Author Interview

Interview with Carmen Peone

We’re talking today to award-winning author Carmen Peone, past President of Women Writing the West about her newly released book: Lillian’s Legacy – the third book in the Gardner Sibling Trilogy. 

Welcome, Carmen! Thanks for visiting today. Let’s start off with an easy question. I understand you and your husband, Joe, have four adult sons and nine grandchildren, is that correct?

A: “We actually have another grandchild on the way. Number ten will be here in December. We have four girls right now and five boys, but number ten is a boy so the boys will outnumber the girls. They all live close. Some on the reservation and the others on the Washington coast.”

Your web site says you have a degree in “Abnormal Psychology.” Is that a real thing?

A: “Yes, that’s real. I always joke. I say I have a BS in Abnormal Psychology, I put that out there whenever I do a workshop or presentation and just pause. People either get it or don’t—you know? That degree actually allowed me to work within the school system. I got an emergency substitute teaching certificate. I’ve taught every grade and every subject on the reservation, as a sub. Including: Special Ed and Head Start. Then I coordinated the after-school program for several years.”

Indian Reservation? Are you talking about Colville Indian Reservation? Was it a culture shock when you moved there?

A: “It definitely was a culture shock. The reservation is located in northeast Washington. It’s the Colville Confederated Tribes of Indians. My grandmother lived up the river from the reservation, in Kettle Falls. I spent a lot of summers with her while growing up. I would hear about the Indians down on the reservation but we never went there. Then I met my husband in college and after I graduated, we moved to the reservation. And now, I’m living where my grandmother, who was a nurse and worked for the doctor who delivered many babies here, as did my (nurse) mother. So it’s like this complete circle—I’m living on the reservation.”

You said you fell in love with the reservation, the people, their heritage, and their culture. You wanted to write about it. Was there a specific thing that influenced you most?

A: “Just working with tribal elder Marguerite Ensminger and learning the Arrow Lakes (or Sinyekst, Sinixt is the contemporary spelling) language. I worked with her for three years.”

Your web site said you teach archery. How did you get started?

A: “It started with our after-school program. We got a lot of federal money for our small reservation school. We were able to build a climbing wall and start National Archery in the School Program-NASP. I got certified to teach archery the same time as the PE teacher, who is the head coach of the program. I usually take the kids to nationals but this year I got really sick and had to resign. As I wrote my resignation letters, tears were flowing. Unfortunately, I just pick up everything at the school and get really sick a lot. I knew if I continued to teach then I couldn’t write more books and it would also hurt my time with my grandkids. And they are my life!”

What are your writing goals? Is there another genre you have considered writing? Sci-fi, memoir, or romance?

A: “Funny you should ask. During my Women Writing the West presidency, we had hard issues come up. I thought the time would fly by but after the 2018 conference, our accountant announced she was going to retire…I spent most of my time dealing with the transition of finding a new accountant. But that winter, Jerry Jenkins offered this on-line novel writing workshop and I took it because I wanted to make the switch from young adult to Christian romantic suspense. That book will also be set on the reservation, it’s actually out right now with a publisher for consideration.”

Will you tell us a little bit about Lillian’s Legacy without giving too much away?

A: “Sure. I’ve had amazing reception about this book. I knew I wanted to do something different. I didn’t want my next book to be about girls and horses—like in my other books. However, I didn’t really know what I wanted to do or what I wanted the book to be about. Then at a ladies Bible study at my house, after mentioning that, someone suggested the book should include medicine and we all looked at Dr. Maria Trevino, another lady there. So Dr. Trevino agreed to assist me. I did research about women in medicine and Dr. Trevino read the manuscript when it was completed and gave me feedback.

Lillian’s Legacy is about a young teen, Lillian Gardner, who in 1875 feels displaced by her family, and like a shadow under her famous horse-riding older sister, Hannah. Things get worse when Hannah insists her wedding be held on Lillian’s 16^th birthday and Lillian feels like she’s just another shadow. Not even important. So that day, an older Welsh healer happens to be traveling north and stops by the ranch for a drink and rest. While there, the healer discovers Lillian’s interest in healing which came from her mother, Elizabeth, who was very knowledgeable of local plants and herbs. The Welsh healer, Dr. Maddox, askes Lillian to tag along on her journey. Throughout the journey, Lillian proves her value and discovers her legacy. 

A lot of my books have the names of my children and grandchildren. For Lillian’s Legacy I wanted to use my family name: Maddox. Lillian discovers she likes medicine and she decides what her true legacy will be. There is a lot of information in the book about plants and herbs and their benefits and healing properties. I had fibromyalgia and it got really bad in my late 20’s. I went through the whole medical thing before finding what actually healed me. I have no trace of fibromyalgia now after working with a naturopathic doctor. So that’s my interest in it. A long time ago my grandmother who lived up at Kettle Falls gave me a book that’s no longer in print, written by a local a Native Americans on the reservation. That sparked my interest.”

What do you hope people will come away with after reading Lillian’s Legacy?

A: “Just that there’s hope. For all my books the theme is hope. I started a Cowgirls for Hope retreat with my friend. I’ve written a song you can find on YouTube, “Legacy Worth Living,” and I wrote that song on the piano and then my best friend who’s a singer/songwriter transferred it to guitar. She performed it for my book launch. There is hope in the world. Especially during the pandemic, where fears are running rampant, there is hope in God and His love for us. In every single one of my books, it’s just the same. There is hope. Your dreams can come true. If you work hard and trust God, it will happen.”

Thank you for visiting, Carmen. Congratulations on your new book Lillian’s Legacy.

For more information about Carmen and her other books: Girl Warrior, True to Heart Trilogy, and her Curriculum—Young Adult Workbook Series, check out her web site at https://carmenpeone.com/about/ Catch up with her on social media at:

Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/CarmenEPeone/ 

Twitter at https://twitter.com/carmenpeone 

Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/jcpeone/ 

Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Carmen-Peone/

Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/carmen-peone

More

Much has happened since I blogged last. Suffice to say, I'm not the same person. The death of a loved one has a way of silencing the loudest among us.

The woman who birthed me was extraordinary. Joyce Elizabeth Long-Byrd was my mother. A lady. The truest Christian I have ever known. She gave and gave and gave until there was nothing left of her. 

The 48 years she influenced my life, shaped who and what I am. She loved out loud. Her love, a verb. She was more than the cancer which stole her. More than the titles she wore. More than the secrets she held. She was more.

More faithful, more real. 

You may have lost someone. If so, maybe you share my ache. 

Like me, you'd likely say...your loss...is more. 

A Little Digging

When there's a break in the winter weather, it's all I can do to rein-in the gardener in me. Compelled by some unseen force, I scratch around in the seed drawer arranging and rearranging packets I'll rip open in spring--throwing fistfuls of hope in every direction. 

'Jane' Magnolia

Would a trip to the greenhouse tied me over? No, not really. 

I'd rather break out the shovel and do a little digging? Digging for what, you may ask.

Sanity, peace, meaning.

They're in there somewhere.
They can't be found in the news or on social media. Trust me, I looked.

Texas Star Hibiscus

Grape Hyacinth

First, scrape away the layers of lunacy. Then chip away at the crust of past hurts before sinking your shovel deep in the soil of tranquility. 

Down down down the sharpened steel sinks until it hits the bedrock of repose. There, that's deep enough. 

Ah! Just as I suspected. Between the ruby hyssop, fuzzy-headed liatris, and a tree peony (the scent of lemons), there's room for a new plant. You choose what it'll be. 

The only thing required...a little digging.

Been a few days...

Wow! What a horrible blogger I am. I can't believe it's been so long. Do forgive. In my defense, I've been busy.
#excuses #stackingrocks #plantingflowers #buildingakiva #socialmediaouttheears #twonewgrandbabies #newbookpublished #life. Now then, you're all caught up.

 As Jack Black aka Nacho Libre would say, "Let's get down to the nitty gritty." 

Jacob boy

Sam E. at the Western Heritage Museum OKC '18

Granny and Jacob

 Why am I blogging now? Why should you care, if ever you did?

Bronson, Kiara, and Jacob Randolph

#1 Granddaughter, Miss Meadow Sanders

Simple, we crave connections. Okay, maybe just I do. I want badly to stay connected to my past, while still making new friends.

 

Granny and Jacob

Maybe it's my poor health, advanced age, my desperate desire to know where I came from, and where I'm going. Whatever the reason, I'm writing and writing is good. It's therapy.

#1 Grandson, Cannon Sanders

Bronson and Jacob Randolph

Thomas and Martha "Mattie" Horrell

I'm currently writing about Thomas L. Horrell from Lampasas, Texas and Lincoln County, New Mexico Territory. Horrell, my third great grandfather, one of my recently discovered outlaw relatives. Thank you, Edmond Leon Long, my maternal uncle, who dug up this family secret/jewel. The story is so incredible, I can't believe no one's made a movie of it yet. They will...when my story gets published...and it will!

Wait and see...

Until then, wherever you are, whatever you're doing...keep those connections alive. Discover where you came from, where you're going. None of us are getting out of this deal alive, let's face it. I'm headed up. How about you? Romans 10:9-10

Betsy

Fall 2015 - I just discovered this was never published

I've been somewhat absent of late as I pursue my MFA, but with the changing of the season, my camera (willing no longer to be stored) has found its way into my hands.  

I'm chased by the idea that the perfect snapshot will reveal to you my state of mind and wondering (as always) why you should care or why I should let you know.

The crisp cool wind sneaks its way across my skin and tickles the leaves into letting go of the branches before flipping up and over my porch to collect in the corner of the fence.

The last flowers of the fall bloom and fade, bloom and fade while fritillaries scurry south taking along the last of the sweet Indian summer.

Should you see me studying a collapsing bud up close or hoisting around a paper brown sack full of tomorrow's blooms, there's no need to ask if I'm enjoying the weather. You'll know. 

 

 A friend told me recently that I needed to be "present." I needed to relish the "right here, the right now." So that is exactly what I'm doing. In my mind, I'm standing near a stream lined with tiny blue flowers and I'm breathing in the scent of tranquility. Tomorrow is not promised so I will cherish today.

Forgetting what is past as I would a spent flower, because we all will fade in due time.

 

2016 Up Until Now

 Well, I'm finally getting around to blogging...

Betsy, Becky Wingate, Brian Green-Young

Oklahoma City University

Sad, really. There just seems to be so many things to keep one busy these days. In my defense, I was finishing my MFA in creative writing from Oklahoma City University's RedEarth MFA program, graduated in May...Thank you very much. I've also been busy querying agents with my thesis project which is a full length novel. My first paranormal. It's about a female Oklahoma Highway Patrol trooper who gets murdered and finds herself stuck in the afterlife. It's a quirky, humorous read with a little violence, bad language, and alcohol involved. Or was that just grad school? 

Get screened for breast cancer girls - it doesn't play!

 I've had a lot of joys this year, but I've had my sorrows as well. My favorite aunt passed away back in June. Rita Leachman (to the left of my cousin Maranda) was by far the sweetest woman on the planet (second only to my momma, her sister.) We're never ready for them to leave, are we? Even if them staying means they suffer. We are selfish like that. I know I'll see her again one day. That's the only thing that eases my heartache. I love you, Aunt!

Finally went out to the east coast where my children live. Saw the sights. Made me homesick for Oklahoma.

 But, I got to see the Statue of Liberty for the first time, and I got to see both of my grandsons. That did my heart good. I do so love being a granny. It's kind of ridiculous the happiness one gets from your kids having kids. It's hard to explain. Grandparents understand though. I don't have to sell them on the idea. You live long enough and have kids, you'll understand too.

Look at that little face!

 So, I'm going to try to do a better job of blogging. I'll make no promises, because I hate breaking promises. Besides, I'm writing a new book and trying to sell a second one. Cut me some slack. I'm busy on my second Noah Pool Adventure book. It's a middle grade reader. I know, from one extreme to the other, but I write like I live - all over the place.

This little heart-breaker has Granny and Papa wishing the east coast wasn't soo far away.

The Bridge

When I think back to all that happened in 2015, it's no wonder I didn't blog more. It was a rough year.

A promising young trooper—my friend, was senselessly killed. Under attack from people that were supposed to have my back, I changed job locations, my last living grandparent died, my son announced his girlfriend was pregnant and that they’d broken up, my dad endured several surgeries to fight his stage four cancer diagnosis, I was in trouble at work for what I considered “defending myself” (albeit not very graciously) against anti-law enforcement cyber-bullies, I was knee deep in graduate school—struggling to keep my head above water, my son's Army unit deployed overseas-to parts unknown, and I was fighting a losing battle with a demon whose name I'd labeled “regret”…ALL while unknowingly under an opiate addiction that took me over a bridge and had me considering jumping off.

I didn't know I was in trouble until the bridge. As I hoofed it across Interstate 35 overlooking Waterloo Road, the desire to jump was overpowering. It wasn't until that moment that I knew for sure—something inside me was terribly wrong.

I'd managed to stuff down the hurt, the hate, the regret until that moment. I told myself that things were going to work out. I'd prayed, I'd trusted, I'd hoped that things were going to turn around. I knew I was loved by the Creator and that all things worked together for my good. What I didn’t know was how. How were things ever going to get better?

Until the bridge, I didn’t know the medicine I’d been taking for post-surgical pain was influencing every other aspect of my life: my attitude, my outlook…my relationships. It wasn’t until the bridge that I knew things were way bad and had to change.

I’ve often considered people with an addiction—weak. I’d never considered, for even a passing moment, that someone addicted to drugs or alcohol could be anything other than a leech. That was until the bridge. You see, I’d been prescribed Tramadol for chronic pain. I didn’t take more than I should. I took it exactly as it was prescribed. That was, until the bridge.

That day, as I marched across the bridge angry at the world and myself for reasons I didn’t understand, voices inside my head screamed for me to just jump. “Be done with everything,” they screamed. “Quit!” they jeered. And I almost did. I peered over the side of that bridge and for one brief moment, I really considered jumping. I saw my body sprawled out on the pavement below: broken, bloody, and dead. That scared the crap out of me. I was forced to see myself for what I’d become…I was a mess.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten there or exactly how I was going to survive, but I knew jumping wasn’t the answer. This wasn’t me. Something was wrong. Something was influeincing me to the point that I didn’t’ know where I started and where the negative influence began. I continued walking…angry at first, with shaky legs less confident of my ability to combat this unseen thing.

By the time I made it to solid ground, away from the precipice, away from certain death, I knew. It had to be the medication. Quitting was easy considering the alterative, I thought. But the next several days were absolute hell. What I didn’t know about Tramadol is that an opiate based drug should not be stopped “cold turkey.” I felt like I had no choice and that stopping abruptly was the only way. Within hours…hours, I was miserable. The pain was unsurmountable…then, the buzzing started. It felt like electric charges were shocking me every few seconds. They lasted for 15-20 seconds and only on the left side of my body. The entire left side of my body. Buzzing could be heard in my left ear and when the buzzing started, any pain I’d felt before was intensified by 1,000 percent. This went on for days…

One night, I woke up with the buzzing so loud, the pain so immense that for one brief moment the fatigue of fighting was more than I could endure. The voices were back and they urged me to “Just take one pill. It will make the buzzing stop.” I got out of bed and I walked into the bathroom. But I knew I couldn’t take a pill. I’d never stop if I didn’t stop now. So I walked circles through the house. Into the living room, through the kitchen, down the hallway, into the living room, through the kitchen, down the hallway, into the living room, through the kitchen, down the hallway…and the whole while, I cried out to God to save me.

This is what addicts go through, I thought. This is the hell they live. I walked until I was so tired I couldn’t walk anymore. I fell exhausted into my recliner in the living room. While praying for mercy, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the buzzing had subsided. It wasn’t gone, but over the next few days it slowly faded until one day I realized it had completely ended. It took over 30 days to get that hideous drug out of my system. I don’t know how I survived, except to say it was God’s unmerited favor.

2015 ended with my dad’s cancer in remission, I got some help for the regret—that in the end I could accept, wasn’t my fault, my son is stateside, he got married and the baby is due any day, I finished my third semester of graduate school with all A’s, I’m still drawing a paycheck, and I’m free of the influence that tried to end me.

I still think about that day, the bridge and jumping…usually twice a day as I cross over Waterloo Road. I pray God I never forget.