It's Here!

On August 11, 2010, in Las Vegas, NM, Edwina Irving masquerades as historical non-fiction author Edwina Portelle Romero.







Be there when melo-drama and mayhem take the stage at the Historic Plaza Hotel's Ilfeld Ballroom--excerpts from The Comedy of Adam and Eve, ca. 1870; The Ticket-of-Leave Man, 1863; and "Who Killed Sean Flannery," from Prairie Madness, forthcoming [I HOPE].

A celebration of history and amateur theatre.

Footlights in the Foothills

The footlights dim, the stage goes dark, but only for a few months. Revisions and additions to the book are coming to an end, but hopefully, Sunstone Press will be able to publish it in 2010, the year of Las Vegas, New Mexico's 175th anniversary. Although Footlights in the Foothills, my story of the amateur performers, their plays and venues does not begin in 1835, it does recall amateur troupes in Las Vegas as early as 1871. I complete these revisions with mixed feelings. . . anxious to see the book in print, but sad to leave the 19th century and the grand people I met there like Mariano Monclova, Hattie Knickerbocker, the Baca Family, Alexander Randolph, Miguel Otero, Jr., and the Rothgeb girls, to mention a few.

But an exciting adventure awaits, and by August 11, the footlights will glow again when we--Deborah Blanche, Tim Crofton, a cast of talented young people, and I--take the story to the stage at the Plaza Hotel's Ilfeld Ballroom. With dramatic, and comic, readings from period plays as well as variety acts, we will recreate a typical early 19th century amateur production.

Hope to see you there.

AN UNRELIABLE READ

I believed the hype about A Reliable Wife, and it does have a decent plot . . . when you can find it. I am--once again--reminded of how little I know or can anticipate regarding what publishers want. This author, published twice by a "reliable" publisher, ignores most of the tenets of good writing: the narrative drags-in all sorts of backstory, tells rather than shows, repeats insignificant bits of information, and even contradicts itself. The rambling and nonspecific descriptions overwhelm the story-line. The narrator tells the reader what the characters believe rather than illustrating. I love good, detailed description, but not of the same scenes over and over again and not when it buries the plot so deeply that I don't care what happens next.


The upshot is . . . clearly, I do not know what publishers and agents think of as sound narrative structure, good description, exciting plot, or character development.

The Coming Book

I am engrossed in making Footlights in the Foothills, an overview of amateur acting companies in Las Vegas, New Mexico, between 1871 and 1899, ready for publication. I went back through my original research and found many tidbits of information that had to be cut for the initial article, things like the connections among the performers, the historical context of the plays they chose, the lovely venues--Ward and Tamme Opera House, Duncan Opera House--and the dynamics of the troupes themselves.

The companies varied from burlesque to opera, and they performed in Las Vegas opera houses and halls as well as the Fort Union Opera House. The performers included bookkeepers, ladies, butchers, tailors, soldiers, politicians, bankers, and gamblers. The plays ran the gamut from "The Female Bathers," to "Coloquios de los Pastores," to "Union Spy," to "H. M. S. Pinafore." The one common denominator is that all the performers were amateurs although some moved into professional status. I have come to know these game thespians who took to the stage in front of audiences that included local sophisticates as well as transient outlaws. And I will miss visiting with them when the manuscript is turned over to the publisher.

Pearl Harbor

Let us never forget the American sailors' screams, the thundering explosions, the stench of burning flesh. That was Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, 68 years ago today, a Sunday morning, when the Japanese bombed our ships at anchor.

Exhibit Interlude

When it rains it pours! After receiving the publication contract for Footlights in the Foothills, along comes another exciting opportunity--writing in a new genre.


I spent most of the past few months curating an exhibit at the City of Las Vegas [New Mexico] Museum. First thing I had to do was look up the word curate. I am so grateful to the muses for this chance to stretch my writing muscles, but at first it was scary. Select items from the Museum collection; seek additional items as appropriate; research the history (1915-1967); then write the exhibit story, encompassing the events, people, artifacts, photos, and documents in under 300 words.


The research led to more and more story, so the hardest thing was to cut, cut, cut. This process really challenged me and made me a better writer. It is quite a thrill to see my words in large print on a beautifully designed panel and to watch people read them.


Bottom Line: Try different genres.


Check out updates on this exhibit at http://lasvegasmuseum.blogspot.com/ or http://www.lasvegasmuseum.org/ and . . . "Git Fer Vegas, Cowboy!"

Serendipity

I've been writing and submitting work to journals, magazines, and literary agents for more years than I want to say. I've had several small successes like the non-fiction piece, "Chris," that was accepted for I Thought My Father Was God. I'm proud of that for two reasons--first, the anthology was edited by one of my favorite authors, Paul Auster, and second, someone read my essay, was moved by it, and wrote to me.

When I finished my novel, Prairie Madness, I was determined to get it published, so I began the onslaught. I submitted to agents--in the various and sundry ways they want work submitted. I sent the first two chapters; I sent the first 40 pages; I sent synopses, and proposals, and "tithes" [not really the last one although I was tempted].

Next, I began my attack on publishers. I sent several large, expensive packets containing resumes, book summaries, credentials, publications, marketing plans, cover letters on watermarked paper. When the publisher I was certain would want this novel did not respond, I did not consider this a rejection [really, I did. I was so disappointed.] I wrote a letter politely inquiring about the status of my submission. It had not been received, I was told. So I resubmitted, focusing on the reasons I was certain that this particular publisher was so right for my novel. A few days later, I received a telephone call. Yes, this company wanted to publish my book, but not Prairie Madness. They wanted to publish the short, non-fiction piece that I had self-published as a chapbook.

I was flabbergasted--really.

I signed a contract. Now I am metamorphozing from writer to author, on the verge of stretching out those fine, delicate, and oh so colorful wings. And happy though I am, I realize that I had/have absolutely no way--not The Writers' Market, not publishers' websites, not the advice of agents--for discerning what any given publishing house is truly looking for.