And no, I'm not talking about a ghost story or other forms of woo-woo. I'm writing this newsletter on my laptop while jars of applesauce, apple butter, and fermented apples cool on the counter. My daughter just came in from collecting eggs, warning me that Butt Head (yes, that's really his name) is being particularly aggressive today. In my upcoming novel, The Rancher's Healing at Pack Saddle Ranch, there's a scene where Evelyn battles a vicious rooster with a broomstick. That scene came straight from my experience with Butt Head. We literally keep a stick by the coop door for exactly that purpose. This is why I write historical fiction. One Foot in the Past, One in the Future From age four to sixteen, my family belonged to an Old Fashion Pentecostal church in California—yes, that was literally its name. We dressed like we were from 1920, gardened, raised goats, rabbits, and chickens. But we weren't Amish. We had cars, a microwave, and here's what I'd forgotten: my father bought a computer in the early 80s—back when that was unusual. We couldn't have a TV (the church saw it as a portal to evil), but we could have a computer. My dad used it to teach himself programming and advanced technology at the Procter & Gamble Luvs plant in Modesto. Even then, I had one foot in each world. My family eventually left that church, but those years gave me something valuable: a lived understanding of self-sufficiency combined with early comfort with technology. Why It Matters I've been writing blog posts about my ancestors for nearly twenty years—long before AI existed. But I'm not above using AI to organize my thoughts and polish drafts more efficiently than I could even five years ago. Technology lets me write faster and share stories more widely than ever before. But my childhood gives me the texture of historical life. When I write about Evelyn battling that rooster? That's a normal day at my house. When Gary struggles with his injured leg, refusing help even when he needs it? That's my husband—the gritty, stubborn man who pushes through pain to get things done, who inspires me to keep going when I want to quit. Real life feeds my fiction in ways research alone never could. The Only Conflict People ask if I feel torn between past and future. Honestly? No. The only conflict is when my brain wants to write, but the garden won't wait. When the tomatoes are wilting from the heat, they don't care that I'm lost in another chapter. But even that teaches me something. My characters didn't have the luxury of "I'll do it later." Neither do I when the harvest is ready. What I'm Really Writing About I'm not really writing about the past. I'm writing about the parts of human experience that never change: resilience, love, determination, the refusal to give up even when life blows ash back in your face. I just happen to set my stories in places like 1920s Idaho, 1870s Arkansas, Depression-era Oklahoma, and Texas—times and places where the skills I grew up with still mattered, where stubborn determination meant survival. What About You? Do you have one foot in the past, too? Skills you learned from grandparents, practices you've reclaimed? Hit reply and tell me your story. And if you want to see Evelyn's adventures battling roosters and surviving ranch life, The Rancher's Healing at Pack Saddle Ranch releases in early November. Yes, I know I first said end of October, but those apples required too much of my time. That's the farm life for you. Until next week—may your roosters be kind and your applesauce jars seal properly. P.S. - Buddy the rescue rooster is real, and he's getting his own storyline. That's a promise. | 
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