Counting My Blessings and Saying Thank You

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Since this is the time of the year when we say thanks for the blessings we have in our lives, I'd like to say thank you to all of the dear friends I have made while I have been part of the From the Heart family. I have been a member of this great online group for more years than I can remember and membership chair for most of my years here. It has given me the opportunity to meet and work with so many authors, some of whom have become dear friends and 'adopted' family members. I know that my writing career has advanced in leaps and bounds with the knowledge and skills and mostly the patience of those who have never given up on me. For this, I am truly grateful and thankful. Sometimes it's the little things that unexpectedly propel us into success or turn on that light in your brain that says, ''Yes, that is how it should be done and then fly toward writing that first great book."

Two years this Christmas Eve I was offered my first contract. I know that all the support I have received from my friends here before, during, and since my first three books have been published has made the experience all that much more meaningful. So, I simply say to all those of you who have been around to make the writing experience a successful time for me, I say thank you.

Hobbies

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Summertime at our house means flowers, lots of gorgeous blooms. We live in the Sierra Mountains surrounded by a variety of tall, stately trees. But, what makes our yard so beautiful is what my husband does with his gardens. He amazes me with his love for flowers, his gentleness with them. I am not allowed to do anything but look because I have these two black thumbs and I kill flowers when I’m left in charge.

When we first got married we lived in an apartment on the second floor. It didn’t deter him at all. He found empty wastebaskets, cans, and any kind of container he could to plant his flowers. I know it amazed his father who had no inkling of his fondness for gardening.

The season is drawing to a close for this year, but we are still enjoying the late blooms. Since it snows here, he must be very careful of what he plants and can’t wait until the warm weather late spring to see which plants survive. I have to hold him back from planting too early.

I think hobbies are what make us unique. Mine is sewing quilts and his is growing flowers.

Do you have something that you do that draws you into a creative mood?

Beguiled

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

A while back I watched the Civil War movie Beguiled with a very young, very handsome Clint Eastwood as the northern soldier who is taken into a southern girls’ school to be nursed back to health. I remember seeing it years ago and how much I enjoyed it then.

First, I must confess I have this fetish for moss hanging on those gorgeous big trees in the south. I was lucky enough to see the trees draped in moss in person. Yes, it did give my heart a flutter. Anyway, I digress. One really great part of this movie was the way the director used the setting to bring out the mood of the story. The director skillfully added the items in the school and the garden to surround us with what it was like to be in the South during the Civil War. I know it enhanced my watching pleasure.

My time period is set during the California gold rush. I love to explore the old Victorian houses when they are open to the public, but it isn’t the same as living in them during the 1800s. One thing I noticed in the movie was when the women walked through the otherwise dark house at night, holding a candlestick with one candle to light her way, it only lit up the area where they walked. I hadn’t even thought about how dark it would remain in the rest of the room, hallway or staircase. I guess I just took it for granted the single candle would light the entire room, even though we’ve endured living by candle light during blackouts. It got me to thinking about other things that I knew, but didn’t think about when setting my scenes. I have started back into my stories and using my sensory words to enrich my plot.

What this movie brought home for me was to stretch my imagination and put myself into the setting more and pull out all the little things that can bring your story to life. I’ve always been one to notice everything when we are traveling. Now I have to start noticing what goes on around me and try to spiff up my stories by making them more human.

Civil War Generals

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Memorial Day is here this weekend. I thought it would be interesting to look back into our history at some facts about the generals in the Civil War.

Some leading commanders were elderly when the war came, notably the Federal Commander-in-Chief, Winfield Scott, who was seventy-five, General John Wool was seventy-four, Edwin V. Sumner wa sixty-four, and John Dix sixty-three.

The dean of ranking Confederates was the Adjutant General, Samuel Cooper who was sixty-three. Albert Sidney Johnston was fifty-eight. Robert E. Lee and Joseph E. Johnston were fifty-four.

Most of the war's famous general officers in the field were young. A partial list of these, and their ages at the outbreak of war in 1861:

Seventeen: Brevet Major General Galusha Pennypacker, USA, the youngest of the war's general officers. Born June 1, 1844, and too young to vote until the war's end.

Twenty: Brigadier General William P. Roberts, a North Carolina cavalryman, who was the youngest Confederate general.

Twenty-one: George A. Custer, USA, born in December, 1839, and a cavalry brigadier in June, 1863, at age-twenty-three.

Twenty-three: Judson Kilpatrick, USA, West Point, '61, a brigadier and major general in 1865, at the age of twenty-seven.

Twenty-four: W.H.F. (Rooney) Lee, son of Robert E. Lee, and Stephen D. Ramseur, CSA.

Twenty-five: The cavalrymen, Joe Wheeler, CSA, and Wesley Merritit, USA, the former a major general at twenty-six, the latter a brigadier two days before Gettysburg, at age twenty-seven.

Twenty-six: Godgrey Weitzel, USA, the corps commander who ruled fallen Richmond; Fitz Lee, CSA; and Adalbert Amers, USA, West Point, '61.

Twenty-seven: William Dorsey Pender, CSA.

Twenty-eight: The cavalrymen, Alfred Torbert, USA, and J.E.B. Stuart, CSA, and Stpehen D. Lee, CSA.

The Civil War - Strange & Fascinating Facts by Burke Davis, author of Gray Fox

Blogs - A Learning Experience

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

To blog or not to blog, is that the question? We have so many sites to choose from and so little time. Where do we start? Should be have our own blog, or post on other authors' blogs? Now days our time is limited and we want to spend our promotion time in the best places. One fact I've learned is readers like to get to know the authors of the books they love to read. Blogging is a good way to let them know who you are.

I write historicals and the series is set in a town I live near. I have a great, great grandfather who kept a journal while traveling across the plains in 1849. It is kept under glass at the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley. I was able to use my great, great grandfather's birds-eye view of the wagon train life in my recent release titled Paradise Pines Series: Marriage Bargain. He had a great way of giving us a picture of what the day-by-day life on the wagon train was like.

My great, great grandmother is supposedly the first woman to have articles in magazines. These are of great assistance to me when I write my stories. They are also a point of interest when I speak about my writing and where I get my ideas.

Another good point at writing stories from the area where you live is photographs. Readers enjoy seeing the places you base your stories on as it gives them a visual when they read your story.

This hotel was my inspiration for Chaumers Hotel in Night Angel. The hotel manager was kind enough to let me photo both the outside and inside.

These 'gifts' from my ancestors give me a lot of different ideas to share about in blogs. They also give me a chance to tell about my family and our customs. The uniqueness of my life might be interesting to a reader who enjoys my stories. It also gives the stories authenticity and is proof I've done research and write stories about subjects that I have some knowledge about.

Marriage Bargain Released

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

''Line them up! Head them out!" While growing up, one of the television shows we always watched in our house was Wagon Train with Ward Bond. I suppose being raised with cowboys and westerns had an impact on who I am. The strength of the pioneers who walked (yes, most of the emigrants walked alongside their wagons) along the well-worn trail have earned my respect. Honestly, I know I wouldn't have the endurance to walk that far in a pair of boots that most likely were patched and repaired many times along the journey on the Emigrant Trail of about 2,000 miles.

We have a copy of my great, great grandfather's journal that he kept while he traveled this trail in 1849. It is kept under glass at the Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley, California. Dr. Charles Kirkpatrick's handwriting was quite well done on the 45 pages. I was able to use what he wrote and sprinkle it throughout Marriage Bargain, my second story in my Paradise Pines Series which was released this week on March 21st. The trail was used by about 2,700 settlers up to 1849. After about 1848 the most popular route was the Carson Route which, while rugged, was still easier than most of the others and it entered California in the middle of the gold fields. Trail traffic rapidly fell off as the cross-country trip was much quicker by train -- only about seven days. The economy class fare of about $69 was affordable by most potential travelers.

BLURB:

Marriage Bargain is set on the dusty trail of a wagon train traveling from St. Joseph, Missouri, to the California gold rush area at Placerville, California, in 1849. Betrayal and embarrassment drives Darrah Benjamin to run away from home to take a tutoring job in San Francisco. Darrah finds her journey a pathway to love and forgiveness when an arranged marriage to the wagon scout becomes much more than a convenience. Chase challenges her determination to keep their marriage in name only with his promise -- she’ll give him her heart and invite him to her bed before they arrive at their destination. Darrah has an immediate attraction to the rogue, but holds her emotions tight because she doesn't want her heart broken again.

Charles Danforth, a scout known as Chase, leads a wagon train of emigrants west through plains plundered by murderers. As an undercover agent of President Polk, he has sworn to stop the massacres. Darrah's inadvertent comment gives him the clue he needs to achieve his assignment. His Sioux blood brother helps Chase end the killings, but almost ruins Chase’s chance of winning Darrah’s heart when he takes matters in his own hands to demonstrate the depth of love Chase has for his wife.

A New Book Cover

Once again I am launching a new book. This story is very dear to me because my great, great grandfather helped me write it. In 1849 during his journey across the country from Missouri to California on a wagon train, he kept a journal. It's kept under glass at the Bancroft Library, UC Berkeley, California. My Mother was able to get a copy of the the journal and I was able to use some of his experiences in my wagon train story. I hope he is smiling down on me and happy with what I accomplished with his help.

During the Civil War he turned his doctoring skill over to the war effort and his rank was Surgeon General. I love having such grand records from my ancestors to help me with my stories. His wife, my great, great grandmother is supposedly the first woman to be published in a magazine. Leave it to my Mother, she never gave up tracking down these stories and found them at the Sacramento State Library. Only because she was the great granddaughter was she able to get a copy of the seven stories. Because they are considered valuable, she wasn't able to touch them. The person in charge actually used instruments to lift and copy the stories. I was amazed to find some similarity between one of her stories and mine, some of the sentences almost word for word alike.

Meet my great, great grandfather Dr. Charles A. Kirkpatrick.

Ghosts of Placerville

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

The end of October brings out the goblins and ghosts. Lots of tales of ghostly deeds and the unexplained are everywhere. I live close to the California Gold Rush community now named Placerville. I've personally encountered several of the ghostly remains of people who still hang around, sometimes making life a bit complicated when disturbed.

I worked in an art gallery that was a corner saloon during 1849. The two story building stands over a creek and ghost hunters have said it is a perfect way for those spirits to enter the building. Really, I am not stretching the truth here. The gallery filled the bottom floor. Several business offices were upstairs. One problem we had occurred every Christmastime. The people upstairs closed their offices for the holiday week, yet I could hear heavy footsteps overhead and an occasional door slamming. I would notify my boss and she'd go upstairs and check for an intruder. She never found anyone.

One morning I entered the gallery and found paintings turned askew on the walls and the tags that I'd taped under the paintings were all over the floor. We had four wastebaskets -- until one morning we found the pink one missing. The three gray ones were in the middle of the room. I missed the one time the ghost became violent. My boss and another employee were behind the counter when the large vase (about four foot tall) slammed against the wall on the other side of the room. It hit so hard it shattered into many pieces and the leg on the mahogany table was scratched.

The Cary House Hotel, standing across the street from the gallery, has two ghosts that we know of. One is Stan who worked as the check-in clerk. He'd been drinking heavily one evening and made a pass at one of the female guests. Her man friend was jealous and shot Stan. He died on the lobby floor. To this day he rides the elevators up and down at night and checks each door by jiggling the door handle to each room. When I toured the hotel to take photos for my newly released story Night Angel, Stan wouldn't let me open the door to the old elevator. I walked up several flights of stairs during the tour. When it was time to leave, I had no problem opening the door and riding down to the lobby. The other ghost is George. He mistook a poker player as the one who'd cheated him the night before and shot and killed him before he realized it was the wrong man. There is a dummy named George hanging on the front of the Hangman's Tree Saloon across the street from the hotel.

The television show that went around the country taping haunted houses and hotels presented a twenty minute portion of their show from the Cary House Hotel. There are a lot more stories in our community, but not enough time to share them all.

Life's Colors

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Today the phrase "take time to stop and smell the flowers" popped into my head as I drove to the grocery story. Mother Nature is more than generous to us here in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. One scene that always takes my breath away is the white, billowy thunderheads that look like puffs of cotton. On a certain stretch of highway, framed by tall pine trees, you can see the clouds waiting for you at the end of the road. Of course you never reach them, but it's fun to imagine grasping a bit of fluff and taking it home to dream on. I grabbed my camera and went back to capture the picture to share with you. The huge thunderheads were gone, but you can catch a glimpse of what we get to see every now and then when we're lucky and Mother Nature is in a creative mood.

My mother, an award winning oil painter, gave me the love of finding beauty around me. I didn't realize it at the time of my youth, but when my daughters spent time with her and came home talking about their time with their grandmother, I started to see her skills as an artist. Their favorite experience was when she would have them lie on the ground and watch the clouds. "If you concentrate very hard," she would tell them, "you can move the clouds around with your mind." Then they would have fun looking for different pictures in the clouds. Even now I take the time to see what I can discover.

Do you know clouds aren't really white? I learned this watching the movie "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" where Dutch oil painter Johannes Vermeer asks his housemaid-turned-assistant what color she saw when looking at the clouds. At first she said white, then no – yellow, blue, grey are the colors. When I went looking with my camera, I did happen to notice the multitude of colors in the clouds. Amazing how a compilation of colors can appear white.

This got me to thinking about our writing and how we each have our own individual voice. How does this happen? Can it be a compilation of our life's colors and those who've influenced our lives? Maybe who we are is determined by how we absorbed those experiences and share them with others. Is there one event in your life that might have had a great impact on how you write or approach your writing or job?

Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel available at:

http://www.amazon.com/Paradise-Pines-Book-One-ebook/dp/B00909PON0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1348373791&sr=1-1&keywords=paisley+kirkpatrick

Why I Chose the 1849 Gold Rush Time Period

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Digging for gold from early dawn until dusk was definitely a backbreaking job, but those men who traveled across country and from around the world had the fever. They wanted their chance at that BIG gold strike. My great, great grandfather was one of them. Luckily for us, he kept a journal during his journey. It was so well written that it rests under glass in the Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley.

Can you imagine a miner had to find an ounce of gold a day to just break even? Most miners barely found enough for daily expenses. The peak production of placer gold occurred in 1853. Every year after that, more and more men arrived in California, but less gold was found. Thousands of disillusioned gold seekers returned home with little to show for their endeavors, glad to escape with their health. A fair share remained, searching for a job. They became the backbone to the settling of California. My grandfather ended up not going for the gold, but setting up his medical practice instead. A lot of fortunes were made not in the gold fields, but in supplying goods, meals, and comfort.

I found this rebuilding of the lives and communities an exciting time in history. My story Paradise Pines Series: Night Angel is set after the boom, when many miners, broke and looking for wages, stayed in Paradise Pines, a town developed during the gold rush. Some let disappointment send them into lives of drink and gambling. Others pulled together to rebuild their town and setup businesses, some of which still stand today in Placerville, the town I fashioned this community after. My hero anonymously gives aid to these downtrodden townsfolk by traveling through abandoned tunnels under the town. When the heroine comes to town with hopes of rebuilding her life, he wants to keep her in town and promises he'll make her dream of having her own music hall a reality.

Sweet Revenge

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

Many years ago while I was at the dentist office, I was talking to the hygienist. I was telling her about my writing career when I heard my dentist shout out from down the hall that it was only a hobby. I tamped down a retort, but knew the day would come when I could put him in his place - politely, of course.

This past week my husband had some simple dental surgery. When the dentist called to see how Ken's mouth felt, I couldn't resist. While I had him on the phone I asked him if he'd heard about my five book publishing contract. He said my hubby had told him and he was so pleased to hear my good news. I then asked him if he remembered his comment about my writing only being a hobby. He giggled and said he did, but then added he was glad I had taken the time to hone my skills and sold my books.

WOOHOO it was a long time coming. Don't you love it when a plan comes together?

I got the cover for my very first book which is scheduled to be released August 21st. After 22 years of writing and dreaming, it cannot happen soon enough. I am thrilled and honored to share it with you all right now. It's a historical west romance set toward the end of the California gold rush in 1853.

How the Phantom of the Opera Heals My Soul

By Paisley Kirkpatrick

I can't explain it. I have no idea how it does it, but Phantom of the Opera has a hold on my soul. Always has and I pray it always does. Sometimes something beautiful and haunting comes into a person's life and changes everything. For me it was seeing this movie and hearing the music. It spoke to me at a time in my life when I was in desperate need to find peace and heal. Seven years later this musical still has a way of reaching into my heart.

Last night my daughter and I attended a showing of the Phantom at our local theater. When they said it was the Phantom movie, I naturally thought it was the one where Gerard Butler played the Phantom, but it wasn't. Instead, we were transported to the Royal Albert Hall in London into one of the seats near the front. It was done so beautifully, I don't think my daughter or I moved for most of the show. Afterwards, Andrew Lloyd Webber came on stage and introduced Sarah Brightman, his lady of the music as he called her. He'd written the original score for her stunningly beautiful voice. She delighted us with a song from the opera. Amazing! Then, he introduced five of the original men who played the Phantom and they sang Music of the Night. What a powerhouse -- it gave me chills to hear their voices melded together. Michael Crawford was there as well, but he only sang about the last 30 seconds. He'd just rushed across town to be there. Can I say this was one fantastic birthday gift? I walked out of the place in shock...it was great.

Tomorrow night we go to see the new sequel to Phantom of the Opera entitled Love Never Dies. If it is anything like what we saw last night, it will be another great gift.

Why do I find this opera imbedded in my soul? Several years ago my older daughter took me to the Curran Theatre in San Francisco to see the Phantom on my birthday. It is one of my fondest memories with her. We actually waited in the alley and got to meet the cast. When the actor who played the Phantom came out he told my daughter she was wonderful to take her Mother to the theatre for her birthday. Later we found out he played the son of Michael Corleone in the Godfather Three movie.

When I needed a lift from a deep dark hole in my life, I was given the Phantom DVD for Christmas. For some unexplainable reason, the music, the actor, just everything, seeped into my soul and filled the cracks and plugged the potholes. I stepped back into living again and started smiling.

Now, here it is on my birthday again sort of closing the circle. Amazing, unexplainable, but a blessing for me for all time.

Settings For Spice

My stories are set in the Gold Rush era of 1849. Because we live where this interesting part of history happened, I look for something new every time we go out on drive. I've always been one to watch people and try to figure out who they might be and what kind of life's experiences they've had. Now I watch scenery, search out old buildings, travel through gold mines, see which trees are blooming and when. It's quite interesting to pay attention to your surroundings, especially when you see or find things you weren't aware of in your community. My husband says it's like taking a three year old out because I get excited with each new discovery.

We have a herd of buffalo alongside the highway near Sacramento. When we first noticed them, there were only two animals. Now there are several that we watch for every time we travel through that area. We live in the Sierra Mountains

and in the past week we had two silver foxes run across the backyard. I noticed when they ran, they had a arrogant tilt to their head. We have six deer who are around the yard. I love to watch the graceful way they walk and wonder how their heads can hold up those antlers. As I was driving down our road the other day, a vulture flew slow and low over my car. I got a close look at his red head. Not such a pleasant type, if you know what I mean. We also have characters who've lived here all of their lives. I notice their dress, listen to them talking about events they remember happening in our community and stories they'd been told by their grandparents. These are the spices I use for my stories. It's so much better for me to allow my surroundings to help me write my stories rather than grabbing them off the internet. I realize how lucky I am to have the spices at my fingertips and I use them.

I Prefer Perseverance

When I announced that I'd sold five books after writing for twenty-two years, my friends called me stubborn, but I prefer to call it having perseverance. Actually, it has always been a labor of love and never work to spend time with my muse. I suppose you have to choose your priorities and I've found writing on the top of my list most of the time. I do like to pull out my sewing machine and stitch up a quilt or two just to take a break from the keyboard, though.

One of my writing goals has been to get my hero bear. My Writers Playground friends have always given support to a first publication by presenting a teddy bear dressed like the hero in the story. They found the perfect bear for me - a Scottish cowboy. I fell in love with him the moment he arrived and we've already become great friends. His name is Gerry Bear - his namesake and my inspiration for this character being Gerard Butler. I'd like to introduce my sweetheart to you.

He is easy to talk to, soft to cuddle, and adorable enough to just sit and stare at. Yes, he is a distraction at times, but he can sure stimulate my imagination.

How to Get Your Hero and Heroine to the Happily Ever After

I started a new story this week and had an epiphany when I brought the hero and heroine together for the first time. It is difficult for me because I love my characters and I know that I have to do terrible things to them to keep them apart, and then there is that black moment. I naturally hate conflict of any kind. I want everyone to be happy, especially those who are near and dear to me. What usually happens is my critique partner tells me I don't have anything bad happening. Stubbing your toe and having it hurt is not the "c" word. It's not a story without conflict. "But, but," I say. It doesn't help. With my last story I had to rewrite it and add a lot of problems. One reader told me I might have overdone it a wee bit. :) Hey, I'm workin' on it.

Here I am with my new characters. I barely know them and I am plotting against their happiness. I started to giggle when I realized that once I conflict them, I rush to finish my story so I can bring them back together in joy.

Do I stand alone in this problem, or do you have trouble being mean? Maybe you like taking your frustration out on your characters. Just askin'.

Reindeer as Pets by Paisley Kirkpatrick

This time of year, images of Santa’s reindeer appear in movies and TV shows shaping your children’s view of where they live and how they act. Sure, Santa’s reindeer are special – they can fly – but impress your kids by telling them there are more than just the ones living at the North Pole. A herd of reindeer can reach the thousands.

Most live in the forests and tundras of Northern Asia, Scandinavia, Siberia and Greenland. In some regions of Finland, Norway and Russia reindeer are kept as pets. They pull sleighs and can run up to 40 miles per hour.
These reindeer play games, too. They participate in races by pulling kids on sleds or skis around a track.

In Norwegian communities, reindeer are given as wedding gifts. They are strong swimmers, weigh between 200 and 700 pounds and eat 12 pounds of grass, lichens and plants a day. While they don’t have the glamorous job of pulling Santa’s sleigh your children should agree reindeer are pretty cool even if they can’t talk like they do on TV.

The year that my husband and I visited our exchange daughter in Sweden, she took us to Stockholm, Sweden. This unique city has a delightful place to visit with reindeer. I will never forget standing on the railing of the fence and petting the antlers of a huge reindeer. They were in the velvet stage and so soft. It almost felt like magic even to me as an adult. Every year at this time, I can vividly remember the day I met a reindeer.

Merry Christmas to all of you.

Giving Thanks

I can pinpoint the moment I started my writing journey - my real writing journey. I'd been writing for years but until I joined RWA I had no idea what putting words to a page to create a story really meant.

I ran a fan club for country singing artist, Kevin Sharp. One of his fans wrote him a letter thanking him for helping her through the painful times with his beautiful voice and songs. I answered her letter and told her I was a writer and asked for advice. BOY oh boy did I get it - she told me to join RWA and get into a local chapter, attend national conferences and take all the classes I could. That was twelve years ago and we are now best of friends. I consider her my mentor and am so thankful for that letter she wrote to Kevin. He loves that I am writing, too, and when he wrote a story of his remarkable life surviving cancer, he asked me to write the introduction.

This proves to me that we can find gifts everywhere. I consider Karen Rose Smith to be one of my gifts and thank her for bringing me here to this place where I've found the greatest friendships, support, learned to write and become part of a great network. As far as I am concerned, writers are the best kind of friends to have. I am thankful for each of you!

Why Scream?

Last week I watched a movie where two boys in their early teens found a dead body smashed inside a car on a wrecking lot. They both screamed. Why? I thought teenage boys would have tried to be all manly and shrugged the shock off, or maybe even think it was weird. But, the author of the program chose for them to scream.

I asked one of my knowledgeable friends who happens to have a degree in psychology why people, especially women, scream when something startles them. She said that she was a screamer, and her hubby always ran to her side to protect her from whatever it was that brought forth the scream. She told me it was an automatic reflex.

I started thinking about how I would have reacted if, like her, I’d touched a spider web in the dark. I don’t think I would have screamed. I don’t think I’ve ever screamed when something startled me. I started asking people how they reacted and found that more people screamed than not. They said it was just a natural response.

I looked up the definition: Reasons for shouting vary, and it may be done deliberately or simply as a reaction. The core motive, in essentially all situations, is communication. These outbursts convey alarm, surprise, displeasure or outrage, or perhaps to gain the attention of another person or an animal. When frightened, human beings tend to yelp, or cry out. This is both to convey fear and to call attention to themselves, increasing the possibility of receiving assistance from others. This action also serves as a possible defense tactic, as shouting may frighten off an assailant or cause them to falter, allowing a chance to escape.

One of the reasons I wanted to research this topic is for writing. Since we are supposed to be showing instead of telling, it would be a good way of showing someone is startled or frightened. I guess I must be boring because I know I gasp, but doubt anyone would hear me unless they were standing next to me. How do you react when you are caught off guard, startled or frightened?

Pepper - My Hometown's Character

I grew up in Santa Rosa, California, a town about an hour’s drive north of San Francisco. I recently uncovered an article about the town character and wanted to share parts of it with you. Pepper might be someone that could be used in a story or give you ideas for a story. It was a column written by Gaye Lebaron of the Press Democrat.

Let's just say that San Francisco had Emperor Norton. Santa Rosa had Pepper.

Pepper Garcia Dardon, whose given name was perhaps Florence or maybe Linda, depending on what day you asked, was Santa Rosa's undisputed town character for 50 years.

PEPPER'S JOB -- and she was diligent -- was to patrol the downtown, hollering at jaywalkers, whistling on street corners, yodeling in banks or into the microphones at market check stands, offering candy to small children who were generally too overawed by her appearance to accept, tagging after pedestrians to tell them they'd dropped their footsteps.”
Tongue-in-cheek, “officially,'' she was the “town marshal.” The badge she flashed was given to her in the early '60s when a promotional “shootout” between representatives of downtown and Montgomery Village was canceled.

She was a sight to behold -- built like a fireplug, heavy on the makeup, including glitter and those gold stick-um stars the teacher puts on very good tests; heavier yet on the perfume, which she applied from test bottles on the counters at Rosenberg's and the several drugstores on Fourth Street.

She wore shorts or, in later years, bright-colored muumuus, with plastic flowers in her hair. You get the picture?

IN TERMS of her downtown activity, there's no question she got away with a lot. She was a kind of mascot to our smaller-town Police Department. The officers treated her like a pet.

When she'd had a bad day -- pounding pavement in her moccasins, hollering “Hey, Girl!” at long-haired male teenagers, calling businessmen “Jungle Boy” and “Lizard,” bringing coffee to secretaries tied to the telephone, running any errand a merchant asked her to run or, on appropriate days, selling literally hundreds of dollars worth of white canes for the Lions' blind fund or tickets to the Kiwanis pancake feed -- she would pop in at the Police Department and beg a ride home in a patrol car. In exchange, she kept pedestrians in line; helped Watt Maxwell direct traffic at Fourth and Mendocino before there was a stoplight there and sometimes ordered pizzas delivered to the station -- which she never paid for.

PEPPER was born in the Salinas Valley and came to Santa Rosa, by way of Sonoma State Hospital, I believe, in 1942 when a number of high-functioning wards of the state were deemed capable of looking after themselves.

She lived for a time in a household where she cared for children and did housework. In 1953, she married Paul Dardon, a big, amiable guy who worked as a janitor at the Occidental Hotel. You'd see them walking hand in hand to their apartment on College Avenue when Paul's workday ended.

They made a pair. Pepper was perhaps 4-foot-10 in her shoes. Paul was a loose-limbed 6 feet tall and dressed exclusively in bib overalls. While Paul was on the job, Pepper was around town, at her life's work, which was assisting the police in keeping law and order and annoying those who found her annoying.

When Paul died in 1969, Pepper was devastated as well as being without resources. Bob Bishop, the Ford dealer whose agency was on Fifth Street, joined Dr. Rudee and me in a small fund-raising effort that kept her rent paid until Bishop, who had some political clout, was able to arrange for her to be tested and certified as “unemployable handicapped,” which brought her a state pension.

When her landlord sold the apartment building where she later lived, on Humboldt Street, her neighbors came forth to testify what a good housekeeper she was and what a good friend and neighbor she had been.

WHEN SHE DIED, at age 78, Santa Rosans stepped in to see that she both had a proper funeral and that she came home to Santa Rosa to be buried. There was a respectable crowd at her services. Most of the mourners knew it was the end of an era.

Santa Rosa had been a farm market town of about 13,000 when she arrived. When she hit her stride, in the '60s, the population was approaching 50,000. When she had a fall and was seen no more on her rounds, there were 113,000 people here. She was missed by many, but many more didn't know what they'd missed.

If another Pepper were to emerge today, we'd undoubtedly pass a law making her illegal. Certainly we'd have to crack down on her shoplifting penny candy to give to kids. Or we'd have to arrest her for collecting (and pocketing) 50-cent fines for jaywalking.

My Mother would avoid Pepper at all costs, especially after the lady followed us out of a dime store yelling that Mom was leaving her footprints behind. I can still smile at seeing Pepper. She always seemed happy, walking down the street whistling or singing, and embarrassing the heck out of anyone that interested her.

Full Dimension

I’m about to type ‘The End’ again. This is the third time I’ve reached this milestone on this story, my fourth manuscript. The first attempt was so close to being finished, I was glowing with anticipation of sending it out. My critique partners had been busy with life and hadn’t had time to read my chapters for a while, so I kept on writing. As I started that final chapter, my CP finally had the time to do a quick read to see how the plot was going. Not so good – she told me I needed to start over and put conflict into my work. I was devastated. “But, I have conflict,” I protested loudly. “Not enough,” she answered.

I was overwhelmed on how I could do this? The task seemed insurmountable. How could I go back and rewrite this story? Right from the beginning, I had known what would happen, when and how. I sat in front of my computer for days (well, maybe it was weeks) trying to figure out how to rewrite the plot with more conflict. Nothing happened. I couldn’t do it. I put the pages away and made quilts, repainted a room and avoided writing. Avoidance is an easy thing, but after a while it wasn’t working for me anymore. I pulled out my standby, my inspiration that never failed me. I put my Phantom of the Opera DVD into the player and watched it twice. My muse started taking interest in changing their habits, reworking their story and accepting that conflict would have to be faced if we were ever to get their story told.

The first thing I did was (shudder) delete. Some of the chapters in the beginning were fine, but as I edged toward the end, I started seeing the story in a different light. Yes, if I changed this here and made my hero or heroine miserable there, it might just work. It got so easy to toss problems and horrible situations in their paths that one of my friends told me the only thing I hadn’t put my hero through was tossing the kitchen sink at him. (Hmmm, no, I just couldn’t do that to the poor hero, too. He was, after all, quite a charmer and needed a break.)

The second time I was close to finishing, I didn’t like where the ending was going. Somewhere along my writing journey, my craft skills caught on. I finally figured out how deep POV could really add a lot (my online teacher will no doubt still question that I figured it out enough) but I went back a third time and added ‘why’ to my characters’ actions. I had spent enough time with them that I knew why they acted in certain ways and what would work to make them ‘perfect’ together. As I entered those final two scenes, my stomach clenched and tied in knots. I really cared about my hero and heroine. I not only wanted them happy, but I had to find a way to give the villain one redeeming quality. After all, he was the hero’s brother. I am happy now. I believe I have added that conflict and found the way to show my characters in full dimension, bringing them full circle and letting them step into that ‘happily ever after’ realm.