Meet Coyote: The Loner, The Lover, The Leaver

The wolf pack will die when scattered by man, lonesome coyote survives. --El Coyote, Kris Kristofferson

Of all the characters within the pages of my forthcoming novel CLOVER BLUE, Coyote was the most unknown to me. Usually when I start a book, I acquaint myself with each person, learn their history, let them tell me their story so I can tell it to you. In Coyote's case, his story was more of a quiet reveal as I got to know him through his actions. This is partly because he's a man of few words, and usually only speaks when he has something worth saying. 

Because of this, the best way to introduce Coyote is to share some excerpts that might offer a few clues about this father, protector, army deserter, and loyal friend. In the following scene, young Clover Blue shares his thoughts in the midst of a powerful storm lashing outside their tree house shelter:

Coyote’s hammock hangs empty across from my bed. He’s an insomniac and often disappears on walks at night. On nights like this, you’d think he’d want to take shelter in the tree house, but Coyote loves storms. Nobody knows where he goes but he usually comes back long after I’m asleep.

Coyote is also a beloved father. His daughter Aura makes her appearance within the first few pages of the book during a home birth with his loving partner, Jade. Aura calls him Yo-Yi. Here's glimpse of Coyote and two-year-old Aura at Saffron Freedom Community.

Aura runs behind Coyote carrying a basket of wild berries in her chubby arms. She follows him everywhere. Half the time Coyote has Aura’s little legs curled around his neck as he moves around the compound with her on his shoulders. She hangs on to his dreadlocks like reins, leaning this way and that as if they’re two heads on one body. Coyote often has bits of food in his hair from her munching on apples or carrots while she floats around on his shoulders.

Blue often seeks  answers to his many questions from his older brother and confidant. In one of the most telling scenes from the book, Clover Blue wonders about Coyote's motivations for leaving boot camp and fleeing to the commune:

“I was just wondering if you ever wish you didn’t go AWOL. I mean wouldn’t it have been easier to just do your stint and be done? Or turn yourself in and take the punishment now that the Vietnam war is over?”

Coyote lets the truck door gently swing back closed. He looks me up and down while he chews a little on his lower lip. “You know we live in a bubble here, right? Things are crazy different out there in the real world. They sent all the brothers to Nam, put ’em on the front lines. Most of them came home in body bags. My ‘stint,’ as you call it, meant I’d have to kill people, you realize that?”

 “It was a stupid question.”

“No, it’s not. You need to know this. That war was for the military industry. Most are. But the war against the black man is far from over. What they most want to take away from us is our dignity and our freedom.”

Finally, Coyote is also quietly compassionate, as revealed by newcomer Rain:

“My first day here, everything was so, I don’t know, different. I was scared. Coyote sat here on the other side of me. My hand was shaking so bad the food kept falling off the fork. He put his hand over mine and held it. He said, ‘It’s cool, sister. Everyone here is your friend.’ His words calmed me down. I’ll never forget that.”

To be frank, as a white woman who grew up in the Midwest, creating a believable character like Coyote, a black man from Oakland, CA, was challenging. But it also presented a unique opportunity to underscore the issues of the day, and give voice to the disparity in African American military recruits who were sent to the front lines, and the unrelenting bigotry they endured. I don't for a minute profess to know what it would be like to walk in Coyote's shoes, but I hope that I've imprinted the reader's heart with one man's indelible footprints.

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Only 39 days until the release of CLOVER BLUE. I hope you'll pre-order your copy today, currently 34% off the cover price! 

And don't forget, my debut novel This I Know will be out in paperback on April 30. 

How Growing Up Poor Made Me A Minimalist

Call it lack of awareness or naivete, but as a child I had no idea my family was poor. We had food on the table, clothes on our backs and plenty of love to go around so I never felt lacking. It didn't occur to me to question  wearing hand-me-down blouses or homemade dresses that my mother sewed for us. Coming from a large family, I just assumed these to be normal, practical things that most families did.

The fact that I was unaware of our socioeconomic status says more about my upbringing than it says about me. I loved the meals my parents prepared out of leftovers, stretching our Sunday pot roast well into mid-week. I felt lucky to inherit one of my older sisters coveted outfits. And sharing a bed with my younger sibling was much more of a comfort than a burden--save for those times she gouged me with a sharp toenail.

It wasn't until I was much older that I began to understand how challenging it must have been to feed seven children on a rural minister's income. I have faint memories of falling asleep in the back seat of our car when my mom drove thirty miles to pick up my dad from his second-shift job. He worked at a Brunswick factory where he'd sometimes bring home defective bowling pins for us to play with. We loved those wooden pins, painting faces on them and gluing yarn on the top for hair. According to family legend he once brought home bowling shoes for us to wear. I was too young to remember it, but I heard how my older sisters pitched a fit and refused to wear the shoes to school. My dad insisted they were the same as saddle shoes and his ungrateful daughters should be happy to have them. My teen sisters begged to differ and the shoes "went missing" after that.

When drawing the character of Reverend Carter in THIS I KNOW I drew from my own experience of growing up with a man who could squeeze 200 pennies out of a dollar. He accepted gifts of venison from church members and had it ground with pork suet so his kids wouldn't balk at the wild taste. He milked his clergy discount wherever and whenever he could, often embarrassing my mom. And he cut coupons like nobody's business, stuffing his suit pockets, his wallet, and the glove compartment of our Plymouth until the little door wouldn't stay shut.

One of my favorite scenes in THIS I KNOW is when Grace goes grocery shopping with her Daddy:

When our basket is nearly full, Daddy stops in the middle of the aisle and thumbs through his stack of coupons looking for ten cents off Charmin. When he finds it, he pulls three packages off the shelf and dumps them in the cart. He doesn’t squeeze them even a little bit. I glance over the list and draw a line through TP. Daddy never spells it out. Maybe he worries about dropping the list and somebody finding out Pastor Carter wipes his behind just like everybody else. Which is kind of funny since he spends more time in the bathroom than anyone else I know.

You'd think that growing up having less would make me want more as an adult, but the opposite is true. My dad taught me the value of love over needless things. I live in a 400 square foot granny unit. I drive a 16 year-old car. I shop at thrift stores. I recycle or re-purpose whenever possible. I cut my own hair. And I rarely buy anything I don't need. Unless. Unless I have a coupon. Or it's a really, really good deal. In which case I've been known to blow money on restaurants, spas, concerts and bookstores. Yesterday I bought a new story board at Office Max. I'd been using push-pins to tack my scenes onto a wall but they had white boards for half off retail.  I rationalized that the new dry-erase board would make writing the next book easier but the truth is I inherited the thrill of saving a buck from my dad. 

I'm not cheap--I tip well and happily pay for quality products and services. But I still love a good bargain. I subscribe to Bookbub, scour the internet for airfare deals and never pay rack rate for a hotel room. Which is why I want to acknowledge that $26 for a hardcover book is a bit steep for some of our budgets. I'm thrilled to share that my publisher is running a sale on THIS I KNOW for 90% off the cover price. My dad was frugal but he was also generous. If he were alive today I bet he'd buy every one of you a copy.