My guest today is Myrtle Brooks. Her work is more mystic than fantasy. It glories in the beautiful of the natural world, and one of my favorite places on earth, Yellowstone National Park. This should remind us of the importance of protecting our parks and public lands from the political forces that now threaten them.
Interview
1. Tell us a little about yourself?
I am a retired clerk from the United States Postal Service in Brooklyn,
N.Y. When I got my first driver’s license c. 11 years ago, I hit the highways
to California and back. Writing found me at an early age when my grade
school teacher told us to pen a poem. It was ‘Love at first write.’ Having traveled to
Yellowstone Park at age 10, my return there in 2009 revived the childhood short
story I had started, entitled: The Geyser Girl. Blessed with the
maturity to pull the story together, beginning with its theme, I began what
turned into a full-blown novel.
2. What are your biggest literary influences?
Favorite authors and why?
The Bible is my first influence. And as a grown child
(smile), I have never
outgrown the fairy tales and cartoons with which I was reared. Each novel or
book of short stories I read is an intravenous injection of vitamins and
tonics. Love Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca.
Her world is astonishingly lush and vivid like a thick perfume which lingers
long after the last page.
3. Tell us something about how you write? i.e.
are you a plotter or a pantser? Do you have any weird or necessary writing
habits or rituals?
A pantser with self-discipline (smile). The story carries me.
I live a vicarious life through my characters: laugh and cry with them as
events unfold. But when I get stuck, I turn into a temporary mini-plotter,
writing directional possibilities down and making choices. I
want to convey life’s realities: no one knows what will happen from one
moment to the next: why should my characters?
4. Do you think people have misconceptions
about the speculative fiction? Why do you think it is a worthwhile genre?
I believe anyone inspired by the genre will love and
understand its genius. It enables every possibility of the imagination and
evokes the same in the reader, while many times grounding itself in fact.
5. What was the hardest part of writing your
book?
There wasn’t any. Editing, however… ahem…
6. What is your favorite writing tip or quote?
Never write, worrying whether anyone else will like your
work. That is not writing: it is editing.
7. Tell us a little about your plans for the
future. Do you have any other books in
the works?
Endeavoring to finish editing my completed second novel. It
is in the beta-reader stage.
Twitter: @JGCitygin
The Geyser Girl of Yellowstone Park
In Yellowstone National Park at
the turn of the twentieth century, an infant of mysterious origin is adopted by Old Faithful geyser and by a mother buffalo named Bearer of Song. Beloved to all the park, Flower of the Steam Basin grows up with their stories, proverbial sayings and teachings: in a land where the animals, winds and geysers speak their own languages.
Having met a child her age and
her parents, trust ripens between families, and Flower of the Steam Basin gains
a closely protective circle of human friends. At nine, she is brought
face-to-face with Retired Lieutenant Ned Halpen of the Yellowstone Cavalry,
whose exemplary career embodied the role of protector of Yellowstone’s
spiritual and physical heritage.
In the wake of Lt. Halpen’s
passing, her sacred vow to continue his legacy brings both reward and mortal
danger. And when the circle is breached, Flower of the Steam Basin and her
father are forced to choose between her well-being and the performance of her
sworn duties.
This is her story as seen
through the eyes of Yellowstone.
Excerpt
In a sacred and
pristine land called: Yellowstone
Park
After the
western sun has faded, the trails of car headlights and tail lights dissipated and
the campfires laid low, it is echoed throughout the mountains and hills from Wyoming to Montana and Idaho , from the deeps of
the blue waters to the winds that sweep through the tall and stately pines.
The bears
taking up residence in the eastern region of the park recall it was a mother
buffalo named: Bearer of Song, who pitied the girl and longed to take her in.
But as she approached, the child crawled towards the elder geyser spring
called: Old Faithful and disappeared down into
his hole.
The cries of
the mother alerted the families of buffalo and bears in the southwestern parts.
They sent word, to learn if any humans had reported a missing child to the U.S.
Cavalry. There had been one report two days prior, that of a five-year-old boy discovered
wandering off into the woods to chase a whitetail deer. His distressed parents,
overjoyed at his return, had fallen upon him tearfully, hugged him and spanked
him.
But neither did
the animals inside Yellowstone
Park
All the animals
feared that she had died.
But she did not
die.
The flakes of
snow swirling in the icy gusts of wind heard Old Faithful
call the child, that night, as they danced close to the earth. “Come; take your
refuge with me. Warm yourself in my abode, and drink of my waters.” As the
flakes were lifted high again, they carried Old Faithful ’s
words to the tops of the pines in the surrounding woods.
When the
grieving Bearer of Song awoke to nurse her newborn son whom she had named:
Races with Lightning, an elk was passing. “Why are you crying?” he asked her.
“I
mourn the loss of a child never having known the good and sweet things of life.
And I, robbed of the opportunity to give her these. Oh, had I been but a few
steps closer...”
“The
baby has been given these even as we speak,” the elk told her in gentle tones.
“Only
in the Kingdom of Heaven.” She continued
to weep.
“She
has been taken in by the Faithful Elder,” the elk explained. “To be reared as
his own. All the treasures of his wisdom will be hers.”
Overcome
by great relief and joy mixed with a mother’s longing, Bearer of Song fell
silent, her son nursing at her side.
At
daybreak, she arose and hastily prepared to leave. Her husband, named: Sires
with Grace, sensing her urgency, enquired where she was bound.
“I
am going to see the Faithful Elder.” She stood erect and determined.
“My
wife, few better places to be brought up than in the house of the elder of our
land, whose inspired ascent is teacher to us all. Would you seek to take away
from the child such extraordinary gifts?”
“I
was also there, my husband,” she reminded him. “And have tasted the salt of a
mother’s tears as they flowed down upon my lips. I will do no such thing as deprive
her of her gifts; only speak in the way a mother speaks: from the soul within
her frame.”
“Then,
you must do as your heart bids you.”
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