Nevada Highway Just Outside Pickhandle Gulch

See anyone?
Okay, get out of the car, but if anyone comes along, remember social distancing.

How not to bore your readers

Charlie Jane Anders wrote a piece for io9 about How to Write Descriptive Passages Without Boring the Reader or Yourself. Her article includes some good advice, including:

1. Commit to never being boring.
2. Engage all five senses.
3. Try being super terse.
4. Make it dynamic rather than static.
5. Make fun of the thing you're describing.
6. Project feelings onto an inanimate object.
7. Give your POV some visceral or emotional reaction.
8. Use less dialogue.
9. Use description to set up a punchline in dialogue.

I would add three more for an even dozen:

1. Never start a book or chapter with too much description.
2. Interleave description in small doses.
3. Write about interesting places.

Candelaria (aka Pickhandle Gulch)

I usually start chapters with action and then intersperse tight paragraphs of description. I prefer delivering description in a single paragraph at a time and seldom have more than two descriptive paragraphs in a row.  I also like to write about interesting places. Novels will take you to mundane locales, but you can always insert an interesting detail. 

The Steve Dancy Tales start in a Nevada mining camp called Pickhandle Gulch. I walked the current-day ghost town, fascinated by the miners’ rock igloos.  (The town must not have discouraged littering because the mouths of these rock dwellings were strewn with hundreds of rusted tin cans.)

Here is how I described the camp in The Shopkeeper.

Pickhandle Gulch nestled between the Silver Peak Range and the Excelsior Mountains. The main road curved up a mild grade toward a stamp mill, an ugly building that pulverized rock and made a nerve-racking noise all day long. About two dozen thrown-together buildings lined either side of a road, and hundreds of hovels scarred the surrounding slopes. Miners built these shelters with rocks because the beige hills that rolled off in every direction were completely barren of trees. For that matter, hardly any foliage reached above a man’s boots, and even the valley spread out below presented only a relentless brown landscape spotted with a few rocks and some pale sagebrush. Lumber was the second-dearest commodity in town. Water was the first.

Honest westerns ... filled with dishonest characters.

New Steve Dancy Tales Book Trailer

I'm not sure if book trailers sell books, but they seem to be the rage, so here is a new trailer for The Steve Dancy Tales. Comments welcome.

Why was Arizona so tardy to the party?

Bisbee, Arizona celebrates the 4th of July in 1909

Arizona was the last contiguous state to join the Union. That probably should be rephrased as the last state allowed to join the Union. Arizona became a full-fledged state on February 14^th, 1912. At the time, the population was around 200,000, but it was not the wide open spaces that held Arizona back. After all, Nevada became a state in 1864 with a population of less than 20,000. What was the deference between these two desert states?

Nevada had two things Washington mucky-mucks desperately wanted: the Comstock Lode and electoral votes to help reelect Lincoln to a second term. Money and votes—what could be more enticing to a politician? Between 1859 and 1865 an estimated $50 million in ore was removed from the earth. Quite a haul. But wait a minute; Tombstone produced 32 million troy ounces of silver valued at between $40-85 million, which in today’s dollars would be worth about $2 billion. Wasn’t that enough to warrant an invitation to the club?

Actually, statehood looked close around 1880. In the great West, Tombstone was only behind San Francisco in commerce and culture. As early as 1877, Arizona Territorial Governor A. P. K. Safford predicted that the Territory "will soon become a State." What happened?

October 26, 1881

The gunfight at the O.K. Corral is what happened. This fight and the aftermath were reported by all of the Eastern tabloids of the day and the reputation of Arizona was reset in a few deadly seconds. How could Congress welcome a lawless wasteland into the Union? (No snickers.) By the time Arizona was finally admitted, the silver had played out and Tombstone was nearly a ghost town. So, shunning Arizona can be blamed on the Earps or the cow-boys, depending on which side of the feud you prefer.

Modern Gadgets Can’t Beat Kit Carson

Last night we arrived back in Arizona safe and sound. It was a great road trip through Nevada and none of us played a single slot machine. We were far too busy. On Saturday, we visited the Reno Gun Show. Compared to Arizona shows, Reno had many more displays of 19^th century revolvers and rifles. The vendors were highly knowledgeable about Old West guns and I picked up a few good reference books that will help with the Steve Dancy Tales.

On the drive back we discussed our favorite experiences. Visiting with old friends was at the top of everyone’s list and Fort Churchill at the bottom. As we cruised along the highway, we agreed that we’d probably never make a return visit to the old cavalry fort. I think we riled Kit Carson because at almost that exact moment we saw a turn-off sign for Fort Churchill. We had been chatting away and missed a turn fifty miles back and had driven in a circle back toward Carson City. Bummer. 

We would have made lousy scouts, especially since we had Garmons, iPhones, a digital compass, and web connected computers inside the car. Of course, we would have needed to stop talking long enough to actually glance at one of these devices, or perhaps look out the window at a highway sign. 

Oh well, when we reminisce about the trip years from now, our first recollection will be about getting lost with a car full of computers that would’ve made the Apollo moon-bound astronauts jealous.

Hills and Dales and Rin Tin Tin

There is nothing as invigorating as an early morning hike. Probably should have done one yesterday. Instead, we got off about mid-morning after long chats over several cups of coffee. The Sierras and other ranges were still beautiful as we climbed some minor foothills to get a panorama view of the Carson Valley.

We had a purpose for this particular hike. My brother-in-law built and positioned a bench dedicated to his father at the top of a hill. Recently, his mother also passed. She was a wonderful person, a great mother, and an ideal mother-in-law. He had a new brass plaque engraved and we hiked up to the top of the hill to add it to the bench. It was a quiet and perfect moment.

In the afternoon we drove out to Fort Churchill. The flies beat us to this historic site. After a few minutes of insects buzzing around my eyes, I was eager to get inside the small museum to escape the pesky pests. I can only imagine how crazy-making it must have been when there were hundreds of cavalry horses around. The life of a frontier soldier was not easy.

The fort is now a ruin, but still an interesting side trip. It was situated to protect the Carson Trail, which was used by the Pony Express and pioneers on their way to California. The fort looked nothing like the one in Rin Tin Tin, my favorite television show as a child. Instead of a log stockade, the white adobe buildings were not protected by a wall. The purpose of the fort was not to be an oasis of safety as much as a central point to send out patrols.

Next, the Reno gun show. 

Mountain Sanctuary

Yesterday, I visited a high school friend I had not seen for at least thirty years. Before diverting north, the trip started through the Carson Pass in the Sierras. It was a beautiful drive and I thought anyone should feel privileged to view these magnificent mountains. Then I remembered Genoa, a way station for 49ers. I was cruising at 60 MPH in climate controlled comfort, while the early pioneers were lucky to eke out 10 miles in a long, determined day. The view probably wasn't uppermost on their minds.

My friend owns an isolated forty acres next to national forest. Getting there required him to come down the mountain to lead me through trails that would challenge a city-bred sedan. Although he had owned the land since the early seventies, he didn't move there until semi-retirement in the nineties.  Now his wife descends the mountain every day to work, while he struggles to make his home self-sufficient. He may want to be independent, but he’s a distant cousin from the long-gone, mountain men who lived off the land. PG&E provides electricity to supplement his solar panels, propane is delivered to his door, a tractor can carve out roads and plow snow, and cell phones keep civilization a touch screen away. Technology is a wonderful way to make a rustic existence comfortable. I even noticed a Verizon Hot Spot winking away on a book shelf to bring the entire World Wide Web directly to his mountain top. The pioneers could only wish they were so lucky.

We had a great afternoon wallowing in nostalgia for our younger days. We have lived very different lives since high school, but reconnected easily. We had been neighbors in high school and had peddled bikes towing surfboards to the beach nearly every day. We learned to surf with a couple of other friends and spent untold hours lazing about the beach; sunning, talking, playing volleyball, and flirting with girls. Growing up at the beach in the sixties was a singular experience and a great way to meander our way to adulthood.

Carson City and the Landmark St. Charles Hotel

We started the day with a visit to Genoa, which is situated just below the Sierras at the edge of the Carson Valley. (Everything in this part of Nevada is named after Kit Carson: cities, streets, valleys, counties, rivers, mountain passes, recreation areas, pets, and children.) This is a historic town where 49ers took a breather before struggling over the mountains to the gold clogged streams of California. Genoa was also a significant stop for the Pony Express. Today it hosts a great antique gun store with experts who freely share their knowledge of 19^th century weapons.

TheShopkeeper was the first of the Steve Dancy series and it took place in Nevada. The Carson City St. Charles Hotel was a prominent setting for much of the story. Seven years ago, the St. Charles was a dilapidated flophouse. On this visit, I was pleased to see a restored exterior with thriving businesses on the ground floor. The manager was hospitable enough to give us a tour of the upper floors where the rooms are still in the process of restoration. One room is preserved behind glass in 19^th century condition. The room is a few inches wider than the single mattress on the floor and personal belongings are strewn at the bottom of the bed. I took liberties in my book, and housed Steve Dancy in a suite on the third floor. The St. Charles is across the street from the capitol and legislative building and provides elected officials with a fitting reminder of Nevada history.

After the St. Charles, we visited the Capitol, Nevada State Museum, shopped, and ate lunch at an oddly themed Polynesian restaurant. Carson City has a Basque heritage, so we had an excellent dinner at a friendly Basque restaurant. Tomorrow, everyone seems to be going off in different directions, so we’ll share stories at dinner.

"Thar's gold in them thar hills."

After a healthy breakfast, we took a morning walk in a residential area of Gardnerville. The air was brisk, sky clear, and the surrounding mountains breathtaking. These acre-plus, rural lots lodged horses, dogs, poultry, restored antique trackers, friendly neighbors, and apple trees in full blossom.

Late morning, we took off for Virginia City. Not much had changed since my last visit … which was good. Except for the crowds. My last visit was during the height of summer tourism, with people crowding the streets, cafes, saloons, museums, and shops. This time we had this historic town all to ourselves. I was surprised that everyone could answer our most obscure questions. The people who work in Virginia City know town history and trivia.

In one store, a friendly old coot told us all about the guns, ore samples, and minerals on display. To prove his bona fides, he pulled out his wallet to show us his membership card in a gold miner association and photographs of nuggets he had found. Then he lifted a chain around his neck to display the Pièce de résistance, a one-ounce gold nugget. We were impressed and let him convince us to buy a 50 million year old insect embedded in a piece of amber. For $34, it would be a unique gift for our rock hound grandson. When I pulled out my wallet, he said I needed to go find someone who worked in the shop. That was a surprise. For all of his familiarity with the stock and his astute salesmanship, I had assumed he was connected with the store, but no, he was just an old miner eager to share his knowledge with tourists. We discovered our friendly miner was not exceptional. 

At lunch, we discovered our relentlessly cute server had lived and worked in Virginia City for eons. When asked a casual question about Mark Twain, she proved smarter than my wife's iPhone and more knowledgeable than most American Literature professors about Twain's stint in Virginia City. 

With limited crowds, the shopkeepers, barkeeps, and café employees were all eager to share information about their historic town. We had a great day, and I gathered up some material for the next Steve Dancy Tale.

On The Road Again

We left Beatty, Nevada fairly early in the morning yesterday and stopped for breakfast in Tonopah, Nevada. This was a nostalgic stop. A few years ago, the four of us got caught driving in a white-out blizzard that had us nervous as hell. To say there was nothing in this part of Nevada would be an understatement. Then Tonopah came into blurred view through the windshield. The main casino in town was the most beautiful oasis of light and warmth on the planet. Checking in, we discovered $29 rooms that came with a roll of nickels and a five dollar discount certificate for the restaurant. We had landed in a toasty haven of congeniality.

This visit was different. In clear weather, the casino looked threadbare and dusty. Breakfast was of the mass quantities variety, with omelets the size of a football. The food was good and the people rural America friendly. Trouble didn't come until we asked the bill to be evenly split between two credit cards. Our server looked struck by pure terror. The bill was $38.43, and she laid chits on the table for $20.18 and $21.43. After laughing, we decided to not even attempt to get the bills straight. We just added a tip and skedaddled.

Garnerville

We arrived in Garnerville in the early afternoon. The views were terrific, wild and domestic animals plentiful, and the hospitality welcoming. Our friends had enough food laid out to feed an Old West cavalry troop. After touring their new home, we complimented their handiwork, caught up on the latest happenings, ate again, and imbibed a little. The only task we tackled was deciding what to do the next day. We would make our first foray a visit Virginia City. Can’t wait.

Garnerville

Beatty, Nevada

We spent the first night of our road trip in Beatty, Nevada, the Gateway to Death Valley. Pretty area—in a desolate kind of way. When we asked for a AAA discount at our motel, the clerk told us other motels in town offered discounts, but not them because they were fancy. Fancy seemed hyperbole. Our room was comfortable, but basic. The room appeared to be designed by a left hander seeking revenge. The water faucets were reserved and the door handles worked in the opposite direction. It was fun sorting things out.

When we checked in, we also asked for a recommendation on a place to eat. She told us the finest restaurant in town was a Denny’s in the casino. When we asked for something with more local color, she suggested a bar that was famous for chili. We told her that was more our style, so she directed us to the second bar after making a turn at the first right. (There was no second right.) She said don’t go into the first bar, and then emphasized that we should avoid that particular establishment. She offered no explanation and we sought none, but we didn't wander over to the first bar after dinner for a nightcap. 

The second bar was great. The people were friendly and the ambiance was a mix of cowboy and Sons of Anarchy. Chili was indeed on the menu. You could have chili in a bowl, chili on a hot dog, chili on a hamburger, or chili on Fritos. That was it. Except for beer and wine. They had a good selection of beer and two varieties of wine; red and white. Thank goodness, the chili was excellent. When we complimented our server, she told us the awards on the wall were a smidgen of the prizes won by her grandmother’s chili. She claimed there was not enough wall space in Beatty to display all the awards.  Then she said something surprising: her grandmother had not yet trusted her with the recipe … or anyone else for that matter. I hope her grandmother remains healthy because she makes a hell of a good chili. We returned directly to our fancy motel after helping to roll up the sidewalks at nine o’clock.

Tomorrow we leave for Garnerville, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the once rowdy Virginia City. More fun in the offing just over the horizon.

Road Trip!

We're about to drive to Garnerville, Nevada with friends. We'll stay with other friends who happen to be relatives. It looks like we might luck into some snow, so a day or two of skiing is not out of the question.









Beyond traveling and visiting with good people, I'll be starting the research for the next Steve Dancy Tale. I won't give away the plot, but a good portion of the story will take place in Carson City and Virginia City. Along with Steve, Joseph, and Jeff, there will a few characters from The Shopkeeper intent on making life difficult for Mr. Dancy and friends. Since The Return, A Steve Dancy Tale is not yet back from the editor, I'm still on recess and plan on having fun. This is a good life.