Thanks to all of you who commented on my post on stereopticons. I enjoyed reading all of your wonderful comments and reminiscences. I chose a winner by random drawing, and the winner is…
JUDY BURFORD.
Congrats to Judy and I’ll be getting the book out to her soon.
(If you’re interested in receiving a copy of my upcoming release, read through to the end of this post)
Did you know that the scientific principles behind 3-D movies had their first practical application as early as 1838? That’s when Charles Wheatstone patented his reflecting stereoscope. I’m sure you’ve all seen stereoscopes before, in pictures if not in actuality. But do you know how they work?
Actually, they work in much the same way human vision works. Because our eyes are spaced about two inches apart we see everything from slightly different angles. Our brains, wonderful creations that they are, then process these into a single image with both dimension and depth. Charles Wheatstone applied this principle to his invention, using drawings that were pairs of reverse images and a series of mirrors to create the illusion of a single three dimensional image.
In 1850, glass images were developed. Though an improvement on the earlier drawings, the quality was low and the price was relatively high.
Queen Victoria took a fancy to the device when she saw one demonstrated at the Crystal Palace Exposition in 1851, and suddenly they were all the rage in Europe. It was somewhat later before the fascination took hold in America.
These early stereoscopes were large, bulky and table mounted, requiring a large commitment of space as well as money. But all of that changed a few short years later. With the advent of photographic improvements, tintypes, daguerreotypes and flat mount paper became available, greatly improving the quality of the images. Early attempts had photographers taking one photograph then slightly shifting the camera and taking a second. The next evolution had photographers utilizing a rig that had two cameras mounted on it to take the twin photos. Eventually an enterprising inventor created a camera with two lenses
Then, in 1862 Oliver Wendell Holmes and Joseph Bates created a compact, handheld viewer named the Holmes stereopticon and the popularity of stereoscopes exploded. In fact, by the end of the century, in spite of their expense, you could find one of these devices in many middle and upper class parlors of the time. The most popular slides were the travelogue type that depicted exotic landmarks such as the pyramids of Egypt and the closer-to-home scenic beauty of Yellowstone. The marvels of the Chicago Worlds Fair of 1892 and the St. Louis World Fair also made their way onto stereoscopic slides. As Burke Long put it, “Mass-produced and relatively cheap, the integrated system of mechanical viewer and photographs became fashionable for classroom pedagogy, tourist mementos, and parlor travel to exotic places of the world.” You could say that, as a form of entertainment, the stereopticon was the Victorian era’s equivalent of today’s DVD players.
By the 1920s movies and the enhanced availability of cameras to the ‘common man’ began to supplant the stereopticon’s hold on people’s interest. But the stereopticon survives to this day. The child’s toy View-Master, named one of the top 50 toys of the twentieth century, is a direct ‘descendant’ of the stereopticon, utilizing the very same principles.
So, do any of you have any first hand experience with a stereopticon?
Oh, and about my June release – while THE HEART’S SONG is not a western, I hope it’s a book you will enjoy. If you’re interested in winning a copy, just leave a comment related to the subject of this blog before 7:00 this evening, and you’ll be entered in the drawing!
Ah got all the names in the cowboy hat and look who ah drew……
CARLA GADE
Woo-Hoo! Congratulations, Carla! To claim your digital copy of LUCKY IN LOVE, send an email to Miss Stacey staceycoverstone@gmail.com and she’ll get you fixed up quicker than a settin’ hen on a June bug.
The Fillies hope you all come back regular-like to check things out here at the Junction.
Until next time………
Tularosa. The word evokes the vision of a charming Mexican village in the desert, which is pretty close to accurate. Tularosa is the name of an actual town in New Mexico (nicknamed Tulie), and it is the setting for my upcoming contemporary romance, Lucky in Love, being released June 1 by Champagne Books.
I’ve been carrying on a romance with this southwestern village since 2004 when I traveled to the Land of Enchantment f
or the first time. It took only two days for me to fall in love with the flowering desert, the multi-faceted mountains, and the eternal sunshine. I fell so hard, in fact, that I bought five acres of land with the dream of building a ranch on it one day. From the adobe home I imagined on the property, the Sacramento Mountains lay out my back door while the sacred mountain, Sierra Blanca, provided an incredible northeast view from my kitchen window.
Tularosa derives its name 
from the Spanish word tule meaning rose colored reeds, which grew along the banks of the Rio Tularosa, which still exists along the north side of the town. Original settlers were attracted to this area in 1860 because the river flowed deep and cool year-round in the desert. However, due to frequent raids by the Apaches from what is now the Mescalero Apache Reservation, occupation was untenable and the site was abandoned. Two years later, Hispanic farmers from the Rio Grande valley succeeded in settling the area, with protection from Fort Stanton to the east. Orchards were planted and homes were built. In 1863, Tularosa was formally established and forty-nine blocks of the new village were plotted, with water rights distributed and recorded.
All was not peaceful in this idyllic setting, however. In 1868, the Apaches went on a vicious rampage, killing eleven men and two women, prompting a battle between settlers and soldiers against the Apaches at Round Mountain, a cone-shaped peak 1,000 feet 
above the 4,500 foot high desert floor. After that short skirmish, in which the Indians retreated, Tularosa was never again attacked, and the Hispanics promised to build a new church to commemorate the last battle with the Apaches. The St. Francis de Paula Mission was started that same year and still stands today, shaded by ancient cottonwoods that line one of the oldest acequias in southern New Mexico.
The original 
acequia (ditch irrigation system) remains virtually unchanged and still provides the water for the trees lining the streets, grassy lawns, and a variety of beautiful roses, which grace many private gardens. A Rose Festival is held annually, the first weekend in May, to celebrate the abundance of blossoms.
Some of the original block-long adobe homes still exist in Tulie as well. In 1979, the Tularosa Original Town-site District, consisting of the original forty-nine blocks on 1400 acres including 182 buildings was recorded in the National Register of Historic Places.
With a population of around 3,000, this picturesque village has welcomed the arrival of Spanish-speaking ranchers, Tex
as cattlemen, soldiers, Anglos and Apaches, and has managed to weather them all.
In Lucky in Love, my heroine, Jordan Mackenzie, is one of those transplants who falls in love with Tularosa, the lifestyle, and the natural beauty of New Mexico, much the same way that I did. Many of the landmarks, places and events in this story are real, such as The Lodge and Rebecca the ghost, the Otero County fair and rodeo, the fabulous Mexican restaurant, Casa de Suenos, and the
Mission Church. This story is near and dear to my heart, as is Tulie. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. You can watch the video and read a blurb and excerpt of Lucky in Love on my website: http://www.staceycoverstone.com
Leave a comment today and you will be entered in a drawing for a chance to win a free digital copy of the book.
Thanks to the fillies for having me today. I always love talking to my fellow western romance fans.
Happy Reading,
Stacey
IN MY BOOK A Lady Like Sarah, my heroine comes across the remains of a wagon train following an Indian attack. Though it wasn’t necessary to research covered wagons for my story, I’m a firm believer that writers should never miss an opportunity to procrastinate in the name of research. Plus I was curious to know how accurately wagon trains were depicted in those old westerns I grew up with.
THE AVERAGE SIZE of a covered wagon was twelve feet long and four feet wide. That’s about the size of my PT cruiser. By the time I load up my car with a couple of kids and a week’s supply groceries, it’s packed to the gills. I can’t imagine trying to haul a household across country in that thing. I can’t even go to church without carrying a piano-size purse. Not only would we have to walk, we’d have to drag pots and pans and probably even a requisite hundred pound bag of flour or two along with us.
CONESTOGA WAGONS were twenty four feet long and could carry 12,000 pounds of cargo but that much weight required teams of at least eight horses or twelve mules. Most families couldn’t afford that luxury. A covered wagon could be pulled by as little as one team providing a family traveled light. The most popular animal was the ox, especially during the early years of migration when a mule cost $75 and an ox $25. Oxen couldn’t travel as fast as horses but they were stronger and less likely to stray or be stolen by Indians. They were also able to survive on sparse vegetation.
They did, however, have one fatal flaw; they tended to go berserk when hot and thirsty, in which case they would stampede to the nearest watering hole. If the lake or stream was downhill, watch out! A wagon’s hand brake was good for parking but not much else. Though a downhill run might have given the kids a thrill, it was definitely a problem for the driver.
WAGONS AVERAGED about two miles an hour for a total of ten to fifteen miles a day. A 2000 mile journey from Missouri to the west coast would take about five months—longer in bad weather. Can you imagine spending 150 plus days listening to your kids ask, “Are we there, yet?” It makes you want to run screaming to the next watering hole just to think about it.
MOST TRAVELERS didn’t even know where “there” was. John Bidwell, who led a party from Missouri to California, later admitted: “Our ignorance of the route was complete. We knew that California lay west, and that was the extent of our knowledge.
As could be expected, cooking was a chore. Not only did pioneer women have to get over their aversion to using buffalo chips for fuel, they had to fight wind, insects and sandstorms. In case you were wondering, a family of four required 1000 pounds of food.
THE PRAIRIE TRAVELER by Captain Randolph Barnes Marcy provided detailed lists of needed provisions. No one knew about antioxidants and carbohydrates back then, but much attention was given to something called antiscorbutics for the prevention of scurvy. Whatever it is, it can be found in green grapes and wild onions. Travelers were also told that they could restock in Salt Lake City but only if they were lucky enough to find Mormons in an amiable mood.
The Captain went into great detail about men’s clothing but failed to offer advice on female apparel. Women complained about the difficulty of climbing in and out of wagons in hoop skirts. If necessity didn’t change the way women dressed for the journey, the urgings of exasperated husbands soon did.
Wagons were circled at night to keep the animals corralled and give children a safe play area. The circle also offered protection from Indians.
MANY WOMEN wrote in their diaries that relationships with Indians were mostly peaceful and mutually helpful. Does that mean Indian troubles were exaggerated as some historians now claim?
Not according to authors Gregory F. Michno and Susan J. Michnor who wrote in Circle the Wagons!: Attacks on Wagon Trains in History and Hollywood Films that the bloody Indian attacks depicted in movies prior to 1950s were more historically accurate than the politically correct movies that followed.
INDIAN ATTACKS were by no means the only danger that awaited emigrants. Accidental shootings and drownings took a toll as did disease. It’s estimated that there’s one emigrant grave for every eighty feet of the Oregon Trail.
Although remarkably impersonal, women’s diaries offer a fascinating look into daily life on a wagon train. Keeping up with the wash was pure drudgery but not for Mrs. Hampton who wrote in her diary in 1888 that when her wagon train reached Cheyenne, Wyoming, she sent their company’s dirty clothes to the laundry. Now that’s my kind of woman.
It’s a relief to know that most of what I learned about overland journeys from those old westerns was true. Though, as far as I can tell, no wagon train ever rolled out of camp to the tune of Westward Ho, The Wagons.
Romance Writers of America
RITA finalist
A Suitor for Jenny (A Rocky Creek Romance)
Hello Darlings,
Miss Stacey Coverstone will return to the Junction this Saturday. It’s always a pleasure to have her come calling.
This time Miss Stacey will talk about the setting for her new book–Tularosa, New Mexico. Seems the dear lady has developed a real fondness for the place. And with good reason. Tularosa has quite a colorful history. Ah know you’ll want to hear all about it.
While she’s here this time around, Miss Stacey will tell us about her new book called LUCKY IN LOVE. Sure looks like a humdinger of a story.
And she’s giving away one of those newfangled digital copies to one person who comments.
So, hike up your dress tail and make your way over here on Saturday.
We’ll keep a seat warm for you!
Occasionally, I read a book that seems to be moving along just fine, and then a passage comes up that irritates me like nails on a chalkboard. We all probably have pet peeves about the books we read. Perhaps I’m more critical because I’m a writer…but I don’t think so. The readers I know and love are savvy and know the elements of a good book. In no particular order, here’s my list of things that drive me crazy if I read them.
The heroine has tiny feet.
How many people actually think of their own feet as “tiny?”
The heroine falls asleep thinking about what’s going to happen or what already happened.
Yawn.
The heroine has “small perfect” teeth. One that overlaps is far more interesting don’t you think?.
Jumping in and out of heads/point of view.
Do readers notice or care when we even know what the cab driver’s thinking? I once got into a horse’s point of view, but my critique group didn’t get it slip past.
A couple jumping into bed before I care about them – or before they care about each other. Yawn.
The ending feels rushed, as though the author only had so many pages in which to resolve everything.
A story that starts out with so much backstory that I feel as though I’ve missed the previous book.
Heroines who giggle.
Heroines who only need a shower and a little lip gloss to look like JLo. Yeah, right.
Heroes with bad attitudes and nobody ever calls them on it.
Another thing that irritates me and always has is the scene changing to another viewpoint and location just when the story gets exciting. As a writer, I understand it’s a pacing and tension ploy to keep the reader engaged and vary the emotional intensity, but….I’ve been known on many occasions to simply skip the scene in which the tension drops, flipping forward to the character I want to read about. Sometimes I go back for the other viewpoint, sometimes not.
So how about you? Do any of the things I’ve listed bug you or do you have your own pet peeves?
Excuse me now, won’t you? I have to go put my tiny feet up.
Howdy! Well, a couple of weeks ago, I had the funnest time ever at the Silver Spur Ranch in Bandera, Texas. My first time going Lone Star was a writing retreat with my publishing house The White Rose Press. As great as it was to hang out with editors and authors and speakers I’d only known in cyber-space, our busy schedule allowed for plenty of Wild-West stuff. And this native California suburbanite cowgirled-up big time.
During a hayride, I got to see the ranch’s longhorns up close and personal. They are considered “pets” –not used for hides or beef–but IMO are a bit large and sharp for any cuddling or foot -warming by the fireplace on a cold night. 
One evening we hayrided to Comanche Bluff with Robert, a wrangler (Charlene, he bore a delicious resemblance to Tim McGraw) 
who totally rocked at skipping stones across the crick…where we came across two cowboys skinny-dipping . Sadly, all I managed to photograph was…their clothes. 
At the weekly Friday night rodeo, I watched babies my 3-year-old grandson’s size “mutton-busting” (translation: riding sheep ) along with the usual bull, bronco and barrel race antics. Managed three kill shots on my green paper man poster my very first time with a Colt .45 Peacemaker. (I texted my hubby this and his response was: YIKES.) 
Best of all, I learned to ride.
Head wrangler at the Silver Spur is a guy referred to hither and on as Tall David. This differentiates him from another cowboy referred to as David Not So Tall, who otherwise goes by Ricochet. Ricochet was my initial instructor.
I admit to needing the mounting block to get on my horse, a lovely gentle “carmello.”
“This here’s Butter Bane,” explained Ricochet. Since I’d only been in Bandera about 12 hours, I didn’t fully speak or understand Texan yet. It took me about fifteen minutes to translate: Butter BEAN. Well, I learned quick and I learned good.
Although the Silver Spur is gorgeous hill country, this was pretty much a flat-land ride. Nonetheless, I hung onto the horn for dear life and didn’t release my hands to take any pictures. I had to tie my hat to my head with my shoelaces. Duh. Didn’t chance losing it in the breeze. Yep. A real cowgirl here.
Next day after the cowboy breakfast outdoors in the woods, I found myself headed back to the ranch atop Texas, a sorrel quarter horse who had been featured in the Friday Night Rodeo. My wrangler today was Rob. 
Since he wears glasses, I was instantly drawn to him– the hero in my upcoming release Marrying Mattie, wears spectacles. He’s from a small nearby town where I think I’d like to live. Except it doesn’t have a mall or McDonald’s iced coffee.
“Since you’re riding Texas,” Rob explained, “you ride last. Ahead of me.” (We rode in herds of about ten, one after another, one wrangler leading, one following. Rob had the rear guard today.)
No longer a novice, I questioned him.
“Texas isn’t a tailgater,” was Rob’s response. Translation: He doesn’t like to get close to the horse and rider ahead of him, prefers to hang back and dawdle. Since Rob knew I was nowhere near the horsewoman I imagined I was, he needed to be close at hand to help me prod Texas onward to keep his place in the line-up.
Well, long story short: Texas and I got along just great.
Next day I found myself astride Zee, right behind our leader, head wrangler David, the tall one. I reckoned my trusty steed had been named after either Jesse James’s mother or wife, or both, since they shared the name Zerelda and were often called Zee. (They were also aunt and niece.)
“Nope.” David set me straight. “All our horses are boys. Girls of any species are too much trouble.” He went on, “Zee’s an honest horse. He’ll treat you right.”
I was glad for this, as today’s adventure took us up some very significant hills and then down ’em. “Just lean forward a bit when we’re going up,” David advised. “And lean back when we’re going down.” I had a few white-knuckle moments, but not only did I make it, I also dismounted all by myself for the first time. Hooray. 
I managed one last ride the day we left. Wind in my face, saying good-bye to this beautiful land. Every second of my visit had been perfect including the food. Winchester was definitely not a tailgater and totally loved to schmooze with the horse ahead of him. But by now, total equine control was my name and my game. Ricochet was our fearless leader today, and I was riding about halfway in the pack on a trail the most ambitious of all—a ton of uphill-and-downhill this time.
I realized I’d ended up in a far superior batch of writer-riders today because they all decided we were up for a trot. I shouted out in terror. Ricochet, who mostly rode turned back in his saddle to talk and keep an eye out, comforted me. “Aw, Winchester’s not bad. Just stand up in your stirrups. Y’all do all right.”
And so I did.
How about y’all? Share your horse/ranch stories today!
Click on cover to order Marrying Minda. Marrying Mattie, featuring Minda’s sister and a handsome bespectacled horse doctor, will be available August 27.
![MarryingMattie_w4525_300[1]](https://i0.wp.com/petticoatsandpistols.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/MarryingMattie_w4525_3001.JPG?resize=200%2C300 "MarryingMattie_w4525_300[1]")
Hearts Crossing Ranch, my first contemporary and first inspirational, will be released shortly.
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About thirty miles from where I live in West Texas is an historical site called Ransom Canyon. It was incorporated into a town in 1977, but in the 1800’s it was the scene of trading in human flesh.
Originally called Yellow House Canyon, it became known as Ransom Canyon after it became the regular meeting place for the Comancheros and the Comanche Indians. The Comancheros would trade guns and whiskey for stolen cattle or, more often than not, white captives. The Comancheros would then ransom off the captives back to their families for a hefty sum. If the families didn’t or couldn’t meet the price, the captives were sold to the highest bidder. Not a pleasant life for sure.
Here’s a pretty good shot of the canyon.
But who were these Comancheros, you ask?
They were a blood-thirsty group mostly of Mexican descent who roamed the Llano Estacado commonly known as The Staked Plains (an area that covers western Texas and the Panhandle and extends into eastern New Mexico.) It’s one of the largest mesas or tablelands on the North American continent. One source says it’s over 32,000 square miles.
Back to Ransom Canyon though….
It was carved out by a tributary of the Brazos River. The huge canyon was protected by steep walls.
The comancheros and Comanche weren’t the only ones who used it. Because of its clear trickling streams and towering cottonwoods, it became regularly traveled. Besides the Comanche and Comancheros, buffalo hunters, U.S. Army soldiers, frontier settlers, and cowboys with their cattle herds camped here.
I drove over to take some pictures of the Texas Historical marker and see what else I could see. When I stepped out of the car, I got goosebumps. Just standing on the ground where so much happened was pretty emotional. When I closed my eyes I could feel their spirits and see the frightened faces of the captives. They say the canyon is haunted and I can believe it.
Have you had a strong connection to a historical place where it felt like you’d stepped back in time?
We have a new anthology that’ll be out July 1st. I team up again with the Queen of Texas romance Jodi Thomas, Phyliss Miranda, and DeWanna Pace. Click on the cover to Preorder your copy today!
The coyote (Canis latrans) is known by many names. Depending on time and place, he’s been called prairie wolf, little wolf, cased wolf, barking dog, yodel dog, and perhaps my favorite name for him—God’s dog.
Even his common name has plenty of variations. You can say it, “kai-OAT,” “KAI-oat,” “kai-OAT-ee,” or the Spanish version, “coy-OH-tay,” which, these days, also applies to folks who smuggle illegal aliens across the border.
The coyote also wears many faces. To sheepmen, ranchers, and some suburban homeowners, he’s a predator and a pest. To kids, and kids at heart, he’s the roadrunner’s nemesis. To wildlife biologists, he’s a survivor. To Native Americans he’s a legend. To western authors like me, he’s the world’s greatest sound effect.
There’s not much to a coyote. A coyote weighing 50 pounds is a rarity, the norm being between 20 and 25 pounds. A mature male may reach 2 feet high at the shoulder, and 3 feet long excluding his tail. Eastern coyotes tend to be smaller than their western kinfolk. The color, which can vary, is usually a yellowish gray with longer, darker guard hairs extending to the bushy, white-tipped tail.
Coyotes are devoted mates and good parents, rearing their young, usually about six, in a burrow or den in the ground. While the pups are little, the father brings food to his family. Once they’re big enough to fend for themselves, the male pups leave. The females stay until they find mates of their own. Potential life span is about ten years, maybe half that in the wild.
Coyotes are highly intelligent animals with keen senses. But the real key to their survival is adaptability. Coyotes were once grassland dwellers, following the buffalo herds and dining on the birds and rodents the huge creatures flushed out of the grass. They also ate carrion and preyed on weaker animals. With the settlement of the West, coyotes broadened their territory and their diets. These days some coyotes even live in cities, rustling garbage and preying on rats, squirrels, pigeons and a few unlucky pets. Surprisingly, coyotes eat more vegetation than most predators, especially liking fruit. While many wild creatures are declining, the coyote population in this country is actually on the increase. You may not like them much. But you have to give them points for survival skills.
In Native American lore, no animal is more powerful than Coyote. Hero, trickster, villain, seducer, clown, bringer of fire – tales of Coyote are legion. They are told with reverence, and only at appropriate times. Coyote himself might be listening, and the storyteller must take care not to offend him.
As a writer, when I want to create a feeling of loneliness and isolation, I often put a howling coyote in the background. In reality, coyotes don’t howl because they’re lonely or sad. It’s just their way of social networking. A howling coyote is saying, Hey, I’m here. Where are you? or maybe, This is my territory. Ladies welcome, but you gents stay away!
Love them or hate them, coyotes are here to stay. They remain one of the true icons of the American West.
