Martha’s Century Farm, whose story I told in my book A Place of Her Own, just hit the 150-year mark today.
On this day of April 24, 150 years ago, Martha A. Maupin purchased a farm on her own, according to the document filed in Douglas County, Oregon, from H. M. Martin To M. A. Maupin, which reads in part:
This Indenture made the 24~ day of April 1868 between Howard M. Martin & his wife Margaret Jane Martin of Elkton precinct, Douglas County, State of Oregon, of the first part and Martha Ann Maupin of the said County and State of the Second part Witnesseth that the party of the first part for and in Consideration of the sum of One thousand dollars lawful money of the United States to them in hand paid at or about the unsealing and delivery of these presents by the party of the second part, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged have bargained sold transferred and Conveyed & by these presents do transfer and convey unto the party of the second part her heirs and assigns, forever, all the following described premises to wit Donation Land Claim No. 46 beginning at . . . containing 320 acres more or less situated in the above County and State To have and to hold . . .
As told in the book, this purchase was no small matter for a woman in 1868. Martha had lost her husband a year and a half before and either could not or would not depend any longer on the aid of family and friends. She chose to make a home for her children and herself. However, she didn’t have the $1,000 she needed to buy this property. A man in nearby Scottsburg had the money to loan her, but he would not negotiate with a woman. Her son Cap, thirteen years old, had to negotiate for the money, but he was too young to own the property. It became her farm, owned by her alone, 320 acres along the Umpqua River.
In 1968 the property qualified as an Oregon Century Farm, having been in the family for 100 years. Now it has been in the family for 150 years and will qualify as a Sesquicentennial Farm.
A big day for Martha’s farm. I’d like to think she would be pleased.
For more of Martha’s story, you might want to check out the book, if you haven’t already. You can ask for it at your local bookstore or see the sidebar for more options.
So, here it is–my trilogy–wrapped up with a bow on it.
These epic historical novels of adventure and romance bring to life the exotic world of the ancient Greek Isle of Crete, and I’ve been working on the series for many years. They just got a comprehensive update and a new bit of polish.
I thought these books were finished in 2015 when I completed Book Three, Talia’s story, which started out with some special help from my muse, as described in a 2015 blog post. (Note: If you read that 2015 post and see that Talia’s story was labeled as “fourth in the series,” please note there’s been some juggling and additional stories, so we plan to present Talia’s as the third now. The one that was third will be part of a second trilogy.)
Anyway, after thinking these three were done, my agent sent me back for changes in Book One, Helaina’s story, the foundational book in the entire project. I talked about that in my last blog post, The Rewrite.
The beauty of writing a trilogy or series is that you set up your scenario–which in an ancient historical novel means creating a world–and you carry that into the next books. That world becomes familiar and real. I know these characters who walked the earth more than 3,000 years ago. I know the places they walked. I know their children, who grow up and carry their society forward, meeting the challenges of their day. The stories are fictional but the people and places are as true to life as I can make them, based on the archeology and other clues left behind.
The down side of writing a trilogy or series is that you have to maintain consistency. This can be difficult enough in a large novel. Were her eyes green or blue? Did the ships have oars or just sails? Was the bridge north of town? Or south? What was his father’s name? When you have multiple stories, that consistency has to be maintained through a lot of pages.
Ah! Thank goodness for the search feature.
I was particularly aware of this need for consistency when I did dramatic, substantive changes to Book One in the big rewrite. Some of those changes trickled down into the other two books. So each of these had to be rewritten, if not perhaps as thoroughly. And they had to be read carefully because sometimes the effect of changes can be subtle.
This latest rewriting project has kept me busy for long days since the big rewrite of Book One, which got underway shortly after Christmas. Kudos to my beta reader Carisa Cegavske for her insightful feedback on all three.
Now it’s a pleasure to see them done–hopefully done, unless my agent recommends more changes. I am so glad she nudged me to the rewriting, because they all feel so much stronger. It’s all part of the process. Write. Rewrite. Feedback. Rewrite again. More feedback. And one more time. And again…
As every writer knows, the rewrite is an integral part of writing. Nobody lays down a perfect manuscript in the first draft. However, there are rewrites, and then there are major rewrites.
If I’ve been a bit absent from social media lately it’s because I was in the throes of one of the majors. And all I have to show for it is a pile of paper. It’s there. And it’s in that laptop. All that work and for now that’s all I can show you.
Two months of work, long days. Nothing to show but words. How do I show you the places I’ve been in those two months? The exotic city of an ancient civilization, the sparkling Mediterranean, the craggy mountains of the Greek Isle of Crete. How do I share the joys and fiery passions and torments of people living their lives in the harrowing times I’ve experienced with them? The words.
I could tell you about these people, these places, but until you read the words I don’t want to spoil the story for you. What a pleasure when my critiquers plunge into that story and I can talk to them about the people I’ve been visiting for two months–no, not just visiting. I’ve been living their lives, seeing through their eyes
So what’s different about this rewrite? For starters, I wrote its first incarnation over 20 years ago. And I will say it’s easier to sit down and write a new one than to bring an old one up to speed. I learned a lot as a writer in 20 years.
It’s a book I have declared finished probably a dozen times, maybe more. In its early incarnations I submitted it to agents. I read it in critique groups and open mike sessions. And I revised. While the story grabbed readers it never quite lived up to the excellence it needed. In this time of the Olympic games I would have to say it didn’t quite qualify for the gold. So what could I do?
In recent years this book has become the foundation story of a series–or a couple of trilogies. Having written six of these books now, I have quite a bit of creative energy invested in the project. Because I loved this story I told myself it was as good as the new ones. But was it? It’s so easy to look at something that sounds good and tell yourself it’s all right. So easy, for instance, to accept that this scene should be written this way from the viewpoint of this character. But what if I change viewpoints? What if I add all-new scenes? Is that scene even necessary?
My agent kept nudging me until I finally took a hard look at it and found so much I had left intact from the early incarnations that no longer worked. Once I admitted that to myself, I was ready to make substantial changes.
So there it is. Reborn. It’s all in the words.
Note: The store will continue to operate as the Oakland Community Store and Learning Center with the same hours as before, Sundays through Thursdays 11 am to 4 pm and Fridays and Saturdays 10 to 6. My books will still be on sale there and I’ll stop by occasionally for signing.
The community of historic Oakland, Oregon, has a new Christmas Store for the holiday season, now open daily for business, featuring unique handcrafted items created by local artists and crafters. My books are on the shelf for sale there and I’ll be in the store on Thursday afternoons, beginning on December 7, from 1 to 4 pm. If you buy a book when I’m not there, you’re welcome to come back on one of those afternoons and I’ll be happy to sign it for you.
This is a new venture led by Victoria Kietzman and the First Friday in Oakland crew. You’ll find selections from many First Friday artists, as well as vintage items. My thanks to Victoria for inviting me to join them with my books.
Some days you may walk into the store and be met by the tantalizing smells of home-baked goodies, so you can stop for a bite and a little tea while you shop. Or if you’re from out of town, you might want to plan on lunch at one of several delightful restaurants in Oakland, and take a stroll through town–where the town itself is a stroll through the past–then drop by the Christmas Store to shop for someone on your Christmas list.
Books do make great gifts. So for book lovers on your list who love a little local history I present my two titles: A Place of Her Own, a story of my pioneer great-great-grandmother who came over the Oregon Trail and ultimately bought a farm on her own in Douglas County; and 2017 Nancy Pearl Book Award Finalist The Shifting Winds, another story of Oregon’s pioneer era.
Gift wrapping service will be available.
You’ll find the Christmas Store at the historic building shown above, all decked out for the holiday, at 208 2nd Street across from the Oakland Post Office. The photo below gives a glimpse inside. Some of the merchandise may change, Victoria said, as artists bring in new creations.
The store is scheduled to be open Sundays through Thursdays from 11 am to 4 pm and Fridays and Saturdays from 10 to 6. Currents plans are to keep the store running until January. I’ll do at least three Thursdays, the 7th, 14th and 21st, and may pop in other times as well.
If you have any questions about the store you can call 541-315-2613. I hope you’ll stop by.
I appreciated the friendly reception and the interaction during our lively Q & A afterward. This being a group of writers, the discussion delved into the writing process.
Every author develops some kind of process for writing a book, and when asked about my own I tried to describe what isn’t so much a daily regimen but a progression through the various stages of the project. I don’t write every day. I need to take in a lot of information before I’m ready to write a novel.
This could be compared to breathing. Inhale before exhaling.
As a writer of historicals much of that inhaling is research. Read about my subject. Imagine my characters interacting in worlds I discover. Read other novels to see what other authors do. Visit places. Soak in the smells, the sensations. Open myself to the ideas that will come in if I let them. Listen to my muse.
Scribble down what comes. That’s writing of a sort. Exhaling as I go. Some of those notes may find their way into the final pages, word for word.
Eventually I’ll reach the stage where the flood of ideas must be brought to some pattern, an arc of storytelling that will lead me through from beginning to middle to end. Once that’s organized–and yes, I do outline–the story spills out. Then I’m fully breathing out the air I’ve been breathing in. The long exhale.
On a gorgeous golden Friday yesterday I had the privilege of being included with my books at First Friday in Oakland, Oregon.
In the photo above I’m signing a copy of A Place of Her Own for a customer, Holda Crocker, who came with her little helper. My table is right outside Tolly’s, a restaurant with plenty of old-fashioned atmosphere, in the alcove of the right-hand door. Thanks to Victoria Kietzman for taking our picture. Victoria’s the lady who directs this monthly event highlighting local artists.
“My definition of art encompasses a great deal,” Victoria said. “It can be gardening, canning, ceramic, painting, photography, writing, produce, soaps, candles, lotions, music, acting knitting, plants, jewelry, crocheting, macrame, dream catchers and so on. If the hands and mind were involved then it must be art.”
Up the street on the opposite corner you find Stearns Hardware. As the sign shows, the store dates from 1887, and it still sells hardware. I remember my grandfather talking about shopping there when I was a child.
Everything looked quiet at 4:30 in the afternoon.
Across the street the lofty Page & Dimmick Building (below) now houses an antique shop, but the building is an antique itself. I love the artistry in the brickwork.
When I went back to set up my table it remained quiet for the first half hour or so. I wondered if anyone would come by, though I enjoyed the pleasant breeze whisking down the street on this warm fall day.
Things picked up suddenly, and customers started coming by. I thoroughly enjoyed visiting with folks and it turned out to be a good sales day for me.And when it’s time to leave this historic town you just hop onto a–oh, wait! Wrong event. The stagecoach wasn’t working during First Friday, as it was at Oakland’s Living History Day last fall. They aren’t doing Living History Day this year but hope to next year.
As Victoria said, I’ll have to get out my bonnet then.
We just wrapped up another Florence Festival of Books, and my writer friend Lynn Ash took a picture for the record (She graciously declined when I offered to take a photo of her).
The book stacks had lowered a little and our heads were spinning with stories.
She highlighted her new book, Eugeneana, and also brought The Route from Cultus Lake and Vagabonda. I brought my two, A Place of Her Own and The Shifting Winds.
This annual festival on the Oregon coast brings authors from around the state and beyond, and we’d been talking and selling and signing for six hours. Lots of good book talk, but Lynn and I were ready to check out a local restaurant.
We headed for the Waterfront Depot right on the river, recommended by my neighbor, Todd Hannah, a local fishing guide. Good choice, Todd. Thanks.
Inside the restaurant’s rustic interior we gazed out the broad bay window and watched the late afternoon sun twinkle on stirring blue water while we feasted on exquisite seafood. Can’t beat that for a finale.
Who says you can’t go home again? Well, some of us do return, and my friend A. Lynn Ash writes about that in her new book Eugeneana.
Eugeneana is a story of the hometown she came back to.
I wonder how many people take the words to heart that they can’t go home again. Do they look with longing on a past they fear can never illuminate the future? An opening theme that cannot repeat in the coda?
Lynn dared to test that when she returned to her hometown.
The book will definitely speak to people of Eugene, those who share the city’s history, as well as newcomers who want to know more.
But I think the book will also speak to those who’ve contemplated going back to other hometowns. Maybe they haven’t tried–yet. Maybe they did and it didn’t work out. Or it worked out fine and they want to link arms with Lynn and share her triumph.
I’m guessing Lynn would say you can’t go home and find it as you left it. But life’s repetition isn’t so much a circle as a spiral, each round offering a different perspective.
In a collection of vignettes, she’ll draw you into her story, but more. She’ll draw you into Eugene’s story in this memoir of her hometown, a story more poignant because she dared the return.
I headed north to beautiful Newport, Oregon, Sunday for my afternoon speaking engagement with the Willamette Writers Coast Branch, taking the coast route where the journey is part of the pleasure.
The road winds around precipitous folds of towering mountains, threading through dim mossy woods with brief glimpses of light and water, then opening out onto raw windswept slopes to reveal the endless sweep of rippling gray-blue fringed with the ever-surging white crests.
Birds speckle strands and jutting rocks. Mists stir. Gulls soar, their white feathers catching the light to glisten against a somber sky. Time loses importance. You need to savor the wonder like a taste of rich chocolate feeding the soul.
Spits of rain followed me into Newport but didn’t dim my enthusiasm. The event went quite well. The audience–mostly writers–welcomed me with appreciation for my personal story when I described my long road to publication, which finally culminated in my two Oregon Trail stories, A Place of Her Own and The Shifting Winds.
One man who’d been sitting against the back wall came over after my talk and told me how much he enjoyed hearing my words. He’d been afraid it was going to be a boring how-to workshop and instead found the presentation truly inspiring. This is the kind of response that keeps a writer going.
Afterward I checked in at the Sylvia Beach Hotel, which the writers group graciously arranged for me, a charming old hotel right above the beach whose theme is writers.
On the chance I took a notion to do a little writing they provided a typewriter in my room. That’s my laptop in its case to the right of the old Underwood–bookends in keyboarding history.
The weather had turned drizzly and cold, so I dressed down from my skirt and pumps into jeans and walking shoes with a warmer top.
When I stepped back outside to head for dinner, wind had picked up a bit. Raindrops appeared small. But there were so many of them, and they didn’t exactly drop. They swept straight at me. My umbrella quivered and flapped so hard I thought it might lift off à la Mary Poppins, but somehow it stayed in front of me and without turning inside out. The only change in the rain came when I passed openings between buildings where gusts hit harder.
Back at the hotel I thought to ask for a hair dryer, which dried my jeans nicely.
I had a room with a view–and a real plant. It was the Lincoln Steffens Room. Though I must confess I’m not familiar with Mr. Steffens’ work, I loved the room. I spent quite a while in that chair in the corner watching the waves play against the sand as the skies dimmed and outdoor lights came on.
I hoped for better weather in the morning.
Skies looked brighter the next day. The hotel offered a delicious breakfast of pecan pancakes with a variety of fruits and fresh-baked goodies in a dining room with wraparound windows overlooking the water.
After a pleasant visit at my table with Freda and Lorayne of Corvallis and a young man from Germany, I wandered downhill for a lovely walk on the beach.
The hotel looms above the sea on its lofty site atop the cliff. A vigorous climb up those stairs.
Sun broke through at last and the old hotel looked cheerful in the morning light.
After exploring the town I headed south again, stopping along the way for one last glimpse of Heceta Head and its lighthouse. A delightful trek. My thanks to Sue Lick and Lori Tobias of the Willamette Writers Coast Branch for arranging my visit.