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Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Bearly There
I watch a raven perch on a large green pottery dish I have set out on a stump just at the edge of the woods. I fill the dish for the birds most days with water from one of the rain barrels. It is the hot, dry, dangerous height of summer in the mountains. The raven dips a black beak into the liquid and drinks, repeating this gesture over and over again, returning upright after each sip to survey the surroundings.

I sit shoulder-deep in water in the "hot tub," which I now keep at a fairly cool temperature due to the warm summer days. I like to take a cup of morning coffee out to the back patio to float in the still water and meditate in the morning. I watch the woods behind the cabin, and I enjoy a few precious minutes of quiet mind.

This summer, a family of green-backed swallows have made their home in the bluebird house under the eave of the roof. The new babies are creating quite a cacophony. The parents are rushing to and fro to find food for what sounds like three chicks chirping. The little ones chatter a slow cadence of cheek-cheek-cheek until a parent returns, at which point, the babies' voices escalate to a frenzied pitch and tempo. The mother swallow swoops low, right over my head, and dives straight into the little hole in the face of the birdhouse with amazing accuracy. A tiny wren dances on the rim of the cedar fence and watches.

More activity: A squirrel does acrobatics on a tree limb near me. He, too, will take water from one of the several stone basins near the cabin that I keep full at this time of year, when I'm home. A pair of hummingbirds thrum around the pots and baskets of flowers, savoring the red and purple blossoms the most. I used to put out a feeder for the hummingbirds until it drew unintended visitors: bears. Now I no longer feed the hummingbirds for fear I would cause a bear to become used to coming near human communities for food. You know what they say: a fed bear is a dead bear.

A bear visited just the other night, actually the wee hours of the morning. A nocturnal writer, I was working in the Sky Chapel, engrossed in the computer screen when I heard a series of thumps. I quickly put the computer to sleep so the screen would dim, turned out the light, and went to the window. There, just a few feet from me—outside a big, wide-open casement window—a bear stood upright, wrestling with and banging on the big, green, "bear-proof" trash container. She looked at the window as I drew near, but I could not tell if she saw me. She was, however, quite aware of me, as she raised her nose and drew in my scent with a big sniff. I did the same, smelling her wild, gamey smell. She hesitated, facing the window, only a thin stretch of screen between us. But she was soon disinterested in me: she returned to the big trash container, throwing it down and dragging it a few yards into the woods in frustration at being unable to unlock it. She was a black bear, larger than most, and I have decided that she is probably female because I have also seen a nearly-mature cub this season, so I imagine the two are related.

But back to this morning, floating in the hot tub: I realize that I am much like this visitor friend of mine, the bear. It is high summer, and when I am home (which is not enough of the time) I tend to retreat into the woods, keeping close to my den and delighting in the beauty of the mountains, the achingly blue sky, the smell of pine sap in the ponderosas, the wildflowers. I scrabble up and down the rocky slopes during the cool mornings and evenings, and I only venture far from my den for supplies. I like to do my roaming at night, through my writing.

Cumulus clouds are building over the peaks already this morning. Lately, it has clouded over several days straight in the afternoon. Sometimes these clouds bring rumbling thunder—rarely a shower. It is mostly dry now. Hot (at least for the mountains) and dry. Until the monsoons come to slake the forest's thirst, the bears will be hungry, as there are few berries and succulent roots when it is this dry. This is what brings these foragers dangerously close to human community.

One last sip of coffee, and I rise from the water and pull on a thick, black, hooded robe. To the raven, squirrel, the family of swallows, hummingbirds, flowers, and the wren, I give thanks. To the water in which I floated, the pines, the rocks, the mountains and the clouds—even to the remembered visit from the bear—I bow down. To all of these, I owe my respect and gratitude for a few moments of still mind, a precious respite from thought and ego and hurry and worry. Now, I will try to carry all that beauty with me into the rest my day, into my wild writing.
7:01 am mst

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Savoring Summer

I've been on the road a lot this year and had a wonderful time meeting friends, fans, booksellers, fellow authors, and publishing folks all over the country. It has been stimulating and exciting to see so many new places and faces.

But it is also exceedingly pleasant to come home to this mountain valley and soak in the quiet and calm of a Rocky Mountain summer. We have elk and deer in the front meadow every morning and evening, visits from foxes and even an occasional bear—we have a big, big bear around this season!—to enjoy the scolding of the ravens and the chatter of finches, wrens, and Rocky Mountain bluebirds, who are nesting under the eaves of the house.

Our wolf Tiwa recently got into a playful "fencing" bout with a young bull elk who is surely destined to become leader of his own herd, as he was fearless and challenging. If you'd like to take a peek at these two playing along the fence line of Tiwa's confine, check out the YouTube video by clicking HERE.

I'll be home for a short time, sitting on the deck writing, working on the fourth in the WILD Mystery Series while the third moves along the editorial process and into publication. Hope you all have blue skies, beautiful views, some WILD things to share your days with, and a safe and joyous summer.

8:37 am mst

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Some Kind of Wonderful!

I have just returned to the Grand Hyatt Hotel in New York City after the Agents & Editors cocktail party, where I received an incredible honor. This honor of which is speak is a special Edgar® Award, the Simon  & Schuster Mary Higgins Clark Award. This treasure was presented to me for my first in the WILD Mystery Series, WILD INDIGO, by none other than Mary Higgins Clark herself. My presenter, Ms. Clark, was not only gowned and coiffed elegantly (as always), but as gracious and good-hearted as could be.

I'm still drinking it all in, not yet in real-time.

To tell the honest truth, I never dreamed...not of the nomination, nor of winning the award. Particularly amid such a distinguished and accomplished field of nominees. And yet, here beside my laptop in my hotel room is an engraved crystal book that reads:

"The Mary Higgins Clark Award/April 2008/Mystery Writers of America/Simon & Schuster/Presented to Sandi Ault, Wild Indigo."

I am sufficiently amazed that I am unable to say much more about it. The event flashed past me like a bolt of lightning. I cannot remember much at all except that it happened, and now here is this beautiful trophy. I do remember saying thanks (or at least I hope I actually said these thanks) to all those who make a book happen, and I can recount those many gratitudes to you readers here:

Once a writer produces a story, there are so many amazing and diligent and talented people who make that story into a book that it almost seems unfair to put only the author's name under the title. There is almost always an agent, and an editor and perhaps an assistant or associate editor, a copy editor, a master editor, an art department, a publicity department, a sales department, a marketing department, and so on and so on and so on. All these people add their hard work and talents to the story that becomes a book that wins an award that the author takes home with her name alone on the prize. To all these characters who helped me along in the journey of WILD INDIGO, I say thank you, and I am grateful.

I also thank my husband, Tracy, the Tiwa people who shared stories with me, my family and friends who believed in me and supported me, the booksellers and fans, and the Mystery Writers of America and the committee of judges who read the book and gave it their vote. And of course, as always, I am ever grateful to Mountain, the wolf in WILD INDIGO, who gave me so many lessons and stories and traveled with me as that story became a book.

This is all some kind of wonderful!

8:56 pm mst

Monday, April 28, 2008

The Book is Dead? Long Live the Book!

I'm still swooning over The L.A. Times Festival of the Book, which just ended on an upnote last evening, when I attended the Agents Panel, which was standing room only—a fair-sized auditorium filled with aspiring authors wanting to hear the latest from agents on what will get them that sought-after publishing deal. I attended mystery panels as well, and was pleased to participate in one deftly moderated by Sarah Weinman. I signed and signed and signed, met thousands of fans, and hung out in the fabulous, constantly gourmet-catered, green room where I met everyone from Scott Simon to Tim Curry and every author you can imagine inbetween.

A high point for me was meeting Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carol Higgins Clark. Since I am nominated for the MHC Award at the Edgars for WILD INDIGO, it was a delight to meet these two women who are the very embodiment of success in the publishing world. I also attended their delightful panel in which ace NPR interviewer Fran Helpern steered them from past to present and all points in between, eliciting delightfully intimate and heartfelt responses from the two authors, as she probed with extraordinarily insightful questions.

The heat was sweltering, and yet nearly 150K fans came pulling wheeled carts or schlepping backpacks to meet and hear their favorite book people, to have them sign and to have their photos taken with them. I'll fill in more details later, but I'm on an incredibly tight schedule to get to the Edgars in NYC this week next. In the meantime, with all the media hype about how the book is dead, let them eat cake (in the green room at the LAT FOB). In Los Angeles, at least for this one spectacular weekend, over a hundred thousand of us braved the heat and the crowds to say Long Live the Book!

 

For photos from the LAT FOB, check out the WILD Blog Photo Album by clicking HERE:

8:33 am mst

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Edgar, the Raven, and the asphalt jungle…

    Here in the mountains, ravens call to us as we hike up the slopes of the mountain, through the pines. Tiwa, our wolf companion, wallows in a deep pocket of snow to cool himself from the heat of exertion and a sunny day. It's beautiful here in the Rocky Mountains, where snow still falls at least once a week, but spring pushes through and brings sunlit afternoons that warm into the sixties. I smell the sharp scent of the pine needles as the sap rises. I pick up a handful of snow mounded against a lichen-covered rock outcropping and find it has condensed to ice crystals the consistency of a good snowcone. The sky is the color of turquoise. One raven scolds as we crunch through the snow and pine needles, warning every resident of the forest that there are strangers coming.

    This coming week starts another round of travel that will lead us far from these mountains and from our home. First, to the Pacific Northwest, where I will enjoy reuniting with friends and fans and talking again with media for a signing in Tacoma, WA. From there, on to sunny Los Angeles for The L.A.Times Festival of the Book, an exciting celebration of literature that features literally hundreds of authors, editors, agents, literary critics, writers, bloggers, and thousands of fans. What an honor it is to be invited to such a premiere event!  And from there-directly-a long flight with my agent and my husband clear across the continent to the asphalt jungles of New York City, where the Annual Edgar Allan Poe Awards® will be given out at a televised, red-carpet, black-tie gala at the Grand Hyatt Hotel.

There in New York, the only raven we will likely encounter might be the poem by the patron saint for which the Edgar® Award is named. The Edgars® are commonly known as "The Academy Awards of Mystery", and these "Oscars®" of our genre are awarded in much the same way as the film industry recognizes its best and brightest. The best and the brightest of professionally-published mystery authors nominate and then jury the latest crop of work. What a mark of distinction it is for me as an author to have a book nominated for an award by such distinguished peers! But even more: WILD INDIGO is the first and only debut novel to be nominated for the Mary Higgins Clark Award, making it even more of an tribute!

    I cannot help but wish Mountain, the wolf in WILD INDIGO and in the WILD Mystery Series, were here for all of this excitement, and to see what a celebrity he has become. But of course, Mountain would care nothing for the asphalt jungle, the black tie attire, or probably even the Edgar®. He would be more at home with the mountain, the pines, the raven, and the swales still full of snow, as Tiwa was on our hike today. Mountain was with me in spirit as we went up the mountain, just as he and I did so many times together-up the slopes to Tradition Rock, an outcropping from which you can see the whole pine-covered valley, and from which our small cabin looks no larger than the dot at the end of this sentence. So many times, Mountain and I packed a lunch and spent the day on those very slopes, and the trails we hiked and the rocks we climbed were permeated with beautiful memories for me. Mountain was always ready for another adventure.

    I would love to bring home an Edgar® to commemorate the journey that Mountain and I took through life and onto the pages of WILD INDIGO and the WILD Mystery Series. I would love to share it with him when I return and visit the place where we scattered some of his ashes, to thank him again for teaching me so much about how to live. But no matter what happens, I am thrilled and completely honored to have been nominated. What an exciting adventure this has become: from ravens and rocks and mountains and pines, from coast to coast, from the work I love to the asphalt jungle to celebrate with my esteemed colleagues the highest achievement of storytellers in our field. From the delight of meeting so many wonderful fans of the West and of mystery in particular to the delightful call of the raven as we pass through the pines on our way to Tradition Rock. What a wonderful journey, indeed.

 

For photos of Tiwa, Tradition Rock, and hiking with the ravens in the mountains, check out the WILD Blog Photo Album by clicking HERE: 

4:12 pm mst

2008.07.01 | 2008.06.01 | 2008.04.01 | 2008.02.01 | 2008.01.01 | 2007.12.01 | 2007.10.01

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sandiault.com Copyright 2008, Sandi Ault, All Rights Reserved
Music by Sandi Ault, Photos by Tracy A. Kerns and Sandi Ault unless otherwise stated
If You Can't Stand the Heat emblem designed by Eric Schodde
WILD INDIGO cover art by Steve Ferlauto, Book Cover design by Jim Lebbad
WILD INFERNO cover art by Steve Ferlauto, Photo for cover by Tracy A. Kerns
Courtesy of Berkley Publishing Group All Rights Reserved
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