This is it the red letter day

Three years ago I started this blog to promote and discuss the writing of a story that became known as Heathen Hearts. In that time my granddaughter was born and my father died. It has been a struggle, many times against the mechanics of writing with a computer. Finding the time has been the biggest struggle because I work for a living  not to mention I live in a suddenly crowded house. No more sitting at the kitchen table with my imaginary friends!

This IS the Red Letter Day though. After all this time I have checked all Kindle's boxes and followed all their cues. Today Heathen Hearts has been published on Amazon.

 http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MIHUK7Q

On the one hand I want to go hide in the trailer and start writing something new. This story still begs my attention though, so I must find ways and follow advice on how to make this book, if not a household name...at least well read.

I can hardly wait for critics to start emailing me to say that there are no ship graves at Gamla Uppsala, or there was no monument to the victorious Soviet army in Budapest or the bus stop in Pincher Creek wasn't in the Black Hat Trading company at that time. My answer will be one word...fantasy! This is a work of contemporary fantasy. None of this ever happened and the characters never existed...sigh!

The same goes for any friends or family who think they see themselves in some of the characters. As I said in one of my early posts, a writer needs references. My wife actually gave me the idea. She was reading a complicated story with many characters. She flipped through catalogs and magazines to make cut outs of various people. These she named after the characters in the story so she could keep track of them. I went to not just on line photos, but my own albums for faces to reference. Not only faces but I used parts of names in order to keep track of the various actors in the story. I always meant to change them completely but the monster grew too big to go back through every chapter and change names. In the end, I couldn't because Alex was...well Alex and Lorne...Lorne etc. At one time I wanted to change Anya's name but found out that her name actually became an important part of the story in later bits. When Deedee is asked why she called her never to be born son, Hawk, she replied, "Because that's his name." And so each character became their name.
In the end these characters and places are works of fiction and bear no resemblance to actual places nor people living or dead.

Read the book for the adventure and the travel. Read it to solve or resolve the mystery. Is there a moral to the story? I don't know...maybe...life is what you make it. You only get the one chance. Go ahead and stick your head out of the window of a speeding car and take life full in the face. Just be ready for bumblebees...  

Troubles

Oh-oh....

It's almost too hard to believe. I had the story all converted into a file to upload onto kindle, I've finally decided on which cover to use, all I was waiting for was to get home from a two week trip to Europe.
Just when I was finally ready to do the long awaited deed...the computer packed in. Somehow the start up files are corrupted and the thing won't start. If it does it won't stay on any one page before it jams. I've taken it in but was told there was nothing wrong...after $125. It's going back today but if it truly is screwed...I will rebuild the file from the flash drive and the cover picture from emails and try to redo it on this laptop.
The only good thing about this delay is that I found that the table of contents for Part Two was missing. My hopes of being a published writer sting hang in the balance...

Ready To Go

As Winston Churchill  said;

“Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.”

Heathen Hearts is ready to be flung to the public...

I have the file all ready to upload onto Kindle. The only hold up is the cover page...and a trip to see my daughter in Holland.

Here are the top runners for book cover:

Maybe we'll number them one to four from the top to the bottom. If you have a favorite... you could let me know.

I will post when the dirty deed is done and the book is published.

I have failed to keep a very important rule. First stories should always start with KISS. Keep It Simple Stupid! I have so many ideas for a straight forward story, why did I have to get involved with three time periods all intertwined?
It has been a struggle what with work taking up most of my time. I've been going back through the story fixing (hopefully) punctuation and names that were altered etc. I have been disappointed to see errors that I thought I'd corrected, still undone. What the heck? Is the computer not saving them once I've moved on?
I have found a possible publisher on facebook. I was hoping to have more of the product cleaned up before approaching them.

A sad thing and one I will regret is that my father just passed away. He won't get a chance to read the story although I was not sure it would be his cup of tea. I've blabbed for so many years about being a publish author, especially with this story, now he will never know if I did it or not. With the memorial service coming up and looking after resettling Mom, it may be hard to carry on. I know I must after all these years and I know that if I ever want to get to the new material, I'll have to be faithful to these characters and "get 'er done".

Here is a song for my father...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IU1rZa8Ur_Q&feature=player_embedded#!

The Reader's Report

As promised, the Reader from the Alberta Writers Guild has returned my manuscript, or should I say the first third. I must admit to being in a turmoiled state ever since. There were positive things, like; "I enjoyed reading this portion of your longer manuscript." and "Generally speaking, you write well. You have a sense of story, setting, character and pace." also "I hope to someday pull a book from the shelves in some bookstore or library and meet Mac and Loud Macleod in its pages."

This was nice to hear. As Mac would say, "An artist likes to know his work is appreciated." The reader also helped me to find the genre for this story. Contemporary Fantasy or Magic Realism is where "..."magic" intrudes or comes into context of a modern, known world." Although my story is fiction, it is not a made up world, built from scratch. It is our modern world where these events take place.

Of course, along with the complements came the meat of the report. I must say that many of the...problems, I was already aware of and realised changes/improvements were needed. Maybe it was reassuring to have picked these out before the professional. One of the obvious was spelling and punctuation. I was instructed not to trust spell check and I don't entirely. With more words than War and Peace, one is always going to miss something. The Reader was concerned about "rules" as well and recommended the book Prentice Hall Handbook for Writers. I looked it up on Amazon and it is a $100 book!

My main problem is the Reader's concern over perspective or point of view. While most of the writing is limited omniscient, only from the point of view of the main character, I have slipped "into the head" of my other characters from time to time and sometimes for only a line. The Reader feels I would have a "stronger story that relies on more showing and less telling". To be honest, the Reader may be right. It seems to me that it would be easier to go through the story and work out a way to show the other character's feelings than to change the view point to omniscient, and be in everyone's head all the time.

There are a few issues the Reader brought up, some actions by the characters the Reader found incredulous but my other major concern is the pace. The Reader thought scenes should be dropped to tighten up the story, keep the tension, to retain the reader's interest. Yes, there are things that maybe are vital to the telling, but...

In a book like The Hunger Games, at least the first book, it takes place in the time frame of a week or two. Many other stories have a set time limit. On the other hand, LOTR and the new version by George R.R. Martin, spreads months perhaps a year into seven volumes. I guess Heathen Hearts originally was a history. Mac Macleod is missing three years of his life. Anja, Gette, and their children are trying to fill in the missing years for Mac in about three weeks. A lot can happen in that time and while not all of it may seem pertinent to the main story, it shows that up to a point, Mac and others thought they were just ordinary people, with ordinary talents, trying to make a living in the music world. That is why, as the Reader puts it, "...you back off and seem to underplay the supernatural,...Your hints are too subtle to be convincing." My story and Emma Bull's War for the Oaks are two different stories despite any surface similarities. I'm sure she has her reasons for her pace as well.

I'll wrap this up by saying that I have a lot to think about. I appreciate the Reader's input and I am already taking it into consideration which was the whole point of the exercise. the Reader warned I would get emotional and that I should step back and think about the advice and the story before getting back at revisions etc. That is what I am doing now. Even writing this blog has made me think about what I could do to improve the product. I have had so other thoughts about the story and where it came from but I'll leave that for another day.

The Journey is the Thing

I have been quiet for the past while so I will fill you in on what is happening with “Heathen Hearts”. After dividing the story in to three very unequal parts I have sent the first part “The King’s Grave” to a reader with the Writer’s Guild of Alberta for,...evaluation I guess. I have continued to “tweak” the later two sections while putting them together in their,...closer to finished form. The results of the professional reading will take at least eight weeks so maybe by November I’ll get the results back. After that I will take some time to implement any changes they recommend that will improve the story in the telling.

I have almost convinced myself to go with e-publishing as it seems I would have more control over the process. It is true that once the words hit the web they seem to be fair game but I’m hoping theft won’t be a problem. Some e-books actually get printed if they do well though I’m not sure what happens to author rights in that case. I thought of getting some elaborate artwork done for the cover but even the family connection might cost than I’d like. I might do a bit of experimenting with images on my own and see if I can make a less flashy substitute. 

All in all I foresee the new year before this story gets into the hands of the public,...sigh!!

Some other random thoughts: I would like to have a music disc to go with this book. That said I would need the services of a musician as I am not one. My first thought was the drummer for RUSH, Neil Peart. I wonder if he’s looking for a project. Colin James is another singer/songwriter who might have the versatility to do a reasonable job for basically a “Celtic Rock” Band. I would be interested mostly in the publicity while Royalties could be worked out.

I think I have mentioned this before but I was thinking that “Loud-Macleod” should have a sound something like "Eluveitie" only without the growled vocals. “Chameleon” should sound more like “Fleetwood Mac” with a twist of “The Eagles”. The final band, “Heathen Hearts” in their last concert tour, I hear “Night Wish” from the album, “Dark Passion Play”. If I could find a musician to collaborate, the words that are already in the book are not cast in stone. I have no problems with new and better versions of those nonexistent tunes!

I guess the thing is that anything could happen it just may not happen all at once. The whole experience is on a learning curve. Hopefully the next story and the next won't take so long.

Making Some Headway

For the past little while I have been,..well for one,...reading my story from front to back. This was the first time I had ever done so. I was encouraged to pretend that this story was just one I pulled off the book shelf. I was only allowed to make obvious spelling and grammatical corrections. I must confess that I couldn't help but play with the story and juggle things around from time to time. I'm sure it has been improved by my effort.
One of the major errors I was forced to deal with late, had to do with the Swedish habit of identifying grand-parents specifically maternal or paternal. Thanks Google Translate for that mistake. Oh I see they have better options now!

I would like to send the manuscipt to a professional reader selected by the Alberta Writers Guild, which I am a member of but it is still not cheap. I have therefore decided to break the story down into three parts. The first six chapters are entitled: "Heathen Hearts Part One: The King's Grave". While only 284 pages,...there is 88,528 words according to the computer word count. I have also decided to put this fiction into the "Fantasy" genre mainly because I really don't know where it belongs exactly.

I know that every time I read a section I find things wrong,...mostly typo errors thankfully. Did I mention that I am having to reread almost the whole story to change Anja's Grandma from The Mormor to The Farmor as she is Anja's FaderModer not ModerModer,...if you follow. At some point I will have to stop worrying the story to death I know and send this first part to,...somebody to proof read etc. In the meantime, I will continue to prepare the next third for a similar journey.

THE END,...or just another begining

"It's not finished,....(but) It's finshed!"

I finished the story last night and by finished I mean I have typed out, printed and saved to the end of Chapter sixteen. I typed out the words,...THE END  and kind of just sat there. I want to do an epiloge but I haven't decided the style or how brief to make it. There is a lot of work to do before the whole thing is ready to be presented to a publisher but that's just part of the process.
My first task may be to just sit down and read the story,...from start to the end,...just to see what it reads like! It's been years since I've seen Chapter One!
Thanks to my family for putting up with me hogging the kitchen table all this time,...

Oh, a strange thing happened. Just after I transfered the last of it over to the main computor to print and save. My laptop wouldn't shut down! It just sat there with the screen off,...running. A couple of hours later it was still running and now very warm. I tried various buttons,...blind as it wouldn't turn back on,...and it shut down finally! I'll try it today and see if it is toast or was just being crankie after these three years.

Character Models - The Good, The Bad,...

Many writers use models or images to be able to easily remember or recognise their story characters as they work. I've known some people who will go through magazines and catalogues and snip out someone who reminds them of a particular character. They might cut out some cardboard and glue the picture on and put the character's name across it or a the bottom. Some writers who can draw, may sketch what they think their character looks like themselves or do a story board. In the end it is the reader who will use their own imagination and the writer's descriptions to create the image in their mind's eye.


I thought I'd throw in  some of the miscellaneous character models I used for this story. I don't have pictures for everybody and if I do I won't bore the reader anymore than I already have. So here is a photo of the models used for Mac and his friends.


The Good

From left to right are Alex Wainright, Mac Macleod, and Lorne Sawczyn keeping Law and Order out on the Range! Taken at the Jay Seven Bar Ranch in between gigs with the group 'Chameleon'. This band also included Anja, Gette, and Deedee. The emphasis musically was six part harmonies. Alex played keyboard and guitars, Lorne played an array of traditional instruments such as Banjo, Mandolin, Dobro, etc. Mac played his usual loud, rhythm and sang many of the lead vocals.


The Bad


Every story has to have a bad guy, an arch villain and this story is no different. From the very start I had a picture of what the magazine mogul Malcolm Forsythe  should look like. Perhaps my character is a little heftier,...he has large hands,...as soon as I saw Ray Liota I knew I had my model.

I mean just look at that face. Doesn't he have "Sinister Business Tycoon" with hidden 'secrets' written all over him? That is why he is the model for my Malcolm Forsythe.

Here is a clue,...

Character Models - Deedee Hanlon

Many writers use models or images to be able to easily remember or recognise their story characters as they work. I've known some people who will go through magazines and catalogues and snip out someone who reminds them of a particular character. They might cut out some cardboard and glue the picture on and put the character's name across it or a the bottom. Some writers who can draw, may sketch what they think their character looks like themselves or do a story board. In the end it is the reader who will use their own imagination and the writer's descriptions to create the image in their mind's eye.


In some ways Deirdre Hanlon was one of the hardest to find a model for. I had an image in my head that worked pretty well but I thought I should find something as I had the others. Try as I might I could not find an Irish face that looked like Deedee. For a while I was tempted to use Avril Lavigne but I wasn't quite satisfied.
Deedee is quite short, only 5'2" in stocking feet. She has a turned up nose with a band of freckles and green eyes. Her hair is usually a sandy reddish blond but she often dyes it and cuts it to spice things up. Though the drummer for the bands in the story, being raised in Belfast, Ireland she also plays the Uilleann pipes, the Scottish War pipes, Tin whistle, Recorder, besides the Bodhran drum and singing lead vocals on many tracks.

At long last I just happened to think of an old friend of my daughter's and also happened to find some photos of her on a social networking site. I've decided not to mention her name but as soon as I saw the photos,...she became my model for Deedee Hanlon. I hope she won't mind.  :)

Character Models - Gette Kozak

Many writers use models or images to be able to easily remember or recognise their story characters as they work. I've known some people who will go through magazines and catalogues and snip out someone who reminds them of a particular character. They might cut out some cardboard and glue the picture on and put the character's name across it or a the bottom. Some writers who can draw, may sketch what they think their character looks like themselves or do a story board. In the end it is the reader who will use their own imagination and the writer's descriptions to create the image in their mind's eye.
One of the easiest because I only have one photo model is,...


Brigette Kozak

"Gette" is 5'6" with dark eyes and features that reveal her heritage. Her mother's maiden name was Kun which is the name of the people known in English as Cuman. They were a Nomadic people from the Eur-Asian Steppe also known as the Kipchak before moving into Hungary around the year 1000 c.e. Though mostly a mystery, their language is of Turkic-Iranian origin. Gette like Anja is classically trained and can play almost any instrument. She plays either lead guitar, or lead fiddle (violin) on most of their early "Rock and Reel" music but on the final tour and record she does major duty on keyboards besides.

Gette posed a bit of a problem for me as I had another image in my head altogether when I started. She transformed from bitch-witch to beautiful witch as I got to know her better. I looked through Hungarian faces for quite some time before this model appeared. I have no idea of her name but she had done excellent service as a stand in for Brigette Kozak.

Character Models - Anja Lindstrom

Many writers use models or images to be able to easily remember or recognise their story characters as they work. I've known some people who will go through magazines and catalogues and snip out someone who reminds them of a particular character. They might cut out some cardboard and glue the picture on and put the character's name across it or a the bottom. Some writers who can draw, may sketch what they think their character looks like themselves or do a story board. In the end it is the reader who will use their own imagination and the writer's descriptions to create the image in their mind's eye.

Today I thought I might show you the "models" I used for my characters and tell you a little about each character as well. Let us start with,...

Anja Lindstrom

We meet Anja when she is approx 53 yrs as well as when she is about 23 yrs. In both cases she is 5' 11" and skinny as a rake! She has thin blond hair and dazzling blue eyes. Her instruments in the bands are the Electric Bass, the cello, the viola, the violin and various percussion instruments.

When she first came to me I had this image of the Norse Goddess/giantess, Skadi in mind.

One day the thought came to me to try the web and see if Anja might be there. I basically typed in "Swedish female faces" and low and behold, "Anja" was there waiting for me.

For those in the know yes, these turned out to be photos of Elsa Sylvan the Swedish super model taken at her first photo test when she was eighteen. http://www.supermodels.nl/elsasylvan

But like I'm saying, Elsa is not Anja nor the other way round either. Anja just happens to look very much like Elsa.

450,000 Words

In my opening remarks I said that when I sat down to write a novel it was a completely different story. These characters came to me and asked that I write theirs instead. Since then they have become my "imaginary" friends and we've spent a lot of time together.

I was doing a rough calculation based on the computer word count. Now just the way I have chapters saved, etc. this is not 100% accurate. That is why it is a rough calculation.

If each chapter is approx. 30,000 words and I have 15 chapters,...that makes 450,000 words so far. I am guessing that I have one more,...maybe two chapters left and then an epilogue. For most of this first rewrite I have kept pretty close to the original, changing only minor things. There has been a lot added in dealing with the earliest phase of the story but the main has basically been complete. This "back to the present" section of the story I have done a lot of editing,...sorry guys. My "friends" talk too much! I think there were parts that were getting repetitive, perhaps the information was covered better somewhere else,...or it really wasn't necessary. In a way it was a case of "Get on with It!" I hope this editing will move the story along at a better pace toward the conclusion.

Anyway,...as I am not a professional writer, I'm not sure what publishers will think of such a wordy apical. I'll worry about that once I get to that stage of the project!

Story Fun

One of the fun things about this story is trying to imagine the characters and the music they would play, what it would sound like. Just  crusing through Youtube I came across a very young version of "Gette Kozak" playing the guitar in her room.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuX2VFSBOHM&feature=related

Now if they every made a movie of this story,...ha, ha, ha, I'd have to try and find out who this really is!

What is really ironic is that I have been using this photo of an unknown(to me) Hungarian Model as my,...model for Gette. The guitar playing girl is very similar.

Maybe over the next little while I'll add photos of the faces I used to picture my characters as I wrote.

Writing wise,...I have finish a major part of the story or have it saved and pages printed anyway. The "back to the present" part remains to be rewritten and saved so there is still a lot of work to do. In a way it is kind of sad to see another section of this story come to a close. I like these "imaginary friends" of mine and I like their story. I just wish they'd picked a better writer,...I do have to look forward to actually reading it from end to end for the first time and adding more finishing touches. We'll I better not "hang about" here then!

Another Sample

CHAPTER TWELVE: “CLIMBING BACK ON THE HORSE”

Sitting on the new baled hay stacked in the loft Mac retreated into his music. He dusted off a song he had started quite some time before during a previous crisis. The words and music came to him anew and somehow they seemed much more poignant. Being busy with his own solace, he failed to notice Gette withdrawing more and more into herself as well. For the first week or so she along with Deedee and Anja would go down to the bend in the Red Deer River. They would strip down and wade or swim across to the deeper channel on the far side. Returning, they would lay under the cottonwoods while they dried.

As of late Gette started staying after the others were finished or go alone to swim. She said it reminded her of when she was a child and they used to swim in the nearby Tisza River. Sometimes she would immerse herself in the cooling flow but more often she would sit and try to be soothed by the lapping sound of the water and the sunlight playing on the ripples. Other times singing, Gette would wander barefoot along the shore. She thought a lot about home and her life and wondered if it was all worth it. Gette remembered as she walked alone the guys warning her about dangerous quicksand that would “swallow up a horse and rider in seconds”. She wondered what that would be like. In reality it sounded horrible but if it was quick and if she was never found,...

Maybe she could be like Shakespeare’s Ophelia and float down the river in madness until the water filled her voluminous clothes and pulled her under. It might be pretty watching the sun on rippling water only from underneath! If only she had some voluminous clothing! Why did dying have to be so complicated?

The thing that always stopped her in the end was not so much the world going on without her, though that too made her sad. It was the pain and heartbreak her death would cause Anja, Deedee and most of all Mac. He had worked so hard to keep her alive. Her happiness always seemed his first concern. Mac would be devastated if she were to kill herself. He did have Anja though, and Anja would always pull him through. She on the other hand,...had no one!

Another day and another night went by without so much as a word from Lorne. Soon another week had passed. If he would even call to say that he had thought it over but could not bring himself to love her anymore, it wouldn’t be any easier but at least she would know. As it was, it seemed he had driven her from his thoughts, boarded over the memories they shared and hardening his heart, was getting on with his life without her. This was too much!

That morning Gette made up her mind. Avoiding Deedee and especially Anja she made her way down to the shore. It was another glorious summer day with high wispy mare’s tail clouds in an azure sky. Sunlight sparkled on the greenish river as it in turn reflected the dancing leaves of the cottonwoods in the warm gentle breeze. She had on one of her favourite short dresses and held her best high heels in one hand. Around her neck was a silver heart shaped locket that her brother Peter had given her a very long time ago. This was so if they ever did find her body,… they would know whose it was.

The water was clear and cool as it rose up her leg to mid thigh. Clouds of river silt swirled up around her feet with each step like dust storms on the Puszta only in miniature. Looking up at the sky for one last time Gette lay back in the water and let the current lift her off the bottom.

Heathen Hearts Chapter One (SAMPLE)

CHAPTER ONE: ONE OF THOSE DAYS

Torkel “MAC” Macleod opened his eyes on a dark room.  Outside the wind was howling as usual for this time of year. It fingered along the eaves, tugging at anything that might squeak or rattle. He thought it was strange the way he would be sound asleep and then instantly awake. The moon that brief hours ago had been so bright that it lit up the curtain with shards of silver flame had moved on, leaving his bedroom in shadows of blue and grey.

 “Where am I now and how did I get here?”  This seemed to be the ‘universal question’ and sometimes it wasn’t easily answered. With the room so dark and being unable to see its features, he could be anywhere. Often he dreamed though these dreams seemed so life like, that he was in places he had never been. It was disturbing in a way because though the locations changed in the dreams, they always seemed so familiar. Maybe it was because he dreamed about them so often or had anyway. Those dreams had reoccurred less and less over the years, even the dreams where he was back in Africa. Now he knew he had been there, his wife could vouch for it. That is where they had met and married. Still he didn’t feel at ease until he could finally identify familiar items in their proper places about the room. The one thing that he knew was missing was his wife. She was not with him most nights but at work.     He looked across her empty half of the bed at the clock.

 “Shit!”

 It was already seven minutes after six.  He tossed back the thick blankets and stood straight up out of bed.  He hated it when he slept in.  Elf would be home from the Pincher Creek Hospital where she was the night Nurse, at six thirty and he liked to have the door unlocked, the kettle on and be finished with the bathroom by the time she drove into the yard. “Elf” of course was his nickname for her. He thought she looked like an elf, especially when she smiled. The fact that her first name was actually Elfrida might have had something to do with it. It was an Old English name she had explained which meant “Elf-Advice” or advised by Elves. Mac said that is why she always knew what he was up to even when he didn’t!

In the dark he pulled off his pajama bottoms, dropping them on the bed before folding the blankets back.  In the dark he pulled his work shirt on over his head the same way he’d taken it off, without undoing the buttons.  In the dark he scooped up the rest of his clothing and padded in his sheep-skin slippers around the bed, through the doorway and into the bathroom.  As usual, he peered out the bathroom window to see the stars that winked down over the old house, sheds and corrals of the former farm where they lived.  Only this morning the moon, in the western sky obliterated the fragile starlight with its silver flare and lit the place up like a flood light.  He could see the horses munching at the bale of hay in the lea of the Caragana and Ash tree wind-break where the bare branches tossed back and forth as the wind roared over top.

Before dressing Mac left the bathroom turning on the light as he did so.  Now as per his routine, he switched on the porch light, unlocked the front door, hit the button on the TV remote for the morning news and then fed the gold fish in the tank beside the entertainment center.  Next he passed through the kitchen turning on the light at the far side before going into the back porch to feed Koko the cat.  Only after he had filled the kettle and readied the tea pot did he return to the bathroom.  He sat on the toilet with his head in his hands and his eyes closed for a moment.  Everyday seemed the same lately, nothing changed.  Work was the only thing the two of them ever did these days.  It seemed that they owed the bank for everything they had. So Mac worked as a pen rider at the big Feedlot halfway to town during the day and Elf worked at night making rounds ready to respond in the E.R. if necessary.  She also had a part time job two days a week as well. Her “hobby” was working as a cook at the seniors’ home.  They always seemed to be passing each other at the door.

It hadn’t always been like this. When they were younger they did things together. Hell, they had met during the bush war in what was then Rhodesia. Those were exciting times. When they were forced to leave, after Mugabe came to power, they brought their little family home to Alberta. There seemed to be time then, when the kids were growing up for hiking and riding in the mountains or swimming in the river. They had even taken a trip as a family to England where Elf’s people had ended up after fleeing Zimbabwe. Now with just the two of them there never seemed to be time for anything but work.

Mac ran the hot water into a face cloth and soaked the sleep out of his eyes.  Fifty six years, this month he had been looking into this face. He recognized those eyes as his own but the face they were in, belonged to some old guy he really didn’t like the look of.  Where was the head of flaming red hair, the hallmark of his branch of the Macleod clan?  The red had all turned traitor and surrendered into white while the blonde strands had become grey highlights.  His forehead seemed have extended a fair ways up as well.  The scar from his old horse accident, sort of in the shape of a check mark and slightly dented in seemed more obvious there, where he combed his part above the left temple.  Mac found himself seeking it out feeling it with the tips of his fingers more often these days.  He didn’t remember the accident, something about a wreck involving a cougar attack while riding lease on the eastern slopes, but it was so long ago in his ‘Cowboy’ days, it didn’t matter anyway.

The tea was wet when Elf pulled into the driveway, the car lights reflecting through the window onto the mirror in the living room.  Mac put his cereal bowl down and met his wife at the door.  They chatted back and forth about the various events and happenings she had heard about in town as they made their way to the kitchen.  Reaching out Mac caught Elf as she bustled about putting away the shopping she had picked up the evening before.  They leaned against each other both holding on tight.  The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock.  Mac kissed her softly on the neck before they found each other’s lips.

“I have to take my pills” Elf still had the ghost of her Rhodesian accent after all these years. She released herself from his arms, “I am so sore and tired.  I have to get to bed.  What time are you home from work today?” She called as she moved back and forth between the bathroom and the bedroom. “I’ll have supper ready for you when you get home”.

As the bedroom door closed Elf called out “Good night!”

“Love yah later, Elf!” Mac gave his usual response.

“Later,… always later!” Came her standard reply from behind the door.

Pulling on his coat and cap Mac stepped out into the crisp November morning.  The eastern sky was fairly bright by now so he had no fear of stepping on the kittens that scampered about his feet as he poured out fresh cat food into one dish and water into another.  Escaping from the kittens he walked toward the corrals.  The horses nickered. He answered back, talking to the two animals with his “Mr. Ed” voice that brought them to the fence. From here they followed along as he made his way to the feed shed.  Drawing back the bolt and swinging open the door, more kittens scurried into hiding in the dark corners.

“Okay you Hillbillies” he sighed as he reached for more cat food and water on a shelf, “Keep your fur on, you’ll get fed too”.  Next he used a cup to scoop rolled oats into two rubber tubs for the horses.  He carried the tubs out to the corral talking then scolding the two horses until they had sorted themselves out into their proper positions before placing one tub in front of each animal.  On the way to fill the water trough Mac stopped to listen to the quiet.  It was funny how the wind could be raging all night but it always seemed to calm in time for him to do his chores.  This time of year, or in the spring, a flight of geese or even swans would drift over, almost within reach, to land in the dugout across the fence on the neighbors land.  Coyotes would often start their yipping this time of day and if he saw them Mac would yell at them to leave his cats alone.  Today there were Hungarian Partridge clucking and squawking from the Caragana hedge along the south side of the yard.  Off to the west the full moon, now much paler in the morning light settled between the peaks of the front range of the Rocky Mountains.  Slowly the snow, airbrushed onto the mountain crags and faces, blushed from pink to orange as the sun’s rays stabbed over the prairie and hills along the eastern skyline.  This was the time of day that made him love living in Alberta. He had lived in the Pincher Creek area all his life.  Except for those years when his parents had moved them as kids to Calgary and of course, the two and a half years he lived in Rhodesia. Soon enough the wind would come back up, usually by the time he was in the saddle at the feedlot. Tears would stream down from under his glasses as the west wind tried to tear off his skin. At times like that he would try and remember moments like this.

“Pincher Creekers are tougher than most folk”.  Reluctantly, Mac gathered the empty horse tubs and made his way back up the front steps, through the tumbling kittens and into the house.

There was still a bit of time before he had to go to work, so Mac wandered into the back porch which had become his “office”.  Piles of paper littered every flat surface and some of the floor.  His many attempted novels, stories, poems and songs sat in heaps waiting for the time and attention Mac had so little of these days. He flipped over a sheet of paper and recognized one such song. “If only he knew how to really play that old guitar buried under the paper instead of just bang away, if only he could write the music”, he mused, “Some of this stuff wasn’t half bad”. Mac sighed at the thought of the lost opportunities as he turned on the computer to check his e-mails.  Mac had felt that he could not justify the expense of a broadband high speed connection and satellite T.V.so he went through the routine of connecting through “Dial-up”.  Slowly his emails loaded onto the screen.  Mac and Elf had three children and both daughters and his son had left messages. He clicked the first and saw a link appear with the short message from darling daughter number one,

“Is there something you’re not telling us??”

He wondered what that was supposed to mean.  The link was to a video on Youtube and Mac knew from experience that it takes forever to download a video on Dial-up. He decided to look later and clicked on the next message.

Here too he found a link to Youtube, although a different one.  His Son’s message was also brief, “Did your computer geek friend in Calgary, do this for you?”  Again, Mac was confused but for the second time he wasn’t going to waste the time waiting for a video to download so, click, next email.

Once more a link and a message, this time from Darling Daughter Number two, “You have a doppelganger!”

“What the,…”, he murmured.

This time he did click on the link and waited as slowly the web site put itself together on his screen.  At length the tell tale black box came up with the spinning wheel. Mac looked at the clock, it was time to go. ”Damn” he swore, “no time!”   He closed out before shutting the computer down.

Mac hated his job.  He hated every minute that his job took from “something he’s rather be doing”.  Unfortunately that “something” usually meant puttering around the acreage, riding his horses, or trying to write something in his office, and that wasn’t going to help pay the bills.  There was a time right after they’d come back from Africa that he had a chance at a place of his own. His Aunt Lucy had died and his cousin Tom was ready to pull the plug on ranching. Mac and Elf didn’t have the money, even to put a down payment on the ranch and Cousin Tom wasn’t interested in a partnership. So the ranch in the Gladstone valley was sold and Mac had to go to work for other people to make a living.

As he drove his old 4x4 out of the yard, his only pleasure was singing along with the radio tuned in to the Rock station.  He loved the tunes with the heavy beat and crunching guitars. No tapping on the snare drum or plinka-plinking quietly on the guitar for him.  The singer too had to be putting his heart into the words, even if they were obscure or repetitive as they often were these days. Mac would join right in belting it out if he could make out the words or sing harmonies if he could only understand the chorus.

This morning was crap though.  The wind came back up as expected blowing pea-gravel off the drive like it was fired out of a shotgun. His job, along with about a half dozen other cowboys, was to ride his horse through fifty pens containing approximately 20,000 head of calves in total, all being fattened for market or ‘Back-grounded’ to be fattened later. He was to look for the lame, the sick and the injured. Any animal that was doing “poorly” he would pull from that pen and guide the “patient” to a metal clad building known as “the Hospital”. Now-a-days he would be called an “Animal Health Technician” but few of his generation had ever taken the courses or gone to the college. Their “school” had been years in the saddle and thousands of head of cattle passing under their care.  The new generation wore the blue coveralls and waited in the “Hospital” to render assistance to those Mac felt were in need. Some days it seemed like he had been doing this in rain and snow, wind and heat for far too long.  This was one of those days.