I got into an interesting discussion with a gentleman the other day about what exactly is the American Frontier and how people have very strong opinions about dates reflecting times of the frontier. We were sitting at the Bucket of Blood saloon in Virginia City, which is what led to our little talk.
For many in the great plains and east, talk of the frontier is about 1870s, ‘80s, and ‘90s while in the far west, frontier times were well before that.
While California was still a Spanish territory, many Americans moved into the territory. That was in the 1830s and ‘40s. It was the fur trade that opened Oregon and Washington lands to development by way of families moving in.
While wars with Indians in the plains were raging, San Francisco was a cosmopolitan city of wealth and style. Virginia City was filled with banks, large stately hotels, a railroad, and a stock exchange with direct connection to San Francisco in the early 1860s.
Magnificent land and vital business opportunity initially led people into the far west and then the discovery of vast amounts of gold and silver brought the multitudes. The frontier of the far west was considerably different from the frontier of the Great Plains and separated by decades.
There is of course another frontier era that must be included in a discussion like this and that is the Texas era, which would probably begin with the founding of New Orleans and the Mexican government welcoming American immigrants.
Agricultural opportunity brought them in and they flourished, which of course led to the trailing of cattle north and the building of towns and cities on the railroads that were building. Thus that frontier era.
I think it would be safe to say there is no one great American frontier nor is there one specific time of that frontier. The great southwest, the far west, and the Great Plains expansions all took place at different times, separated by decades. The causes of expansion are considerably different as well.
It would be safe to say that economics was the leading cause, but those economic factors would be different. Mining, agriculture, cattle ranching, and railroads were the major economic drivers of the American frontier.
All of that can probably relate back to the fur trade, which had its origins at the very beginning of the settlement of the New World. Fur was the economic driver along with opportunity to own land that moved men and women into the west originally.
Some made the big jump, in sailing ships around the horn and into California, while others came across the vast continent in prairie schooners on the Donner Trail or the Oregon Trail.
Along the way, some settled in various areas that answered their questions of where and how to live.
The American Frontier started when the first colonizer, way back sometime in the 1600s moved his family a little farther inland and it didn’t stop until there were American cities and towns spread from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
www.amazon.com/author/gunnjohnny
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Saturday, May 19, 2018
Monday, January 22, 2018
Is It Fake or What?
Being the older guy I am, I was considered passed middle age
when computers arrived, I have always felt more comfortable getting my news
from the professional media, newspapers, radio, and television. Having worked
in broadcast and print newsrooms, I feel that I’m getting as close to the truth
as it is possible to get. But there is a “but” to that statement. I know the
difference between a news article and an opinion or analysis article. According
to what I’m seeing today, there are many people who don’t understand those
words.
Most news outlets try to make it clear when something is
straight news and when it is opinion. Television outlets aren’t always that
clear on the matter but an astute observer should be able to tell the
difference. An opinion piece is just that, someone’s personal opinion or
observation of a subject. It is not a news story, so it should never be
considered fake news. It’s an opinion.
In a poli-sci course I took years ago, it was demonstrated
how propaganda works. Fake news is propaganda. An article about a world cup
event, may have been skiing or something, Russia’s Pravda news outlet said,
“Russia placed third behind France.” Certainly doesn’t look fake or anything
like that does it? What isn’t said is as important sometimes as what is said.
The New York Times that day reported, “U.S athletes took top honors with France
a distant second, and Russia tied with seven other countries for third.”
What Pravda reported was the partial truth that it intended
for Russian citizens to read. That’s government control of the press. If one
gets information from sources other than professional journalists, one must be
astute enough to read through where and how the articles came to be. If one is
satisfied with getting information from just one source, how would one know?
If you hear something over and over from a single source,
eventually you will probably begin to believe it. However, if that source is
the only one saying this something, and you also read from many other sources,
you are probably not going to believe whatever that something might be. This,
I’m afraid is what’s happening with too many people, particularly those with a
lesser education or intellect. Getting most of your knowledge from a single
non-professional source is going to limit what you really know.
This idea of a “social media” sounds good but it’s nonsense
because no one is responsible. A social media outlet sells advertising space to
a foreign country that wants to intrude on our election process and no one is
responsible for vetting the advertising. Joe Blowhard says something like, “I
heard, and it has to be the truth, that …” No one has any idea if what he heard
is the truth or if he even actually heard it.
Unfortunately we elect our less than leaders based on
“someone said …” instead of taking the time to gather information from many
sources. Sure I read the New York Times. I also read Fox News on the Internet,
along with the Washington Post, BBC news, Reason Magazine, and the National
Review online. I read the San Francisco Chronicle and Los Angeles Times. Do I
believe everything that’s printed in all those publications? Of course not
because a lot of it is opinion, and listed as opinion. The editorial page of
the New York Times is not a news page, it’s opinion. All that reading gives me
a fairly broad picture of the day’s news from the left, right, up, and down,
and I read opinion pieces from those outlets as well.
To scream daily that all the news outlets except the one you
like the most are dealing in face news is not only foolish, but you’re playing
into the hands of those who want you to believe in fake news. No matter the
subject there is always more than one way to view the subject and if you really
want to be informed you must look for the various views available.
That pretty much explains the concept of a free press also.
Yes, your “social media” expert has every right to his or her opinion, but
never let yourself believe that only that outlet can be right. Particularly if
few if any of the professional outlets agree in some form. We are free to read
whatever it is we choose and we are free to believe whatever it is we choose,
but that doesn’t me we are always right. Get as many views of a subject as you
can before making your decision on whether it is fake news or simply someone’s
opinion.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Wednesday, December 27, 2017
Reflection or Anticipation
In the ancient days, maybe during the time of Mesopotamia,
spring was a time of anticipation with the greening, growing earth responding
to all the warmth and water. Winter, the new-year if you will, was more often a
time of reflection. How did we do as a species, as a people, as a family, or
more often, as the one?
On reflection (bad me), possibly that’s where the idea of
resolutions came into play. This particular part of our life might possibly be
a bit nicer if we did this or behaved that way, or eliminated the part
entirely. For myself? I talk too much. Imagine that. Patty, too often has to
say, “Will you just listen for once!!!”
I also have a strong tendency toward arrogance. Read the
directions? Yes, I do. Follow the direction? Why? I know what I’m doing. Oops.
My mother was one of those people who rarely saw imperfections in her children.
Praise heaped on praise leads one to eventually believe what’s being said. A
fair IQ coupled with easily attained good grades if I wanted them added to my
current level of believed supremacy. See what I mean?
I have a good sense of humor and coupled with a smart ass
attitude has managed to get me in deep doo-doo more than once. There was that
night at the Bucket of Blood Saloon … no, no. There were those nights at the
Stage Stop Saloon … no, no. Well, there was the time I made Dickie Smothers
laugh. And Dick Martin used one of my jokes in his show once.
I’m not sure I really want to change any of that. Patty
calls me ‘interesting’. That’s cool. If Mom were still alive she’d have
autographed copies of all my books and drive the neighbors nuts talking about
her famous son, the author. That’s cool. My brother, who lives in Colorado
still has me on his Christmas card list. That’s cool.
Yup, no big bad resolutions for this year. My moment of
reflection is taken care of, now, dammit, let there be the anticipation of
spring, warm sun, good water, and trout in the streams.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Thursday, November 30, 2017
Winter. Pagan Party Time?
The concept of a winter festival dates back before the
Romans and usually had more to do with the winter solstice than anything
resembling today’s religions, and evolved into a Christian holiday.
Today, if you look around, this holiday and festival period
has devolved back to a pagan party. Drive through the neighborhoods, walk
through shopping centers, and watch television, you will not see very much
religion. For that matter, most of the music you’ll hear will be winter
related, not Christ related despite the name, Christmas Holiday.
When the earliest people recognized the winter solstice as
being the day with the least amount of daylight, and that the following days’
light increased slightly one to the next, it was obviously party time. The next
solar year was under way, and they needed to celebrate that. It was a gradual
moving ahead, advancing toward the awakening with the arrival of the spring equinox.
Our most ancient ancestors lived by the solar year. They
planted, hunted, married, and bred their animals based on where the sun was in
the sky. Grand monuments exist even today to attest to that. Think Stonehenge,
and many traditional farmers around the world depend on the ancient solar year
knowledge.
But, let’s get back to the party thing. Norse, that is
Viking, invaders wee probably the last of the Europeans to continue the winter
solstice pagan rituals and brought many of those into their invaded lands.
Yuletide became Christmastide, for instance. The original Yule log and its
burning was pagan as was the hanging of evergreen wreaths.
The Roman church found that it was far easier to incorporate
pagan holidays into their religious program than to deny converts their pagan
holidays and festivals. Think Saturnalia for example. Whew.
Regardless of what it is you’re celebrating, on or about
December 21st, the world will welcome the winter solstice and six
weeks later the ground hog will tell us there will be another six weeks of
winter, and then six weeks later we will celebrate the spring equinox. Funny
how that works.
The idea of the days getting longer brought joy to the
so-called pagan world, and today, the period around the winter solstice brings
warm fuzzy feelings to businesses across this vast nation of ours.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Sunday, November 12, 2017
Lodge Night Frolics
A bunch of us were sitting at the bar at our lodge the other
night after I mouthed off about something during the meeting. “You talk almost
as much as you write,” one of the guys said. I had to chuckle at that. I spent
so many years in radio talking up a storm that it seems to flow with little
outside help. As a newsman, writing was something one did if one wanted a
paycheck on Friday.
“You don’t have much trouble grabbing a wrench, old son,” I
replied, signaling our barman brother for another round. He nodded and the
light came on. He was always first to help a brother if his truck broke down or
the fridge quit.
“Yup,” he said. “It’s what I do.” We sipped a bit and he
continued. “So, what do you like writing the most? For me, I’d rather work on
an older car than these new-fangled jobby-dos.”
“News is good to write but sometimes it’s difficult to keep
your own opinion to yourself. Novels are very gratifying, particularly when you
write ‘the end’ on that last page, but short stories, there you’ve got lots of
problems.”
“Why?” A couple of the old boys asked at the same time, and
I kind of understood the question. “Seems like a little old short story would
be easier to write than a big old long novel,” Pinky said.
“Seems like it,” I said. “But, just ain’t so. With brevity
in every part of your mind you tell just the essence of a particular instance
in someone’s life or situation when writing a short story, while writing a
novel, you tell the entire life and all the situations.”
“You got a favorite short story?” I think it was old man
Peebles that asked. I’d autographed three of my novels for him and remembered
him saying that he’d never really read many short stories. He said something
about they end too soon.
“Actually, I have several that I really enjoyed writing. Two
that you can get right now are available on Amazon. Others were published in
magazines and would be difficult to find. I really enjoyed writing Miss
Minerva’s Sheriff. It was part of an anthology but it is available as a stand
alone short story.” I wrote down the Amazon URL for the guys.
“The other one that tickles me came out last year at about
this same time in a holiday anthology. You might remember when we took that
ride into the mountains to cut Christmas trees for those families that couldn’t
afford one for themselves and I read it out loud. Slick’s Special Christmas.”
“You’re always reading something out loud,” Peebles laughed.
“I remember that, though. It’s still available?’
“Yup,” I said and wrote down the URL for them.
“You see, guys, telling the story is the most fun I get from
all this. That sheriff never knew what hit him when Minerva came to town, but
the entire episode had to be told quickly, and long involved details weren’t
important to the crux of the matter.
“Same with Slick. He was tore up bad, bleeding, infected,
and what happened to him two weeks later wasn’t important. What was important
was what was happening at that moment in time. That’s the pleasure and the pain
of the short story.”
“Well, just quit talking, now,” old man Peebles said,
laughing right out loud. “Drink your beer and we’ll just sit here quietly and
think about all this.”
I didn’t say a word, just motioned to our barman brother for
another round of cold ones.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Thursday, November 9, 2017
Mele Kalikimaka
The holiday season is fast approaching and I thought maybe
we could have a quick discussion about some of the aspects of this particular
season. Our ancestors thousands of generations past whooped it up some from the
winter solstice to the spring equinox and it seems as though we’ve forgotten
the concept of having fun. If it doesn’t have something to do with either
spending money or making money, it doesn’t exist.
As an example: Black Friday. The initial attack on
Thanksgiving was the major box stores putting up Christmas decorations a week
or so before Halloween, thus taking a lot of the fun out of celebrating All
Hallow’s Eve. But by slamming every square space in retail outlets with
Christmas all through the month of November, they diminished the celebration of
Thanksgiving.
Traditionally, Thanksgiving was a time for family, for
celebrating the harvest, for giving thanks for what we have and for that which
we strive. There was some fight by many who wanted the Thanksgiving pleasures,
but those that make money and those that spend money fought harder. Thus: Black
Friday.
And they weren’t through. If they started the Black Friday
sales early, such as maybe on Thursday, Thanksgiving would be but a memory, for
in our society today, making it to a sale is far more important than having the
family sitting together spinning tales of yesteryear.
As I write this little missive, we are a full two weeks from
Thanksgiving and I saw an advertisement this morning for a pre-Black Friday
sale to begin tomorrow. All of the blame for this cannot be laid at the feet of
the retailer for it is not the retailer that responds to the sales.
With Thanksgiving wiped off the calendar, there is now no
less than nine weeks in which to entice us to buy, and buy we will. Whether we buy
Christmas gifts or Holiday gifts, or Seasonal gifts, we’ll buy, and in droves.
Obviously Christmas began as a Christian celebration but was
absorbed into general society easily since non-Christians were already
celebrating the winter solstice with their parties and hooplas. Simple
gift-giving has changed slightly more than exponentially over the last two
thousand years or so. The gift, it seems, is meaningless. It’s the sale that
counts.
If you took the words Christmas, Holiday, and Seasonal out
of the picture, took any nine-week period in the calendar, and spent the effort
and money that is spent on what we call the holiday period, you would have the
same affect. No one seems to give two hoots and a holler about Thanksgiving,
Christmas, or the winter solstice. No, it’s the sales that are far more
important.
Madison Avenue has not won yet. Advantage: MA. But there are
still beat up old zealots like myself fighting them off. I’m not the biggest
Halloween nut you’ve ever seen, but I do enjoy the fun of it. I am a
Thanksgiving nut and really get into the idea of having lots of family around
and spending many hours in the kitchen and at the table.
The winter solstice parties evolving in the Christmas
celebrations are big-time around our household, with lights blazing, Yule logs
burning, and of course, the Wassail cup must be full at all times. The gifting?
That’s fun, but not the driving force. It’s the music, seasonal or religious,
and the gay colors and lights, long nights with roaring fires, and family and
friends.
Mele Kalikimaka.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
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Thursday, October 26, 2017
Nevada Day ... Why?
Abraham Lincoln signed the papers making Nevada a state on
October 31, 1864 and we celebrate that wonderful moment on the fourth Friday of
October as a holiday, and then on Saturday, a grand array of special events in
the Capitol city, Carson City. A parade, championship hard rock drilling
contests, magnificent beard contests, and an opportunity to just have fun.
Only a few states celebrate their admission to this fine
Union and I hope Nevada never lets it simply fade away. Every state feels
itself unique in some way, and those of us in the Silver State have lots to
talk about in that respect. It was the discovery of silver in the Virginia
Range that old Henry Comstock declared was his, thus the Comstock Lode, that is
basically the reason Nevada became a state.
The area belonged to Spain, then Mexico, and finally, the
good old USofA. It was part of Utah Territory, then became Western Utah
Territory, then Nevada Territory, and as now, the State of Nevada. Silver was
king, cattle and sheep were economic drivers, and the along came Las Touristas
and legalized gaming.
Those three today are still the economic drivers of the
state. Nevada is the largest producer of gold in the Americas, North, South,
and Central. It wasn’t until just a few years ago that there were news releases
each year proudly proclaiming that there were more cattle in the state than
people, and today, those same newspapers declare the number of tourists that
visited set new records.
Only one river in Nevada can say its waters make it to the
Pacific Ocean, all the others drain to a lake in the state, go underground to
an aquifer, or settle in a sink. The Owyhee is a tributary of the Snake River,
which flows into the Columbia River, which mixes with the saline of the
Pacific.
Three major rivers, the Walker, Carson, and Truckee have
their beginnings in California. Some say the Virgin begins in Utah. The
Colorado of course flows through several states and two countries. It’s the
Humboldt River that’s homegrown, beginning at what is called the Humboldt Wells.
A town grew up near those wells, called itself Wells, then moved when the
railroad came through to take advantage of that economic driver. It’s still
called Wells.
The Great Basin National Park is home to Lehman Caves, and
parts of the Death Valley National Park are inside the state. Hoover Dam is
pretty impressive as is Lake Mead, and the largest Lahontan Cutthroat Trout
ever was caught at Pyramid Lade.
Sarah Winnemucca was the first Native American to have a
book published, the Black Rock Desert has been home to mastadons and burners,
and the city of Las Vegas glorifies in its massive over-use of water.
Well, there you are. This is why we celebrate Nevada Day. If
you run into me in Carson City Saturday, be sure to say howdy-doo.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Saturday, July 15, 2017
Fire in the Mountains, Run Boys, Run
That was a pretty good little scare we had on Friday. A
wildfire burning across a mountainside close enough that some of our neighbors
were put on alert to evacuate the premises. Black smoke billowed from burning
brush and piñon pine, cedar, and sage. Controlling anxiety, panic, is most
important in a situation like this, and most difficult.
Were we ready? Patty and I have discussed what to do in the
event of a wildfire forcing us out. If it were just us, it would sure as hell be
easier. Grab the laptops, some documents, a change of clothes, jump in the
truck, and go. We have two horses, a dozen or more rabbits, and eight chickens.
And one overweight, elderly dog.
Those little problems weren’t enough for us to contemplate
yesterday. Our truck was in the hospital and we didn’t have access to it. This
was our wake-up call. Our so-called battle plan just went the way of Dunkirk.
It wasn’t a battle plan any longer, and it has forced us to seriously face
reality.
We know we can’t bring the rabbits and chickens to safety.
Maybe a few, but the rest will have to be set free and hope they can survive.
Our horses must be brought out. The plan has been altered and over the next few
weeks we will hone it down to a workable battle plan.
What goes? What stays? Prepare a kit that can go in the
truck, if it’s available, and in either saddlebags or back packs if it’s not.
If the truck’s available, Patty takes the most important stuff, what few
rabbits and chickens we can get in cages, the dog, and flees. I take bare
necessities, ride Poco and pony Sundance, and ride for safety.
If no truck, we each ride for safety with saddlebags and
back packs full of most important stuff.
As far as safety goes, being on the horses will be far safer
than moving with traffic trying to flee the conflagration. We can go cross country and they can’t, we
won’t be caught up in road rage problems, and you know they will exist, and we
can base our direction on what the fire and wind is telling us, not just where
pavement has been laid.
It’s the being ready that’s most important right now,
because we discovered the stark truth that we were not ready Friday. The fire
was almost close enough to feel, fire retardant had been laid behind homes that
were close enough to be seen easily. Sheriff’s deputies were telling those
people to pack it up. And we weren’t ready.
If there’s a next time, and living in northern Nevada you
can bet there will be a next time, we will be ready. Fire moves fast, has no friends, no will of
it’s own. Que sera sera.
To everyone who offered help and good thoughts, thank you,
thank you. We’re safe and out of harm’s way, this time.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Sunday, June 18, 2017
Score One or a Score
It was in the Viking era that one of today’s less used
words or terms came into existence. At the time, it would have been considered
most useful. They spelled it skor and we spell it score. It meant to make a
mark, that is score or scratch a mark, maybe on a piece of wood, a stone, or
something that would be kept. That mark or skor, represented twenty.
So, if you were running cattle in Iceland you would hold a
stick in one hand and your knife in the other and as the cattle came through
the gate you would make one mark on that stick for every twenty that moved
through. We hold little clickers in our hands today and are not any more
accurate than the Norseman in 823 AD counting his cattle or sheep or pigs.
In the 1800s, a twenty dollar gold piece was also called a
score. To ‘score’ meant you came into possession of twenty bucks by some means
or another. Of course ‘to score’ today has an entirely different meaning and
may cost you far more than twenty bucks.
Words and how we use them are not set in stone. Trying to
read Olde English makes that point understood. Even trying to read the
relatively later English spoken by those living at the time of the American
Revolution, can be difficult. It is also sadly ironic that many today with a
limited knowledge of the language condemn immigrants for not speaking perfect
English upon arriving on our shores.
A writer attempting to write in the vernacular of a specific
area or era can find nothing but alligators and crocodiles waiting to pounce.
If one lives in the hills of West Virginia and tries to write as those living
there speak, it should work out fine. If one lives in northern Nevada, has
never been to the hills of West Virginia or even known someone from there, it
is best not to try to write in the vernacular. You would not score a victory.
Our language changes constantly, generation to generation. In
1870 someone having a gay time means something vastly different than today’s
gay time. When reading the Dime Novels of the 1800s one will often find phrases
and words that don’t seem to make sense and it takes a little getting used to
finding them. It’s like reading Shakespeare for the first time. What am I
reading? What does that mean?
Jump now to the year 2210 and picture yourself with a
reading instrument of some kind and you’re reading a Ralph Cotton western.
Fugm, fugm all, he said, and you say, What? I think it’s time for me to try to
score a cold beer. Or a score.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
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Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Of Fear and Despair
This is the time of year that is filled with hope and fear
of despair. That may not seem likely unless you, too are one who plants a
garden each year. You wait, just as the seed package advises, until the last
frost before planting, but that is an unknown time in these parts. It could be
the end of April, the middle of May, or even the first week or so of June.
There’s the despair.
The ground is worked, the rotted manure is spread and tilled
in, seeds are ready, and the forecasts change daily. Rows are plotted out, maps
are drawn, and the only thing missing is that last frost. When will we feel
safe? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month?
Pity the farmer who doesn’t have an out. No, not a
greenhouse, but something that takes up the time that would be spent working in
that beautiful garden, filled with green and yellow and red things that taste
good and are good for you. In my case, I’m lucky to be a writer. I pound on
this keyboard until my fingertips ache. I learned to type way back in the
fifties on an ancient Royal. I don’t have the foggiest idea how someone can
type with finger’s pads. One must pound those keys, with emphasis, using fingertips.
No one typing before the advent of electric machines and now
computers had elegantly styled fingernails. They wouldn’t last through the
morning’s memos. When spring arrives, I spend the first two or three hours in
the office, say from 5:30 to about 8:30, writing the next great American novel,
but unlike the winter or mid summer, at scene breaks or chapter breaks, I’m running
outside moving the water, chasing those pesky cottontails, or shooing off the
ravens.
The seeds are in, I have trust in NOA, that is, the weather
bureau, and we’ve had our last frost. But have we? The furrows are geometric
designs for the ages, the water system covers everything, and now, the sprouts
are emerging.
No! What do you mean cold front arriving overnight? No! I
just spread the last of the straw for the chickens. I wouldn’t need it for the
garden. The last frost, remember?
Come morning and the thermometer reads 41, not 31. Whew.
Write two chapters and at sunrise walk through the garden, searching for that
frost burned squash leaf, and can’t find one. Back to book three in the
Ezekiel’s Journey series, a smile, not a frown, and the garden is safe for one
more night.
The sprouts take form, get strong, grow toward the sun, the
corn will be thigh high on the Fourth of July, and the cucumbers and melons
will mature, beans will grow long and sweet, and pea pods will fill nicely.
Spring is finally over, the garden made it one more time, but I’m not sure
about my id.
The garden is green and orange and yellow and red, Ezekiel’s
Journey book three now has more than 20,000 words and a new character, Terrence
Corcoran is born and his first book has about 5,000 words pounded into its
manuscript. In the summer, it’s a case of doing the proper amount of watering,
getting down on your hands and knees ripping those blasted weeds from their
homes, and picking what’s ripe for tonight’s meal.
The words flow, the garden grows, and there is no fear of
Jack Frost. Oh, spring, you tease and taunt, and from time to time you let me
win. It’s a time of fear and despair, and at 5,000 feet above sea level in
northern Nevada, sometimes, joy.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Friday, May 12, 2017
Big Eight-Wheeler is Steaming
I just barely got the engine to turn over and it’s already
the most incredible ride I’ve ever even conceived. I think it would be safe to
assume that anyone who gets a piece of work published has the words “best
seller” dancing about in the head bone. But for it to really happen? That’s for
the S. Kings of the world.
I’ve been living in the stratosphere of the publishing world
for well over a month now and ranking results seem to get better each day. In
addition to the two books leading the pack, my other westerns are getting a
good look as well and their rankings are climbing daily.
It is Jack Slater, Orphan Train to Cattle Baron that got
this big eight-wheeler steaming down the tracks. It climbed into the bestseller
ranks as a YA novel and within days was accepted in the general western
categories for adults and YA. My wife has a wonderful way of keeping me halfway
grounded.
“Hey you,” she hollers from the back porch. “Yes, you,
internationally acclaimed best selling author, it’s time to muck out the corrals.
Get to it, cowboy.” With a square nose muck stick and a wheel barrow I know my
place in the world. She’s my love for the rest of our lives. She even lets me
wash the dishes. Often.
One month after Jack Slater hit the stacks and the best
seller lists, Wolfpack Publishing released Ezekiel’s Journey, and within days
it was in the bestseller lists at Amazon.
I was all set to put some magnetic signs on the old flatbed
and drive around proclaiming this wonderful status I’m coming to enjoy when I
got a little note, in cursive, thank you. Patty left it on my half-empty coffee
cup. “Better get that tractor warmed up and get the corn patch ready, buster.
Quit burnin’ daylight, cowboy.”
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Thursday, April 27, 2017
The Western Book is Alive and Well
I'm going to convert this from a standard blog to one in which I discuss writing, my writing, and promote others as well.
For instance, this is the cover of my latest novel. It is basically a YA, that is, young adult novel, but has been well received by adults as well. It is riding high on Amazon lists and has received two good reviews already.
Jack Slater became orphaned at ten when his parents were killed in a buggy crash. He wandered the streets of New York until a copper with a soft heart turned him over to the Children's Aid Society. They ran the orphan trains from the mid 1800s until well into the 1900s, finding homes for thousands of children with farming and ranching families living on the frontier.
Some have called this story hearwarming. Others have used the word uplifting. Jack has a unique outlook on life, doesn't understand the work quit, spends a great amount of time making friends. Be careful, he's just liable to grab your heart, too.
Jacob Chance, U.S. Marshal was my first published western novel and is close to my heart. He's always believed that he was a loner and then was sent to a little podunk of a village in Nevada to clean up a land fraud problem. Yup, this big old law-dog met a pretty girl and she roped him, dragged him to the fire and put her brand smack dab on him.
He did clean up the town, retired from the Marshal Service, took up a homestead and started to raise a family. Then his brother in law went outlaw.
Jacob Chance put the badge back in place and chased the man down. He visits many little communities spread across Nevada's high mountain desert. Blizzards, attempts on his life, and a lack of food tend to slow him down, but he continues the pursuit. Back in Preston, Nevada, there is chaos and Chance returns home in time to get in the middle of that also.
Take Out The Judge wraps up the Jacob Chance trilogy, and it's a humdinger. A Nevada Supreme Court Justice's life is on the line, the same judge that Chance has tremendous respect for, and in the middle of another fierce Nevada winter, he takes on some seriously dangerous, selfish, very rich people looking to take out the judge.
Coming soon, a three book series starting with Ezekiel's journey. Ezekiel Hawthorne has the internal strength of giants, a heart big enough to forgive even those wishing him dead, and a love for a half Shoshone woman that would last through eternity. He carves his way into Oregon history, helping bring the territory to statehood.
You'll meet Terrence Corcoran, sometimes lawman, sometimes pain in back side, soemtimes lover, who rides the open range of 1870s Nevada. His first novel will be called, Name's Corcoran, Terrence Corcoran. Watch for it.
Jack Slater became orphaned at ten when his parents were killed in a buggy crash. He wandered the streets of New York until a copper with a soft heart turned him over to the Children's Aid Society. They ran the orphan trains from the mid 1800s until well into the 1900s, finding homes for thousands of children with farming and ranching families living on the frontier.
Some have called this story hearwarming. Others have used the word uplifting. Jack has a unique outlook on life, doesn't understand the work quit, spends a great amount of time making friends. Be careful, he's just liable to grab your heart, too.
He did clean up the town, retired from the Marshal Service, took up a homestead and started to raise a family. Then his brother in law went outlaw.
Coming soon, a three book series starting with Ezekiel's journey. Ezekiel Hawthorne has the internal strength of giants, a heart big enough to forgive even those wishing him dead, and a love for a half Shoshone woman that would last through eternity. He carves his way into Oregon history, helping bring the territory to statehood.
You'll meet Terrence Corcoran, sometimes lawman, sometimes pain in back side, soemtimes lover, who rides the open range of 1870s Nevada. His first novel will be called, Name's Corcoran, Terrence Corcoran. Watch for it.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular.
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Saturday, April 15, 2017
The Hows and Whys of an Amazon Best Seller
With the wonderful acceptance of my latest novel, Jack
Slater, Orphan Train to Cattle Barron, I thought it might be fun to discuss
some of the background and little points of interest in the book. First off, of
course, are the orphan trains. These were operated by the Children’s Aid
Society in New York City. It’s estimated that as many as 200,000 orphaned or
abandoned children were moved from the east coast to homes and families in the
hinterlands of the western frontier between 1854 and 1929.
That’s an incredible number. The Children’s Aid Society was
founded by Charles Loring Brace in 1853. The 1850s were bad, but it was
following the Civil War that the numbers of orphaned and abandoned children
soared. Stories have been written about some of the children who grew up to be
civic, business, and political leaders in their adopted communities.
It was a combination of stories that the concept of Jack
Slater began to form. The greatest majority of the children that rode the
trains to their new homes and families found warmth and love, hard work and
plentiful food, but I couldn’t let Jack have that kind of happiness. He was a
feisty, strong willed boy with an incredible sense of personal responsibility.
No, he had to ride into an atmosphere of cold, fear, and depredation.
It was those personal characteristics that kept him alive
and made him into the man he became, allowed him to find two strong loves, and
become a community leader. Which brings us to one of the fun parts of the book.
Fun, that is, from my point of view as the writer. He settled in a wonderful
valley south of Elko, Nevada that is home of many fine cattle ranches today.
The grass is high and rich, the water is pure and cold.
Slater met a man named Paddock who lived in a little town
called Skelton and bought some land from the man for his ranch. Paddock said he
named the town after his mother, which Slater found rather humorous. Those of
us that wander all over this great state of Nevada are rather familiar with
Skelton even if we don’t immediately recognize the name. Today, we call it
Jiggs, Nevada. The saloon is closed, but the sign always says open. Paddock’s
story about naming the town after his mother is real. It’s history.
On his travels Jack made numerous friends, including the
first sheriff of Deadwood, sat at the table where Wild Bill met his end, and
participated in protecting the herd of one of Wyoming’s first major cattle
ranches.
I have to say, of all the stories I’ve written over the
years, this one was plain old fashioned fun to write. I took on the character
and just let it flow, and apparently the currents and eddies were adequately
postulated. Jack Slater, Orphan Train to Cattle Barron is an Amazon Best
Seller, my first best seller. Thank you, Jack, it’s been a fun ride on that old
train.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Saturday, March 4, 2017
Daylight Saving Time? Not Again!
Stand by. We’re about to start that adventure known as
Daylight Saving Time. Note, it is not Daylight Savings Time. We’ll hear all the
arguments once again about how someone’s entire life is threatened by this
change of deleting an hour here and then adding an hour there, and, oh my God,
what will I do?
The idea of lengthening the amount of daylight toward the
end of the day started back in 1895 in New Zealand and became popular in Europe during the
WWI. It’s not universal, it’s not even practiced in all fifty United States.
Farmers still start work in the dark and quit at sunset. The
animals don’t know what a clock is anyway, and neither do the fish. Those that
work seven to four-thirty have more time to ruin a good BBQd steak, more time
to play softball, more time to drown a worm or two. Those that live for a good
sunrise just have to wait a bit longer according to the clock. There is no
space-time shift, just an advance of Mickey’s big hand by one revolution.
About that sunrise. Because of the earth’s tilt on it axis,
sunrise is at a different time every day anyway. So is sunset. Summer days have
more sunlight no matter what the clock says. Does DST save energy as some
proclaim. Not in my household. I get up at five every morning, so on standard
time I will have lights burning until daylight. On Daylight time, I will have
lights burning until daylight.
Canada was the first to introduce DST back in 1916. The
German Empire joined in 1917, and the good old US of A came aboard in 1918. The
concept faded away following WWI and then came back strong during WWII. It was
on its way out when the so-called energy crisis of 1970 hit and proponents of
the concept kept it alive.
There are ways to make DST fun. Assume the position of
official clock taker care of in your household, and then don’t do it but
indicate that you did. Be prepared for a severe beating. Put up signs in the
office that say: “Spring back, Fall ahead”. Computers ruin some of the fun by
changing automatically. I wonder what the computers do about Arizona, a state
that does not make the switch?
The kids complain about having to catch the bus while it’s
still dark. Oh, poor little darlings. Most of us had to trudge fifteen miles or
more through snowdrifts as high as the telephone poles, didn’t we?
The change this year is Sunday, March 12. Oh my God, what
will I do?
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
Thursday, February 2, 2017
A Blsuhing Geisha for Valentine's Day
This is one of those really strange days set aside that
isn’t really a holiday. Many believe it was created by Hallmark and the candy
heart manufacturers, but history teaches us even less. Named after a Catholic
saint it is believed to date to pre-church Rome. Whatever. It is to be
celebrated by boys and girls madly in love with each other, at least for the
moment. Candle-lit dinners with sweet music lullabying nearby, after enjoying a
Blushing Geisha.
That’s what you read, and here it is.
· 2 ounces rose nectar
Seems there is a whole mess of cocktails just for
Valentine’s Day. Amarula and Eve and Red Lotus are on the menu also. Go here if
you don’t believe me. After all, I’m just the messenger.
I also read somewhere that we should hold a dinner party and
have a festive dance party afterward.
Yes, Valentine’s Day is set aside for the romantic, soft
music, love candles burning gently, cards dripping with gooey sentimentality.
Wait just a minute, there. Al Capone didn’t think so, and he
didn’t offer any heart shaped candy or biliously sweet greeting cards when he
had the North Side Irish wiped out in 1929. There were no cocktails offered, however booze
was at the heart of the matter, if you’ll allow that little pun.
Twenty-nine dead on February 14, 1929 in Chicago. Hell, they
do that daily in the windy city now-a-days. Pick up a gun on any street corner
and fire away, because, dear heart, Chicago has the fiercest gun control laws
in the nation.
You’re still stuck on the Amarula and Eve, eh? Okay, fine.
Amarula & Eve
· 1 1/2 oz Amarula Cream
· 1/2 oz citrus vodka
· 2 1/2 oz lychee juice
· Lychee fruit for garnish
Back to the mushy cards. Supposedly back in the middle ages
people sang their romantic greetings to each other rather than sending cards
since most couldn’t read during that period. Cards, when they began to emerge,
sometime in the 1400s, were of course hand made, so I guess the celebration day
itself was probably not originated by Hallmark after all.
Well, cowboy, that’s enough for right now. I’m going out to
the corral, sing a little romantic ditty to Poco Rojo and offer him a romantic
supper of alfalfa and my undying love. Then, I’m going to make dinner for my
child bride, put Mozart on the Victrola, and flirt with her, outrageiously.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
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