The as-yet-untitled work

We have launched into the research for the first of the four books. I thought I wanted to start with the Steampunk novel. It seemed it might be easiest to start there, but no. That’s not where I’m going first.

The first book is still untitled after more than 30 years in the back of my mind and waiting for two involved generations to pass on.  It will take the reader through the Depression Era, travelling from Saskatchewan, Canada through the US states of Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, and finally to Colorado. Expect it to be dark, depressing and straightforward.

I’ve discovered information in my recent research that makes this a unique story. There are details from 1920s and 30s Canada that the US has never heard. There are details about the American West during this period that, unless you lived in that area, you’ve also never heard.

How do I know I can write this? Because it is a fictional portrayal of family stories told to me by my mother about my biological grandfather and grandmother and my two biological uncles as they took that journey, spanning from 1927 to 1936.

My grandfather was a migrant worker from Scotland who moved to Canada and, because of the hard times, continued down through the states along the Rockies.  He ended up working on WPA projects almost from the time he hit the US border. Back then, they needed no proof they were US citizens, or if they did, he was one fabulous con artist to get the work he did. He spent it on alcohol and cigarettes and women and whatever other trouble he could find. He was a failure, but just as much by his own doing as it was the system’s.

My grandmother, Belgian born, had moved to Canada right after the First World War and met my grandfather there. There is some question as to whether they were ever married. There is no record of it anywhere, civil or religious, but common law was prevalent in those territories at that time.

In 1933, my grandmother was rushed to the hospital in Denver with a rusty nail in her foot, infection threatening her life, and she died in the waiting room, eight hours after she arrived there, from blood poisoning. She was too poor to be treated. People with money to pay for services came first, always. Rich headcolds came before poor critical cases. That’s just the way it was.

The stories, insights and tales of some of the most incomprehensible situations imaginable abound. I know these by heart after all these years, and I am privy to the sealed records once held regarding my mother’s adoption in 1936. Laws and regulations were circumvented. The story amazes me, and if it amazes me, it will amaze others.

I’m doing this officially, and I expect the powers that be to tell me if they think this entire premise is rubbish. I am submitting a book proposal, synopsis and general details regarding research. I expect a bona fide contract, signed by the other primary, if this is something he feels is viable.

Many of you know me, and you know my publishing affiliation. If you think I am the power, you haven’t met the other primary.

Even I follow the rules.

*Addendum:  The book now has a working title, The Nothing Man: Gift of Illusion.