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A request for readers and reviewers!  Of special interest to writers and avid readers of non-fiction.  This request is on behalf of my publisher and friend, Sammie Justesen.   Wouldn’t you know?  She’s also a writer…

A select group of pre-readers willing and able to share reviews is a great help for the writer and the publisher, as well as for other readers considering this book in the future.  Ever notice how much time you take to read reviews and how much it helps you?  Your help on this one would be most appreciated by others.

I was honored to have the opportunity to read a pre-published copy, and this is what I had to say about it:

“Sammie may have set out to write about dialogue – and that she does – yet her conversation with the reader goes far beyond.  Dialogue Mastery for Writers is about writing, for writers, written by an author, editor and publisher.

I was hesitant to read another ‘how to’ book on writing.  This is not that.  Nor is it strictly about dialogue.   As a memoir and nature writer, I was attracted to Dialogue Mastery for inspiration in developing further depth in my work through the use of dialogue.  What I left with after reading Sammie’s book is a brain swimming with ideas she has generously shared based on her years of experience in all aspects of ‘the industry.’  She shows us, not just tells us, with style, humor and an easy, comfortable voice.   Her examples bring the points to life.  Sammie indeed practices what she preaches, and shares with us as reader and writer a fun to read and handy compilation based on experience and insight.”

This is a great opportunity for those of you who’d like a chance to read this book on writing, and begin a conversation with fellow writer , former agent, editor and experienced publisher, Sammie Justesen.

If you are interested, would like some more information, or just want to introduce yourself to this great woman, please write her an e-mail at: sammie@norlightspress.com .  Thanks in advance for helping out!

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A dozen winters we have watched fade from the mountain as spring slowly creeps up the thawing land.  I can’t say it really feels like it’s here yet, but if you know what you’re looking for, you see it coming.

It’s coming.

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Not a day goes by without the magnificence touching me.  Some days, it is overwhelming.  Stops you in your tracks and your breath is held, eyes wide, and you want to cry for the sheer splendor of it all.  Other times, softly, lightly, a little bit magical and mysterious, as this morning when the I’m out there feeding the horses in the single digits after a dusting of fresh snow came last night and clouds are still clearing , and each branch of the aspen and surface of tired snow covering the ground is twinkling as if with a thousand stars around me as the sun inches over Finger Mesa and spreads long stripes of grey shadows nearly a quarter mile long across pure white from the tall trees that stand alone across river.

Not a day goes by without appreciation.  And now, astonishment.

Interesting indeed the things we are seeing.

The swollen buds on a group of Aspen at the bottom of Elk Trail have burst open, pushing out the first of that fluff that looks like snow in June.  Only it’s April. And there is still real snow on the ground.

On an open patch of dirt a little further up the trail, the first cluster of flag poke up through the exposed damp ground covered only now with last years rot.

We snowshoe to Snowmobile Point.  That’s a lot of dead trees, I say to Bob as we stand there, leaning on our ski poles and staring.  Crazy, he replies.  There is nothing else to say.

You forget what a live one looks like and start to assume they all might be.  For if you look close enough, even the green ones don’t look so good. I would guess that this mild winter has been good for the beetles.  It will be fascinating what happens next.  Something.  Nothing stays the same.

Maybe it will look like Patagonia here some day. We agree that won’t be too bad.  We like Patagonia.

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Time with my horses is still limited. For a few days there was a little mud that gave me a lot of hope for working with them soon.  That’s been since covered back up with snow.

At least I’m out there, day in, day out, every day, with them, for them.  A part for me, a part of them.  I don’t resort to automated horse handling, feed and water that the horse think just appears and I’m just some human somewhere in the distance that comes to get them when I need them.  We’re in this, on the mountain, together.  Waiting for the spring.  Waiting for shedding coats and brushing and afternoons out there together on dry ground.

What do you do with them when you have to go somewhere?  A friend asks.  I don’t, I reply.    I haven’t left the mountain in five months and that’s okay by me.  And them.  Only now we’re both ready for more.  Not leaving.  Just more up here.

They run up when I appear and kick up their heels and seem to tell me they’re angry at another snow storm and I don’t blame them. They are getting stir crazy.  They need more now than snow and steady feeding.  They want dry ground upon which to run and work to focus their energies and tire their minds, and sunshine and green grass on which to relax in the morning before hand.

Maybe it’s the longer days.  They know spring is slowly approaching.  And by the time it finally comes, will I be too busy building then to be with them?

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