrisshawna watching him across the fire. She smiled. “Good?”

He nodded, unable to reply with his mouth full.

“Have another piece.” She came over to him and held out a piece of raw meat. He put it on his skewer and held it over the coals, snacking on a cactus flower as it cooked.

Qara Boke wiped meat juice off her chin. “I love zellar monster meat. Thanks for killing it, Michio.”

Michio looked warmly at Toemeka. “I didn’t kill it for its meat.”

“The White Sand Desert is full of creatures,” Einherjar said. “As well as zellar monsters, there are poisonous insects and snakes, but none of them are as dangerous as the Talon soldiers.”

Baymond was sorry the tribal chief had brought up soldiers. He wanted to enjoy the evening and relax, but now tension was tight in his chest.

He heard the pounding of drums, then the lighter notes of flutes and stringed instruments joined in. Baymond turned toward the music floating on the air.

Einherjar rose. “A celebration wouldn’t be complete without music. Come.” He led the way to where a group of musicians had gathered.

Baymond listened, entranced. He missed playing his flute and asked the flautist if he could borrow the instrument. The man handed him the flute. As he began to play, everything faded away and he felt transported to a different world.

When he finished, he noticed Chrisshawna and others from the tribe had gathered around to hear him play. He handed the instrument back to its owner and thanked him.

Chrisshawna drew close. “That was amazing.”

“It’s a fine instrument,” Baymond said, still feeling the joy of having played it.

He continued listening to the music, absorbed in its sound when he noticed that a man with a distinctive blue beard was staring at him and Chrisshawna with a stern scowl.

Was the man Chrisshawna’s father?

He left her side and walked over to where his parents stood.

Toemeka smiled at him. “I loved hearing you play the flute.” She put her hand over her mouth as she began to yawn.

“It’s getting late,” Michio said. “Let’s go to bed.”

As they headed to their tent, a feeling of peacefulness settled over Baymond. He looked across the vast desert and at the expansive starlit sky above.

“It’s beautiful here,” his mother said as they all stopped to enjoy the view.

“Yes, it is,” Baymond said. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you both for rescuing me.” It concerned him that his parent’s lives were endangered because they’d come to planet Saroka to rescue him. Yet they both looked strong and fit; capable of surviving in this war-torn world. They’d seemed old to him when he was sixteen. Now he’d revised his thinking, in their mid-forties they were in the prime of life. They’d flown across the galaxy, found him, and successfully sprung him out of prison.  

“Jake helped us find you,” Michio said. “He’s been searching for you ever since your ship crashed landed on Saroka. News of you didn’t surface until you were arrested.”

 Baymond nodded, he wasn’t surprised Jake was hunting for him. He was a family friend and a skilled senior pilot who’d been training fighter pilots at the space station when he’d been shot down. “It’s really good to see both of you again. I’ve been lonely at times so far from home, family, and friends.” A lump formed in Baymond’s throat. He wanted to know about Fawn but was hesitant to ask. News that she was married would be hard to hear, but perhaps uncertainty was worse. “I’ve been wondering how . . . you know, how Princess Fawniteen is doing?”

“We’ve been gone almost as long as you’ve been missing in action,” his father replied. “We’ve had little contact with home.”

“Mother said the twins are staying at the Marsindi Palace,” he said, wondering about his younger siblings, Desha and Keegin. They’d be sixteen now and must miss their parents.

“We thought they’d enjoy the company of Fawn and her siblings,” his father said.

“Aren’t Queen Koriann and Prince Erling worried that one of their sons will fall in love with Desha?” Baymond bit his lip. “Sorry, that just slipped out. Did you know that Prince Erling offered to break off Fawn’s engagement to Prince Radcliff, so she and I could marry, but she told him not to?”

“Only because she was concerned about causing trouble between our country and the prince’s,” Mother said. “Your father and I went to see her soon after we found out you were missing in action, because Erling was worried about her. She’d shut herself up in her room and didn’t eat or sleep for days. She was recovering when she received your necklace and letter. That convinced her you knew you were going to die and she broke down a second time.”

“She was doing better when we left,” Father said.

Baymond sighed deeply. “It would be best if she forgot me. I take it she isn’t married yet, if she’s still at the Marsindi palace.” He squatted and picked up a handful of warm sand, letting it run through his fingers. Fawn was like the sand, he thought. She’d slipped through his fingers even though he’d tried to hold her close.

“Not that we know of,” Toemeka said, “but King Anthrop is in poor health and his last wish is to see his son married. It wouldn’t surprise me if Fawn consents to marry before her eighteenth birthday out of love for the old king.”

“I guess it wouldn’t really matter if she marries a few months early.”

“Have you come to terms with her engagement?” Michio asked.

Baymond stood back up, heavyhearted with resignation. “More or less.”

He could feel his mother’s eyes on him and knew she understood he was still healing.

“We’d better go to bed,” Michio said. “The tribe will move on early tomorrow morning, and we’re all short of sleep.”

They hiked to the tent in silence.

***

Eight days later, Baymond was riding with Einherjar and two other scouts when they spotted the small oasis the tribe was headed toward. When they rode into the shade cast by some tall desert trees, Baymond immediately sensed something was wrong. As he drew near the watering hole, the smell of rotting meat hit his nostrils, then he spotted the carcasses of several small animals in the grass. His khevon tried to gallop to the small pond for a drink, but Baymond held him back.

Einherjar and the two scouts dismounted and examined the dead animals and the water hole. “It’s been poisoned,” Einherjar said. “We’ll have to travel on to the next watering hole.”

“Who would have poisoned a precious source of water?” Baymond asked.

“Bandits wanting to steal our trade goods,” Einherjar said. “They’ll expect any traveler to go from here to the next closest watering hole where they’re probably waiting to attack. We’ll continue to the mountains instead. I think we can make it before our water runs out, if we ration it.”

He looked at the scouts. “Travel to the two nearest watering holes so we can find out where the bandits lay in wait.”

After the scouts left, Einherjar said to Baymond, “You and your parents need to separate from the tribe tonight. Have your parents call the sand tigers. If you travel at night and in the cool part of the day, you can make it to the Hawyan Mountains in about three days. There’s no point in involving you with our tribe’s troubles.”

“We should stay to help defend your people.”

“You and your parents are three more people using up our precious water supply, and you’re a danger to our entire tribe if the Samrat soldiers come back and discover you among us. Only the grace of the desert gods has kept them from recognizing you when they searched our camp.”

“We owe you so much. It doesn’t feel right to abandon your tribe in its time of need.”

“My people know how to disappear into the desert and our bodies are different from yours. We can exist on little water for a long period of time. You can’t. Don’t worry about us. My people were living in the desert long before you were born and will continue to live here after you turn to dust.

“The Samrat air troops are a much more serious danger than bandits,” Einherjar continued. “We are dependent on the Coalition air fleet to drive them off and save our planet.”

Einherjar and Baymond rode back to the cavern and shared the news about the poisoned waterhole with the other men. Afterwards, Baymond found his mother and relayed Einherjar’s instructions.

“Michio’s still out scouting,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him on his khevon. “When he returns to the caravan, we’ll call the sand tigers and prepare to leave tonight.”

Baymond dismounted. “Don’t you think we should stay and help the tribe?”

“Einherjar’s been generous to us, but now he needs to focus on the needs of his people.”

Baymond looked around at the women and children and wasn’t convinced the tribe didn’t need their help fighting the bandits. Yet Einherjar was right: if the Samrat soldiers found him among them, the whole tribe would be killed.

His mother touched his arm. “I’ll go talk to Einherjar and ask him what route we should take to the mountains. I’m worried we’ll be vulnerable to aircraft searching for us once we leave the tribe and are alone in the desert. Perhaps he knows of some caves, rock outcrops, or other places we can hide.”

She left and Baymond started walking his khevon over to the herd. Chrisshawna appeared and started walking beside him.

He tensed, wishing she wouldn’t keep seeking him out. He’d found out from Einherjar that the man with the blue beard was her father. His name was Seaden and he was known for having a quick temper.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered. “Why aren’t we going to the oasis?”

He turned toward her, noticing how pretty she looked in her flowing desert clothing. “The watering hole was poisoned.”

“Don’t look at me!” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone to see us talking.”

He looked away. “Einherjar suspects bandits poisoned it. He sent scouts out to see where they are so the tribe can avoid them.”

“Bandits! By the goddesses of the golden sands, I hope they don’t find us. They’ve attacked other bands and stolen young women as well as all their goods.”

Baymond couldn’t help but glance at her again and their eyes met. He wondered what it would be like to marry Chrisshawna and live in the desert. The nomadic way of life offered a great deal of freedom.

The scuff of a heel sounded behind him and a rough hand grabbed his upper arm, wheeling him around so that he faced Seaden. The man’s eyes blazed and his face was blotched red with anger. “How dare you talk to my daughter without my permission! Do you think you can get away with it because you’re Einherjar’s nephew?

Click here to read more about the book on Amazon

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

How Dune brought Sci-Fi into Recognition

By | Book Review, Writing | No Comments

Recently, a friend read my novel Call of the Wind and said she didn’t know why it was called a space opera. I explained what the term meant and told her Star Wars, Star Trek, and Dune were space operas. I thought some of you might also be wondering what the term means.

Here is what I found online. A Space Opera takes place in spacefaring civilization set in another time and often in another galaxy. It has epic characters, a big universe, empires, and political conflict. It has space battles, a love story, princesses, strong handsome heroes and beautiful, feisty heroines, and powerful villains. Technology is secondary to the story compared to hard science fiction. Adventure is secondary to war compared to military science fiction.

The term space opera started out with negative connotations like soap opera, but as the genre became more popular the term lost its derogatory meaning. One of the books that helped space operas become accepted was Dune. A new version of the movie Dune was released recently, and I happily watched it on my plane flight to St. John in January.

The movie inspired me to reread Frank Herbert’s novel Dune. The book brought science fiction into recognition as an important genre in the same way as J. R. R. Tolkien’s Hobbit brought fantasy into recognition. Dune came out in 1965 and by 1970 it had sold 10 million copies. It has been made into two movies and a TV series.

At the end of the novel, Frank’s son Brian Herbert wrote an Afterword. In it, he says that as a child the characters in Dune competed with him for his father’s affections. Frank Herbert spent more time with Paul Atreides (the fifteen-year-old main character) than he did with his son Brian.  It took 9 years for Frank to research and write the book, including four years of research.

Frank Herber didn’t have an easy time getting it published. His agent submitted it to twenty different publishers. It was finally picked up by Chilton Books, known for their auto repair books. It was rejected partly because it is 215,000 words—most books at the time were a quarter to a third that length. It’s also a complex novel with many new words. Initial sales were slow but it won the Nebula and Hugo awards for best novel of the year and sales started rising.

Frank Herbert continued the series with five more books. Brian Herbert finished the sixth book in the series after his father died.

So science fiction writers have a lot to thank Frank Herbert for in bringing sci-fi out of the ghetto of literature. 

Click here for a link to the trailer of the movie Dune

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin

What is Success?

By | Uncategorized | No Comments
From the Van Gogh Exhibition in Minneapolis
From Van Gogh Exhibition

This week I went to the Van Gogh exhibition that’s currently in large major cities across the United States. It’s designed to give the viewer the feeling of stepping into the paintings by using virtual projection technology.

In the lobby was a sign above a very large box of oil paint tubes that asks the question, “What is success?” Van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime. He wasn’t able to support himself and depended on money from his brother until his death at 37. He probably felt like a failure. Most of his 860 oil paintings were in the last two years of his life. Now his paintings go for millions of dollars and he’s considered one of the greatest artists of our times.

He wasn’t materially successful during his lifetime, but he must have felt a great inner desire to paint the world around him.

In Elizabeth Gilbert’s book about writing, Big Magic Creative Living Beyond Fear, she talks about the human desire to create or make things. She said writing (art or music etc.) isn’t a career but a vocation—a calling or mission. A career provides for us financially, a vocation may or may not.

She goes on to say you don’t have to be a genius to create. You don’t have to be the best. Everyone can and does create in some way. We shouldn’t compare ourselves with others or compete with others. Yet, sometimes we even compete with ourselves—our own past.
Achievements and it keeps us from continuing to create.

Gilbert became famous, after rich, after Eat, Pray, Love was published and later made into a movie. She said she’d write regardless if she had to support herself with a job. Her idea of creatively is that it is a gift, a joy and magic.

To her it doesn’t matter if it’s successful financially. Creativity has value in and of itself.

What does success mean to you? Do you agree with Gilbert? Do you enjoy doing creative things like writing, painting, gardening, cooking, and/or singing? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

share this:
Facebooktwitterpinterestlinkedin