###
Travis: Okay, Mark, you used to be a
nice guy. What the hell happened?
Wildyr: I don’t like weasels.
Travis: If the readers were here in
this room, they’d hear a heavy sigh, an audible sign of my suffering injustice
in wounded silence. But they’re not, so lets get on with this thing. I’ll begin
with the same question as last time. Why did you writer River Otter?
Wildyr: A couple of reasons. Aside
from my interest in Native American cultures, like many other writers, I became
a captive of my own novel. I had developed an emotional attachment to the
people who populated Cut Hand and
felt a need to continue their story through the survivors.
Of
course, readers requesting a sequel likely had an influence, as well. After
all, these were mostly perfect strangers who had become invested in the characters
I’d created to the point they contacted me. That’s a powerful motive for any
fiction writer.
Travis: ¨Why was the second book
centered on Otter. Wouldn’t it be more natural to write of Cut Hand’s son, Dog
Fox?
Wildyr: I considered making this the
story of Dog Fox, whom Billy Strobaw renamed Cuthan Strobaw in order to help
the boy survive the coming holocaust. But Billy’s widower, Otter, kept
insinuating himself into the story to the point that it became his narrative.
He was the keeper of Billy’s journal and had lived through all of what Billy and Cut
Hand had endured. Besides, the underlying theme of the novel is the change in
the social and legal status of deviants. Such a lifestyle was accepted and
sometimes honored among many native cultures. Yet, as the tribes became
infected with the white men’s “Christian” way of thinking, these men and women
found the rock foundations they’d built their lives upon turning to sand.
Travis: Of course, Otter, a blood
Indian, taking the white officer, James Morrow, as his mate complicated matters
even more so.
Wildyr: Absolutely. White men taking
native women might have been relatively common, but it was also widely looked
down upon. Imagine how a white man living as a paramour to an Indian man would
have been received. With a bullet or a hangman’s noose, most likely. There
would have been no tolerance for that whatsoever among the Americans.
Travis: Yet that was true in Cut Hand, as well. Cut Hand was a native
warrior. Billy, a white frontiersman.
Wildyr: Very true, but consider the era
and the circumstances. In Billy’s time, the Yanube—Cut Hand’s tiospaye or band—was isolated. Billy was
the People’s first real contact with Europeans. The tradition of berdaches was
well established among the Yanubes and other tribes in the area. Even so, Billy
and Cut spent anxious days wondering how the band would regard a red and white union. As it turned out, the Yanube’s understanding of human
nature was such that they were accepted … once they had the approval of the
chieftain, Yellow Puma, and the shaman, Spotted Hawk.
However,
during the timeline of River Otter, Teacher’s
Mead is a way station for the stage and not nearly so isolated from foreigners.
Morrow Farm, Otter’s and James’s home, is only seven miles from Yanube City and
the fort. They have white farmers as neighbors. Altogether different … which is
the theme of the novel.
Travis: A reader recently asked me if
I have a favorite passage in my novel, The
Bisti Business. Do you have a favorite passage in River Otter?
Wildyr: I read your dontravis.com
blog post of Thursday, November 28 and saw you picked a contemplative, pastoral
scene that comes early in the first chapter, even though you said you didn’t
have an actual favorite passage.
Well, I do have a favorite. It is also a
quiet, rustic scene. Although it’s appeared in this blog before, I don’t mind
reproducing the two paragraphs that come at the beginning of Chapter 4 on Page
25. Otter has gone to a spot on the banks of Turtle Crick seven miles north of
Fort Yanube to begin his life with James. Upon leaving Teacher’s Mead earlier
in the day, he’s foiled an attempt to assassinate Cuthan (Dog Fox) and ended up
killing one of the would-be murderers. Now he arrives at the site of his
future home and settles down to await the arrival of James.
###
I was tired. It had
been a long, demanding day. The shooting of a human being took its toll on any
caring, feeling man, and I considered myself to be of a sympathetic nature. I
picketed the two horses on opposite sides of camp to double the chances of
detecting unwelcome visitors. Patch was trained to give warning of predators.
The mare was a shadow jumper.
I settled on the
coarse blankets of my bedroll and breathed a silent song to the Great Mystery.
The spread of the heavens—shot through with glittering stars, both noble and
mean—made a vast dome of the black sky. I studied the Seven Persons, which
Billy had called the Big Dipper. A faint breeze cooled my face and carried the
comforting rustle of swaying boughs gently to my ear. The heavy fragrance of
pines on the hummock—so different from the scant perfume of cottonwoods along
the crick bank—laid the sharp taste of resin on my tongue, or so it seemed. I stilled
my doubts, calmed my breathing, and closed my eyes to slip away into sleep.
###
Travis: I can see why you selected
it. This short scene manages to engage all of the five senses without making a
big point of doing so. It could be a study in sensory writing.
Wildyr: Thank you, but flattery doesn’t
get you off the hook.
Travis: What do you mean? This more
than pays my debt.
Wildyr: If you say so.
Travis: Ingrate.
Wildyr: Weasel.
Comments are welcome, not
only on this post, but also about any relevant subject the reader wishes to
discuss.
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