What I Saw

I continue to be amazed by the wonders right in my back yard – or front yard, as it would be, in this case. Of course, you assume I’m talking about the majestic volcanic mountain ranges and creosote-studded rolling hills that surround the place I call home. Yes. And no. I’m also talking about something else. Something with a pulse.

Last weekend, I had the chance to take another quad trip into the Galiuro Mountains with hubby, guided by some of the most authentic, down-to-Earth, good people you’ll ever meet (many of whom we met for the first time, actually). Yes, it’s their pulse that has me so energized.

The corrugated metal roof, stooped frame and rotting wood of this shack near Bluebird Mine (closed in 1920) whispers of the past, the wild west. And on this particular night, the sounds of laughter bounced off the weather-worn building and other nearby adobe structures. Click to enlarge. Scroll below for more photos.

This is the reason I’ve always been so drawn to small-town living. Authenticity. These are real people. With real jobs. With real problems. With real heart. With real goodness.

If you were to peel away their outer layers, you’d find exactly the same thing on the inside: Kindness. Goodness. Authenticity. And a willingness to literally share the shirt off their backs (hubby and I were ill-prepared, not realizing we would be in the mountains into the cooold night, so we both returned, adorned with the gifts of once-strangers: gloves, jackets, bandanas … um, and beer … Dearest husband ran out of that, too. I was the designated water guzzler.)

It all started at the unofficial watering hole: the local lumber store off of Main Street. The ATVs lined up along the sharply banked, pot-hole pitted road. The motors purred and the street was illuminated from the sun glinting off of the yellows, blues, reds, and greens of quad fenders. That’s where it all began.

But where it ended … it ended under a bright three-quarter moon about 14 miles away, eight hours later, at the Bluebird Mine nestled into the mountains and perched over our tough old, once-mining town itself … perched above the lumberyard, too – like a bluebird keeping watch.

The slender stalks of these Century Plants reflect the setting sun at Bluebird Mine. Our little town begins its slumber below. Click to enlarge.

For Writers: I’m a firm believer that research breeds authenticity in writing. Yes, even fiction writing. What’s more, the more creative you are with your research, the more creative and authentic your story will be.

Sure, you can consult the standard reference books, academic studies, and newspaper/magazine articles; you should, probably. But consider these creative research options:

• Field trips to study setting
• Interviews with local residents to understand customs
• Hands-on apprenticeships to learn the trade of your characters
• Short “pass-fail” community college classes about topics helpful to your story
• Interviews and visits with practitioners to understand psychological and physical impairments that might plague your characters
• Museum and historical society visits
• Online support groups for people suffering various afflictions/situations (tapping into the real emotions of real people who might be living some aspects of the story you’re trying to tell)
• Social media (why not take advantage of the expertise offered by those you’ve met online through Twitter, Facebook or LinkedIn)

This type of research is what’s going to make your novel authentic: your ability to step into the shoes of your characters, breathe their breaths, think their thoughts, react the way they would in particular situations. And the only way to do that is by doing your homework. Do the research, because your readers will be able to smell a fake.

When you begin a new work-in-progress, how do you go about finding your authentic voice? Authentic characters? Authentic setting?

A few days before Christmas, I had the opportunity to tag along with one of my college buddies to a ranch in southern Arizona.

Dark clouds were beginning to blanket the sky, precursors to the upcoming rain, snow, and hard freezes that would plague us for the next week. Dusk was also approaching, making my friend, who works with the U.S. Natural Resources Conservation Service, wonder if he’d be able to get photos of the fifth-generation ranching family that he sought.

The chill of upcoming weather didn’t dampen my spirits as I looked out toward the Galiuro Mountains. Click to enlarge. See photos below of canyon wren and cardinal.

It was actually questionable as to whether we could reach the ranch that splayed out like green quilts beneath the Galiuro and Santa Catalina mountains. You see, the 14 miles of meandering dirt roads leading up to the ranch actually crossed several normally dry washes that were likely to be flowing from the previous night’s mountain rainwater.

For me, all the ifs added to the fun, though. Would we find the ranch before sunset? Would we be paddling through a flowing wash (and would my city-slicker friend know how to navigate the 4WD through the water)? Would the ranch owners welcome this stranger (me) tagging along for no apparent reason?

Fortunately for me, the family was quite receptive and friendly. They were lovely, in fact. To be honest, I didn’t want to leave. While they were being photographed, I wandered around, taking in the sights and sounds.

I listened to the sharp trill of a cardinal on a naked tree branch, his fiery red plumage further dulling the tawny feathers of the dozen house sparrows flanking his side (see photo below). I talked with three little boys from Nevada as they sat atop two sorrel quarter horses, divided between them. I was struck by their vigor, their excitement to be spending the holidays with their ranch-hand grandfather, and their skill at handling horses about twenty times the size of their small bodies.

I witnessed a peculiar Bell-blue phone booth on the edge of a rural dirt road, placed there in the middle of a field, specifically for cattle buyers. Yes, I even smelled the crisp scent of cattle … and their earthy, shall we say, “aftereffects.” I saw a cow hide drying on a fence post (not for the faint of heart), watched giant hay bales and cattle as they were loaded on to a trailer, and watched a majestic red-tailed hawk glide to a perfect landing in a sycamore tree, apparently fascinated by the photo session as he peered beneath the tree’s bony branches.

And did I mention the endless emerald green fields, their sharp juxtaposition to the towering Earth-toned Galiuro Mountains behind them – mountains turning a gingerbread pink as the sun set? In case you couldn’t tell, I honestly think I could have stayed forever.

For Writers: This ranch wasn’t far from my home (mind you, us ‘country folk’ don’t measure distance the same as most). But it felt like a completely different world. I simply couldn’t get enough. That feeling – of never wanting to leave – that’s what we strive for when we create new worlds in our novels.

We all hope that our readers will want to stay forever in the world we’ve created, reluctant to close the last page of the book. Which novels have you read, where you’ve been disinclined to leave a fictional world?

In 2011, my goal is to continue creating that kind of vibrant world in my novel – one that my readers don’t want to leave, even if they don’t love the desert southwest the same way I do. My goal as an author is to help readers experience the setting, become a part of it, to fall in love with it … the same way I have.

Canyon wren posing for me at the corral. Click to enlarge.

Cardinal and house sparrows in tree near the corral. Click to enlarge.