I've been testing a software called yWriter5 by Spacejock Software for a couple of days now. I'm starting to get the hang of it.
Today I learned how to make the first chapter not a Chapter but Information, and put in the brainstorming notes from my session with Connie Wolfe while we crossed the country a few weeks back. 470 words. Do they count for writing?
I also added two characters and a couple of locations. I've set time goals, but don't know how to access a report or chart showing them. I'll work some more with it, and find the things I need. I believe I set two weeks for outlining, and I'm counting the learning curve in there.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
New Review: Trail of Storms
When I got home from my Grand Adventure, I started getting caught up with my mail. I noticed that the current issue of Roundup Magazine, published by Western Writers of America, contains a new review of my latest novel, Trail of Storms. Whoopee!
The uncredited author of the review (yes, I asked her if she wrote it) is award-winning author C.K. Crigger, whose long- and short-form fiction crosses genres from fantasy to time-travel to mystery to Western. Since the review appeared in a print magazine, I have posted it on the Review page of my website. Click here or on the link to the right to see it in its entirety.
Here's a part of her review that particularly tickles me:
Nice! Thanks, C.K.!
The uncredited author of the review (yes, I asked her if she wrote it) is award-winning author C.K. Crigger, whose long- and short-form fiction crosses genres from fantasy to time-travel to mystery to Western. Since the review appeared in a print magazine, I have posted it on the Review page of my website. Click here or on the link to the right to see it in its entirety.
Here's a part of her review that particularly tickles me:
"Ward has written another of her gritty, fact-filled family sagas. Peopled with folks harboring complex emotions and striving always to do right within the confines of their values, her characters' lives tend to get real messy. How they solve their many problems is always an education in story-telling, and Ward excels in doing that."
Nice! Thanks, C.K.!
Friday, August 21, 2009
My Grand Adventure - Part 2
After the funeral for my friend Connie's father, we left Weeping Water late in the day, and arrived in Omaha about an hour later at the Winter Quarters Visitors Center in the north of the city. We took a tour hosted by a cute and informative sister missionary, and the rest of the staff was equally helpful. They directed us to lodging options in Council Bluffs, Iowa, as well as telling us how to get to the Kanesville Tabernacle reconstruction.
After our tour, we said good-bye and crossed Mormon Bridge over the Missouri River. After eating and sleeping, we went to the Kanesville Tabernacle site the next morning. All the information we gathered will be useful to me down the road for another novel. We learned how the modern reconstruction dealt with shrinkage of green cottonwood logs: the columns that hold up the roof are on jacks, and lower the roof as the logs lose inches, so there isn't any annoying gap between the top of the walls and the roof. :-)
The original Tabernacle only lasted a matter of months. When it was built in the dead of winter, no one knew it had been constructed on top of a spring of water.
The next leg of our trip took us west, through the Nebraska cities and countryside on Interstate 80. Besides gas and comfort stops, we briefly visited the Ft. Kearny site, then branched off onto NE Highway 26 so we could see Chimney Rock and Scott's Bluff. We ran out of day in the tiny Garden County seat of Oshkosh, NE, the "Goose Hunting Capital of Nebraska." Population 887.
A little dismayed that we had bypassed larger towns with chain motels for a small town with only two small auto courts, we asked at the gas station which we should pick. The clerk in the mini-mart said the Shady Rest was the best, but added that he worked there. I exited with anxiety roiling in my gut. We'd already stayed in one really bad small motel, and I worried that we were going to repeat the experience. The Shady Rest Motel? What a cliched name!
When Connie and I conferred, she, too, had picked up information that the Shady Rest Motel was the better of the two in town. We decided to check it out first, then get something to eat.
WOW!
We were surprised and gratified at the room. Well, rooms. Kind of a mini-suite. The amenities included two queen beds in separate bedrooms, with a darling John Deere tractor motif unifying the suite, a mini-fridge, a coffee maker for those who want it, soap AND shampoo, FREE Internet access, and a CLEAN bathroom. There even may have been a second TV in the second bedroom.
The only drawback was that, ahem, because we are not tiny women, and the bathroom was small, we had to contort ourselves a bit to enter or exit it around the door.
I cannot say loudly enough that if you ever find yourself in Oshkosh, Nebraska, you won't go wrong if you stay at the Shady Rest Motel.
To be continued . . .
After our tour, we said good-bye and crossed Mormon Bridge over the Missouri River. After eating and sleeping, we went to the Kanesville Tabernacle site the next morning. All the information we gathered will be useful to me down the road for another novel. We learned how the modern reconstruction dealt with shrinkage of green cottonwood logs: the columns that hold up the roof are on jacks, and lower the roof as the logs lose inches, so there isn't any annoying gap between the top of the walls and the roof. :-)
The original Tabernacle only lasted a matter of months. When it was built in the dead of winter, no one knew it had been constructed on top of a spring of water.
The next leg of our trip took us west, through the Nebraska cities and countryside on Interstate 80. Besides gas and comfort stops, we briefly visited the Ft. Kearny site, then branched off onto NE Highway 26 so we could see Chimney Rock and Scott's Bluff. We ran out of day in the tiny Garden County seat of Oshkosh, NE, the "Goose Hunting Capital of Nebraska." Population 887.
A little dismayed that we had bypassed larger towns with chain motels for a small town with only two small auto courts, we asked at the gas station which we should pick. The clerk in the mini-mart said the Shady Rest was the best, but added that he worked there. I exited with anxiety roiling in my gut. We'd already stayed in one really bad small motel, and I worried that we were going to repeat the experience. The Shady Rest Motel? What a cliched name!
When Connie and I conferred, she, too, had picked up information that the Shady Rest Motel was the better of the two in town. We decided to check it out first, then get something to eat.
WOW!
We were surprised and gratified at the room. Well, rooms. Kind of a mini-suite. The amenities included two queen beds in separate bedrooms, with a darling John Deere tractor motif unifying the suite, a mini-fridge, a coffee maker for those who want it, soap AND shampoo, FREE Internet access, and a CLEAN bathroom. There even may have been a second TV in the second bedroom.
The only drawback was that, ahem, because we are not tiny women, and the bathroom was small, we had to contort ourselves a bit to enter or exit it around the door.
I cannot say loudly enough that if you ever find yourself in Oshkosh, Nebraska, you won't go wrong if you stay at the Shady Rest Motel.
To be continued . . .
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
My Grand Adventure
I've been absent here for a while, and that demands an explanation.
My dear friend Connie Wolfe has been caring for her father for the last four years. It has been difficult to watch her struggle with his descent into dementia and becoming the "parent" to her father. However, she persevered through it all, and after he suffered a stroke, it looked like he had to go into a care facility. That was a heart-breaking decision. Ultimately, because she had suffered a back injury and could not lift him, he was placed in one, but the standard of care was not up to snuff, and Connie brought him back home. She employed one of her sons to be his grandfather's nighttime caregiver so she could get some sleep, and prepared to carry on.
Papa died on Sunday, August 2.
On Monday, after learning of the event, I called to offer Connie anything I could do for her. She hesitated for a moment, then asked if I would accompany her back to Nebraska for the graveside service. She needed me because she was going to transport her father's body to lay it beside his wife. As she understood it, she would need to drive straight through, because the body could not be left unattended. I was to be her relief driver.
A side note here. Papa had often worried that the family would not be able to afford to get him back home to be buried. Connie told him, "Dad, don't worry about it. If I have to put you in the back of the car and drive you there myself, you'll be buried beside Mom."
That's exactly what transpired. After going over the transport options, the local funeral director said, "Don't you have a van?" Connie does, so he went outside and measured the interior and declared that the casket would fit. He got the necessary transport permit for her, and then she asked me to accompany her, since neither of her sons could go.
Of course I accepted immediately. I made a few arrangements, canceled some stuff, threw a few things into my suitcase, and drove off to Mesa for the funeral on Wednesday. After a day of rest and planning, we (which included Connie's brother and his wife in another vehicle) arrived at the mortuary early on Friday morning to pick up the casket. We also learned that we COULD stop along the way to sleep, as long as the van was locked. "Unattended" applied to transporting a casket in a pickup, but especially since the van's side and back windows were dark enough to obscure the contents, there was no problem.
We were on the road by 6:30 a.m., and drove to Oklahoma City before sleeping. The next day we headed up through Kansas, and arrived in Weeping Water, Nebraska, late that afternoon. We were met at the local mortuary, where we ascertained that Papa had made the journey without a problem.
After we handed off the mortal remains of her father, I sensed that Connie was relieved at the completion of the responsibility. We spent some time at her brother's home, then drove the 20 miles to another town to our motel.
We don't recommend the motel where we stayed.
At church on Sunday, Connie learned that the graveside service had morphed into a full funeral at the mortuary. Later, at her brother's house, she asked me to sing a duet with her of the same hymn that had been sung by a men's quartet at the Mesa funeral. We decided how we would sing a men's arrangement with two women's voices, using one mini-hymnbook and a full-sized one. Then we scrambled to find an accompanist, but had no chance to practice with her that day (we're talking about a congregation being spread out over many miles in Nebraska, not like the square mile LDS wards in the Mountain West). We arranged to meet her at the mortuary a few minutes before the viewing to go over the hymn.
At the mortuary, we discovered that the organ didn't work. The funeral director called his wife to bring their keyboard from home. I don't know how far away home was, but it took almost until the end of the viewing for it to arrive. Consequently, we didn't get a rehearsal with the accompanist.
The funeral--and the musical number--went well, and everyone followed the hearse a few blocks to the cemetery. It was a lovely place, tree-shaded and peaceful.
After spending time with her family, and loading a bicycle into the van for the return trip, Connie and I were on the road again, this time heading for Omaha and further adventures.
To be continued . . .
My dear friend Connie Wolfe has been caring for her father for the last four years. It has been difficult to watch her struggle with his descent into dementia and becoming the "parent" to her father. However, she persevered through it all, and after he suffered a stroke, it looked like he had to go into a care facility. That was a heart-breaking decision. Ultimately, because she had suffered a back injury and could not lift him, he was placed in one, but the standard of care was not up to snuff, and Connie brought him back home. She employed one of her sons to be his grandfather's nighttime caregiver so she could get some sleep, and prepared to carry on.
Papa died on Sunday, August 2.
On Monday, after learning of the event, I called to offer Connie anything I could do for her. She hesitated for a moment, then asked if I would accompany her back to Nebraska for the graveside service. She needed me because she was going to transport her father's body to lay it beside his wife. As she understood it, she would need to drive straight through, because the body could not be left unattended. I was to be her relief driver.
A side note here. Papa had often worried that the family would not be able to afford to get him back home to be buried. Connie told him, "Dad, don't worry about it. If I have to put you in the back of the car and drive you there myself, you'll be buried beside Mom."
That's exactly what transpired. After going over the transport options, the local funeral director said, "Don't you have a van?" Connie does, so he went outside and measured the interior and declared that the casket would fit. He got the necessary transport permit for her, and then she asked me to accompany her, since neither of her sons could go.
Of course I accepted immediately. I made a few arrangements, canceled some stuff, threw a few things into my suitcase, and drove off to Mesa for the funeral on Wednesday. After a day of rest and planning, we (which included Connie's brother and his wife in another vehicle) arrived at the mortuary early on Friday morning to pick up the casket. We also learned that we COULD stop along the way to sleep, as long as the van was locked. "Unattended" applied to transporting a casket in a pickup, but especially since the van's side and back windows were dark enough to obscure the contents, there was no problem.
We were on the road by 6:30 a.m., and drove to Oklahoma City before sleeping. The next day we headed up through Kansas, and arrived in Weeping Water, Nebraska, late that afternoon. We were met at the local mortuary, where we ascertained that Papa had made the journey without a problem.
After we handed off the mortal remains of her father, I sensed that Connie was relieved at the completion of the responsibility. We spent some time at her brother's home, then drove the 20 miles to another town to our motel.
We don't recommend the motel where we stayed.
At church on Sunday, Connie learned that the graveside service had morphed into a full funeral at the mortuary. Later, at her brother's house, she asked me to sing a duet with her of the same hymn that had been sung by a men's quartet at the Mesa funeral. We decided how we would sing a men's arrangement with two women's voices, using one mini-hymnbook and a full-sized one. Then we scrambled to find an accompanist, but had no chance to practice with her that day (we're talking about a congregation being spread out over many miles in Nebraska, not like the square mile LDS wards in the Mountain West). We arranged to meet her at the mortuary a few minutes before the viewing to go over the hymn.
At the mortuary, we discovered that the organ didn't work. The funeral director called his wife to bring their keyboard from home. I don't know how far away home was, but it took almost until the end of the viewing for it to arrive. Consequently, we didn't get a rehearsal with the accompanist.
The funeral--and the musical number--went well, and everyone followed the hearse a few blocks to the cemetery. It was a lovely place, tree-shaded and peaceful.
After spending time with her family, and loading a bicycle into the van for the return trip, Connie and I were on the road again, this time heading for Omaha and further adventures.
To be continued . . .
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