It was the "damned gate" that caught my attention. (Surprising words from a Mississippi debutante trainer)

It took a year to create and write The Plan--and get it into publication. I came up with the idea many years ago, when living in Mississippi, but didn't have the needed time to really think about and develop the plot or complete the project until I retired and moved to Cuenca, Ecuador. 

This morning I was thinking about how this book came about. 
It’s a good story, in itself!

*****

The "damned" gate

I was a passenger in her car and we were on the way to Parchman Penitentiary. This infamous Mississippi Delta prison was where my psychologist husband worked, and we lived on the grounds. I’d met “Ella” in the small town of Drew. And she seemed like a nice lady. 

Actually, I’d found myself feeling sorry for her, since she confided she was on a third marriage. She was not particularly attractive, and as I would learn she probably went through a lot of his money. Not on frivolous things, but doctor visits—lots of those, for various ailments—but also on her hobby. She liked to help prepare young girls for their debuts.

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The Plan is available at Smashwords in various formats including Kindle and ibooks

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THE YEAR WAS 2004. There weren’t many formal coming out parties taking place anymore, she confessed, but it was still important for her house to be pretty, "just in case." Drapes are expensive no matter where you live, and she’d recently had to replace not only the living room window furnishings but her carpets. The girls would be coming to her house, if she was able to pick up a parent or two as clients this spring. Plus, she was in charge of her town's Culture Club. Another reason to spend money on her home and yard. The flowers had to look good, of course, because the club held monthly meetings in her home.

We’d just left the small town of Drew, and I noticed something to the left, just off the highway. A white metal fence, halfway open, with kudzu vines growing on it. A couple of tall pilings were behind the gate.

“What’s that?” I asked Ella. I was always curious about anything new or different that I’d spot in this unfamiliar region. Living in Mississippi was a new experience. We’d moved there from Nevada with no preconceptions and it turned out a fascinating place to be. A part of the country we’d never visited. In fact, when I first heard about our possible move, I thought the “Delta” would be down on the coast, but found it to be a stretch of land along the Mississippi River, from Memphis to Vicksburg.

“The damned gate? It was going to be a home,” Ella began.

Her cursing hit me by surprised. But I didn't react. I wanted to hear what else she had to say. I settled back in my car seat, ready for her story. But it was far shorter than I’d expected.

Brief, in fact.

“He was a bad man. A lawyer. He was murdered.

Damn, if I didn’t want to hear more. I always like a good story. But Ella said she didn’t want to talk anymore about it. I had to learn why. 

Ella dropped me off at our home, an old red brick house that wasn’t very far away from the gas chamber. Thank God it was not being used in those days. She didn’t want to stop for coffee. Had to get back because her cleaning lady was due to arriv, she explained.

I started that afternoon trying to learn who’d been murdered and why. It only took one call, to a Drew minister I’d recently met, to get the basics.

“That would be Cleve McDowell, the first black law student to enter Ole Miss. He got kicked out!”

The Reverend was a friend. He told me some of the Cleve McDowell story that day, but it took a few months to drag it all out. I had a feeling that I was the first person to learn the whole story, that is, as much of the story that is known. Of course I had to dig through old records, lie a little bit to some courthouse clerks, and track down other several older people to learn as much as I could

Cleve McDowell would be the main character Clinton Moore in The Plan. I changed dates and location but not much else, at least in the beginning of the book. I wanted to be as close as possible to the history. (Next, I’ll write about his friend who was also murdered (“Joe Means”) who is also based on a real person.)

Here’s a link if you want to read the nonfiction book, WhereRebels Roost; Mississippi Civil Rights Revisited. You can read it free online! It’s huge, and tells quite a bit about the civil rights history of the Mississippi Delta. Cleve McDowell's story is included.

AT LEFT, Cleve McDowell and Rev. Jesse Jackson (covered with cotton dust while campaigning in the Delta)

***

Have you ever lived in a place that was entirely different from where you were raised? The climate? The people? The food? What are your thoughts? I’d love to hear them in a comment. Thanks. Susan

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The Plan is now available at Smashwords in various formats including Kindle and ibooks

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Preview - Just for you. The Plan (Prologue and Chapter 1)

Am I retired? I don't know. I live in Ecuador and have friends who've retired. We have an easy life. Lots of places to go and things to do. BUT -- 

I have to confess that I love writing books. This last one took a full year to birth. Far longer than I'd planned or imagined. My eyes are a little more blurry. In the past year, we've moved to this country, lost a sweet dog, watched our granddaughter play soccer via Skype, and have acquired a taste for South American foods.

Well, The Plan is out of editing and is with the "formatter." This means my new murder mystery thriller (with shades of paranormal and historical fiction) will be out by the end of the week. But I wanted to share a little bit with you before then. Here's a link to the prologue and Chapter 1. I hope that you enjoy the read and send me comments.

Yes. I am retired. But there is no way that I will quit writing. I hope that in your retirement, you find something wonderrful ad fun to do, too.

Here it is! http://ebooksfromsusan.com/blog/peek_preview

Please enjoy!

Susan

Women making Panama Hats by hand in Sigsig, Ecuador

Just finishing some research on Sigsig for my novel, The Plan (due out next month) and I wanted to share this video of women hand weaving Panama hats up in the Andes, in this remote villate.

I got a hat there, myself, when I traveled thee last month. Unbelieveable! It was just $10.

Anyway, a big chase scene takes place here, when the widow of a murdered black lawyer from Alabama hides out, while her friend goes to Guayaquil to purchase plane tickets to go back to the U..S. The bad guy learns she's in Sigsig, with a friend, Colon, and he sets out to find her, and ends of chasing her and Colon back to Cuenca!

Enjoy the weaving -- Sigsig is a beautiful journey from here, about 90 minutes by public bus. There's an unbelievable hostel there on the mountain side with swimming pools. Great place to knock off a Sunday afternoon. Susan

Day trip into the Andes, near Cuenca

I'm having so much fun researching for my book, The Plan. The final part involves a car race down the Andes from a small village to Cuenca. It has been so interesting to go out and see these villages, and I wanted to share this video with you.

Waking up to cold water, coffee, pipe and smoking tobacco; nothing new says retired professor and author, Hunter Gray

Hunter Gray, civil rights advocate and author

Guest Post by Hunter Gray

May 6 2013

I slept late this morning -- arising at about 4 a.m.  Cold water, coffee, pipe and smoking tobacco.  Nothing unusual.

And then I began to hear Them talking right close to our home -- obviously more than one.  Owls -- and they kept it up for almost half an hour. This is very unusual.  Owls only rarely come down from the higher rough country that rises immediately above us.  Maria, oldest daughter, who arose a little later and took our now one dog out for a few minutes into the pitch-dark, heard them also -- very, very up-close.

They were talking to us.

But why and what?

In some tribes, and I've discussed this before, there is the belief that, when an owl calls your name, it is a signal of your impending passage into the Spirit World.

But that is not the case with our Native cultures.  We always see the owls as simply very good and learned friends, no more and no less.  There are other living entities to which we do attribute very positive supernatural characteristics -- bears and wild felines, for example.

So what did these verbose visitors have on their minds?

It took me more coffee and pipe-smoking to figure it out.

They're saying that it's high time for me to return to the regimen that I faithfully followed for several years before Lupus struck full blast, now almost a decade ago:  a daily five mile hike up into the high hills, some of them actually smaller mountains.  Initially, I did this day-time, but then switched into the pre-dawn period.  And then I used to encounter all sorts of wild entities -- all of them friendly -- and that included owls, one of whom, very large, always waited faithfully for me each very early morn.

Never carried a firearm on any of these junkets.

All of that ended with the Lupus.  But that Horror is now gone -- though it's taken awhile for me to recuperate on several fronts.  Quite recently, however, there has been very marked improvement in my leg strength and their resiliency.  They were OK in the early post-Lupus period but now they're virtually back to normal.  Interestingly, this particular rejuvenation has been accompanied by vivid dreams in which I'm walking just as always in various locations.

The Owls are telling me, "Time to start coming again 'way up into our High Country, Hunter Bear."

And I think their firm mandate includes Maria as well.

Now that's pressure -- real pressure.  We'll comply.

Here is a relevant post, written not long before the Lupus War:

IN THE DARK WILDS WE HAVE MANY FRIENDS

By Hunter Gray [Hunter Bear]

It was completely new -- just a few early mornings  ago.  I jerked to a
sharp, abrupt stop on the rough downward trail. I had never heard
anything like that in the wilds before.

It boomed out in the pre-dawn darkness from a ridge across the valley -- a
half mile or so ahead of us -- a howl, deep and heavy and eerie,  rising far
up and above the very high, steep mountain slopes. The primeval cry flowed
in over the dark green junipers and the brown sage and the thick red maples
in the canyons.

The Great Howl  had been preceded by coyote yelps and cries at some
distance from it -- and it was followed by a few more of those.  But I know
coyotes well, have all my life, and had one as my close companion
in my native Arizona for two years until he left home and got married
on the Apache National Forest.

This wasn't Them.

Hunter, my faithful Shelty, tensed tightly, peering intently ahead.
He's always extremely interested in wild canines but, living with
four house cats and my half-bobcat, pays only polite, cursory attention
to bobcats and mountain lions.

This was a wolf.  I had heard they were coming back.

For years,  now, I've been walking each day for several miles and a few
hours in the 'way up steep and rough country that
begins almost at our back door. That's all public land -- Bureau of Land
Management [BLM] and Caribou National Forest.  And more recently -- all
winter long -- I've been doing it in the predawn darkness  Cold winds, high
winds, snow, ice and even mud don't deter me.  I don't need much sleep
and I do see very well in the dark.

But there is considerably more to all of this.

Ever since we returned to the Mountain West -- coming here in '97 to
Southeastern Idaho and living right on the far up western "frontier" of
Pocatello  -- we've encountered various kinds of hostility from so-called
"lawmen" and racists.  Almost all of our neighbors -- of many ethnicities --
are just fine.

But last fall, when I was doing my trek in the daytime,  I began to see signs
in the new  snowfall indicating that I'd been human-followed  the day
before. And then there was the bizarre situation where, for whatever reason,
several BLM  guys gathered down at the road to intercept me -- and look me
closely and surreptitiously over -- one day when I was returning
home.

After that, although I still do some hiking in the daytime, I began to do
almost all in the very early morning darkness.

And that's a whole great world of its own.

Often there are Stars, sometimes the Moon.  Frequently there are dark and
roily clouds.  Sometimes snow.  And the winds on the ridges can occasionally
get up to 50-60 miles per hour.

And there are always the friends. After dozens and dozens of our trips, they
know us very well indeed.  The darkness belongs to them -- and now to us as
well.

There's a huge  gray/white owl whose hoots can be heard for more than a mile.
It loves to sit high on an ancient Forest Service pole that once carried a
heavy, naked No. 9 wire as a telephone link.  It waits, and when we get
right up to the pole, it gazes down at us and then flaps noisily away --
only a few feet into the branches of a nearby juniper.

Going down the long remote trail into a special valley, a yellowish and
brown mountain lion once waited in the very nearby dark brush -- probably
assuming I was a tasty mule deer.  When we came close to it, Big Kitty
suddenly realized who we were -- and broke noisily and ran -- but only a
hundred feet or so down the slope adjacent to us.  And at that point,
it began to travel with us, paralleling our course in buddy fashion.
It's one of  several lions whose pungent marking spray we sometimes smell
down in the game-filled valley and who we occasionally hear in the thickets
of juniper and red maple.

And early this very morning a bobcat did the very same thing.

And virtually every dark morning, there are several gray/tawny coyotes that
follow us -- close behind and paralleling  -- for at least a mile and
sometimes two on our journey.

They and others all know us well.  And we them. Bears and rattlesnakes
are sleeping but they'll soon be up and about.  The snow is now gone.

And I know we'll see the wolf before very long at all.

We never -- never -- see any other humans.  But in the dark wilds we have
many friends.

HUNTER GRAY [HUNTER BEAR/JOHN R SALTER JR] Mi'kmaq /St. Francis
Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
Member, National Writers Union AFL-CIO
www.hunterbear.org  (social justice)

See the new expanded/updated edition of my "ORGANIZER'S
BOOK." It's the inside story of the rise of the massive Jackson
Movement -- careful grassroots organizing, bloody repression, sell-out
and more.  It also covers other organizing campaigns of mine through
 the decades since Mississippi. It's replete with grass-roots organizing
examples and "lessons."  And it has my new 10,000 word
introduction.  Among a myriad of positive comments and reviews:
 ". . .a local activist's important account of the deleterious effects
the involvement  of national organizations can have on indigenous
protest movements."  (Historian David Garrow.)
http://hunterbear.org/jackson.htm

See the related:  http://crmvet.org/comm/hunter1.htm

Stormy Adoption of an Indian Child [My Father]:
http://hunterbear.org/James%20and%20Salter%20and%20Dad.htm

The Caja Mountains from my window -- writing from home, as a retiree, is a treat. I retired early and moved to Cuenca, Ecuador to give me the time and setting for writing a book. And it's coming out soon! sk

An update on my book: The Plan is about to go to the editor. Yea! I've been working eight hour days to get the final chapters completed. The wonderful thing about digital publishing is that readers don't have to wait for a year or more to get a book in their hands.

Important News: The Writers in Transition (WIT) group is giving our  monthly reading and you are invited. It's free at the California Kitchen in Cuenca. I'll be presenting Chapter 2 of The Plan, so I really look forward to your presence. Here's more information:

WIT Presentation - Click Here for Time and Day

Just recently, new information about a horrid prison camp in the southern Andes of Chile, Colonia Dignidad, made international news. Former victims and their families are suing the state of Chile over this horrid prison that was allowed to stay open until very recently.And what does this have to do with my new book? Plenty, believe me. So I've needed a little extra time to make updates.

As an expat in Cuenca, Ecuador, I have TIME to work on this new book -- all of the time in the world. I love the freedom of being able to have my own office next to my bedroom, so that I can get up at all odd hours of the night and write. Unfortunately, my best ideas come at 3 a.m. (It's not easy being my bed partner.  Ask my husband, Fred.)

P.S. We had a sad day. Our little dog was stolen.So today will be spent taking around flyers, posting ads, etc.


Here's a quick summary of what this new book is about:

A white Vicksburg, Mississippi private detective shoots himself in the groin while perched on the corner of his bed, cleaning his favorite rifle after a dove hunt. Suicide, concludes the state pathologist, a man nationally known for his amazingly quick (and frequently sloppy) reports. Detective John D. Sullivan’s death takes place one year after leaving his temporary job in New Orleans, where he was working for his old FBI boss and friend, Guy Banister, who dies strangely just six months following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Forty-eight years pass before Clinton Moore, a quiet and effective, gay black Mississippi Delta lawyer, gives a damn about what happened to Sullivan – and only after Moore’s best friend, a black Alabama lawyer, is murdered for knowing too much about what? Mollie Johnson and Sara Mercury pick up on the case IN SOUTH AMERICA , after Moore, himself, is killed – for knowing too much.  About what? Did someone go missing in Colonia Dignidad? Who?

ISBN-10:  0-9826049-7-1

ISBN-13:  978-0-9826049-7-7

The Plan is set for publication in May of 2013. 

Place on the Tallahatchie River where Emmett Till's body was dumped in 1955. This is one of many photos I took in the Delta when doing research for Who Killed Emmett Till? (the basis for my new fiction novel The Plan. I enjoy photography and use my pictures to help give readers a look at the places that I'm writing about. You can do this too when you retire.Think about places you've gone and put the information to writing books, poetry, music, plays!