Monday, February 28, 2011

A little history lesson

I usually write historical fiction, but once in a while I like to tell about the old days when I was a youngster. My topic for today? "What is a long-distance telephone operator?"

Well children, I'll give a bit of background first, before I tell you about the meaning and mechanics of the vocation I followed for two years in my youth.

Once upon a time, before cell phones, before push-button phones, even before "direct-dial," most people had a black thing in their house, a sort of a box-shaped item four inches high, and six or eight inches long by four or five inches wide. It was connected by a cord to the wall, and had a numbered dial on the top face. It also had a piece set crosswise in a sort of cradle that had two ends with holes in them. This was connected to the body of the item with a curly cord.


This item was a telephone. You didn't put it in your pocket. Since it didn't move around, you went to where it was sitting in a central place in your home to answer it when it rang. If you even had a telephone account, you most likely only had one telephone in your house. It belonged to the telephone company, and part of your monthly payment was earmarked to lease it.

When I say it was connected to the wall, I mean it was hard-wired to a phone line in the wall, and the cord ran out a little hole in a face-plate to your telephone. Oh yes. Telephones were made of a very durable black plastic material. Just black.

You could use a telephone to make a local call to businesses, family members, neighbors or friends, but if you wanted to talk to someone in a different city, you put your finger in the hole marked 0 or Operator, and spun the dial. A friendly voice came on the line to assist you in making the connection. This, of course, cost a lot of money, so you only made long-distance calls in an emergency.

The long distance telephone operator connected your call by means of a big board with lots of lights, cords and holes, called a "switchboard." She wore a heavy headset covering one of her ears that had an attached mouthpiece speaker. When a light next to a hole on the board lit up, she answered the call by flipping a toggle switch before her, then plugging one of a set of connector-tipped brown cords into that hole. She always had a pencil in her hand, palmed when not in use, with which she noted the details of the desired call on a special card. Then, plugging the other cord of the set into the board, and using a keypad off to the side, she would "dial" the number, and when it was answered, she connected the call through by flipping another switch.



I may have the sequence of switch-flipping out of order, but that is the basic process. Correction: that WAS the process I used during my career as a long-distance telephone operator from 1966 to 1968 in Phoenix, Arizona. Both long distance and local telephone calls are much easier to make now.

I left my job when I was called to serve a proselyting mission in South America for my church.

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Sample Sunday: The Man from Shenandoah, Excerpt 2 from Chapter 1

To learn more about Sample Sunday, see this post on the Kindle Author blog. To find more samples of e-books, follow the Twitter hash tag #SampleSunday.


From Chapter 1 of The Man from Shenandoah




“Ma!” Albert ran in yelling from the trees at the corner of the yard. “Somebody’s riding in, mighty confident like,” he panted.

Julia Owen looked up from the corn she was grinding and pushed back a loose lock of dark hair.

“Confident, you say? Does he look like a Yankee?”

Albert hung his head. “I mostly just saw him a-coming before I ran in, Ma. But he’s riding real straight and sure of himself.”

“Get your pa,” she said, grabbing the Sharps rifle from the corner. “There won’t be no Yankees set foot in this house.”

Julia walked through the doorway with the Sharps in firing position and watched as a horseman neared the end of the lane from the pike. Albert spoke the truth, she thought. That man rides bold.

“Hold up right there,” her voice rang out. “Put them hands where I can see ‘em, and get down off that horse.”

The mud-covered young man in the gray coat laughed. “You always did look fine with fire in your eye, Ma.”

“Carl?” She took a step, lowering the rifle barrel toward the ground. “Carl! Is it really you? Lawsy, boy, we almost gave up on ever seeing you again.” She swiped at her eyes with one hand. “Get off that horse and hug your ma.” Her son dropped gingerly to the muddy ground and approached with long strides.

“Ma, I’m home.” He grabbed her—rifle and all—and swung her into the air.

She caught sight of the wince that he tried to cover and the dried blood on his face, and immediately began to worry over his health.

Setting her on her feet, Carl brushed at the mud he had transferred to her dress. “I’m sorry about the mud, Ma. I had a little trouble with some fellers down the road a piece, and we wrasseled around a bit. Here, let me put that rifle aside. I reckon you don’t want to put a ball into me.”

“You ain’t been hurt? What’s that blood?” She followed him to the front of the house, where he leaned the rifle against the stone wall. “Here, let me look at you.” Julia grabbed his arm, moistened the corner of her apron with her tongue, and dabbed at his face.

“Ma!” he protested. “It’s just a little cut.”

“And it needs tending to,” she insisted, then hugged him again.

~~~

Do you remember your mother ever expressing her concern with a little spit polish like Julia did with Carl?

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Sample Sunday: The Man from Shenandoah, Excerpt from Chapter 1

To learn more about Sample Sunday, see this post on the Kindle Author blog. To find more samples of e-books, follow the Twitter hash tag #SampleSunday.


From Chapter 1 of The Man from Shenandoah




The gaunt-featured young man with the lanky build choked down the last of his moldy bread, then got to his feet and climbed atop the stone wall against which he’d been sitting. Carl Owen looked as far as he could see down the Valley Pike, about 200 yards, but no one was in sight. Turning to look at the burned-out field the wall enclosed, he surveyed the gray-toned devastation made muddy by today’s intermittent rain.

Rage rising in him, thundering in his ears as his heartbeat quickened in frustration and hate, he shook his fist at the sky.

“Phil Sheridan, may God spit in your eye for the ruin you brought to this valley. Rot in hell, Sheridan!”

“Get him!” he heard, just before he was tackled from behind, tumbling him off the wall and into the mud. Carl came up sputtering muck. As he wiped gluey sludge from his eyes, someone kicked him. He was hauled to his feet—arms brutally twisted behind his back—and dragged over the wall to where a huge, red-faced sergeant in a faded blue uniform stood waiting for him.

“Yankees,” Carl groaned, berating himself for letting his guard down enough to miss their approach. Panic coursed through his belly. He tried to tear free, but two soldiers gripped his arms, and he finally quit struggling.

The sergeant stood with his legs spread apart, looking Carl up and down. “Johnny Reb, you’re on the loose. We have a stout prisoner of war camp for you up in Washington City.” He bent forward, laughing in Carl’s face, who involuntarily wrinkled his nose and squinted shut his eyes at the overpowering odor of liquor fumes. The man frowned, drew a knife from a sheath on his belt, and tested it on his thumb.

“You look at me, Johnny Reb,” he snarled. “Look at me when I speak to you!”

Carl opened his eyes and stared into the Yankee’s mean eyes. “I have parole papers,” he said, raising his muddy, stubbled chin in defiance.

“You’re violating your parole, wearing the uniform of the Confederate Army,” the Yankee said, and put his blade against Carl’s throat. The young man sucked in a breath, then held it, careful not to move.

Just then, a burly soldier came up behind the sergeant. “Sarge, you told us we were going to find some Southern belles to entertain us,” he complained. “Let’s dump him in the woods.”

“Keep your nose out of official business. I’ll open him up a bit and teach him how to act around his betters.”

From the north, a rider came pounding up the road, spurring his horse, then sawing on the reins to bring it to a halt. He alighted and ran to the sergeant.

“The major’s coming down the road. You’d better not let him catch you cutting another Reb.”

The sergeant cursed and turned back to Carl, grabbing the front of his coat.

“You got no right to wear a uniform, you dirty Rebel pup.” He took a fresh grip on his knife and addressed the soldiers restraining Carl. “Hold him tight while I teach him a lesson.”

Carl felt the tight prickle of fear racing up his spine as the soldiers freshened their hold on his arms. The sergeant looked around at the road, cursed again, turned to Carl, and cut the embossed buttons from his coat. He jerked the coat open, grinning evilly, and cut the buttons from his shirt, as well.

“Now you’re not a soldier.” The man cackled as he pocketed the buttons and sheathed his knife. “Let him loose,” he ordered, motioning to the soldiers. As they dropped his arms, he looked Carl up and down once more, his expression changing to hatred. The sergeant half turned away, then spun back, and with a massive fist knocked Carl flat. “Mount up,” the sergeant barked, and strode toward his horse, weaving a bit.

Lying in the mud, propped on one elbow, Carl wiped blood from his jaw, tasting salt as he tongued his molars to see if they were still tight. He watched the patrol leave, hate burning his belly. He turned over onto his knees and got to his feet, wincing at the pain, then whistled for his horse. Looking around for his hat, he found it on the wall where it had landed when he was attacked. He brushed at the soft, shapeless felt, removing a splash of mud, then he jammed it onto his head.

Sherando came trotting out of the trees, gray coat glistening in the misty rain that had once again begun to fall. The horse jumped the fence to reach Carl and nickered softly. Carl checked to see that the Yankee rifle was secure in the scabbard. “Sure glad them Billy Blues was so drunk they didn’t find you, boy,” he whispered through raw lips.

He swung into the saddle and straightened his back, swiped at his face with both hands to remove as much mud as he could, then ran his fingers through the blond hair at the nape of his neck, tugging loose both tangles and mud. He hoped someone at home had a comb, for he had lost his personal gear in a wild, last-ditch ride for freedom with Colonel John Mosby. Carl’s patrol had ridden into a Yankee camp to surrender after the war’s end. Union officers gave the Confederate cavalrymen parole papers and turned them free instead of holding them as prisoners of war. Carl had stolen the rifle as he left camp, but hadn’t had a chance to replace other gear.

The young man turned his horse onto the Valley Pike, laughing as joy surged through him. “Benjamin will have a comb. It’ll be fine to see him again.” Carl kneed Sherando to a trot, and launched into a tune he’d heard somewhere. “Oh Shenandoah, I’m comin’ to ya. I’m here, you rolling river.”

Carl looked toward the shallow river flowing beside the road and grinned at the cleverness of his new words to an old song. “Hold up that head, horse. We’ll show the folks that a passel of Yankees can’t lick a Virginia boy. We’re goin’ home!”

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Weird and Stormy Night

Last night was quite fierce in the weather department. It rained and it blew, and after I went to sleep, the power went out for a couple of hours.

I woke up knowing something was wrong. Then I realized I wasn't getting any air through my CPAP machine mask (I have sleep apnea), and it was pitch dark. I tried to get to sleep again, but tossed and turned and slept fitfully. Usually, I don't move around at all, but this morning I awoke with twisted bed covers, a testimony that I'd been quite restless during the night.

The lives of my characters can be compared to my unusual night. If I do my job right, they will be highly uncomfortable in the circumstances into which I throw them. They need conflict and troubles, maybe even some bouts with fitful sleep, or you won't continue to read about them.

Here's hoping I can remember my discomfort and transcribe it into the right words for my work in progress.

Monday, February 14, 2011

A New Post on My Other Blog

In honor of Valentine's Day, I've posted a scene from my first novel, The Man from Shenandoah, here on The Characters in Marsha's Head blog. It's a sort of "Love at first sight...or not so much" scene. I hope you enjoy it.

In Honor of Valentine's Day

And as a part of the * Romance blogfest here, I'm posting a scene from my first novel, The Man from Shenandoah, where Carl Owen gets his first look at Ellen Bates since he returned from service in the Civil War. I've edited it slightly to make it a bit more accessible to first-time readers:

Carl Owen turned his horse off the main road toward his brother Rulon’s house. The sun had come out bright and strong, and it felt good and warm on his back. He grinned as he recalled his conversation with his father. “Hush, we’re going west.”

As he reached the corner, Carl saw a group of mounted men dashing up the cross street in front of him. Panic rose in his throat and sqeezed it shut as he recognized the Yankee patrol that had jumped him and beat him when he'd been on his way home from the war. He wheeled his horse to find a place of concealment. Then he realized where he was, turned the horse again, and tried to calm his pounding heart. The soldiers were probably racing through the streets of Mount Jackson to make a ruckus, and he felt foolish to be caught in their trap.

“Easy, boy,” he told his horse. “It ain’t likely they’ll take after me in town.”

The Yankees drew up at the far end of the street, then turned and started back to town. As they thundered toward him, Carl noticed a young girl opposite him, evidently trying to decide whether to cross. She hesitated a moment, then bolted out into the street. In the middle, she looked around at the approaching soldiers, tripped, and fell into the road.

Without thinking, Carl spurred his horse into the street, leaned out from his saddle, and plucked the arising girl from the muck. The horse carried them across the road while the Yankees whooped and whistled as they rushed by, venting their disappointment. Carl got down the street, turned a corner, then pulled up, set the girl on her feet and slid from the saddle.

“Hush my mouth! That was the foolest thing I ever seen a body do!” Carl made no attempt to stop the hot words from tumbling out of his mouth. He glared at the girl, standing in the street with her chin up and her eyes flashing, auburn hair disheveled, the front of her clothes mud-caked and dripping. “You surely could have been killed, and that’s a fact! You keep clear away from that gang of Yankees, you hear? Darn fool girl, anyhow.” He remounted and left her standing there, pridefully biting back tears of relief. Then he rode away, shaking mud and slime off his arm, and muttering to himself.

Love at first sight . . . or not so much?

*Since I'm not exactly sure my existing published novel qualifies under the rules, I'm not making a whole lot about this post. However, I hope you enjoy it.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Author Interview: Rebecca Talley

My friend Rebecca Talley recently published a new book, a novel entitled The Upside of Down. Rebecca is a busy LDS wife, mother, writing instructor, and author of several books, including a children's picture book, Grasshopper Pie, and two novels for LDS readers, Heaven Scent, and Altared Plans. She and her family live in Colorado.

Let's chat with Rebecca.

I'm so glad you're visiting on my blog today, Rebecca. We've been friends for several years, and I admire all the good you're doing for writers. Tell us a little about yourself.
I was born in Santa Barbara, California. My younger sister and I were raised in Santa Barbara by our maternal grandparents. I spent countless hours playing at the beach. I loved swimming in the ocean, collecting shells, and digging in the sand. One of my favorite memories is riding my pony along the shore with the surf spraying my feet. I still love the moist sea air.

While I was a teenager, I performed as a flamenco dancer in parades and on stage for the Old Spanish Days Fiesta celebration that occurs every August in Santa Barbara. I played basketball in high school and was named "Most Inspirational Player." After graduating from high school, I attended Brigham Young University (BYU). I had a hard time adjusting to the snow and cold winters in Provo, Utah, but I had the time of my life living in Deseret Towers, Centennial Apartments, and Riviera Apartments.

While attending BYU, I met my sweetheart, Del, who was born and raised in a rural area of Colorado. We were married in 1985, after my junior year. We have been happily married for over 25 years and are the parents of 10 wonderfully creative and multi-talented children. We live in rural CO on a small ranch with a dog, cats, a spoiled horse, and a herd of goats. It took me a bit to adjust to the rural lifestyle after growing up in southern CA, but I love living in the country.

I love big families! I come from one myself. When did you start writing?
I started making books when I was a kid. I loved to write in high school, and I graduated from BYU with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Communications, but I put writing aside when I got married and started having babies. I decided to get serious about it again in the mid-90s when the internet suddenly opened up a whole new world for me. I met other writers, took classes online, and read all I could about writing. I’ve been writing ever since.

What do you like to do besides writing?
Eat chocolate, ice cream, peanut M&Ms. I love to go to the beach and swim in the ocean, but I only get to do that once a year or so. I also love to dance to disco music. I’ve recently started doing Zumba, a kind of Latin dancing/exercise program—lots of hip shaking. I love to go on dates with my husband and I love to play with my kids. I’ve also started making jewelry and flower barrettes with my kids.

Your newest novel, The Upside of Down, was released in January. What was the inspiration for this novel?
While I was watching the new version of the movie Cheaper by the Dozen, I thought it would be fun to write a similar story set in an LDS household. Since I have a large family, I drew from many of my own experiences to create my characters and establish the storyline. I had lots of fun writing it, especially as I relived some of the funny things that have happened in our family.

Let's take a look at the back cover text from The Upside of Down:

“Hmmm,” the doctor muttered.
Natalie wrinkled her forehead, almost afraid to ask, and said, “What does that mean?”
“You do know you’re pregnant, right?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Excuse me?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “I’m what?”


Natalie Drake certainly has her hands full raising a large family, dealing with her difficult mother, and maintaining a relationship with her rebellious teenager. Just when things seem to be going smoothly, she finds out another unexpected surprise—she’s going to have a baby. Faced with so many challenges, Natalie must learn to trust in a plan that isn’t what she imagined and discover that every situation has an upside.
Although there are similarities in this book to your life and family, is it an autobiographical novel?
Not at all. I wanted to show readers that no matter who we are, none of us is spiritually invincible. We all need to rely on the Lord, in good times and in bad. No matter how desperate a situation may seem, the Lord can lighten our load if we’ll turn to Him. The atonement is for all of us. And, even in the midst of trials, we can have peace.

Your character Natalie's life is turned upside down with her unexpected pregnancy, but the novel's title has a double meaning. You have a child with Down Syndrome, and you wanted to shed light on and create understanding about that experience, right?
Yes. I hope people will learn something from my book about Down syndrome and realize that underneath it all, we’re all children of God and we all deserve love and respect, no matter our chromosome count.

Where can we purchase The Upside of Down?

Amazon carries it and it should arrive in LDS bookstores soon.

It's been delightful to have you as my guest today, Rebecca.
Thank you so much for the interview.

You can learn more about Rebecca at her website, www.rebeccatalley.com, and her blogs, www.rebeccatalleywrites.blogspot.com and www.theupsideofdown2.blogspot.com
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