My front yard has been an aviary wonderland the past several weeks: hummingbirds building nests; hooded and bullock’s orioles playing hide ’n seek in the paloverdes, their plumage the perfect camouflage against pale yellow blooms; and fuzzy Say’s Phoebe chicks taking flight on wobbly wings.

So, you can imagine my surprise when a bird of a different sort landed in my front yard, right next to two saguaros. The bird’s shadow can be seen (below) among the green of cottonwoods and ash, next to the Gila River.

This is not my front yard. It is among the many bird’s-eye views I was treated to of southeastern Arizona this past weekend. Click to enlarge.

“Your ride is here,” hubby announced with a grin, amid the thwack thwack of chopper blades that sent billowing dust clouds into the sky. “Happy birthday.”

Of course, this wasn’t just any birthday; this was a big surprise for a big milestone-kind-of-birthday. Let’s just say that I’ve now been around for four decades. Ahem.

The first few minutes of the ride, my heart was in my throat. You see, this bird had no doors, so only a seatbelt stood between me and the cracked desert soil some 500 to 1,000 feet below. When I finally re-learned how to breathe and was comfortable removing my hand from the oh-shit grip (hubby’s affectionate name for the strap above the door), I started to snap photos. Yeah… and I never stopped – until 181 images later.

Please join me for the flight of a lifetime over this rugged Arizona desert I love so passionately – past nearby canyons and rivers – and as seen through the breathtaking lens of a bird’s eyes:

This is an overhead view of the road that took me and my Jeep, Betty, to my first writing session in the desert. Click to enlarge.

The above photo gives you a sense of just how far out into the mountains I had driven for my writing solace. The fourth bump in the road is actually where I stopped and wrote this post about my “Office Space.”

Next stop, Aravaipa Canyon: How different things look from the sky! This is the same canyon I hiked with friends back in 2010. Those tiny specks of green below are actually giant cottonwood trees, some 50 feet tall.

What a geologic wonder this canyon is! From the sky, the deformation of the rocks in this once-volcanic area is so prominent. A giant river carved this beautiful canyon. I fell in love all over again. Click to enlarge.

When visitors see these stacks from the smelter, they know they’re in mining country. We flew right over the massive tailings (seen in bottom left of photo). Click to enlarge.

Hubby and I visited the small mining town (above) last summer to photograph the area’s historic buildings. See the close-up views in my post.

This was THE highlight of my flight. Hubby spotted desert bighorn sheep running along a mountain ridge, so the pilot circled back around, allowing me to see them from my side of the chopper. They were SO camouflaged, that I basically pointed the camera and shot toward the tree he said they were under and crossed my fingers that I'd gotten something in the frame. I have been salivating to SEE bighorns for years (they were spotted in our hometown a few months ago). Score! Click to enlarge.

Another spectacular canyon view not far from the Gila River. Click to enlarge.

It’s no surprise that I was just as awed by the desert’s saguaro cacti from the air as I am when I see them on the ground. Click to enlarge.

This train bridge spanning the Gila River was stunning from the air. I saw several great blue herons along the water’s edge. Click to enlarge

This is me on the way back from our trip, SO happy to have the wind whipping my hair around my face, experiencing the desert in a way that few people have the opportunity to do. BEST birthday present EVER, hubby. Thank you. Click to enlarge.

Our homestead from the air (two structures to the left: white roof, and building with gray/white roof). Train trestle behind the house. Green at the bottom of the mountains is the riparian area along the San Pedro River. See – we really DO live in the boonies (and I LOVE it). Click to enlarge.

For readers, writers: I knew hubby was preparing some kind of surprise for me the week leading up to my birthday. Though I specifically told him “No party, under any circumstances,” I was sure he had planned a big bash (due to his cryptic behavior and cloudy, contradictory responses throughout the week).

So I spent a few days cleaning the house from top to bottom – just in case. I had myself in a tizzy worrying, wondering, being mad that he hadn’t honored my wishes of a calm fortieth.

The fascinating thing is that I was so obsessed about the surprise that something interesting happened with my fiction writing. Scenes came easily, and in a rush (during a time I thought I was totally distracted). Is it possible that, because I took the pressure off the WRITING and was focused on something else, it helped with creativity?

Would you have chosen the birthday bash or the chopper ride? Do you like surprises when you read? Do you get a tingle when a character surprises you with his or her actions?

The chopper flies away, over the hill behind the house. If this is what a 40th birthday brings, sign me up for one each year. Click to enlarge.

END NOTE:  This was THE best surprise hubby ever could have given me and was an illustration of how much this man knows and loves me: he orchestrated the ultimate nature ride, offering me a view of the local area – a perspective of the desert – I’ve never experienced. I got to be one of the birds I’ve been admiring so much from my perch on the ground.

I’m not going to lie. I took one look at the shotgun and its giant shells, and I quickly questioned just who I thought I was and what I thought I was doing slipping into the passenger seat of the patrol car.

This is the bad boy to which I refer. Click to enlarge.

My eyes swept over the barrel, and a thousand stories sprung to life – you know, all the scenarios in which officer, detective and sex crimes specialist Suzie Ivy might operate that firearm while I sat alongside her cowered beneath the dashboard during my citizen ride-along.

Is this glass bulletproof? I thought as I snapped my seatbelt in place. Then I looked at the space beneath my feet. Could I even fit under the dashboard if necessary? And then, Really… I met this woman on Twitter, and now I’m seated in her police cruiser? Voluntarily.

I’m actually familiar with guns. I have a .22 caliber semi-automatic handgun within arm’s reach under my desk. I grew up shooting my dad’s Beretta, and we have a 20-gauge shotgun that packs a nice punch against my shoulder blade (okay … admittedly, the punch comes more from the ammo choice than the gun, but it’s still a little kick).

So maybe it was less my writer’s imagination and more the stories Suzie had already told me: about the serial killer she’d nabbed, the sex offenders she monitored, the victims of sex crimes for whom she still has so much compassion. Maybe it was because I knew the pivotal role she played as lead detective on a nationally known homicide case a few years back (yes, her first day on the job). Maybe I was in awe that this woman, at 5’ 3″, was such a badass.

Suzie Ivy (code name) works in Small Town, AZ (not tellin’ where). At age 45, she decided she wanted to switch careers and attend the police academy. She became the first female officer in her small town and two years later a detective. Now she’s a supervisor. Oh yeah … and a writer.

As it turns out, my ride-along wasn’t a high-action homicide kind of day (though I learned, the next day, a car exploded into flames in a field, and two neighbors decided to settle their differences by shooting at one another during Suzie’s shift).

My introduction to the officer’s life included patrolling within the city limits and driving past places known as Pee Pee Lane (use your imagination), Drug Alley and Little Mexico. I heard stories of the female resident in town who, scantily clad, walks her sheep down the road (Yes, I said sheep); about the man who once lived with so many goats in his house that boots were a necessity upon entry. (Yes, I said goats. And, yes, use your imagination about just what was piled on the floor).

We drove past sex offender houses and trailer parks known for their drug activity; and I eavesdropped while Suzie dealt with vehicle towing issues, stolen property and heartbreaking domestic situations*.

Suzie shared with me how she packages evidence to be sent to the crime lab after a case. I saw, from a distance, the stack of folders belonging to known sex offenders (gulp) in this small town. Click to enlarge.

We surveyed an abandoned house that officers use for building-clearing training. When a man walked through the doorway (the only escape route, mind you) and yelled, “Hey, what are you doing?” I nearly jumped out of my skin. Suzie later said, “I’m glad I didn’t give you a gun.” Yes, I’m jumpy. And yes, I’d have blown the friendly (and known to Suzie) man’s kneecap off in fear. His greeting was meant as a joke. Click to enlarge.

But of all of the components of this surreal (but exciting) experience, what really amazed me was Suzie’s skill. With people. With words.

During patrol, a young man walked right up to the cruiser, poked his head in the passenger’s window (a bit too close to my face … I could see his scraggly teeth…), and said, “You didn’t hear this from me, but 28 over there …” he pointed to a trailer, “I’ve heard they’ve been drying their weed in the morning. Thought you should know.”

Apparently Suzie has a knack for getting people to talk. Like this situation – unsolicited. During confessions and not during confessions. And about nearly everything. When I asked her how she did it, she said, “It’s all about talking, not acting like you’re better than anyone else.” The power of words.

Me… Um … I’ll stick to writing my words on paper… (Though Suzie has me beat there, too. She’s written a few books about her adventures on the police force: Bad Luck Officer and Bad Luck Cadet Suzie Ivy).

Some patrol, some play. The weekend wasn’t all work. We took a hike through a gorgeous canyon on Suzie’s mother’s property. It will not surprise you that the apple did not fall far from the tree. Mama is pretty hardcore!

Mom Ivy bought a remote parcel of 100 acres, the only thing on it a garage. She renovated it into a loft home by herself (electrical wiring, plumbing, built her own walls). It’s not on the grid, either. She powers it with solar and wind. She’s also seen a resident mountain lion that Suzie and I hoped to catch a glimpse of. All we saw was scat (and I found some petrified wood!). Click to enlarge.

Margaritas may or may not have played a role in the taking of this photo & the hat wearing. Me (left) & Suzie (right). Click to enlarge.

This corral, outside of Small Town, AZ, captures Arizona’s spirit. Look at those blue skies! Click to enlarge.

For Readers & Writers: As readers and writers, we understand the power of words to transport. I was reminded, however, during my ride-along last weekend of the power of spoken words to move people to action – the power of those words to heal.

Do you think written words and spoken words hold the same weight? Is one more significant than the other? How do you hope the words in the books you read will affect you? In what ways do you want to influence those who read your words?

*Update: Suzie helped find a solution for a homeless young mother of three who had ME in tears while Suzie talked with her in the squad room. She is GOOD.

** Read about the first time Suzie and I met in person on her blog, BadLuckDetective. Her Twitter handle: @SuzieIvy.

And, when you get a chance, read Suzie’s humorous account of our visit!

They say a picture paints a thousand words. So I’m curious … What words come to mind when you see this?

This little (or, rather large) lizard greeted us at our campsite last weekend. Click to enlarge.

I’m guessing your word painting might go something like this: Eww. Gross. Creepy. Ick. Disgusting. But how shortsighted of you. This lizard actually proved thematically significant during a wonderful overnight camping trip in Klondyke, Arizona.

You see, this is a Clark spiny lizard, the likes of which I’ve never before encountered. I love new discoveries. So when I saw him floating in the bowl, obviously lured there by the easy pickin’s meal-on-water, I took a closer look. Then I realized, “Uh-oh. He’s not enjoying his dip in the man-made pool; he’s in trouble.”

Desert spiny lizards aren’t aquatic. So I scavenged for a stick (to ascertain if Mr. Lizard was even alive, or if he were simply doing the dead man’s float). When I sensed some pliability to his floating body – though he wasn’t blinking – I summoned dear husband. “Bring the shovel to the toilet, please!”

He’s used to my animal-saving adventures, so he was unfazed by the request. When he lifted limp lizard on to the shovel, I was sure he was a goner. Even though I saw flaccid Gumby legs, I asked hubby to put the little fellow in the sun, careful not to smoosh any delicate toes. “We’ll just see what happens,” I said.

Hubs made an arrow with the shovel so we knew where to look later – in case some miraculous revival occurred. Look at poor waterlogged Clark. (Of course I named him). Click to enlarge.

We had lunch then headed off on a quad ride to the nearby Aravaipa Canyon Preserve with neighbors, Mark and Roxanne (They invited us on this adventure: our first-ever Arizona tent-camping trip. I know… really? First one? What have I been waiting for? Now I want to live there).

Along Aravaipa and Turkey Creeks, I was treated to series of exciting new discoveries:

This is a green heron, and apparently a breeding male, given his bright orange legs (which I saw only when he flew away). Click to enlarge.

The Salazar Family Church, open to the public (though it IS in the middle of nowhere, behind the Galiuro Mountains), was once a dance hall built in the early 1900s. Click to enlarge.

On this stretch of road, we bumped into the ranger, who explained that big horned sheep had been spotted ahead – AND that a mama ewe and her lamb had been seen the day before. Alas, no sightings for us! But gorgeous scenery. Click to enlarge.

And look at this wonderful Salado Indian cave dwelling along Turkey Creek, built in 1300 A.D. Click to enlarge.

Before the sun got away from us and chilled us to the bone (yes, we awoke to ice outside the tents!), we decided to trek back to camp. Cresting a hill in the road, we were greeted by the backend of a furry critter. Can you tell what it is?

No, I didn’t take a photo of twigs. Look beyond them at what’s staring back (out of focus). Can you see it? Click to enlarge.

Can you tell what it is now? Hint: meow. Click to enlarge.

I think this is a juvenile blue heron (beak isn’t the right color, and the plumage seems off)? Fun prehistoric-looking bird, though! Click to enlarge.

And finally ... Aren't these trees incredible? They remind me of a skeletal ribcage folding over and protecting the pathway. Click to enlarge.

As if the previous discoveries weren’t enough to leave me skipping down the dirt trail with the biggest of grins, we returned to camp and found this:

Look at Clark! He’s turned around and is very much alive. Notice how much more prominent his turquoise coloring is after being in the sun. He has super powers (known as metachromatism), whereby the darker colors of his skin increase the amount of heat absorbed from the sun. Later, all warmed up and dried out, he scurried away in the desert brush. Click to enlarge.

For Readers, Writers: I had hoped to experience wildlife encounters during this trip and certainly was not disappointed. But something else happened when we first entered the canopy of towering Cottonwood and Arizona Sycamores, their branches wrapped protectively over the dirt road like colossal arms.

I never expected a fictional character to emerge from the shadows. But there he was at 3,500 feet in the remote desert wilderness … standing on the edge of the road amid the lime of sunglow leaves. He wore a thick snow white Santa’s beard with his flannel shirt and camping vest. A tripod and camera clung to his side.

I’ll tell you … he teased me during the entire trip. I found myself taking photos of the abandoned houses along the creek, like this one, making each his home, with an accompanying story.

Lots of vacant homes hug the creek bed in Aravaipa. A giant canyon wall rises up behind this building. Click to enlarge.

By the end of the trip, I had begun weaving together a history for the old man with the Wisconsin plates on the back of his Explorer, an old man exploring in the middle of a nature preserve in the middle of nowhere. Why was he there? What was his story? Well… you’ll have to stay tuned, because I’m only now discovering it myself.

Readers – do you wonder how authors construct and flesh out their characters? If they’re sparked by events like this or drawn purely from imagination? Authors – how do you go about crafting characters? Have they ever emerged from the shadows like a ghostly apparition?

This week’s post is a bit of a departure from my typical nature-as-writing-instructor theme, but in some ways, it actually fits right in with What I Saw.

You see, I was tagged by the fabulous debut author, Kimberly Brock (The River Witch released last week!) to participate in the 7–7–7  challenge, which essentially gives a sneak peek of an author’s work in progress (WIP).

My novel has been shaped by the things I see around me – and is set partly in the desert – so, yes, 7-7-7 ties right in with What I Saw’s message. Pictured: two baby owlets next to mama, taken last week. MUST click to enlarge!

The Lucky Seven basic rules:

1. Go to page 77 of your WIP or latest book.
2. Count down seven lines.
3. Copy the 7 sentences that follow and post them.
4. Tag 7 other authors.

My 7 lines from page 77 of Bedside:

Aida made her feel alive, ready to try all the things she might never have the guts to – or be able to – try again.

“Can you imagine the kind of trouble she’d get into in Vegas?” Charlie asked.

Hope imagined Aida shoving dollar bills into nearly naked men’s crotches, skinny dipping in one of the ritzy pools, wearing tiaras as if she were at her own bachelorette party. She laughed. “Yes, I can. And that’s why I want to go. She is fearless in her living. I could learn a thing or two.”

Note: This is Aunt Aida. Eighty-year old Aunt Aida, that is.

My seven lucky authors, you are “it” (if you wish to participate. If not, ignore me. My feelings will not be hurt. Promise. But I still want to read your work!):

1. Jessica McCann
2. Jolina Petersheim
3. Cynthia Robertson
4. Natalia Sylvester
5. Cathleen Holst
6. Suzie Ivy
7. Lora Rivera

And, as my tagger, Kimberly, said: “Let me know when your lines are up because I WANT TO READ YOUR POSTS!”

As bipedal, thinking creatures, we seem to crave order. Predictability and patterns alleviate apprehension for most and help us get from point A to point B.

If you look at the natural world, it seems to yearn for the same organization and structure. A clear pecking order exists down the food chain; certain things have to happen for other things to happen next; the sun rises; the moon waxes and wanes.

Ants on New Mexican Thistle near my home. Ant societies crave order in the same way human societies do, with drones, queens, workers, soldiers – specialized groups – performing organized, predictable functions to solve complex problems. Click to enlarge.

Look at the uniform structure of a desert tortoise’s ridges, the predictability of one geometric section of shell to the next. Click to enlarge.

A saguaro with a “heart” limb. The saguaro will grow only one inch in the first 15 years of its life. Such predictability allows researchers to estimate saguaro age based on height. Click to enlarge.

But sometimes things happen, and nature is nothing but unpredictable. The roadrunner loses his mate and wanders for years in search of another. The anthill is destroyed by rain, creating chaos among the colony. Benign skies release thunderous cracks and snaps into the air, followed by a deluge of devastating rain. The owl looks for a new nest because human curiosity has forced it to a safer location.

For all of its predictability, nature is often chaotic and completely disorganized – but always, it seems, striving to achieve some sort of balance all over again. Just like us.

For Readers & Writers: Do you wonder how your favorite authors organize and plan their novels? Do they borrow from the orderly side of nature, or do they embrace the unpredictable, moody side?

Me? I fall somewhere in between, though those of you pantsers (fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants writers) will look at the photos below and say, “Yeah, right, Melissa. You are a plotter, not a pantser.” But let me explain! I consider myself a bit of a hybrid – a plotser? A pantplot?

Meet my Organization Station (this is where I’ve been hiding the past month). My dining room table, white board and color-coded index cards have helped me organize various themes, plots, subplots, characters, symbolism, etc. Click to enlarge.

The giant whiteboard is my loose, “big picture” novel concept. When I start a WIP, it’s actually pretty sparse – with what I initially think will be my beginning, middle and end (I loosely follow Vogler’s Writer’s Journey to help me with a general framework so that I have ‘someplace’ to start). I fill in, then, with additional details as I get to know my characters and story better.

For the last third of my novel, I turned to color-coded index cards, because I had to find some way to organize the mishmash of already-written scenes that were inspired during character profile development and research of various topics.

It’s always fun when your cats offer to help at the Organization Station. Click to enlarge.

Why colored cards? They allowed me to see, visually, what content was missing altogether and which scenes were repetitive. My random color assignment worked like this:

• Blue – medical scenes (my MC has a medical issue that plays heavily into the story)
• Green – nature/environmental scenes (big surprise … nature is a character in my WIP)
• Yellow – present scenes
• Purple – symbolic scenes/events that tie to theme
• White – backstory, character details, flashbacks, memories

With an eye-sweep of the dining room table, I could see if I had too many greens, not enough blues or way too many whites in the chapters of the last third of my novel.

Now, of course, since I’m big on my characters telling the story (not me), these stacks of cards with their one- to two-line scene descriptions have changed as I’ve continued writing, despite my best intentions. (Some stacks now have fewer cards, some have more, some have been reshuffled and rearranged).

Characters, it turns out, aren’t much different than nature. In some things, they are quite predictable in their behavior, and in others, not so much.

What about you? Do you embrace the predictability of nature, or its uncertainty? Are you an organized writer, or do you love the messy chaos of letting the characters take you where you want to go, with no restraints – i.e. colored index cards – to get in the way?

Nothing quite says “Wild West” like the dusty streets and bleached boardwalks of Tombstone. Once a year, the sleepy Arizona town comes to life and brings with it whispers of the past – not unlike the spirits said to tromp along the wooden walkways during starlit nights, spurs tinging and boots thumping.

Each third weekend in October, Helldorado Days attracts tourists and wannabe cowboys alike. Click to enlarge.

Is Tombstone a bit touristy these days? No longer a boon for mining? Slightly commercialized? Sure. During Helldorado Days, it includes carnivals, fashion shows, gunfight reenactments, and lots of food. Oh – and lots and LOTS of people dressed in vintage period cowboy clothing.

Actors play out a gun battle in the middle of the dusty street. Click to enlarge.

Despite the caramel apples, fudge and fanfare, the Helldorado events do take place on a street that is home to the original, historic Birdcage Theatre, authentic saloons, and the site of real Wild West gunfights of the 1800’s. You’ve probably heard of Wyatt Earp, Billy Clanton, Tom McLaury – you know, the fight at the O.K. Corral … lawmen vs. cowboys? Yep. That’s Tombstone, location of the most famous gunfight in the American West.

In the late 1800s, miners and cowboys frequented the Bird Cage Theatre, "the wildest, wickedest night spot between Basin Street and the Barbary Coast." I actually interviewed the owners in 2004 about the ghostly activity in their building. I literally sprinted back to my car that night. Click to enlarge.

Tombstone is, indeed, brimming with history. It’s hard not to be swept back in time, imagining the stories of this once bustling frontier boomtown known for its silver production, wondering about the characters who walked down the dust-laden streets. Traveling back in time is even easier each fall, though, as present mingles with past: Ball caps collide with cowboy hats, and cell phones and cameras snap and ring amid frontier gunshots (fake, of course).

Carriage rides are also part of the day, making the experience even more authentic. OK - maybe not the present-day 'cowboy' wearing jeans. Click to enlarge.

I have a confession: Hubby and I did feel the tug of time – so much that we were compelled to enter a few stores, thumbing through the dusters and leather vests for him. I, of course, was eyeing the frocks, coats and dresses.

How fun would it be to play an Old West character for a weekend, we wondered? We’d fit right in with the Helldorado actors walking the streets. We could stay over at one of the historic hotels, hang out at the saloons and travel the same plank ways that miners and corset-bound ladies did – thrown back in time while living in the present. We could be someone else for a weekend.

Are they not THE cutest? During our anniversary visit (11 years) to Tombstone in October, we saw a dozen or so older couples dressed to the nines – all holding hands and enjoying the day. Click to enlarge.

These two are equally precious. Click to enlarge.

It may very well take us until we’re elderly to get our acts together, and get our costumes right, but I can only hope that hubby and I are holding hands and strolling down Allen Street in our Wild West garb well into the future. We are going to do this. We may just start an anniversary tradition.

For Readers, Writers: Playing dress up. Isn’t that what novels allow us to do? They allow us to walk in the shoes of others, try their clothes – their skin – on for fit, enter a new world, escape reality. Do you think the notion of adults dressing up for a weekend, being someone who they aren’t, is simply crazy or do you think it could be fun? What might you learn?

This was my office chair one day last week:

View of my outdoor office chair overlooking the Galiuro Mountains. I didn't raise the umbrella, for fear of taking off like Mary Poppins and setting sail over the mountains. Click to enlarge.

After packing the necessities for an afternoon in my temporary outdoor office, I navigated Betty (my Jeep) up some bumpy, but safe, remote desert roads. With laptop, highlighters, pens and index cards, I was prepared to knock out some fierce edits on my novel. This will be perfect, I thought. I love the desert. I love writing fiction. I surely have a winning combo on my hands. With such beautiful surroundings, I will crank out the most inspirational words and rock my edits like never before.

Wrong.

First, I had to get there (poking along like a tortoise as I gawked at the beautiful poppy, lupine, and globe mallow-covered terrain). Then I had to set up: select a pull-over spot with just the right view, park, properly position my office chair, and – of course – enjoy my healthy lunch.

I highly recommend a Jeep as THE ultimate way to toss a salad. My sexy red and yellow peppers, carrots, tomatoes and cukes, which all started at the top of the bowl, landed in the bottom of my low-sodium turkey/low-sodium cheese, romaine and spinach salad. Click to enlarge.

After lunch, I felt the need to simply be still. So, I sat with my eyes closed, face lifted toward the sun, the breeze whispering in my ears and tussling my hair. I watched two hawks dip and dive into the valley below me, then ride an invisible wave high into the azure skies. And I swear, moments before, I saw a golden eagle. My pictures did none of these acrobatic birds any justice, sadly.

Sombrero Butte peeks between a nearby barbed-wire fence, taunting me, “Come out and play, Melissa.” Click to enlarge.

Camera in hand, I thought, “Hey – I’ll do a self portrait of Betty and me.”

After multiple tries, I did manage to get my mug and Betty’s hood in this shot. Click to enlarge.

Then I thought, my blog readers will get a kick out of this. So I photographed the hilarious cattle guard sign.

As IF anyone would be crazy enough to ride a bicycle up this steep, rock-covered, unpaved, remote desert road into the mountains? Though I could share a funny story about what my uncle did to his front bicycle tire on a cattle guard. Click to enlarge.

I realized that many of you city slickers may not even know what a cattle guard is. So I took a close up, allowing you to see it in all of its glory.

Cattle guards are designed to stop cattle from crossing, and they eliminate the need for gates. The space between the irons is actually about the length of my size 7 shoe. So if Bessie DID get a hoof caught in there, she’d be in trouble. And supposedly, cows don’t like the instability of a cattle guard and avoid them at all costs. Click to enlarge.

Okay … So I was obviously a bit distracted in my outdoor office. That’s when I came up with Plan B: I figured if I were inside my Jeep, I could hunker down and get serious about my writing, free from distraction. I hopped in, pulled out my draft, and began to work over the steering wheel. Good thing the horn doesn’t work.

My intent was to finesse the opening lines of my draft, which are no longer the opening lines. Those edits didn't really happen until later ... much later.

About one page into my edits, I heard a rumble and looked up to see a C130 military transport plane flying overhead. Wow. How much bigger they look when you’re on top of a mountain, yourself! I was disciplined, though, and resisted the urge to take a photo … until another rumble followed right on the C13o’s tail.

I stumbled down and out of the jacked-up Jeep (it is tall and requires a hand grip and Nerf bars for me to get in and out). I had, in my viewfinder, the perfect shot of the second aircraft zipping by a half moon. I thought the lens cap was off and the camera was on. Well – that’s not how it went down. So I got this, instead:

This is a military fighter jet, an A10 Thunderbolt (thanks, hubby, for aircraft identification 101), also nicknamed “warthog” – a fact I like very much, given our desert pig friends, the javelinas. Click to enlarge.

So I hopped back into the solace of Betty’s interior and decided I would make use of the inside office I’d created in my outdoor-traveling-Jeep.

Laptop within reach and fully charged for the planned day of fast and furious writing. That shimmery plastic that resembles water in the background is not a mirage in the desert. It’s Betty’s zip-down window. Click to enlarge.

I looked at the time and realized the sun would soon be setting. Yes, I’d pissed the day away. And I really should have known this would happen. I know that if I’m not in a sterile environment and in complete silence, I can’t write. I can’t read. I can’t edit. Well, I can’t do much of anything except flop my head in every direction, looking, looking, thinking …

So I grabbed the laptop and decided I would at least do something. And that something is what you are reading now. I started this blog post.

I confess: Jeeps are not all that spacious when it comes to writing with a laptop and maneuvering giant binders. When I thrust my left hip and knee out the door, it worked a bit better. Self-made leg desk! Click to enlarge.

Eventually, I packed things in and started back down the mountain toward home, with nary a WIP word written. It will be of no surprise that – before arriving to the same old desk chair in my writing studio where I seem to best focus – the dazzling wildflowers demanded I pull over four times to take some shots of the setting sun as it danced on their petals.

These happy Mexican poppies and purple lupine made the trip worth it – even if the words didn’t go down on paper and the edits ended at page one. Click to enlarge.

I will try this experiment again, though. I want this “outdoor writing laboratory” to work. I want to be able to create in a place that moves me so – a place that plays a critical role in my WIP and my life. I think I can do it. Maybe if I don’t take my camera next time?

For Writers, Readers: Where is your favorite writing or reading spot? Are you afraid to change it for fear of bad juju? Should we try new spots or stick to tried and true? Would you have been as distracted as me? Should I try it again?

P.S. For those less outdoorsy types: I promise – next week’s post will bring with it a bit of fashion and time travel!

About five minutes from our house is a remote, little-known road that runs along the San Pedro River. Its tarred and chipped veneer quickly gives way to scraped dirt, the whirling dust of passing vehicles, and the emerald green fields of surrounding ranches. It’s one of my favorite places.

View of a lovely mesa along River Road. The still snow-sprinkled Galiuro Mountains rise in the background. Click to enlarge.

Naturally, when my mom was visiting from Pennsylvania last week, I took her for a ride along this magical path. Aptly named River Road until it forks, this dusty trail leads you to either 1) civilization* or 2) more desolate, rutted dirt passageways where you’re lucky to see another human being.

Of course, I chose Option 2 for our picnic in the desert (southwestern chicken salad over lettuce, which I prepared that morning. Chicken, corn, black beans, cilantro, red peppers, red onions … ummm).

This is our dining destination and, incidentally, also the spot where we both had to use nature’s wide-open restroom (and I mean wide open). Wouldn’t you know it … pants down … car coming in the direction of my squat. Uh-huh. Click to enlarge.

Along the way, we came across a few road signs that are the true markers of the Wild West.

Open range means just what it says. Cattle. In the open. They have the right-of-way to vehicles. And if you hit one, you are responsible for paying for said-demolished cow (and your crumpled car). Click to enlarge.

The signs proved prophetic. On the way home, we saw the flesh version of the black silhouettes painted against reflective yellow. And yes, they were on the road, on the edge of the road, moseying around like they owned it. Come to think of it … they do. Sort of.

This photo needs no description. Someone else was also having lunch. Click to enlarge.

Something else caught my eye along the edge of the road: a bit of a makeshift temple with something white perched on top. I didn’t expect to see what I saw …

Someone took the time to display this dried out desert tortoise along the edge of the road, placing him atop a shrine of rocks. I didn’t realize that the ridged plates on a tortoise’s back were separate from the skeleton-like shell. See how the octagons have fallen away? Rest in peace, little buddy. Click to enlarge.

My mom had a great time with Betty (my new “old” Jeep) and me. Where others might have been bored and seen nothing but dust and wide open space in the wide open range, my mom and I saw adventure, embraced the bumpy ride, gulped in the fresh air, and wondered at the clouds that had graced us in a sky that is generally a sheet of smooth cobalt blue.

* I use this term loosely. The town that the “Y” in the road leads to no longer has a grocery store; its quaint golf course shut down; and the one business that located in the area also chose not to rebuild after fire damage. They do have a Subway, though!

For Readers, Writers: I just finished reading a wonderful novel by Sarah McCoy, The Baker’s Daughter, and was in awe of her ability to parcel out just the right amount of information without broadcasting upcoming plot points or weighing down the reader in unnecessary detail. She allows the reader to make the discoveries herself, to put the pieces together and have those ‘ah ha’ moments. She is the master of inference and implication, unveiling surprises through her characters’ actions. [Check out my review of her book in the top right column under "Melissa's Bookshelf" or visit my Goodreads page.)

I tried to get my cats to pose with Sarah’s book. Can you see Macho’s blurred, sniffing mug in the right corner? Both he and Niña were more interested in smelling the book than posing (maybe they smelled the baking brötchen within?).

I couldn’t help but draw a parallel to Sarah’s storytelling techniques and the open range of the desert.

The desert reveals details at the right times and in the right doses – the little tortoise, the desert wildflowers tucked behind boulders, the squirrel hopping from tree to tree, the lizard camouflaged in the desert wash. It’s up to us to look, to see more than what appears on the surface, in the open range and between the pages of a book – to put the pieces together and realize what is woven into the surrounding landscape.

Do you enjoy novels that allow you to draw conclusions, or do you like all the details spelled out? What are some of your favorites? If you’re a writer: how do you achieve the balance of the “reveal?” What do you think of the open range?

It’s official: hubby and I are honest-to-goodness Jeepers now that we’ve taken Betty on her first adventure. (Okay … maybe not yet. But we’re not Jeep virgins anymore, are we?).

Neighbor Mark, as you know, can find his way around the local mountains with his eyes pretty much closed and his arms tied behind his back. So we asked him if he wouldn’t mind playing tour guide during our inaugural trial run. Handyman husband wanted to be sure that Betty was fit enough for wear and tear (and that we weren’t huffing it back home, some 15 miles into the remote desert.) Plus, we both needed to get some driving experience.

So without further ado, welcome to Betty’s first romp in the Sonoran desert.

First stop: a wonderful old corral estimated to be at least 100 years old. I love this photo so much, I think it could be the cover of my first novel. Don't ask me why, but click to enlarge so you can tell me if you are as captivated by it as I.

Second stop: View of the snow-capped Santa Catalinas from within our perch among the Galiuro mountains (and my favorite – a saguaro cactus). Click to enlarge.

And there’s my girl, Betty. She looks quite ‘in her element’ here, don’t you think? (Love the removable top half of the doors and the zip-out windows!) Click to enlarge.

Boys will be boys. Neighbor Mark shows off his Ranger’s rock-crawling versatility at our lunch spot while Betty takes it easy on a less threatening boulder. Click to enlarge.

Mark and Roxanne’s pup, Pearl (our adopted niece) surveys the area. All of those little squiggles are roads that lead to lots of (current) mining exploration in the area. We found some wonderful quartz crystals with great six-sided prisms at this very spot. Click to enlarge.

Heading back toward home, we stopped at Copper Creek so that Betty could enjoy the shade and the sound of trickling water. Click to enlarge.

This lone, spotless ladybug rests on the only non-submerged part of a rock in the creek bed. Love the strands of slippery algae. Click to enlarge.

Miss Pearl – a.k.a. “Fuzzy Butt” – really enjoyed getting her feet wet (and lapping up the green stuff). Click to enlarge.

Yep. And there’s me driving Miss Betty and smiling from ear to ear with a saguaro-studded hill in the background. Totally smitten. Click to enlarge.

I can’t tell you how much fun I had on this first excursion. Betty performed just the way I expected. First, just like her badass namesake Betty White, she conquered some tough, slippery shale (um… yes, very thankful hubby was driving up that steep hill. That task was a bit too adventurous for my novice skills).

And secondly – Betty gave me what I longed for during just one trip: she inspired me. It felt great to have the camera clicking again and to be a part of the natural landscape, hubby by my side and friends willing to share in the wonder with us.

My mom is beginning a two-week visit from Pennsylvania beginning Friday. I cannot wait to take her for a spin (or two … or three), which makes me wonder: will Betty be more inspiration or more distractor?

For Readers, Writers: What is your Betty? Your inspiration? You can see below that she now officially embodies all of my passions. The special conservation plate even includes a mountain lion in the design!

I really am a simple gal. I don’t need or want much. Shoes, purses, jewelry, “things” … Meh. I’m okay with the essentials (which includes a stack of books, of course). Except there is this one thing that I’ve been coveting for more than a decade …

I confess to an obsession with Jeep Wranglers. Not just any Wrangler, though. I’ve always dreamed of a Jeep with personality, with scars, with stories. I never wanted a shiny new Jeep, because I hoped to run this dream vehicle through the desert landscape without worrying about scratching it. You know … if I happened to scrape it across the wall of a canyon or pin-stripe it with the thorns of a palo verde tree, it wouldn’t be a big deal.

Well, meet my dream come true. Her name’s Betty. She’s an old girl. With some scars. Some faded paint. A cracked windshield. Crazy camo interior. Probably the keeper of lots of stories. (And let’s just say Betty – born in 1992 – sports a more attractive price than her shiny new cousin).

When Betty arrived and made her way up through the desert wash on our property, you can imagine the schoolgirl smile on my face. Click to enlarge.

Why Betty, you wonder (and who names her vehicles anyway)? She’s named after Betty White, that spunky, now-90-but-looks-70-years-old comedian. Betty White’s a tough old gal. She has scars, stories, spirit. I love her. Her last name is White. My ‘new’ Jeep is white. Need I say more?

Hubby and previous Betty owner, Karl, taking her for a spin when she first arrives at the ranch on Jan. 20. Lovely sunset behind train trestle in the background. Click to enlarge.

My dear husband spent the weekend ‘accessorizing’ Betty, ironically – with the things I don’t generally give two hoots about, myself: hats, shoes. Okay, not really. She did get a new soft top and door kit, though, since Betty was doorless and back-windowless upon arrival (see first photo).

Before the new top was installed, hubby gutted the inside of the Jeep for cleaning and an electrical tune-up (plus new speakers). He discovered some fun things: like a melted fuse panel and leaking rear output seal that he repaired. I love my handy man! Click to enlarge.

And Betty did get new ‘shoes’ – pedal covers for the clutch and brakes.

Slippery, uncovered, mismatched foot pedals. Click to enlarge.

Betty's boots: New, fancy non-slip shoes. Click to enlarge.

I am chomping at the bit to travel with Betty to places that have never before been accessible to me. So if you sense any badass bravado on my part – you know, tough girl venturing out on her own under the harsh desert sun in her lifted, four-wheel-drive Jeep that also sports a monster winch – well, that may come later … after I get some miles under my belt and some offroad experience. (I’m not sure my childhood tractor training and quad driving days count.)

I hope you’ll join me on my upcoming desert adventures with Betty. I’m sure the places she takes me will inspire not only my creative muse and offer up writing lessons, but also re-awaken my wonder of nature. We’d love to have you along for the ride.

Betty's Bonnet: now decked out in her new attire -- including vinyl doors with zippered windows. We’re ready for our first adventure. Stay tuned! Click to enlarge.

For Writers, Readers: What awakens your creative muse? Writers, how do you accessorize your plot to reap the greatest rewards?