Howdy, or as they say here in the Ozarks, “I’m so proud to be here!”

I’ve been writing for Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired series since 1999, but FRONTIER COURTSHIP, March 2008, is my first historical novel. It was a labor of love, done just because I love the American west, and has proved itself by being included in the first four published by that line, thank the Lord - and my editor.

Like many of you, I’ve always been fascinated with the characters and trials of the old west. Often, it seemed to me that I had been born into the wrong century. If you’ll notice, the picture of my house, with me and my dog sitting in the porch swing, fits right into the late 1800s. There’s a reason. That’s when it was built! And the other house picture, with nothing on the porch and daffodils bordering the walkway, is even older. Under the clapboard siding, the outer walls of that place are made of oak logs, hand-hewn and cut right here on the farm. That wood is so hard you can’t drive a nail into it unless you drill a hole, first. We know. We tried. When we moved here and decided to make some improvements to the “new” old house, we found it almost impossible to cut through the original walls because they were made of thick, hand-sawn oak planks that were just as hard as the wood in the log cabin! That got me to thinking of the original woodcutters and carpenters and admiring them even more. 

I haven’t had a lot of recent experience on horseback but I have ridden when I was younger and was a bit more resilient. A cantering quarter horse fell with me on her back once and we hit so hard the cantle of the saddle cracked. If I’d been a better rider I’d probably have broken some bones but I fell off. When I hit the ground and opened my eyes, there was my friend’s horse’s hooves just missing my head. Whew!

Naturally, I doctored the horse first, then looked at my own hip and promptly cried. It still bothers me in damp weather but the experience was worth it. Besides, it’ll make good fodder for my stories.

Then there’s shooting; pistols, rifles and shotgun, all of which I handle pretty expertly, if I do say so myself. We used to shoot a lot of trap at ranges before we moved out to the country. When our Ozark neighbors invited my husband to shoot with them, he took me along. I was having a very good day and shot a box of 25 shells without a miss - a personal best. Those men were so awe-struck that I quit and went home while my luck was still holding. After I left, my husband tells me one of them said, “She shoots perty good fer a girl.” Darned tootin’ I do.

When I hike in the woods behind our house I always go armed. I carry a .22 with birdshot for snakes and a .357 for bears or mountain lions, both of which are seen around here occasionally. Neighbors about a mile away have video taped them so it’s not their imagination.  I take my dog with me and the only reason I’d shoot is to protect him - or me. My days of shinnying up a tree in a hurry are probably past, too, even if I am in great shape for the shape I’m in, so it’s a good thing I’m a good shot with a pistol, too. No, it’s not bragging if it’s true.

I do have one confession to make, though. About a year and a half ago, I dropped the .22 on its hammer and it went off. Yup. Hit me in the shin with all those tiny pellets in the birdshot. I was so startled I didn’t even yell, which scared my poor husband something awful when he heard the shot. He insisted we go to the hospital and have it looked at, even though it was a long way from my heart. Once I decided I wasn’t going to die, we all got a good laugh out of it, including the doctor on duty, who happened to also be a friend. And, yes, I have used the incident in a book, WILDERNESS COURTSHIP, that will be out in August of 2008. I didn’t shoot my heroine in the leg but I definitely do know how a grazing bullet wound feels. Hey, might as well get some good out of it, right? No experience is wasted on a writer. Not even the bad ones - or maybe I should say, especially not the bad ones.

Which brings me to mules. I was acquainted with mules long ago, as both my neighbor out west and a good friend rode them in preference to horses. Of course, the neighbor did it because he drank so much beer he needed a mount that would think for him and the mule was a perfect choice. It was from the family friend that I learned about the special bond a rider can have with a mule and how long they remember being abused. It was that premise that led me to develop FRONTIER COURTSHIP the way I did and I know all you horse and mule lovers will agree with me once you’ve seen it.

There is an excerpt on my website, www.ValerieHansen.com and as soon as it’s feasible I’ll also be posting the excerpt from WILDERNESS COURTSHIP.

Thanks to the petticoats and pistols ladies for inviting me to post and remember, always keep an empty cartridge under the hammer if you think you might accidentally drop your revolver. That’s what I do — now.

I’ll draw three names from those who post comments this weekend, and I’ll send each reader an autographed copy of FRONTIER COURTSHIP!

Blessings,

Valerie Hansen

Don’t forget Miss Valerie Hansen has come all the way from the Ozarks to visit Wildflower Junction tomorrow. The Fillies have everything set and ready for entertaining. We’ll have a high old time with the delightful lady. All we need is for plenty of people to drop by and welcome her. Consider yourself invited. We’ll provide the fun.

 :::Sigh:::   This picture of Sam isn’t theme related, but he does make me smile and helps me to unwind while taking a breather from writing lockdown.  Somehow I went from having plenty of writing time on my next book, to chasing deadlines that snuck right past me. Realizing it was midnight, and I didn’t have a post for today (which officially started two minutes ago in CA– ack!) I tacked up this picture of Sam, sipped my tea and waited for him to tell me what I should blog about.  Sexy, rugged, reliable cowboy that he is…he told me.  He said, in that dreamy honeyed-hickory, baritone voice, “Let’s see what Lily has in her carpetbag.”    

For some reason, while developing the heroine for THE GUNSLINGER’S UNTAMED BRIDE, her wardrobe played a big role.  Lily’s an upscale San Francisco business woman (not my usual heroine) and I needed a crisp clear image of her daily office attire.  During my quest, I fell in love with antique and replica clothing sites.  I was able to find outfits that defined my heroine, or at least the persona she lived behind.  When Lily first hit’s the page, she’s rather rigid and stern–a woman on a mission who dresses for success and takes pride in her appearance.  This striped dress suited her business side to a T, feminine yet prefessional. 

For her long four-day journy into the mountains, she packs durable, sensable clothing .  The russet number on the left is the perfect traveling coat for the long carriage ride.  Lily likes to maintain a professional outlook, but she’s not all drab colors and straight lines. She enjoys frills and fashion. I loved the swirls and fancy fabrics of this next dress.  Lily wears a similar dress on her arrive at the Pine Ridge Lumber Camp.  Sophisticated and stylish, and completely mystifying to the rough-and-tumble lumberjacks—as well as Juniper when he first sees her. He can’t imagine what a woman of her stature would be doing in a lumber camp (beware of the Smith & Wesson in her skirt pocket!). 

While outfitting this heroine, I began to realize she was a woman quite hung up on labels.  She labels her workers by their job titles, and everyone she meets by the clothes they wear.  This poses a real challenge when she meets Juniper–his wardrobe is a clear contradiction to everything she’s come to believe about the gunslinger who killed her father.  As she’s dragged deeper into Juniper’s world, she begins to look beyond simple attire, and learns a lot about herself during the process.  As the story progresses and Lily’s rigid exterior begins to soften, so does her wardrobe.  The fabrics and fit become softer, giving her more room to breathe…and to love   

This was the first time I’d ever “dressed” one of my characters.  When I started searching for period clothing sites, I had no idea how finding Lily’s wardrobe would help to craft this character.  

For anyone who’d like to check out more antique and replica clothing, here’s a few sites:

http://www.fashion-era.com

http://www.antiquedress.com

http://www.victorianelegance.com

My first crush was on Little Joe Cartwright.  I went to bed at night dreaming scenes of living on the Ponderosa with that dreamy studmuffin, and I resented every actress who played a romantic interest opposite Michael Landon.  I guess I age myself drastically (as if my children hadn’t already done that) when I admit to watching The Lone Ranger in black and white on our Zenith portable every Saturday afternoon, and to admiring the length of fringe that dangled from Tonto’s deerskin tunic.  I owned one much like it in the 60s. 

And yes, even then, Clint Eastwood charismatically held a young audience in awe with his role as Rowdy Yates on the series Rawhide.  Yee haw!   Head ‘em up, move ‘em out! Wagonmaster, Ward Bond wasn’t exactly a typical leading man, but Wagon Train held America’s attention weekly.  It must have been Robert Fuller. 

The Big Valley — I have a son named Jared by the way — Bat Masterson, The Texas Rangers, Maverick, Sugarfoot, The Rebel, The Grey Ghost, Have Gun Will Travel, Paladin, The Virginian, and let us not forget John Wayne and all the western movies of our early years, shaped our young minds.  I mean, who could forget Fess Parker in a pair of buckskins?  

The American West is a much-romanticized part of our history, our heritage.  We all know that life in Dodge City was dirty, that hundreds of men, women and children died along the trails on their way west, that bathroom facilities were nonexistent and hygiene at a disgusting low, but we’ve chosen to remember and glorify the courage and the pioneer spirit of those men and women who forged our nation and ‘civilized’ the West. I dare say none of us read romance for a reality check.  The condition of our society and the situations that surround us in everyday life may be why escaping into the pages of a book is so appealing.   

In a romance we know no matter what befalls the characters, good triumphs over evil, and happily-ever-after is in the wings.  

Our western hero exemplifies strength, loyalty, capability and security. The rancher/farmer’s sweat and blood are imbedded in his land-as deeply as the riverbeds and the roots of the ancient trees.  The land may have been his father’s before him, or he could have broken his back to earn it.  In any case he will die to keep it.  Solidarity.  And any man who would pour this much passion into his land, will love his woman even more ardently.

The western hero can hold his own when it comes to raising the children he’s fathered, too.  He loves animals and children and protects and nurtures them.  He will fight renegades and weather and anything in his way to lay claim to his child. The cowboy/rancher can be a blend of the alpha-beta male, a loner and a man not in need of the things a woman can ‘do’ for him.  He can make it on his own because he can cook over a campfire and fix anything that breaks, but he appreciates a woman’s differences and skills, and eventually accepts the nurturing she needs to give.  He needs the love and gentleness, and the ‘taming’ she represents.  

To nearly all women I’ve spoken with on the subject of westerns and cowboys, physical appearance plays a major part in the attraction.  The reality was that dungarees or Levis were not exactly slim cut or sexy.  Dungarees were stiff and probably dirty, and few real cowboys fit the image of the Marlboro man, but our fantasy cowboy has a lean backside in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, long legs, and that ever-present Stetson pulled low over his eyes.  Ever notice how a pair of chaps invariably draws the eyes to the uncovered sections of denim?

Our man wears his Colt strapped to his thigh, the holster rides his lean hips, and his spurs jangle.  This dangerous guy exudes sex appeal.   

Our western hero is a hard body due to demanding work on the range, riding and roping, chasing outlaws, stopping the runaway stage, and sleeping on the ground.  He’s untamed, a little wild, and a lot sexy.  He doesn’t need a gym membership or a Stairmaster. These men work from sun up to sun down, except when they’re sweeping the heroine off her feet, and are not prone to laze away afternoons in front of the television.  For me, Kevin Costner was much more appealing in his duster in Wyatt Earp than on the golf course in Tip Cup.  And Sam Elliott without his hat and holster is just a trifle disappointing.  

The western heroine is his equal.  She is not a helpless simpering female, but a woman with a goal of her own.  The simpler times allow us the imagery of less physical perfection and less emphasis on glamour.  Who wouldn’t rather be the height of appeal without having to wax, pluck, mousse and workout?  The reality of period clothing and lack of modern convenience is something few of us would actually care to experience, but our heroines don’t miss air conditioning or showers or microwaves.  Like her male counterpart, the western heroine beats the odds and overcomes adversities by sheer determination.  These are the strong, capable, courageous women we’d all like to be.  

The western villain can be the land, the weather, or the nastiest, smelliest dirtball who ever got his just reward.  Here’s where the line between right and wrong has changed.   Our television screens weren’t the only things that were black and white in the early days.  The concept of good and evil didn’t bear the current shades of gray.  

In the old westerns, the lines between right and wrong were clearly delineated.  If you stole a horse, you hung.  The villain accepted his punishment because he knew he’d done wrong.  The bad guys always got it in the end.  Justice was swift.  The good guy came out on top.   And just like identifying the hero by his white hat, you could tell the bad guy by his disreputable looks and black clothing.  Wouldn’t that be nice today?  There was a code of ethics among villains, too. Recent westerns have portrayed situations more realistically.  Native Americans weren’t the bad guys.  Heroes grew more three dimensional, too. 

But all things evolve.  I mean I didn’t stay in love with Little Joe.  I transferred the crush to Adam, probably because I was growing older.  Now I haven’t watched those Bonanza reruns in many years.  I think I’m afraid Lorne Greene will start looking good.

Hello dear friends! We have a special treat here Saturday. Miss Valerie Hansen is stopping by so we have another soiree to plan. The dear lady is as sharp as a tack and awful pretty to boot. She’s written one of them historical romance books that always gets my heart to pitter-pattering. I swear, I do love to read about love and romance in bloom! Come and join us for a good old-fashioned hen party and listen to Miss Valerie talk about guns and mules and handsome men.

A western-writer friend of mine, Sherry James, sent this to me, and she was tickled to see her favorite hunk made the list–Cowboys. 

Me?  I wasn’t surprised.  I’ve always thought cowboys were sexy, and it has nothing to do with expensive hair cuts or designer labels or a fancy education.  Rather, just the opposite–sweat-sticking clothes, sun-browned skin and muscles earned from hard work done outside, and not in a gym.

This survey by Careerbuilder makes an interesting note:  Whether or not we admit it, what people do for a living affects their sex appeal.

Here are the 10 sexiest jobs, according to the survey.

1. Entertainer/Model
Entertainers and models make a living by looking good, so you can bet they’re easy on the eyes. Their dedication to their dream in such a competitive industry is also attractive. And just take a look at the popularity of TV shows like “America’s Next Top Model” and “Make Me a Supermodel.”

2. Cocktail Waitress
Although it might not seem like an obvious top pick, consider the fact that the waitress is probably dressed in a short skirt and bringing you drinks, which never hurt anybody’s sex appeal.

3. Athlete
Professional athletes are likely in good — no, great — shape. Not to mention they’ve probably been practicing their sport since childhood, so you know they’re disciplined and goal-oriented.

4. Firefighter
Firefighters are brave and selfless. Who wouldn’t find that attractive?

 5. Cowboy
Few archetypes are as ingrained in our culture as the cowboy. He’s masculine, chivalrous and everything else we admired in Western movies.

6. Nurse
Nurses keep you comfortable, make sure you’re healthy and bring you morphine when you’re hurting. That they devote their lives to caring for others and understand all that medical jargon only makes them sexier.

7. Artist
The average artist is doing what makes him happy, not what will bring him fame or money — and that’s pretty sexy. How many occupations can you say that about?

8. Military Professional
Well, they’ve got the ultimate uniform, if you’re into that sort of thing. The military also instills a sense of discipline, so you can count on them to be responsible and dependable.

9. Construction Worker
Didn’t you see that soft drink commercial where all the women stare out their window to watch the construction worker take off his shirt?

10. TV Anchor/Personality
Maybe it’s the way they talk with authority, seem to know everything and make you feel like you’re best friends. (Or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t know if they’re really wearing pants under that desk.)

 So?  Is the survey right?  Do we think of someone being sexy because of their choice of employment?

Do you  have another job to add to the list? 

Or maybe it’s our *perception* of the job that makes the person attractive to us.  What do you think?

I remember when I was young my mother used to give us kids all kinds of home remedies because in those days we didn’t go to a doctor unless we were dying. One medicine that she kept on hand was called paragoric. Sold without a prescription, paragoric was given to colicky babies but was also administered for diarrhea. The principal ingredient was morphine. It’s no wonder it put us right to sleep! No one really knew how dangerous paragoric was until much later when it was finally taken off the market.

Another familiar sight around our house in the 60’s was SSS Tonic and Geritol, both of which are still sold today. These tonics were supposed to boost tired blood and give a body energy. Shoot, I didn’t know blood could get tired! But, I guess when an elixir contains a great percent of alcohol, it can sure perk you up. Another common over-the-counter medicine sold today is Nyquil and it’s also alcohol-based.

In the old West, where were lots of traveling medicine shows. A wagon decorated in fancy banners would roll into town and a colorful salesman would begin an entertaining show. He’d tout the virtues of all kinds of patent medicines, tonics and bitters, making all manner of outrageous claims to the gullible public. Then, invariably he’d have someone planted in the crowd to step out and testify of the amazing results the tonic had given him. That always boosted sales because it was relatively cheap and doctors were few and far betweeen. Folks grasped at anything that offered relief.

One particular tonic, Vino Kolofra by Johnson and Johnson, claimed to be a brain stimulant, would eliminate hay fever, cure drunkenness, and was also an aphrodisiac. Just name your problem and it cured it. Some tonics were said to cure venereal disease, epilepsy, and paralysis. In the 18th century, Dr. Ebeneezer Sibley even went so far as to advertise his Solar Tincture would restore life in the event of sudden death. These were nothing more than con men who pushed their quackery onto desperate, unsuspecting people.

The truth was that most patent medicines contained large amounts of opium, cocaine, morphine and alcohol. What they did was create addictive, drug-dependent junkies. One of the more popular, Dr. Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters, contained 44.3 percent alcohol and was more potent than 80 proof whiskey. Husbands could get drunk without ever frequenting a saloon. As you can imagine, they used it widely for whatever ailed. Or even if they were healthy as a mule.

Don’t get me wrong though. Not all patent medicines were bad. Products such as Milk of Magnesia, Pepto Bismal, Fletcher’s Castoria, Vicks Vapo-rub, Castor Oil, and Campo-phenique have been around for ages, are beneficial, and are still used today. Thank goodness the federal government stepped in around 1920 and began making our medicines safe.

What home remedies did your mother give you when you were a child? And are you still using some of them now?

The Army Wife . . .

I’ve long been fascinated with the army wife on lonely posts throughout the west.
I’ve avoided writing about one because a romance writer doesn’t want a married heroine. I’ve been pondering, though, creating an army widow. The appeal is strong.
In the old western films, the army wife is usually portrayed in rather nice living quarters, planning and participating in balls and usually well dressed. The opposite was true. Many lived in abysmal quarters, often where diseases such as yellow fever and cholera ran rampant. On occasion, Army wives were more in peril from their over protected husbands than from the Indians.
According to the Time Life Books, Army wives were considered by soldiers as prime objects of Indian marauders, though there is not a single recorded instance of a woman killed by Indians at an Army post. It seems they were more in peril from their overprotective husbands than from the Indians. At Fort Phil Kearney, where Indian attacks were frequent and deadly, the commanding officer issued a standing order that if the post were overrun, the women and children were to be herded into the powder magazine and blown up.
One army wife, though, went from fearful bride to admirer of the Indians. Ada Vogdes’s journals between 1868 and 1871 diary are the record of a rather conventional woman’s change of outlook when confronted with the vivid new life around her.
“Having arrived at a time of relative peace, she could not help altering her opinion of the Sioux, and acknowledging that they had gentlemanly qualities and even physical attractions that she had never dreamed of in her sheltered life back East.”
“One warrior who really shattered her preconceptions was one called Big Bear. He was sociable and tried his gallant best to communicate with her. Furthermore, as she confided to the privacy of her journal, he was a superb physical specimen who wore only leggings and moccasins, with a buffalo robe thrown over his shoulders, which exposed the most splendid chest and shoulders I ever laid my eyes on. . .”
One of my favorite research books is “I Married A Soldier” by Lydia Spencer Lane. She married a young lieutenant in 1854 and immediately left Pennsylvania for his post in Missouri. She obviously enjoyed her years as an army wife, even while detailing an often hard life.
The first posting was a sad one. “Cholera was epidemic and scarcely a day passed that we did not hear the solemn notes of the “dead march.” One lieutenant, according to the account, had gone on as officer of the day, in the morning; at midnight he was dead.
The next posting was in Texas. She and her husband arrived by a “lighter,” a small schooner. “The accommodations were of the most contracted description, there being scarcely room to stand upright in the hold, where Mrs. Burbank, children, nurse, and myself were stowed away. We improved our time fighting roaches and other things, down below, while the officers spent the night on deck.” When they reached land, they found themselves in the midst of a yellow fever epidemic. “It was dreadful news to us, as there was no escape, no running away from it, nothing to do but land, take the risk and trust in Providence. However, I had ‘gone for a soldier, and a soldier I determined to be.”
Their home in Christi was a large hospital tent with an opening at each end. “The first night we spent ashore a violent norther struck the coast, and the weather became very cold. One night the norther, the wind blew a hurricane and our tent was torn open at both ends. Between the pounding of the waves on the beach, the shrieking of the wind, and the flapping of the canvas, the noise was fearful, and I expected to be blown bodily out to sea. “
The women rode in an “ambulance” from this post to the next. “Many a weary hour I passed in it, with only space enough to sit bolt upright.
She relates tales about housing which ranged from barely adequate to horrendous, and the people she met along the way. She and her husband often slept at the houses of strangers, and they were expected to house travelers, never knowing exactly who they were. After staying with one family on their travels, they learned “the true character of these people. They were outlaws of the worst description; but while we were under their roof they treated us well.”
All and all, it’s a fascinating glimpse of army life as seen by a wife.
In two weeks, I’ll be blogging about the army laundress, another great heroine possibility.
###
Pearl and Ruth are the winners of my contest in my last blog. Please email me (papotter@aol.com) your addresses and I’ll send a book to you.

We’re drawing for two copies of Judy’s book, JESSE.  The names are all in the fish bowl…and now they’re being drawn…this is exciting.

The two winners of autographed copies of Judy’s books are:

Amy

and

Fedora

Congratulations!  Send your addresses to me at: SaintJohn@aol.com and Judy will bring those books from her attic and send them right out to you!

Hi! I’m glad to be guest blogging and I look forward to hearing from some of you. Cheryl asked me to tell a little about myself and how I became a western writer, so here goes: 

Growing up on the South Side of Chicago, I thought Texas was a foreign country and never dreamed I’d live there. But I knew I would be a writer. I wrote short stories about a spinster lady and her dog, a blond cocker spaniel (I desperately wanted a blond cocker spaniel). In high school, I submitted a story to Seventeen Magazine. It came back so fast I thought there was as rubber band in the mailbox. 

My route to both Texas and a writing career was circuitous by way of graduate school in Missouri. I came to Texas because my then-husband was taking a surgical residency. I studied for my Ph.D. in English at TCU and learned to analyze, criticize, defend, support–anything but give in to my imagination. Fiction was over there on another shelf. But I did specialize in western literature, because we used to go to the Carter Museum—it was free and we were broke—and study the work of Remington and Russell. 

Then a friend gave me the memoir of a woman born in a small East Texas town at the turn of the century. Her father, a deputy sheriff, jailed a man for drunkenness. Released, the man shot the father. Exciting stuff, but what could I do with it? Annotate? Rob it of every bit of life? I put it aside. Reading two or three young-adult novels inspired me, and I sat down to write a novel, making the daughter/narrator fourteen instead of four. After Pa Was Shot was published in 1978 as a young-adult novel, which was a complete surprise to me.  It earned me the only New York Times book review I’ve ever gotten. 

Since then I’ve written fiction for adults and young adults both, as well as lots of nonfiction for young readers. Since After Pa Was Shot, I’ve been characterized as a young-adult author, but that’s not quite accurate. I think the high point of my fiction career was a series of adult novels based on the lives of actual women—Elizabeth Armstrong Custer, Jessie Benton Frémont, Lucille Mulhall (the Wild West Show roper), and Etta Place, published in the nineties and just after by Bantam.  I know they’re adult novels—one of my daughter was embarrassed by some of the passion and said, “You’re my mom. You’re not supposed to know that!” 

I’ve probably written at least 40 nonfiction titles. Almost all are for young readers, and the majority of them are about women of the American West—I consider that the strongest focus of my career. One title, Extraordinary Women of the American West, profiled 65 women, everyone from Sacajawea to Barbara Jordan. After I’d written the first three historical novels, one friend joked I should tell Bantam I had 62 novels about women to go! 

I think I write about women of the West because I admire them—they are women of courage and adventure, often fearless on horseback and as good as most men at survival on the frontier. They are the tomboys I never was. To this day, I’m leery of horses—I’ve ridden, but I was never happy about it. And I’ve never climbed trees. So maybe I’m balancing who I am (not that I’m unhappy with it) with who I’m not. But the American West, particularly in the 19^th Century, offered women all kinds of opportunities that their sisters back East didn’t have. And the eternal optimism—women always said, “Come Spring . . . .”  Come Spring, crops will grow, children will be healthy and strong, challenges will be met, and all will be well. 

I’ve earned my fair share of awards—the Spur from Western Writers of America, the Wrangler from the National Cowboy Hall of Fame, and a couple of years ago, to my complete surprise, the Owen Wister from WWA for lifetime achievement. But have I become rich and famous? No. I never did really break into New York publishing with any success, and I’ve come to peace with that. Do I have another novel in me?  Maybe, maybe not.  I’m still working ¾ time as director of TCU Press.  But there’s that mystery I’m working on . . . . and a hundred small projects that keep me busy. 

These days I mostly write young adult nonfiction on assignment from publishers.  I joke that I write whatever will earn me a check, so I’ve written about everything from state histories to the history of surgery and the history of passenger boats.  With every book, I learn a lot.  But the women are still there—Henrietta King, Ma Ferguson, and others.  I also spend more and more time writing about food.  My cookbook, Cooking My Way through Life: Kids and Books in the Kitchen, will come out next year sometime. 

Since most of my novels are out of print, I don’t have many copies, but I think there’s a box of Jessie in the attic.  I’d be glad to give one copy to each of two readers (after I get my son-in-law to go up in the attic!). And do come visit me at my blog, Judy’s Stew, at http://www.judys-stew.blogspot.com.  The stew?  Kids, books and cooking, of course.

Oh yes, I’m the mother of four grown children and the grandmother of seven.  I live in Fort Worth, Texas, and share my home with a wild Australian shepherd and a fluffy gray cat—and grandkids when they come to visit.