Excerpt from FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS: magical settings

Welcome back to my series of excerpts from my upcoming fantasy novel Far From Mortal Realms! Today I'm combining two excerpts (or three, if snipping some language in the middle of the first turns it into two). These excerpts convey something of the magic, in both the literal and figurative sense, of the Fair Folk realms Abe and Adira are allowed to visit in the course of their law practice.

The first begins a few hours after the excerpt I posted previously. Abe is telling Adira where they're due to go next.

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How would you like to talk to some trees?”

“You mean dryads? Doesn’t that rather depend on the particular dryads?”

Dad’s grin made a welcome contrast to the fae version they’d both been enduring from the viscount that morning. “I don’t, in fact, mean dryads. This particular grove of trees has no interest in mimicking either human form or the more common faerie configurations. They typically communicate via the shifting patterns of their leaves in sunlight – year-round leaves in, for the most part, year-round sunlight. Not even other fae can understand it. They would like to welcome some sort of flowering plants, such as are common in our own fields and forests – rather than any fae equivalents that would have their own possibly incompatible personalities. They wish us to advise them on the best choice and assist in obtaining the necessary starter crop.”

Adira couldn’t stop her eyes from going wide. “And in order to do this . . . .”

Dad actually rubbed his hands together. “In order that we may communicate with them conveniently, they will temporarily grant us the ability to understand their language of light and shadow.”

How long would this job last? Oh, how tempting to drag her feet so it would last longer . . . . 

[snip]

Several hours later, back at the office, Adira drifted somewhere between exhilaration and exhaustion. Even with the trees’ grant of comprehension, keeping track of the sometimes minute changes in light patterns required constant attention. But how lovely were the patterns, and how subtly different the silent voices of the various trees!

After discussing in what ways the trees had become dissatisfied with their ageless copses and glens, and confirming that actual flowers were preferred to moss, they had settled on bluebells. Someone would need to plant the initial bulbs, and it remained to be decided whether these workers would be mortal or fae – which meant Adira and her father would not yet have to relinquish their knowledge of the language. As for the patience needed to let the bluebells spread, trees had patience aplenty, and it pleased them that the flowers would be connected by a system of roots.

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Later that afternoon, Abe and Adira move on to their next appointment. This excerpt begins by describing the portal the lawyers use to travel from their office to Fair Folk realms.

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It was always visible to them – and to Mom, maybe because she was a member of the family. Anyone else, or at least any other mortal, would see nothing there, and would walk through unaffected unless she or Dad intended them to do otherwise. What met Adira’s eyes, as usual, was an oval ring hovering an inch or so above the ground, just big enough for her to step through without ducking. It sparkled in ever-shifting colors in her peripheral vision, more like mist when she looked at it head-on, and showed a changing series of vistas. Only when they came within a yard of it would that view change to their destination. But what greeted her this afternoon was not so much a sight as the sensation of wind, and fine sprays of water on the wind, and the smell of salt.

She stopped in her tracks, only to find Dad grabbing her hand and pulling her forward.

They were standing on what might be called a cliff, about hill-height. And they were facing the sea, that salty wind in their hair, with small waves rolling in and breaking on a beach of silvery sand and scattered shells.

Adira turned to her father. “Dad, who are we waiting for? Are they coming by boat?”

He laughed, not mocking her but as if delight had filled him to overflowing and come out as laughter. “Wait just a minute, sweetheart, and you’ll see!”

She looked out at the horizon, breathing deep of the sea-scented air, and saw something emerging, or growing, or approaching. She couldn’t make out any details – and then she could, because she saw the backlit, translucent jade of waves, waves rushing toward them, waves growing taller and taller, until she was sure she and Dad would be drenched or even swept off the cliff – 

And then the waves stopped, suddenly, just behind their far smaller counterparts breaking on the beach. Two enormous standing waves faced them, topped with high white crests ruffling in the wind and shedding spray all around.

Her jaw dropped, confronted with grandeur; and then snapped shut again, as she imagined surfing those waves, and shut the thought down in case these formidable fae, for so these two waves must be, could somehow sense that desire.

Dad, beside her, spoke into the hiss of the small waves that mounted the shingle and drew back again. “Hello again, Your Majesties. As we discussed, I have brought my daughter, who is my equal partner in all that we do. Let me make her known to you as Valentina, which in one of our tongues means ‘strong and powerful.’”

A rumble, not quite a roar, carried across the gulf between waves and cliff. “Welcome, counselors. . . ."

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The ocean rulers in the preceding scene were inspired by this extraordinary photograph by Darragh Gorman of Lighthouse Industries. If you're on Instagram, I recommend looking  him up there.

Of course, setting is only the beginning of story, and traumatic events can take place in marvelous places. The next excerpt will be the beginning. . . .

To see where the story takes these characters, you can order the book here and start reading on September 15th. 

Musings on Omar Khayyam and George Eliot

 Happy Sunday! I'm taking a break from the series of excerpts I've been posting from my upcoming novel, in order to share this morning's minor literary epiphany.

Douglas Murray has a Sunday column called "Things Worth Remembering," available (among other places) on The Free Press. This morning, the column discussed Persian poet Omar Khayyam and his famous work The Rubaiyat, brilliantly translated by English poet Edward FitzGerald. While Murray emphasizes the extent to which this collection of quatrains follows a "seize the day" theme, he also quoted one with quite a different message.

LXXI

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit

  Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

I've read this poem more than once over the years, but only this morning did it strike me how similar its point is to that sometimes conveyed by another famous author.

I've long been an admirer of British author George Eliot. One of her rarer qualities is the willingness and ability to impress on the reader a particular uncomfortable reality: some choices, some actions or failures to act, are irrevocable. Good will, good intentions, good reputation, good self-image can do nothing to undo certain decisions. The novel in which she most directly focuses on this fact is, I believe, Adam Bede. (For a description that includes spoilers, see Wikipedia. I was surprised to note, in that write-up, that this was Eliot's first published novel.)

Are there other authors you know about who also confront readers with this fact? Let me know in the comments! 

First more traditional excerpt from my upcoming fantasy novel

 I'm glad I thought of starting this series of excerpts from Far From Mortal Realms with the book's Dedication. Now, however, it's time for excerpts more than a few words long.

The first such excerpt comes from Chapter 1. Abe and his daughter Adira, partners in a law practice that helps humans make contracts with the Fair Folk more safely, are discussing the morning's agenda. This passage introduces not  only Abe and Adira but an important faerie character. It also gives a few examples of the kind of loopholes the lawyers habitually identify and close.

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“Let’s move on. What’s our schedule for the day?”

Abe looked over at the clock again. “In a little more than half an hour, we have a dedicated gardener on a quest to capture the blue ribbon for his not-yet-prizewinning tomatoes. He’s heard about a previous winner getting an assist from the Fair Folk and wants us to negotiate something similar.”

Adira shook her head, setting her black hair bouncing. “What, didn’t he hear about what happened afterward?”

Abe grimaced and replied, “As I recall, after that fellow’s garden reached his roof in a giant tangle and lifted it free of the walls, he had the plants torn out – twice – and then paid even more for the fae to make them disappear. But perhaps our client is less up to date than we are on fae-related news. At least he has the good sense to hire us to get him reasonable terms. Any thoughts?”

Adira swallowed the final bite of her brownie and said, “We can see whether he grows anything that any of the Fair Folk – hold on, with whom are we negotiating, given how many different parties could provide this service?”

Abe smirked. “Your favorite middleman, or middle-fae I should say, has agreed to shop our client’s offer around.” He ducked as Adira grabbed a muffin and pretended to throw it at him. Adira had little patience for the preferred glamour and habits of the being who styled itself the Viscount of Bloomingshire, though both professional courtesy and simple self-preservation required her to show it the most exquisite politeness.

As he expected, Adira put aside her show of temper and focused on the problem at hand. “So. We can see whether any of . . . the viscount’s contacts would like some of the client’s seeds or seedlings, whether of tomatoes or some other crop. Aren’t tomatoes related to some poisonous plant? That might appeal. Or he could offer to grow some fae plants and provide opportunities for his neighbors to see them. That lets everyone involved show off. Of course, he’d have to make sure not to eat any, nor to let anyone else do so.”

Abe chewed his lip. “We’d have to include a clause saying that whatever plants they provided wouldn’t shape themselves into a faerie ring and transport our gardener or his guests anywhere. And we’ll set reasonable growth limits, and exclude any dangerous or unsightly mutations. Anything else we’ll have to watch out for?”

Adira tossed her head and said, “We’ll give the final language a good going-over, of course, but I think our usual boilerplate will take care of the other hazards. Though I fully expect our dear middle-fae to suggest some of it is unnecessary – say, the clauses that protect us as well as our client.”

“Do you, really, after the dozens of times he’s dealt with us? Would you care to make a small wager?”

Adira waved away the offer, took a sniff of her muffin – carrot and ginger, worth the smelling, if he did say so – and said, “What’s next?”

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I'll include the preorder link with all excerpts, in case that excerpt is the one that intrigues someone enough to follow the link. Here it is.

See you all next excerpt! 

How I chose my upcoming novel's Dedication photo

 My fantasy novel Far From Mortal Realms comes out on September 15th. The Kindle edition should be available that day, and with a little luck, the paperback will be as well. (As for other ebook formats, I haven't yet decided whether to put the book in Kindle Unlimited, which would at least temporarily prevent me from offering them.) Over the three weeks between now and that release date, I'll be posting some excerpts from the book. In a way, this is one of them.

The photo I've chosen for the book's Dedication is a cropped version of my father's official Army portrait. I'm not sure I ever, in the sixty-one years I knew him, saw him looking this stern. Nevertheless, his expression doesn't really surprise me. Dad and his immediate family had escaped Nazi Germany shortly before Kristallnacht (the Night of Broken Glass), which marked the transition between "few German Jews can find a way to escape the Nazis" and "escape is essentially impossible." He was fifteen at that time. Years later, after a year or so in Palestine (as it was then known) and another three or so in New York, he and one of his brothers went back to Europe with the U.S. Army. From what he and others have told me, he saw himself as a sort of avenging angel. This portrait shows as much.

The text of the Dedication doesn't refer directly to this time in Dad's life, but to his later life as a father. It reads:

"To my father, who always strove to protect and rescue his children."

Abe, one of the two protagonists of Far From Mortal Realms, is much older when the book starts than my father was in this portrait. But the strength and determination in the photo strike me as appropriate to illustrate the qualities of a father resolved to do whatever he must, whatever the dangers to be incurred and the obstacles to be overcome, to rescue his daughter.

To learn more about the book, see the incredible cover (designed by Rebecacovers), and if you care to, preorder the Kindle edition, follow the link. 

A list I made of recommended science fiction -- in a particular category

 

It's always pleasant to have some person/website/entity contact me because I'm an author. The latest was a website called Shepherd (with a nice little illustration of a shepherd as its logo). Its mission is to help readers discover good books via recommendations from a wide range of authors. Could I, would I come up with a list of five books to recommend, in any category I dreamt up?

Responding to this request led me to muse on what draws me to a story as a reader. Apparently, among other things, I often end up reading stories (SFF or other genres) whose protagonists are struggling with past traumas. The result: a list of five SFF (science fiction and fantasy) novels with emotionally scarred characters. 

I mentioned in the writeup of the list that my first novel (aside from juvenilia), Twin-Bred, featured such a character. The format provided to me didn't leave room for me to add that several of my other novels, including most books in the Cowbird Creek series, do as well. Is it time for me to build a novel around a completely unscarred innocent? . . . 

Why I wrote my upcoming fantasy, FAR FROM MORTAL REALMS

 Now and then, I read (or at least skim) some article about how to write, publish, or promote either a novel or a picture book (I write both). The other day, I was looking through a launch plan and workbook from marketingforchildrensauthors.com. It provides some "social tips," including the advice to talk about why I wrote this particular book. What motivated and inspired me? I wasn't sure how I'd answer that question for my upcoming fantasy -- and then I remembered.

For many years, I've played with and poked at the idea of some being or other -- genie or faerie or visiting alien -- offering to grant me one or more wishes. I long since took to heart the lesson of W.W. Jacobs' short story "The Monkey's Paw": be careful, very careful, what you wish for. Its underlying prediction: wishing, if somehow made effective, will end badly.

I take that as a challenge. I've often tried to formulate a wish that no malign entity could twist into a weapon against me -- a wish with absolutely no loopholes such an entity could exploit. I've never been altogether satisfied with the results, but I'd probably try again if the opportunity arose to have a wish granted. I'm a lawyer, and this task has always struck me as particularly appropriate for a lawyer to undertake.

At some point prior to last year's NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), it struck me that if the world of the Fair Folk ever revealed itself, and if some of its inhabitants sought to entice mortals into making bargains, those mortals would be better off hiring a lawyer. And a lawyer fascinated with folklore might be more than ready to open such a practice. From that notion came Abe and Adira, father and daughter lawyers, and their practice in a region in Vermont where the Fair Folk have appeared.

Of course, being a lawyer isn't always enough to keep you safe.

Here's the book description (in its present form).

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The many wondrous realms the Fair Folk inhabit offer tempting opportunities for mortals hoping to benefit from faerie magic. But making bargains with the Fair Folk is a dangerous business, for the fae have a habit of leaving loopholes to snare the unwary. Father-and-daughter lawyers Abe and Adira have made a career out of helping their fellow humans reach such agreements safely.

Abe and Adira know the rules for dealing with Fair Folk: don't reveal your true name, don't say thank you, don't accept gifts, don't eat fae food, don't tell even the slightest of lies . . . . Oh, and always, no matter the provocation, be unfailingly polite.

A moment of carelessness, a brief lapse, and a professional defender of mortal interests may be in dire need of rescue.

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The Kindle edition is now available for preorder. And since I love showing the cover, here it is again!

 

A confession and cautionary tale about last-minute draft changes

 I have a grievous literary error to confess.

As I was working on my fourth historical romance, What Wakes the Heart, I struggled with the name of the male protagonist. He was a Polish immigrant living in Cowbird Creek, Nebraska, and I wanted him to use an Anglicized first name. I puzzled over when to use that form of his name and when to use his true name, as well as what both those names should be. Until shortly before publication, my answer to the latter question was John and Jan (the latter pronounced "yahn"). I even had a scene in which he told Susannah (the female protagonist) about the immigration workers' reaction to his name, their initial confusion quickly yielding to a series of jests.

The problem was: "Jan" reads as a female name in English, and I didn't want my readers constantly stumbling and doing double-takes. ("Wait, who's Jan, and when did she walk in?") So at pretty much the last minute, I replaced John and Jan with Carl and Karol. The "k" in Karol would, I hoped, keep readers from confusing it with the girl's name Carol. To implement this change, I used "find and replace," though I checked each use of either name to make sure I'd picked the correct name, Anglicized or original.

All very well -- but only this morning, more than seven months after I published the book, did I realize to my horror that I'd failed to search for the possessive "John's." And once I did that search, I found an abundance of them. Anyone reading the book would have realized how sloppy I'd been. Most series readers find the Cowbird Creek series via Kindle Unlimited, and I have little doubt that many of them gave up the book partway through in irritation and perhaps disgust. I may have lost series readers permanently. And I've contributed to the poor opinion many readers still have of self-published books.

Mea culpa -- mea maxima culpa.

Once I discovered my error, I made haste to correct the Kindle and paperback editions of the book. As of this writing (May 17th, 1 p.m. EDT), the corrected Kindle edition is already live, and the paperback should follow soon. So here is my plea: if you started What Wakes the Heart and set it aside because of the sudden intrusions of unexplained "John's," please consider giving it another try. I am hardly objective, but I consider it a pretty good book, both as historical fiction and as romance. And I promise not to make the same mistake again. (As for other mistakes . . . no promises, but I'll try to be more generally careful.)

Here's the cover, which I hope may please or intrigue a few of you.

 And here's the Amazon link. The paperback is also available at Barnes & Noble and other retailers, though the corrected version won't appear there for more than a week. 

Next novel's cover, title, and description -- with a Kindle preorder link!

 Hello again! I'm finally ready to announce my next novel's title, show off the cover, and air my draft book description. Here, to start with, is the cover -- which will also tell you the title.

I love it! Rebeca of Rebecacovers (on Fiverr) did the cover and patiently endured my multiple requests for tweaks and my delay in providing a title.

The subtitle, "A Novel of Humans and Fae," gives a bit of an idea as to where I'm going this time, but here's a more complete explanation. Please weigh in as to whether this description intrigues you, and let me know about any words or phrases that annoy you!

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The many wondrous realms the Fair Folk inhabit offer tempting opportunities for mortals hoping to benefit from faerie magic. But making bargains with the Fair Folk is a dangerous business, for the fae have a habit of leaving loopholes to ensnare the unwary. Father-and-daughter lawyers Abe and Adira have made a career out of helping their fellow humans reach such agreements safely.

Abe and Adira know the rules for dealing with Fair Folk: don't reveal your true name, don't say thank you, don't accept gifts, don't eat fae food, don't tell even the slightest of lies . . . . Oh, and always, no matter the provocation, be unfailingly polite.

A moment of carelessness, a brief lapse, and a professional defender of mortal interests may be in dire need of rescue.

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Yup, Fair Folk and lawyers! I hope the description convinces any doubters that this combination makes more sense than they may have initially thought.

I haven't had the cover in hand all that long, but I've held off on this announcement for a few days in order to include a preorder link (for the Kindle edition). Here's that link!

I'll be seeking beta readers, and then reviewers, well before the September 15th release date. If you'd be interested in either role, please let me know in the comments.

A crowdfunding project to print a terrific comic, with one week left

Surprise! This isn't another post about my new release. In fact, it's more urgent.

I don't know whether anyone reading this post had the good fortune to read Livali Wyle's terrific webcomic Goth Western when it appeared several years ago (or since then). The comic combines beautiful artwork with a compelling story, plus queer romance and a touch of necromancy (raising the dead -- with, this time, a thoroughly admirable purpose for doing so). Oh, and it's set in the old West, my own stomping grounds when I write historical romance.

There was talk of a Kickstarter when the series was complete, but this and that -- including a certain pandemic -- intervened, and only now is Hiveworks, the comic's current host, doing a crowdfunding project to print the comic in book form, with a bonus story to boot. The project must reach its target by midnight, October 23rd (and I'm not sure whether that means the beginning or end of October 23rd), or the book won't happen, and we'll all be deprived of that extra story. There's no tier for "family member who's a huge fan dumping gobs of money to make it happen," nor would that really be in the spirit of crowdfunding as I understand it. So all I can do, past a certain point, is tell as many people as I can about the comic and ask them to go take a look.

From this same link, you can read as much of the comic as you need in order to decide whether to support the crowdfunding, or you can just jump ahead to supporting it. I very much hope you'll go to the link and see what you think. And if you think this is a book that should exist, then whether or not you can afford to contribute (and just $5.00 gets you the story by itself, while $20.00 gets the book with story, and higher tiers get certain fun extras), I hope you'll share the link. Thanks for whatever you can do!

Release Day! for What Wakes the Heart, latest Cowbird Creek novel, which can be read as a stand-alone

 And here we are and here it is! What Wakes the Heart, an American historical romance set in 1884-1885 Nebraska, is now available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback editions, and in paperback via various retailers. The novel is Book 4 in the Cowbird Creek series, but can easily be read as a stand-alone. (If, however, you've read one or more of the previous books, you'll recognize Dr. Joshua Gibbs, Clara Gibbs (nee Brook), Freida Kennedy (nee Blum), and Jedidiah Kennedy.)

So what's the book about? Well, let's start with the book description.

"Susannah looks forward to a rewarding career as a teacher in St. Louis, until a traumatic encounter with the president of her teacher's college drives her to seek a job elsewhere. Karol, a Polish Catholic immigrant living in Cowbird Creek, fears that the town's first school may not respect his bright, eager sister's intelligence due to her limited English. Susannah and Karol meet under propitious circumstances when she first arrives in town -- but once the school opens, Karol's fears for Bronka seem to be realized, with Susannah arguably to blame.

"Can they move past this daunting conflict? And if they do, can they overcome the religious and social obstacles between them?"

Digging a bit deeper, it's about . . . dealing with past trauma, finding one's way in a new place, taking on new roles and their challenges, seeing beyond cultural differences, grappling with major decisions, and finding love amidst it all. I hope you'll find it absorbing, entertaining, and moving. And as with any good historical fiction, which I at least strive to write, you'll pick up some intriguing historical details.

Happy reading, everyone!

Final excerpt from about-to-appear Book 4 in Cowbird Creek historical romance series

 There's time for one more excerpt from What Wakes the Heart (Cowbird Creek 4). Well, there's actually time for more than one, but I don't wish to bombard you with post after post.

Here, from the  Author's Note, is a list -- and not a complete list, though it's close -- of topics I researched in the course of writing this book.

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I usually list in my Acknowledgments section the websites, articles, newspaper archives, et cetera that I used in my research. But this time around, I consulted so many that listing them all would make this book even longer than it is, and at least a little more expensive. I am therefore listing only the topics I researched, and only where that research made it into the book or otherwise had a significant impact (e.g., by dissuading me from including some detail or taking the plot in some direction). Here, in no particular order, and broken up for readability, are those topics: 

-- the fabric used in men’s shirts of the time; the earliest translations of Shakespeare into Polish; Polish and other endearments; Polish curse words; Polish family customs; Polish Christmas eve (Wigilia) customs, Polish wedding customs; Polish culture; Polish contributions to the sciences; the transition to Christianity in Poland; Polish and Irish surnames; Polish girl’s and boy’s names; Polish literature; Polish historians and historical works; children’s literature; novels of the period; one room schoolhouse calendars; rounds people sang; craft supplies available and used; games ladies played; games played on streets; history of rock-paper-scissors; popular amusements; 

-- roofing materials; availability of public benches; the history of paste and other adhesives; types of pens used; dates when immigrants came to the U.S. from various countries; the nature of Jesuit education; celebration of Boxing Day; the histories of various bookstores and book catalogs; early American use of fireworks; which carols were sung when and by whom; styles of railroad depots; St. Louis history and culture; St. Louis neighborhoods, parks, and architecture; the degree to which different religious communities in St. Louis mingled; times the Mississippi River froze; jobs on steam locomotives; sounds of steam locomotives; train speeds; the history of separate bedrooms for family members; uses of door locks; the operation of mills; curricula in one room schoolhouses and in elementary schools; 

-- establishment of schools in various towns in Nebraska; acceptance of girls in common schools; architecture of one room schoolhouses; blackboards and chalkboards; desks in one room schoolhouses; operation and routines of one room schoolhouses; school boards and the equivalent; history of teaching certificates; higher education in Prussia; Biblical battles; origin of the Oxford (aka serial) comma; common surnames of the time; geographical knowledge and exploration; world’s hottest countries; afternoon tea menus in America; hunger in the Revolutionary War; farm chores by season; availability of glass in windows; signs of a blizzard; spring blizzards; school prayer; Christmas traditions; how to hang candles on a Christmas tree; Lent and Easter observances; Hebrew blessings; 

-- availability of coconuts; availability of olive oil; details of Catholic mass; midnight mass; extent of prohibition of married female teachers; birth control; contents of the Nebraska Constitution; Catholic settlement in Nebraska; railroad lines in Nebraska; flowers growing in Poland and in Nebraska and comparable climates; soil types in southeastern Nebraska; the typical size of farms in Nebraska; shrubs common in eastern Nebraska; which meal was eaten at midday; which meal was eaten at midday; the history of beef jerky; history of closets; observance of the Sabbath; Catholic versus secular law; Catholic beliefs and practices, including similarities and differences between Protestant and Catholic beliefs; Catholic teaching concerning marriage; where bonnets were worn and when removed; who wore lorgnettes; handshake customs; child employment; letter writing etiquette; teacher training; “normal schools” (teacher’s colleges) in various cities; newspapers in various cities; 19th century obituaries in newspapers; spelling of “theatre” versus “theater”; availability of indoor plumbing; and the 19th century precursor to electrolyte drinks (haymaker’s punch).

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One More Time: here's the preorder link for the Kindle edition. Both editions should be available this Saturday!

Excerpt from the Author's Note for WHAT WAKES THE HEART (Cowbird Creek 4)

 In this excerpt from the beginning of the Author's Note for What Wakes the Heart, I explain my family connection to this book. (For excerpts from the book proper, just scroll down.)

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My mother Bronislawa Zarkowerovna, called Bronia (one of several common diminutives for her name) by family and friends, emigrated from Poland to Canada at the age of fifteen. A brilliant young woman, she had dreamed of being the next Marie Curie. She lived in a village called Maxymuvka, but took the train to the city of Tarnopol to attend high school and then got an apartment there with her younger sister. The mud at the train station was knee deep or more, but my grandfather carried her to keep her from having to wade through it herself.

He was a grain merchant, but was able to get out of Poland, months ahead of the Nazis, by promising to farm land in western Canada. Their destination proved to be Sundance, Alberta. Sundance had a one-room schoolhouse, with a teacher little older than Bronia. My mother spoke more English than most of the family, but that wasn’t saying much. Nonplussed by the challenge of this new pupil, the teacher handed her a book of fairy tales and told her to read from it. Unimpressed with the result, she had my mother begin with the work of the first graders and go on from there. It took a year, and the humiliation of that year sank deep, but my mother’s English improved substantially. She eventually finished high school elsewhere, but for a range of reasons, she did not attend college until her daughter Karen was thirteen years old.

By the way, her last name is an example of how Polish last names are inflected. Her father Lonyo’s last name was Zarkower; my mother’s reflected her status as his daughter. I chose not to deal with that complexity in this book, aside from mentioning it here.

The brief mention of classmate Louisa’s innocence, and its apparent effect as some sort of protection, is based on my mother’s sister Erika, who was very pretty and somehow sold magazines to sailors fresh off sea voyages without being harassed.

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I hope you're resigned to my including the preorder link for the Kindle edition for all these preview posts. Here it is.

Another excerpt from upcoming historical romance WHAT WAKES THE HEART -- the last?

 Will this be the last excerpt I post before What Wakes the Heart comes out? I rather like leaving my potential readers in suspense about how my protagonists get from this unpromising point to a path which could lead to a HEA. (That's "Happy Ever After," for those unfamiliar with the acronym.) I may, instead, post bits from my Author's Note, which provides some background information about the book and about my process when I write historical fiction.

If you've missed any or all of the previously posted excerpts, just scroll down. And if those excerpts, or this one, or the previous books in the series, or any of my other books inspire you to preorder this one -- here's the link.

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Susannah was getting dressed before breakfast when someone knocked on her door. She opened it partway to find Miss Wheeler looking ill at ease. “You have a caller, Miss Shepard. I’ve put him in the sitting room. It’s rather early for anyone to call, but I imagine he hoped to find you before you left for the school.”

Susannah hurried to fasten her last buttons. “Can you tell me who it is?”

“A young man, wearing working clothes. He seems rather . . . impatient.”

In her short time in Cowbird Creek, Susannah had been introduced to only one man who would wear work clothes. And she had, without dwelling on the fact, looked forward to seeing him again at some point. But not after yesterday. “I’ll be right down.”

Carl Marek was pacing back and forth in the sitting room, almost bumping into furniture on each pass. He whirled around as she entered, glaring at her and brandishing a book. She stepped backward despite herself as she recognized the McGuffey reader.

“This, you give my sister? This is what she gets on her first day of school, after dreaming of school her entire life? This!”

Susannah sank into the nearby easy chair, hoping it might influence him to sit also. “Mr. Marek, I did try —”

His big hand clutched the book so tightly she feared he would damage the cover. “The dog! The dog ran! For a girl fifteen years old! Do you know what Bronka brought with her to this country, instead of linens for when she gets married or clothes to look pretty in? She brought Shakespeare!”

Susannah gaped at him. “But — she couldn’t even read Little Women when I asked her.”

Mr. Marek rolled his eyes. “In Polish, she reads Shakespeare! She has been reading in it every night before she goes to sleep! But now, of course, she will need to practice how to read ‘dog’ and ‘cat.’ And in front of the others, you gave her this!” He threw the book down on the chair in which she had hoped he would sit.

Another trip back and forth across the room, and then he stopped and said, his voice hard and bitter, “You will have to give her back this book yourself. I have to get to the mill. My sister must not go without her book about Cat and Dog. What a shame that would be! She might have to read Shakespeare instead!”

And with that, he stomped out the door and slammed it behind him.

Susannah sat in the easy chair, shaking all over. She greatly wished to cry, but she was due at the table for breakfast, if there was still time, and then needed to appear at school, composed and ready. The first step was to stand up. She did so, first gripping and then releasing the arm of the chair, and gave herself one minute to achieve some degree of composure.

So when Miss Wheeler opened the door, concern on her face, Susannah burst into tears.

Miss Wheeler hurried over and put her arms around her. Susannah struggled not to cry harder at this reminder of home and mothering. The older woman tsked and hushed and muttered “there, there,” while Susannah got herself under control. Miss Wheeler let go and pulled a handkerchief out of her skirt pocket, dried Susannah’s cheeks, inspected her, and finally declared, “You’ll do. Hurry to breakfast, child.”

After crying in front of her hostess, Susannah could hardly protest the name of child, even to herself. She followed close behind as Miss Wheeler led her to the dining room. Just before they entered, Miss Wheeler said under her breath, “I’m sorry to have allowed an unreliable young man to disturb you on these premises. You may be sure I won’t be admitting him again.”

Susannah, taking her seat, reflected dismally that it was unlikely Miss Wheeler would be called upon to take the trouble of refusing Carl Marek admittance.

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That's all for today!

A short fourth excerpt from WHAT WAKES THE HEART (Cowbird Creek 4)

 Yes, I'm still at it! At least, Blogger is -- I'm spending much of the day lying on the couch with my leg elevated, since I had a hip replacement on September 29th.

Scroll down for the first three excerpts. In this fourth excerpt, it's the first day of Cowbird Creek's first school.

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Bronka’s chatter from the kitchen roused Karol well before dawn — though he might have been able to keep sleeping if he’d been less uneasy. He ignored it as long as he could before he gave up and got out of bed.

He had asked Bronka whether she would rather have him escort her to the school — though he would have to leave her there before it opened and head to the mill — or have their mother go with her instead. She laughed at him. “Of course I’ll go with you, silly! You won’t tell me not to talk so much, or complain that I should be staying home instead and learning to cook everything Mama’s mama did. You understand.”

He understood how much she wanted to learn, and how happy she was to be going to school at last. But he also understood what she might be facing, one of the oldest pupils and yet knowing so little of what the others already knew, and most likely not a one of them speaking anything but English. Or if they did, it would probably be German. And her teacher had no idea how to help such a student, unless she had learned since he spoke to her.

He had always taken care of Bronka as much as he could, ever since she was born alive and healthy – Mama’s miracle, after the two babies she lost. Coming to America, struggling to help support the family, shouldn’t have changed that. He should have practiced English with Bronka more often. He should have found her English books to read, and coaxed her to read with him. But it was too late for wishing.

They reached the school, and Karol led Bronka to the stone bench he himself had set in the grassy yard where the younger children could run about and play at dinnertime. It was chilly for September, but Mama had loaned Bronka her thick winter coat, much warmer than Bronka needed. He wished he could stay until more pupils arrived. Or until the teacher did. She was such a little thing, maybe shorter than Bronka, and finer-boned. She might need help with something.

But he could hardly risk losing his work at the mill. He chucked Bronka under the chin. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be counting on you to tell me all about it when I get home.”

Bronka beamed at him. “Of course I’ll be fine. You said the teacher seemed nice, didn’t you?”

Karol just nodded. He had said that, and bit his tongue not to say what else he thought. “I’ll see you tonight.”

He waited until he reached the corner before he looked back. Bronka was sitting very straight, looking at the steps to the school as one might look toward the gates of Heaven.

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And here's the Kindle edition's preorder link. 

Until next time!

Third excerpt from WHAT WAKES THE HEART (Cowbird Creek 4)

 Counting down (feel free to visualize sheets flying off a day-by-day desk calendar) toward the release of What Wakes the Heart -- so here's a third excerpt. If you missed the first or second excerpts, just scroll down or follow the links.

As this excerpt from Chapter 3 begins, Susannah Shepard is traveling by train from her home town of St. Louis to Cowbird Creek, where she will be the one-room schoolhouse's first teacher.

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She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes, hoping she might be able to nap. Surely the chugging of the engine, the clicking of the railway ties, could lull her to sleep. That steady rhythm . . .

. . . reminded her of watching a steamboat recede down the Mississippi River, its big red paddle wheel going round and round, churning the water into a wide wake, while up on the deck carefree people in white linen and straw hats listened to the music of a brass band, the sun winking off its instruments . . . .

She fished for her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, and almost jumped to hear a knock at the entrance to the car. Hastily she picked up her book, abandoned on her lap, and called up a smile as a well-dressed gentleman peeked in. He hesitated, looking at her intently, before saying, “I beg your pardon. The travelers in the car I occupied previously are filling it with enough smoke that I began to find it hard to read. May I intrude?”

Susannah gestured to the bench across from her. “Of course! And it’s a pleasure to meet a fellow reader. What are you reading?”

The man reached into the small satchel he was carrying and produced a new-looking copy of Finney’s Sermons on Gospel Themes. “I find train travel lends itself to contemplative reading matter.”

Susannah could not help but find it faintly disappointing that the gentleman had not chosen something purely literary. It might have been something she’d read, and if not, she could have asked him how well he liked it and whether he would recommend it. She smiled politely and returned to her novel, Hoosier Schoolmaster, which she hoped would provide useful (if vicarious) experience as well as entertainment.

She soon forgot her companion, and indeed her surroundings, in the story, though in shifting on the bench to relieve an aching hip, she happened to notice him withdraw a pipe from his waistcoat pocket and then hastily shove it back out of sight. She wondered briefly at the sensitivity that would send a smoker out of a smoke-filled car, but the thought did not occupy her long.

She had reached a rather exciting scene when she noticed a change in the sound of the engine, and then the slowing motion of the view out the window. They must be approaching Cowbird Creek’s station. Suddenly, she found it as difficult to breathe as if she were in the smoke-filled car the gentleman had fled.

The small railroad depot at which they were arriving looked as if a simple wooden structure had been updated to resemble a standard design, as a less expensive alternative to new construction. The roof, newer than the building itself, had the steep pitch of the Victorian style, and some white gingerbread trim had been nailed to the tops of the dark red walls. As the squeal of brakes filled her ears and the train came to a stop, her companion stood up and gestured toward the upper shelf on which her case lay. “May I fetch your belongings down for you?”

The offer was more civil than she had been, declining conversation to bury herself in her book. “Thank you very much. That would be most helpful.” She expected that he would hand the case to her as soon as he retrieved it, but instead, he gestured for her to precede him out of the car and trotted along behind.

Looking ahead to the platform, she saw a man in perhaps his early forties with brown wavy hair, a neatly trimmed beard, a clean frock coat, and well-polished boots. He caught her eye, smiled in a friendly way, and bowed. That must be Dr. Joshua Gibbs, town doctor, who had placed the ad she had seen. Susannah carefully descended the iron stairs and turned back to thank her fellow passenger and take her case — but in an instant, he had pushed past her, almost knocking her off the bottom stair, and was walking briskly toward the back of the train.

Susannah gasped, which delayed by precious seconds her ability to cry out — but when she could, she outright yelled. “STOP THAT MAN! Please! He took my case!”

Dr. Gibbs, and a portly man who appeared to be with him, looked around to follow her pointing finger. The fact that her hand was shaking may have made their task more difficult. But a younger man, muscular, who had been helping the porters unload people’s trunks, looked up at her shout. He spotted the thief, who was moving more quickly than anyone else on the platform, and ran after him. Susannah watched with her hands clasped tight, still on the bottom step until the conductor sounded the warning whistle. Dr. Gibbs came forward to take her hand and help her down, an attention she would have considered quite unnecessary if she had not been trembling.

--------

Here, once again, is the link to the Kindle edition's preorder. (As soon as the book is actually available on October 15th, I'll be putting it into Kindle Unlimited for at least one 90-day term.) The paperback should be out around the same time.

Check again soon for (at least) one more excerpt!

next Cowbird Creek book is available on preorder! -- and here's an excerpt

 Hello again! Today, I'm delighted to announce that the Kindle edition of my upcoming book What Wakes the Heart, Book 4 in my Cowbird Creek historical romance series, is available for preorder. (Getting it to that point was something of an achievement, given that I'm preparing to have outpatient surgery (hip replacement) and had my computer's video card stop communicating with my monitor as I was about to transfer all the proofreading changes to the working draft.)

I've already posted one excerpt from the book, an excerpt which introduced you all to Susannah, the female protagonist, trained to be a schoolteacher. Today's excerpt, from Chapter 2, lets you meet the male protagonist, Karol (called Carl by the residents of Cowbird Creek). He and his family are Polish Catholic immigrants. His sister, Bronka, is loosely based on my mother Bronia. (These are two forms of the same name, Bronislawa.)

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Karol Marek, known to people in Cowbird Creek as Carl, decided that hauling sacks of flour for almost an hour was long enough for a break. He could stretch his back, at least. And the miller was deep in talk with two customers, their wagons already loaded, and wasn’t likely to argue about it.

Stretching felt so good that the relief was all he thought about until he was through. Then, as he was about to get back to work, some of the miller’s conversation caught Karol’s ear. What was that about a school? A new school just being built?

His first thought was that he might be able to pick up some of the construction work before and after mill hours. He and his father were the only ones bringing in money, and Bronka was growing out of her skirts and shoes.

Which led to his second thought, and it should have been the first. Bronka had always loved to read, even as a little girl. Not only storybooks, but books about history, about other countries, anything she could find in their grandfather’s library. She had been so grateful when he gave her a Polish translation of collected Shakespeare plays, fresh from the bookshop; and so afraid when it seemed the book might be too heavy for them to bring. Karol and his father had left their spare pairs of shoes behind, to make room.

Could Bronka go to this school? Would it be allowed — a girl, and a foreigner?

One of the customers talking to the miller was the doctor, who had a little girl of his own. Karol moved closer and listened harder. Dr. Gibbs was saying something about the school board, inviting the miller to join it. He would hardly be on the school board if his own daughter was kept out.

“Mayor Pomfrey has agreed to join us . . . .”

The doctor, the mayor, the miller . . . . Dr. Gibbs might not be rich — he dressed plain enough, except for his boots — but all of them were among the higher class in Cowbird Creek. Would the children of workers like Karol and his father be welcome?

Too, there was the question of Bronka’s English. It had got better, of course, in the five years since they arrived in America, but she spent most of her time at home with their mother, speaking nothing but Polish, and so she could not speak English as well as Karol could. On the other hand, going to school would give her the chance to get better.

He would talk to Mama about it when he got home. And now he’d better get back to hauling sacks.

Mama bustled about the kitchen, getting supper ready for Karol and his father. She and Bronka had eaten before either of the men arrived. Bronka had taken herself off somewhere, which made it a good time to tell his parents — in Polish, of course — about the school, and ask what they thought.

Papa stroked his beard as he listened, forgetting to eat. “Our Bronka would love to go to school. But we shouldn’t tell her about it until we’re sure she could go.”

“Eat, eat!” Mama hated to let food get cold, now that he and Papa had saved up enough to buy her a proper stove. “What does the girl need school for? I never had time for such a thing.”

Papa took a big bite, chewed it up, swallowed, and smiled fondly at her. “You wed me when you were fourteen, and had been telling your family for years before that you would marry me some day. But Bronka is not so much like either of us. She reminds me of your father, with all his books.”

A picture popped into Karol’s head of Bronka holding her big Shakespeare book, sitting in the easy chair and smoking their grandfather’s pipe. He choked back a laugh. Mama narrowed her eyes at him and said stubbornly, “She can worry about school when I’ve taught her everything she’ll need to know to take proper care of a husband and a house.”

“School?” Bronka burst into the room, waving the dishcloth she must have been mending. “There’s going to be a school? And girls can go to it? Oh, what a wonderful place we’ve come to!”

Karol put up his hands as if to hold back her eagerness. “They haven’t finished building it. They may not even have a teacher yet.”

Bronka ran around to where Papa sat and caught hold of his arm. “Please, please let me go to school! I’ll wait as patiently as ever you could ask, if I can only go when it opens.” She let go and spun around to face Mama. “And I’ll be so much help to you, before and after school, you won’t be sorry!”

Mama got that look that told Karol more than she realized about what it was like to be a parent — the worry and the love. “You’re already much help, córeczka. I just hope this school could be all you expect. So little in life turns out the way we expect it to.”

Papa grinned. “Marriage, for example, is much more annoying than anyone told Mama ahead of time.”

Mama reached over and swatted his knee.

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Here's the cover again:

And here's my mother -- in an undated photo, but possibly at about Bronka's age.

Until next time!

First excerpt from fourth book in Cowbird Creek series -- plus a request for early reviewers

 Hello again! I'm hoping to make What Wakes the Heart (Cowbird Creek 4) available in about a month and a half, so it's high time I tried to whet your appetites for it. I also have a secondary purpose: I seek early reviewers! If I find any who like the book and don't mind being quoted, their kind words could end up on the back cover of the paperback edition, as well as on the book's Amazon and other pages.

So without further ado, here's an excerpt from Chapter 1. 

-----------------------------

[Susanna Shepard has just graduated from a “normal school” (teacher’s college) in St. Louis, MO. The president (aka principal) has asked her to come see him to discuss some possible “good news.”]

 She knocked, her breath coming short as she strained to hear any word from within. Almost at once, the door opened, and there he stood, smiling broadly, his gold tooth glinting. “Susannah, my dear! Come in and sit down. You may hang your bonnet on the peg.”

The suggestion further buoyed her spirits. Clearly Mr. Brecker had not invited her simply for a short social call, but had matters to discuss that would take some time. She would like nothing better than to follow his instructions, but he had hardly left room for her to enter. She searched for the words to say as much, but in a moment he stepped back enough for her to get by. Once she had hung up her bonnet as instructed, he waved her toward the chair at one side of his desk, then walked around behind her toward his own. Something brushed her hair as he went by. His waistcoat? But it had been buttoned snugly around his midriff.

Mr. Brecker sat down, the springs in his chair squeaking under him, and leaned toward her. “As I told you on Saturday, I have some news that should be welcome — though not surprising, for such an able scholar as yourself.” He paused, looking at her intently, and cleared his throat before he went on. “You may recall that my own sister is in charge of an excellent school in this very city, a school much prized by parents, to the point where they are happy to pay the fees necessary to maintain its quality and keep its facilities in good condition. There is rarely a vacancy among its staff, for none leave without pressing need, but it just so happens that one of the instructors is shortly to be married and will be departing.”

He paused again. Was he waiting for her to express interest? Her interest must be obvious. But she asked, as he appeared to wish, “How is this instructor to be replaced?”

He studied her, for what purpose she could not guess. “While the final decision will of course be my sister’s, she is naturally inclined to rely on my judgment. If I recommend you to her, I am confident your acceptance — and your future — will be assured.”

He would hardly have called her here and given her this news if he did not mean her to have the post. But he had not yet said as much. What remained for her to do or to say? “Indeed, sir, I would be very happy and grateful if you see fit to recommend me.”

He leaned back in his chair, pushed it a little ways back from the desk, and licked his lips. “Come here, my dear.”

She wrinkled her forehead, an action which suddenly reminded her of the lines in her mother’s face. “Sir, I am not sure what you mean.”

He stood up, passed behind her again, and shut the door. Then he came back and stood next to her chair, holding out his hand. “Your gratitude is to your credit. Gratitude is a virtue we teachers prize, when we have done well by our pupils.” As she sat looking up at him, he leaned down and picked up her right hand, pulling her upward. His hand felt warm and surprisingly soft. “I know you must be anxious to express it.”

Once before, or it might have been twice, Susannah had noticed men in the streets following her with their eyes, looking at her with something between need and greed. Mr. Brecker’s eyes held that look now. He pulled harder on her hand.

Susannah rose out of her chair — and moved away, tugging her hand free of his grasp. “Mr. Brecker, I would of course be grateful for any assistance you give me, so long as it is based on my merits. When would it be possible for me to meet your sister?”

He seized her hand again and pulled hard, so that her bosom touched his broad chest. “My dear, your maidenly reserve does you credit. But you must trust me to do what is best for you, to guide you.” He slid two fingers into her hair and drew out a strand. “So fine a color. I have always favored dark hair. And yours, my dear, shines like a blackbird’s wing. And your eyes are as green as the fields of heaven.”

She could feel the blood blazing in her cheeks as she shoved herself free. She must say something, but what could she possibly say? Had she misunderstood? But what could he possibly mean, but what it seemed?

She looked back at him, hoping to see confusion, or even hurt. But it was anger that narrowed his eyes and tightened his mouth.

Susannah backed away until she could feel the doorknob in her hands. Then she spun around, grabbed her bonnet with one shaking hand, yanked open the door, and ran down the hall, like a child running from some dread thing.

---------------------------

Please email me at kawyle@att.net (best option) or comment below if you're interested in reading and reviewing this book as soon as it's ready!

I'll leave you with a repeat look at the cover.

Next time, an excerpt from the point of view of the young man on the left!

The Crucial Importance of Vetting a Potential Editor

 This blog post began life as a book review.

I bought a science fiction novel because its description intrigued me and it was on sale. (This is how I buy a great many ebooks. The rest usually come from a favorite author, like M.C.A. Hogarth, Grace Burrowes, V.E. Schwab, Lois McMaster Bujold, or my latest discovery, T. Kingfisher.) It didn't take long for me to discover that the book was exceptional -- in an unfortunate way. It was full of a great many errors, the kind that an edit should catch: mostly errors of grammar and vocabulary, but also continuity issues (not so much outright continuity contradictions as implausible shifts in attitude and expectation), ridiculous similes, and the occasional typo. I kept reading only because, underneath the absolute mess of the text, a somewhat interesting (if a bit derivative) story struggled to be told.

After a few chapters of this, I looked back at the front matter and saw that an individual editor was not only credited, but thanked for her impact on the finished product. The wording suggested a possibility even more unsettling than the editor's simple (if staggering) incompetence. Could the editor have taken a less problematic text and added some of the errors? Particularly where the misuse of words was concerned, I found it plausible that the author might have had a more limited vocabulary and/or a lack of confidence in her knowledge, and therefore accepted the editor's egregious substitutions.

I don't usually leave reviews that are primarily critical, though I'll mention what I see as weak points in a book I otherwise enjoyed. I was going to make an exception in the case of this book, as a warning to authors -- particularly new indie authors -- not to accept credentials or recommendations as a substitute for a test edit. Only a test edit can show whether a particular editor (a) is basically competent and (b) understands your authorial "voice" and will refine it rather than trying to replace it with some other style.

And then, the lawyer in me spoke up. (Yes, I'm an actual lawyer, though I'm quasi-retired.) If this review came to the attention of the book's editor, that editor might sue me for defamation (slander or libel, the latter for writings) -- even, possibly, for "defamation per se," which (among other things) covers defamation that could damage the subject's livelihood, and doesn't require proof of actual damages. I should be able to prevail in such a lawsuit, but it would be a waste of time and money, particularly if I did what prudent lawyers do when sued and hired some other lawyer to assist me or to be lead counsel.

So instead of leaving a review or otherwise identifying the book in question, I'm using this blog post to make my point more directly. For pity's sake, don't turn over your precious book to an editor who may let obvious errors go uncorrected or, worse, hand you back an unrecognizable Frankenstein's monster. (And if you answer this advice by pointing out that traditional publishers are unlikely to give most authors a choice of editor, you'll be quite right. Not every book that comes out of traditional publishers is well edited, let alone edited with sufficient care for the unique aspects of the author's voice. Indie authors, however, can vet editors.)

If I'd left a review, that review might have alerted the author to her predicament. I'm sorry not to have accomplished that. But who knows -- maybe the author and I will both be lucky, and she'll see this post and realize that it could apply to her.

Cover reveal! for fourth book in the Cowbird Creek series

 It's hard to type with crossed fingers, but here's hoping the beta reader feedback on What Wakes the Heart, the fourth book in my Cowbird Creek historical romance series, won't do major damage to my intended release timeline. If all goes reasonably well, this book will come out by mid-October of this year. So this seems like a good time to reveal the cover, previously shown only to family and my newsletter subscribers.

Just who are we looking at? Well, that's Susannah on the right, who will be the first schoolteacher for Cowbird Creek's first school. The fellow on the left goes by the name John, but before emigrating from Poland, he was Jan (pronounced much like "yawn").

In the weeks to come, I'll post some excerpts.

A warning about parental rights

 It occurred to me today that I should write down a concern I've had since Dobbs overruled Roe, even though it may never prove prescient. After all, one never knows when one will be hit by the proverbial truck.

The majority opinion in Dobbs stated emphatically that the decision had no affect on, and had nothing to do with, precedents (prior binding legal decisions) on issues other than abortion. The precedents in question, including those establishing the right to same-sex marriage and to use contraception, are, like Roe -- and more explicitly, Casey, which reaffirmed Roe decades later -- based on the idea of "substantive due process." The doctrine of substantive due process requires that one interpret the Fourteenth Amendment's phrase "due process" as involving more than simply process, or procedure, but also encompassing substantive rights -- or at least, the "fundamental" ones.

Troxel v. Granville, the Supreme Court case that for the first time explicitly protected fundamental parental rights in the concept of grandparent visitation, is also based on substantive due process, although the plurality opinion (there was no majority opinion) referred only to "the Due Process clause" without that revealing adjective. (Concurring and dissenting opinions did use the full phrase.)

Back to Dobbs. While Justice Thomas joined the majority opinion, he also wrote a separate concurring opinion in which he -- not for the first time -- criticized the notion of substantive due process, calling it "an oxymoron that lacks any basis in the Constitution." Thomas noted that no party to the Dobbs case had asked the Court to decide to reexamine all the Court's Fourteenth Amendment precedents. Therefore -- because this broader question was not presently before the Court -- he agreed that Dobbs didn't cast doubt on those other Fourteenth Amendment cases. But he stated that in future cases, the Court should (presumably, after this hint, with the proper briefing from the parties involved) reconsider all its substantive due process precedents. That would include Troxel, although Thomas did not include it in his list of examples.

Thomas went on -- again, not for the first time -- to mention the Fourteenth Amendment's Privileges or Immunities Clause, which states that no state may make or enforce any law that would "abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States." This clause was essentially rendered a dead letter by a series of late 19th century cases, at least as far as any rights not mentioned in the first eight amendments are concerned -- but it could be revived, particularly if "substantive due process" bites the dust. The question would then become just how many rights, other than those listed in the first eight amendments, are protected as "privileges or immunities." In his concurring opinion in Troxel, Thomas included a footnote stating that Troxel did not involve a challenge based on the Privileges or Immunities Clause, and thus did not provide an opportunity to reevaluate the meaning of that clause.

For what it's worth, I think that Justice Thomas's concurring opinion is more forthright on the subject of the non-abortion substantive due process cases than is the majority opinion. And I think that some enterprising grandparent (or other nonparent) will, sooner or later, challenge Troxel, and any state precedent based on Troxel, on the ground that its constitutional reasoning was flawed. (Note: some state supreme courts have found independent state constitutional grounds for protecting parental rights as much as, or more than, Troxel did.)

I therefore hope that in the meantime, those for whom a Supreme Court case gutting parental rights would be disastrous will prepare to fight for those rights using arguments other than substantive due process. These arguments should, I submit, include arguments in favor of rehabilitating the Privileges or Immunities Clause. I have the impression that plenty of scholars and historians have criticized the 19th century cases in question (perhaps appropriately known as the Slaughterhouse Cases) -- so arguments should not be too hard to come by. 

Whatever rights the Privileges or Immunities Clause might be held to protect, they are likely to include rights that (to quote some often-used language) are "objectively, deeply rooted in this Nation’s history and tradition." Parental rights should qualify.

Finally, whether or not a parent's state Supreme Court has already found that its state constitution protects parental rights, any parent facing the need to bolster state law on the subject should prepare to make a state constitutional argument.