Authors & Artists Fair Eugene
You’ll find me at the Authors and Artists Fair in Eugene tomorrow, Saturday, December 8 from 10 to 5, selling my books, A Place of Her Own and The Shifting Winds. Details on the poster. If you’re in the neighborhood, please stop by. Should be a great event with some great gift items and all for a good cause.
Milestones in Rewriting
Back in February of this year I announced in a blog post that I had done a major rewrite on Book One of my trilogy set in early Greece. Having put so much effort into recasting the story, I felt certain I had it ready this time. After all, I had been improving it for 20 years.
I proceeded to update Book Two and Book Three to reflect those changes and wrote a blog post in early April on the whole trilogy, putting a bow on it.
I thought it was done.
With that accomplished I headed out in late April on my trip to Europe to research settings for the full series, having drafted six books so far.
The emphasis on my trip was the second trilogy, since I thought the first was essentially complete. Of course I was open to any tweaking my new explorations might dictate.
My impulses first drew me back to the center of it all, the fabulous ruins of Knossos on the Greek island of Crete. I hoped I wouldn’t see anything that would require significant changes, but I opened my senses to the wonders around me.
On my return home I was happy to report that in the first trilogy my descriptions held up. Except for a couple of additions I wanted to make in Books Two and Three, that trilogy was virtually ready to go.
Then reality hit. I received a harsh critique on Book One. Because of that critique and because this first book is the foundation of the entire series, my agent asked me to focus only on this one now and to give it another thorough revision with feedback from new readers. Another comprehensive rewrite!
I backed up and approached it one more time. I plunged into new research, including discussion with experts on the setting and technology. I gave it substantial new polishing, new scenes, clipping and reshaping of old scenes. I received new critiques by beta readers who never saw it before, did more adding and clipping to address their concerns, and more thorough polishing to see that everything works together.
Last February I thought I couldn’t make it better. Now I know I could because I have.
Besides all that clipping and adding and reshaping, whispers of memory infused the pages from my recent visit to the site. I could see it more clearly through the eyes of my characters because I had just seen it through my own eyes.
Yesterday I sent off the new rewrite of Book One with hope that this time is the charm. Fingers crossed. I can say for certain it’s another milestone in the process.
UV Magazine Spread
UV Magazine, Lifestyle Magazine of the Umpqua Valley, did a story for their Fall 2018 edition on the local Roseburg writers group I belong to, An Association of Writers, and I was delighted to be featured with my books. UPDATE: The online version is up now.
The magazine is a beautifully produced publication that highlights people and activities in the Umpqua River region. A few days after Contributing Writer Sarah Smith asked to interview me and said they would send out a photographer, I learned that my favorite photographer, my son-in-law Robin Loznak, does freelance work for them. I mentioned that to Sarah, who passed the word to Account Executive Nicole Stratton, and the photo assignment went to Robin. A handy gig, since he and my daughter live on the family farm, just down the hill from me.
It just happened that the issue’s cover also features an autumn photo by Robin.
For the photo shoot on the article Robin and I went up to the top of the property and looked down over the big field above my house toward the setting sun. I used this sweeping view in one of the scenes in A Place of Her Own, the story of my great-great-grandmother Martha Maupin, who founded this Sesquicentennial Farm 150 years ago. I haven’t done the paperwork yet to receive that designation officially, but the farm qualifies. It has been a Century Farm since April 1968, the Martha A. Maupin Century Farm, one of the few in Oregon named for a woman.
Besides the fine overlook from the farm’s upper ridge, there was this perfect weathered stump for displaying my two published books.
The UV story talks about the importance of writers groups to authors who otherwise work in isolation. The mutual support helps keep an author going and the feedback helps in polishing the work. Sarah, who wrote the article, relayed my story of how eight people from my Roseburg writers group surprised me by coming to the launch party for my second book, The Shifting Winds. They had quite a drive up the Umpqua River to the little town of Elkton where I held the party. What a pleasure it was to see them walk in that day! The photo below shows them filling a table along with my friend from Elkton High School Bill Isaac.

From left to right: Arvilla and Don Newsom, Kari Clark, Heather Villa, Bill Isaac (longtime friend who’s not in the writers group but just happened to sit at this distinguished table), me standing, Wilma Mican, Emily Blakely, Dianne Carter, and Marlene Daley.
That’s friendly support! So glad UV Magazine chose to do the article about this fine group and so glad I joined them. Thanks to UV for the focus.
The magazine can be found at businesses in the Umpqua Valley, hotels, restaurants, doctor’s offices, hospital and elsewhere. And you can find them online. This brand-new edition should be up soon.
Fort Umpqua Days Starts Tomorrow
The British Hudson’s Bay Company fort on the Umpqua River takes center stage every year when the people of Elkton, Oregon, commemorate the historic outpost in the annual Labor Day celebration, Fort Umpqua Days. This year’s event starts tomorrow, Saturday, September 1.
The cannon went off at last year’s event, and the sound reverberated across the valley.
A bass tournament starts off the activities tomorrow at 6 am, then a Lion’s Club pancake breakfast at the Elkton Community Education Center at 7. Pioneers and others will parade through town starting at 10, when most of the other activities begin. It’s a two-day event, Saturday and Sunday.
Folks can find all kinds of fun there. Mountain men with their black powder rifles. Pioneer activities for the kids. Vendors selling everything from candles to jewelry to–oh, yes!–books. And more. Of course there will be food and music and the evening pageant under the direction of Cathy Byle–with a historic flare of course.
Following are a few more scenes from previous Fort Umpqua Days events.
It’s all in the spirit of fun–and maybe learning a little about our local history. The weather should be perfect.
Zambujal Update
Remember these archaeologists in Portugal digging all that dirt last spring when I visited the ancient Castro do Zambujal, and Sónia Cravo and Fábio Rocha gave me that wonderful tour?
Remember Sónia, head of the project, looking over the site on the day of my May visit, seeing the tremendous amount of work yet to do?
So that was then.
This is now.
After three months of digging the archaeologists have cleared many loads of dirt to reveal what once lay buried. The citadel seems to rise into a greater semblance of its once-powerful position above the rolling hills near the western coast of the Iberian peninsula. Sónia sent me three photos taken this month by Fábio, for which he used a drone to get some perspective above the site, the photo above and two more below.
In these new photos I can see places I walked and more walls I wasn’t aware of. This helps me get a better idea of the configuration of this citadel that plays a significant role in part of my upcoming series. And look how clean the rocks are compared to the May photos. It’s a painstaking process, digging carefully, always alert to what might be found in the next scoop of dirt. They’re still working on it. But they have made impressive progress. What a change!
Sónia also sent a photo of the two of them happily waving. When I visited in May I couldn’t help noticing the camaraderie among the people working on the project. The story of my thrilling May visit is here.
I so appreciate Sónia and Fábio sharing these new photos with me and their readiness to answer questions that come up. As I work through my revisions I’m sure questions will arise and it’s good to know I have such friendly sources ready to help me.
Going There: Postscript
We flew out of Shannon airport on our homeward-bound journey. Lynn and I had bought our tickets separately so we weren’t seated together. For the Shannon-Philadelphia leg of the trip I took my seat by the window and a couple of young Irishmen sat beside me. They were on their way to San Francisco, a place where I had lived for eight years. So as the plane lifted off I left their world as they looked forward to visiting mine. They had both just turned 21. Their boisterous excitement was infectious and I laughed with them, caught in their delight.
My trip wasn’t quite over. Setbacks awaited me in Los Angeles when our Philadelphia-LA plane landed late in LAX, where we had a short connection. Seated in the very last row, I had trouble getting past the other passengers, and we had long lines and two slow buses across the tarmac to reach my gate. Lynn was well ahead of me.
By the time I found my gate, panting from my run, there were no passengers left, just an attendant standing alone at the gate. She asked me if I was Janet Fisher. Hopeful they were waiting for me, I answered yes in a gasping voice. She phoned the plane and shook her head at me. “They’ve already left. You’re too late.” No! That couldn’t be. “My friend is already on the plane,” I told her. “I have to be on that plane.”
The phone rang. The pilot had agreed to open the door for me. The plane hadn’t actually pulled away. I broke into tears. The attendant led me to the plane’s door. Once inside, I stumbled down the aisle as passengers applauded with smiling faces. Lynn was beaming and gave me a big hug when I sat down, still crying softly. She had begged them to wait, certain I was coming.
Exhausted, I settled back in the seat for the last leg of our journey, slowly recovering from that arduous finale to a long and wonderful trip—37 days of exploring the world of my ancient trilogies.
During those 37 days I became steeped in the past, as I sought the places that define these stories.
I had the good fortune of meeting several archeologists whose work takes them into the ancient times. And others who simply love their history.
I felt the raw edge of cultures different from my own and the universal embrace of friendly people.
I immersed myself in the book settings and felt my characters walking along these places. As I walked with them I remembered their tears and joys. My own tears came, and my joy.
The novels will be richer for the experience.
Going There #11: Crossings
The village of Cairnryan sits like a hidden jewel on the southwest coast of Scotland. I had never heard of it before I began searching for a crossing to and from Ireland for the traders in my stories. It became a gem discovered.
We spent a long time at the window of our guest house that evening, enraptured by the beauty in the fading light at this quiet place.
We hadn’t taken the roads most traveled on this journey. Months earlier when I invited my writer friend Lynn Ash to join me in Amesbury for the last two weeks of my trip, I showed her my itinerary. She found some unfamiliar names on the list, and with a touch of embarrassment I explained that the characters of my books traveled to these places and I needed to see them. Being a fellow writer, she expressed her delight at the unusual destinations. I was glad.
These weren’t tourist spots for me. This was my work.
Stonehenge was familiar of course, and I had chosen it for scenes because of its magnificence and because readers sometimes like to read about popular sites too. I had never heard of the Lake District, although we found it to be a popular retreat for the British.
Once we left the Lake District we ventured into Scotland’s quiet edges, where my protagonist follows a handsome trader into harrowing adventures. The train from Penrith offered a route that got us to the port of Cairnryan where my traders cross–not the straight route my people would take, but the best I found, which brought us to Stranraer, just six miles from The Auld Cairn Guest House we’d booked in Cairnryan. Before we taxied to our guest house we stopped at a pub in Stranraer where I had one of my best fish and chips meals ever, with haddock. Fantastic!
The Auld Cairn was a delightful place. It’s the building in the picture above with the car in front, one of a line of houses that rims the coast. Our host Maggie had lots of stories to tell. We woke to a bright morning.
A short walk to the ferry landing and we were on our way to Larne in Northern Ireland.
I wandered around the ferry and finally found a nice spot out of the wind where I could sit on a bench and watch the water go by. Lots of water. I couldn’t help thinking about the ancient travelers plying this water in their little currachs. The currach is a seagoing Irish boat made with a wooden or wickerwork frame covered in animal hides, long and narrow with a high bow to handle the waves (not to be confused with the smaller round coracles used in quiet water). Currachs have been plying the seas in this area for a few thousand years, propelled by oars, maybe sometimes a sail. Some folks still swear by them. I read somewhere that they could travel at about seven knots.
As our ferry sailed smoothly across the water at a good clip, an official-looking fellow came out to the deck where I was sitting. Curious, I asked him how many knots we were going. He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just drive this thing.” He beckoned a young man dressed in orange and asked how fast we were sailing. The guy guessed about 18 knots. Comparing that to the currach’s speed I figured it would take our ancient travelers a good part of a day to make the crossing.
I watched the land fall away on the Scotland side. As soon as it was about to disappear I saw land on the Irish side. So even without instruments our ancient travelers would be able to keep land in sight for the distance, provided the air stayed clear. It had become pretty hazy on our journey and I could still see land. Days were long during the summer when traders made their rounds. According to my iPhone, sunrise that morning was at 4:51 am back in Keswick. Cairnryan is even farther north. With such early sunrises, a start at dawn and strong rowing might even get my traders across the water by the time the sun reached its zenith. Surely they could make it well before dark.
I watched the gently churning sea and shook my head in amazement, glad for the solid ferry. What if a storm rolled in? Even in calm water I had trouble imagining such a ride in a small currach and my appreciation for the fortitude of these early people rose considerably.
Given our long train ride of the day before, Lynn and I planned a shorter journey for this day. After disembarking from the ferry at Larne we took the train–a beautiful ride–from Larne to Carrickfergus in Northern Ireland where we had booked the night’s lodging. We wanted to see the historic Carrickfergus Castle. Even our hotel, The Dobbin’s Inn, has a long history. These places didn’t exist yet at the time of my trilogies but I could still follow the tracks of my characters over the land surrounding them. We toured the castle, just for fun.
This Norman castle was built in 1177 (that’s AD) by John de Courcy and it got besieged many times by a lot of other warriors who wanted it. Lynn and I bought tickets and explored inside.
I got a bead on that ferry. I think he should be worried. Or not. I believe my weapon is spiked.
Although these structures are modern compared to the stone monuments of my books, when we checked into our hotel I wasn’t prepared for the answers our desk clerk gave when Lynn asked him how old the hotel was.
With complete nonchalance he told us there had been a hotel there for 800, maybe 900 years. They were at that moment digging into the walls to learn how much of the early building still existed. Once we had absorbed that surprising answer, he casually pointed to the large old fireplace in the lobby and said, “That’s Elizabethan.”
I think my jaw dropped.
He didn’t mention the inn’s rumored ghost and I didn’t bring it up.
That night after an exquisite dinner of salmon with hollandaise sauce in the inn’s restaurant we went upstairs and settled in for a good night’s rest.
I woke out of a deep sleep. I heard a rhythmic squeak, squeak, squeak, like squeaking floor joists, over by the bathroom. Squinting my eyes, I saw that the bathroom door stood ajar, letting light from the frosted outdoor window cast a glow into our darkened room. I frowned and climbed out of bed to shut the bathroom door. When I approached the door my footsteps made a sound. Squeak, squeak, squeak. I stopped dead still. No sound. I crept forward again. Squeak, squeak.
Reaching out, I shut the bathroom door and walked back to my bed without a sound. I didn’t hear the slightest squeak. Back in bed I pulled the covers up to my chin. I never heard another squeak all night.
Now, I’m not saying I believe in ghosts. I’m just saying what happened. On that night. In the old inn some folks think is haunted. Just saying what happened. And that’s all.
NEXT: Heart of an Irish Story