More Character Development – Gabriel Hawke

~ patyjag ~ 1 Comment

I had a reader ask me how I come up with my characters. Last month I wrote about how I came up with Shandra Higheagle, my main character in the Shandra Higheagle Mysteries.

This month I’ll tell you how I came up with Gabriel Hawke, the main character in the Gabriel Hawke Novels. How I came up with names and secondary characters.

To start with, I wanted to set a series in the county where I grew up. I love the mountains, the valleys, the rivers, and the lakes. Wallowa County is beautiful year-round. Growing up in a small community, you learn the dynamics quickly. There are people whose families homesteaded; they feel the county is theirs. Anyone who moves in is an outsider until they have lived there for several generations It’s just the way it is. That makes for conflicts and misunderstandings. And small communities have secrets. Some are a hundred years old and some aren’t that old, but they are there and you know in a rural area, gossip moves faster than an F-16. Those were part of the reasons I picked this county for my setting. That and I wanted a Game Warden and have deaths in the mountains.

I asked my son-in-law if I could ride along with an Oregon State Police Fish and Wildlife Trooper. He set it up, and I spent a day riding around the county, learning what the job entailed, and I knew this was my character’s occupation. The trooper I rode with told me about how he could go from one corner of the county to the opposite one in one day, checking hunting tags or doing a callout. The county is 3,152 square miles. So it could take several hours to go from one corner to the other because most of the roads are gravel or logging roads that he navigates.

While riding with him, he told me stories about some incidents that he helped with and told how he not only does his job as a Fish and Wildlife officer, he also has to do the job of a State Trooper because the county is so large yet only has a population of 7,500, so there are few county and state law enforcement officers. In fact, there are four main towns in the county and only one has city police. It is the county seat.

My friend author Carmen Peone took this photo for me.

Now for Hawke. Because Wallowa County was the summer and winter home of the Wallowa band of Nimiipuu, or Nez Perce, I wanted my character to be of that tribe and to protect the land and animals of his ancestors. I gave him a backstory of growing up on the Umatilla Reservation outside of Pendleton- 3 hours from Wallowa County. His mother is Cayuse and his father was from the Nimiipuu Lapwai Reservation in Idaho. He excelled in sports in high school and went on to join the Marines. He was there four years and came back to Oregon and entered the Oregon State Police Academy. His first job was patrolling I-84 between La Grande and Hermiston — that meant he could live on the reservation and work.

He met a woman, married her and then ended up arresting her brother for drugs. She left him and when there was an opening in the Wallowas, he applied and got it. He isn’t a young trooper. He’s actually been a trooper long enough he could retire. He’s in his late fifties, getting closer to sixty, but he loves his job.

This was all the information I knew when I started writing the first book, Murder of Ravens.

I started that book with him being a mature single man living in a studio apartment over an indoor horse arena. He has a horse, a mule, and a dog. Since he isn’t one to get caught up in names, his horse is Jack, the name he had when Hawke purchased him. The mule came without a name, and after Hawke dealt with its cantankerous disposition, he named the mule Horse, hoping it would act more like a horse than a stubborn mule. And Dog is his constant companion when he’s out in the mountains or at home. When the animal came to him when he said, “Come Dog,” Hawke decided the name was good enough.

The horse stable where Hawke lives is part of a farm run by Herb and Darlene Trembley. Over the years, the landlords have become friends and an excellent resource for Hawke when he’s looking into families with history in the county. They grew up here, and their families have been in the county for generations.

While patrolling in the Wallowa Mountains and Eagle Cap Wilderness, Hawke enjoys the freedom of wearing his civilian clothes so poachers won’t take pot shots at him. He takes Dog with him, rides Jack, and packs Horse. They are a smooth-working team when Horse is having a good day. Hawke loves being in the mountains and takes all the patrols that he can.

While in the mountains investigating a death at Charlie’s Hunting Lodge, he butts heads with the new owner, Charlie’s niece, Dani Singer. Initially, they don’t get along and don’t understand one another. Hawke is trying to reconnect with his heritage, and she has run from it her whole life, pretending she wasn’t Indigenous, to not be tossed aside when she applied for the Air Force Academy. She made it in and became a skilled pilot. Since retiring from the Air Force, she uses that skill to fly clients into the Hunting Lodge with her plane and helicopter. As the series progresses, so does their admiration for one another.

The other secondary characters who show up in most of the books are Kitree, the girl who outfoxes Hawke in Book 2, Mouse Trail Ends. She ends up an orphan when her parents are killed while camping in the mountains. She is adopted by Tuck and Sage Kimball, Dani’s wrangler and cook at the hunting lodge.

His mother, Mimi Shumack, still lives at the Umatilla Reservation. He visits her often. She is a big part of who he is as an adult. She remarried when Hawke’s father left and had a daughter who is ten years younger than Hawke. The stepfather was a mean drunk. This shaped who Hawke is today.

Then I had to discover how many city police, county officers, and state police are in the county. I gave them all names, and they come and go in each book depending on what is happening.

Hawke’s personality is quiet, reflective. He rarely loses his temper unless he sees an animal or person being mistreated. He believes in taking care of the land and animals to keep nature at peace. He upholds the laws but will bend the law if it will catch a killer. He has tracking skills he uses not only to follow tracks but also to follow the trail of clues he uncovers while investigating. His need to find the truth or evidence can sometimes get him into trouble, but he manages with the help of Dog and friends to get out of it.

If you haven’t had the chance to read one of Hawke’s books, you can find Murder of Ravens at my website in ebook, audiobook, and print.

Murder of Ravens

The ancient art of tracking is his greatest strength…

And his biggest weakness.

Fish and Wildlife State Trooper Gabriel Hawke believes he’s chasing poachers.

However, he encounters a wildlife biologist standing over a body wearing a wolf tracking collar.

He uses master tracker skills taught to him by his Nez Perce grandfather to follow clues on the mountain. Paper trails and the whisper of rumors in the rural community where he works, draws Hawke to a conclusion that he finds bitter.

Arresting his brother-in-law ended his marriage, could solving this murder ruin a friendship?

Universal book link: https://www.books2read.com/u/bxZwMP

There’s a bundle of holiday gifts coming your way! 

I’m joining eleven other fabulous, award-winning, and best-selling mystery authors for a 12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS STORY GIVEAWAY.

Here’s how it will work: 

For eleven days starting December 1st, you’ll receive a link for a completely free holiday story–no newsletter signups necessary. Then, on the 12th day, you’ll get a bundle of extra goodies to celebrate the season

Sound like fun?

If you want to make sure not to miss any of the stories and bonuses, you can sign up for my newsletter using this link: https://successful-speaker-2057.kit.com/dddfb95104

My Muse and I Talk About Writer’s Block

~ Margaret Lucke ~ 8 Comments

by Margaret Lucke

My Muse wanders into my office, tea mug in hand. As usual, she’s late.

“Finally!” I say. “Where have you been?”

She comes around behind and peers over my shoulder at the screen.

“That page is blank,” she announces.

Talk about stating the obvious.

“Well, duh,” I explain to her.

She leans forward to look closer. Tea splashes on my shoulder. “Why are there no words on it?”

“Because I haven’t started yet. I don’t know what to write.” Rubbing at the wet spot, I whine, “It’s your fault. If you would just show up on time …”

“Oh, you don’t need me.”

“Yes, I do.” Then I make my dire confession: “I have writer’s block.”

She laughs, which is not the response I was hoping for. “What a silly notion.”

“Are you claiming there’s no such thing as writer’s block? Because I can assure you it’s real. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been afflicted with–”

“—with fear, lack of confidence, perfectionism, procrastination, other things in your life that demand time and attention, and outside distractions. You know, your neighbors really should get rid of that annoying rooster–”

A loud cockle-doodle-doo from the adjoining backyard punctuates her point.

 “–but all of those are only excuses,” my Muse concludes. “All you have to do is start putting down words.”

By now I’m up from my desk, pacing around. The sight of the empty page has become unbearable. “I can’t just fill a page by writing blah blah blah one hundred times. The words have to make sense. They have to tell a story. They have to be exciting and compelling so the reader will get hooked and keep on reading.”

 “No, they don’t. You know what Nora Roberts has said: ‘I can fix a bad page. I can’t fix a blank page.’ At this point it’s okay to write drivel. Let your characters loose to wander around. They’ll stumble on the story sooner or later. Once they do, you can go back and pretty up the words.”

She sits down in my chair and sets down the mug. For a few seconds her fingers fly across the keyboard. Then she gets up again and dusts off the seat. “Okay, your turn.”

I read what she’s written: Once upon a time. Not much help. “What comes next?”

“Oh, you can figure that out for yourself.”

“But this is your job. You’re the Muse. You’re supposed to inspire me.”

“I just did.” She takes a sip of tea.

I stare at the words. No matter how hard I strain my brain, no thoughts are forthcoming. Finally I say, “I really need your assistance here.”

She shakes her head and giggles. “No, it’s up to you.”

“I can’t do it alone. What will it take to get your help?” I think for a moment, then say, “Suppose I bribe you with chocolate?”

My Muse breaks into a grin. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I prefer the dark kind. Almonds in it would be nice.”

I go to the kitchen and bring back a treat for each of us. When I sit down again, she places her guiding hand on my shoulder. I retype her phrase—Once upon a time—and then I make myself keep going.

Words tumble onto the page. They are clunky. They are awkward. To be honest, they are a hot mess. But slowly, oh so slowly, I can see that a few good ideas are beginning to emerge.  My Muse and I can fix the words later—so long as I remember to replenish my supply of chocolate.

* * *

I’m honored and delighted to be teaching a class called “Writing Genre Fiction” for University of California–Berkeley Extension this winter – 10 Thursday evenings, January 22-April 2 (no class on February 26 because I’ll be at the wonderful Left Coast Crime convention). It meets on Zoom so you can attend from anywhere. We’ll explore popular genres of fiction—mystery, thriller, science fiction, fantasy, horror and romance, covering techniques that are essential to all fiction while examining the characteristics, conventions and reader expectations associated with each genre. You can learn more here.

~ Nancy Lynn Jarvis ~ 2 Comments

Let’s have some fun today. Help me finish this story.

The holidays are fast approaching so I thought we should all take a deep breath and kick back with a cooperative mystery for us to solve before everything gets crazy-busy.

 The best story I ever heard took place in the ladies’ bathroom at Mission Ranch in Carmel, a gorgeous property on the Monterey Bay owned by Clint Earwood. The only thing that has kept me from turning it into a fun short story is that the ending remains a mystery.

There’s a small two-stall bathroom just outside the property restaurant which is as quaint and charming as the setting itself so I was happy to head for it when nature called. When I went inside, both stalls were occupied. The women in the stalls obviously knew one another and were engaged in a conversation. I had to wait for one of them to come out before I could attend to business.

I’m a writer which means I eavesdrop, but even if I weren’t, their conversation would have been enticing.

… “that’s when I realized the door had locked with me inside. I tried but I couldn’t open it. I pounded on the door and called for help, but then I looked at my watch and saw it was after five o’clock. I guessed the building was empty except for me in the bathroom. The worst part was that it was a Friday night and probably no one would find me until Monday morning.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Not really. I mean I was concerned, but I was in a bathroom so I had water and facilities. I even had half a sandwich in my purse that I saved from lunch and it didn’t have mayo on it so it would be safe to eat whenever I wanted.”

“That’s not much to eat for a weekend.”

“No, it isn’t, and I really didn’t want to spend the weekend locked in a bathroom.”

“Did you try using your phone to call for help?”

“You know how bad I am about keeping that thing charged. It was dead.”

“So, what did you do?”

At that moment I heard a flush. One of the stall doors opened and a tall woman came out and headed to the sink to wash her hands. She smiled at me and nodded her head ever so slightly to indicate I could now use her stall. I went inside and closed the door as their conversation continued.

“Well, I definitely didn’t panic. I noticed there was a small window on an outside wall. I could see it was outside because even though the glass was sort of frosted, I could still make out trees in the distance.”

“Uh huh.”

“I pushed it and the bottom pane slide up.”

“That was lucky.”

“It was. I yelled some more, but it seemed no one heard me. The window opening wasn’t very big and it was at about chest height…anyway, I’m petite and I figured I could just squeeze through it. The only problem was getting up high enough to do that.  I looked around and found a trash can. I upended it and pushed it under the window. Doing that made me up high enough that I could go out of the window, although I’d have to go head first which I didn’t like.”

“Head first?! Where would you land. You might hurt yourself.”

“I looked out. There was a high shrub, a camelia I think, not anything prickly, but a nice soft looking one so I thought I would make a soft landing. The only problem was I was wearing a lovely new outfit—a soft cream-colored cashmere sweater and matching wool pants—and knew I’d ruin my clothing squeezing out the window.”

“What did you do?”

I heard another flush, the second stall door squeak open, and the sink being used again.

“The only thing I could do. I tossed my purse out the window and took off my sweater and pants and tossed them out too, and then I climbed up on the trash can and…”

That’s when the women left the bathroom. What happened next remains a mystery to me. How would you finish the story? There’s a free copy of “What Lucy Heard” in print or for your e-reader for the person who comes up with the best ending. It seems like an appropriate title as a reward since the book is all about hearing something curious, too.

The Cookies of Life

~ Janet Dawson ~ 8 Comments

Years ago, someone gave me a small pillow with the following quote:

In the cookies of life, friends are the chocolate chips.

Lately, the cookies of life have been handing me some broken pieces. Now, more than ever, I am grateful and thankful for my friends. They are abundant and stalwart chocolate chips.

Friends come in all varieties and are acquired in many ways. There are old friends, people I’m close to that I’ve known for a long, long time. I often call them friends of longstanding. Right now I’m thinking of three very close and longstanding friends. One I’ve known since high school, a friendship lasting nearly 60 years. Another friendship is coming up on a 50-year anniversary, someone I met while we were both serving in the Navy. A third friend I met through our mutual interest in mystery fiction and we’ve known each other 45 years.

There are friends who are also relatives, cousins that I’m close to, who I can share things with. There are other friends I’ve known since junior high and high school, bonded by that shared experience a long time ago. Friends met while I was serving in the Navy, people I’ve kept up with all these years.

Friends from the mystery writing and fan community, sharing a love of books, particularly those that feature fictional dead bodies. The kinds of friends I can talk shop with, discussing our works in progress as well as the vicissitudes of life.

Friends I met in the workplace, from jobs I’ve had over the years. We’ve stayed in touch, even though we are no longer coworkers. I lost one such friend earlier this year. She lived in San Francisco and was my buddy for outings to museums, the theatre, the symphony. I’m still getting used to going to plays by myself instead of calling her up to see when she has availability on her calendar.

I have friends I’ve known for years because I’m part of a loosely-knit cat sitting group—we take care of each other’s cats when we’re out of town. The cat ladies, as I call them, are the ones who looked after my fur babies for weeks during my mother’s last illness and the aftermath—and left food in my refrigerator when I returned home following the funeral.

I also have friends in my tai chi group. They are great fans of my famous carrot cake when I bring it to potlucks. They have been sending me good chi during my recent illness. And new friends acquired in my Italian class at the local senior center who took the time to sign and send a get-well card.

I have friends where I live. I bought my condo 33 years ago and I am blessed with good neighbors. There’s a neighbor a few doors down who takes in my mail and waters my garden when I’m out of town. She drives me to the airport and train station, and I do the same for her. There’s another neighbor across the way who shows up with his toolbox to give me a hand when I need it. Another neighbor does cat care visits in a pinch. And recently several neighbors have bought groceries for me and driven me to medical appointments.

So here’s to you, my friends. And many thanks. You’ve added sweetness and flavor to my life.

Guest Blogger ~ Max Burger

~ patyjag ~ 1 Comment

I was intimately affected by the bombing in Dublin in 1974. As depicted in the excerpt from the book (see my website: http://maxburgerauthor.ag-sites.net/ I was a student assisting in the surgery of a victim. The description of the procedure was real. Our uncertainty of both the outcome and the identity of the victim was real as well. Never having experienced the chaos of a trauma case when minutes could mean life or death, and the unpredictability of the outcome, made me acutely aware of the tension in the room. As primarily an observer, my mind raced over the possibility of what might happen and the sad anonymity of a John Doe. The nature of the injury and the markings on the body only added to my questions. This man may have gotten his wounds in any number of ways; the speed that was needed to repair them did not allow for careful review and analysis with a plan for the outcome as it might in an elective surgery. The black rose tattoo added to the questions — a symbol of the Irish resistance to British rule. Whether this person was a member of the IRA or just a proud Republican, I never found out, but the question prompted a momentary pause in the surgery and, for me, the idea of a story of identity. The idea of a pathologist who puts together the pieces came naturally since a dead person could tell a story even if it had to be translated by the skillful eyes and hands of a pathologist. I had seen enough autopsies as a student to know the process and practiced medicine long enough to know the diseases that inhabited the bodies of the dead.

The politics of the time overlaid all the facets of Irish life but were brought into sharp focus with the bombing. I, as most students, was more involved in my social life and studying than following the news which was most violent in Northern Ireland and along the border, as distant as the war in Vietnam was a series of terrible stories that I left at home. We were relatively safe in Dublin until the reality of the violence hit the peaceful city. We all were changed with the bombings, as was my protagonist, Harold Stokes, and his assistant, Samantha Monaghan. Actions needed to be taken.

This is now a work of history and memory, but the circumstances felt very real. I wrote the novel to work through the feelings I couldn’t forget.

EVEN IN DEATH

After the Dublin car bombings in 1974, Harold Stokes, ME, and his new assistant, Samantha Monaghan, begin the last autopsy of the casualties. This unidentified victim is not an Irishman, but an Israeli, killed by a bullet, not a bomb. Before they can finish their task, the body is stolen. Stokes and Monaghan hunt for the victim, but Stokes is also looking for the killers who caused his wife and daughter’s bombing deaths two years before. In their hunt, he and his impetuous young assistant are enmeshed in a web of IRA and Palestinian arms trades with a terrorist known as the Jackal, the Mossad, more factional killings, and the manipulations of an Irish ex-minister using his power to take advantage of the turmoil.

Available On Amazon Google Play Barnes & Noble  Kobo Apple Books

Max Burger is a retired Family Physician, His novel Even In Death, a mystery/thriller of a 1970s Dublin pathologist searching for a stolen body, was published by Rogue Phoenix Press in December 2023. He has completed another novel, My Father’s Father, a Holocaust Family Saga. The first chapter was published in October 2023 in Embark, a literary magazine, and another excerpt, “Lost and Found,” was published in jewishfiction.com in September 2024. He has published personal interest stories in Medical Economics, JAMA, and AMA News.

http://maxburgerauthor.ag-sites.net/