Why are readers drawn to historical works?

Many reasons exist for why readers are hopelessly attracted to historical fiction. Getting back to the basics—our roots—seems to be the most common.

What inspired our ancestors to emigrate or how did family traditions begin? Where did I get brown eyes and curly hair? Why did my great grandmother celebrate Celtic holidays or speak French fluently?

These are questions my friends have asked. With a little research, they found answers. But who wants the journey to end there?

Hundreds of history books exist. Wonderful resources we can use to piece together the places and people we’re intimately connected to.

As a person with a restless mind, I always craved more than straight facts. I wanted to see the events through the lens of the people who experienced history first-hand. Historical fiction provides endless opportunities for readers to live in those fantastical moments. Is there anything more exciting?

Pick a century or culture. Follow the events of a birth of a nation or religion. Taste the foods and wear the costumes. Fight the wars or dream their dreams.

I ‘m never satisfied with a linear link. The possibilities in historical works are endless. After all, is historical fiction really that far from the truth?

I think technology and modern thinking has stripped us of some of the values we miss most. In historicals, we’re able to catch glimpses. I’m not saying modern-day heroes don’t exist. But there’s something extraordinary about an 11^th century Viking avenging the death of his kinsman or presiding over criminal/civil cases in his court.

It’s a mixed up world out there. I prefer the clarity of the past. Call me a dreamer, but I know I’m not alone. That’s what inspired me to read, and now write, historical fiction. There’s magic on those pages, and valuable lessons to be learned.

Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it… George Santayana.

Visit Violetta Rand on Facebook: 

https://www.facebook.com/violetta.rand

 

 

Alaska and summer

I don't know if you can find a better combination of words.  We've got sun, sun sun.  Hours and hours of it.  And outdoor sports.  Boating.  Fishing.  Camping.  Biking.  Hiking.  Everybody is outdoors, enjoying the lengthy summer days. 

And then there's me.  I do get outdoors at least three times a day.  When I walk my dog.  Go to the store.  Water the blackberries.  The rest of the time, I'm holed up.  Putting words into play.  Researching all sorts of cool/interesting stuff.  Playing piano.  And doing handcrafts.  You name it.  I like doing it.  Okay.  That's not entirely accurate.  I'm not much of a knitter.  And I might as well just confess it. 

I'm a counted cross stitch addict.  

Hi!  Jackie Ivie here, blogging about - of all things - cross stitch.  Why?  Because it's incredibly fun.  Yes.  I do cross stitch.  I admit it.  I've usually got eight to ten projects going - which is why I finish so many.  I have so many options on what to work on, I'm never bored.  It's a perfect craft for long, dark, cold Alaska winters.  

And it's a great accompaniment while I'm watching a DVD/researching the latest thing in jet aircraft.  Or what an updated WWII Diesel truck would sound like.  Or the night Alexander the Great razed Persepholis.  Or looking over the Temple of the Jaguar in Tikal (city of the Mayan empire.)  Or learning about the Forbidden City.  Angkor Wat.  The theory of special relativity. 

What can I say?  I do all kinds of weird/cool research, because you just never know when you might need this sort of knowledge for your vampire.  Or maybe your historical.  Or maybe just to confound your kids.  Or maybe I really am the nerd my kids call me.

Then again...it could just be because it disguises my cross stitch addiction. 

 

And just last weekend, I got to start someone else on this addiction.  The art gallery in Palmer Alaska took part in the summer art walk (really cool idea, huh?). 

 

They asked me to partner up with 9-year-old Sammantha (you read that right.  She's Nine Years Old.  She's amazingly talented.  Already.)  Sammantha designs and constructs jewelry pieces, and I have to tell you, she's good.  And Sammantha brought something extra:  she has a little sister named Megan who is also extremely creative.  I spent some time with Megan, showing her the art of cross stitch, and assisting her with needles, and thread, and counting. 

(Yes.  That's us on the floor in this picture!) 

I had a ball!  Thank goodness we had people there with cameras - since I am never prepared - and we got some great photos. 

 

 

 

 

 

One is Sammantha, me, and the gallery owner, JoAnn. 

 

 

 

Another is of me and Audrey, a lovely woman who came by and let me tell her all about cross stitch. 

 

It's not just the pattern, you see. 

 

It's the material. 

And the weave. 

And the thread manufacturer. 

And the thread count. 

It's the beading. 

It's the metallic accents. 

It's the storage systems and pattern conversion,

and...

 

Oh dear.  There I go again.

**************   

 --- Jackie Ivie

 

Glorious Alaska

It has been said: To all things there is a season. Alaska took that adage to the extreme.

From October until May the reality is cold and dark and glorious.

Then the light begins to come back. Give or take that allows Alaska four months of the other extreme. Summer. The Magnificent Anxiety.
 
Every endeavor is predicated on the reality that WINTER IS COMING!

People work and play until exhaustion drops them in a heap. They fish and hike and climb and hunt and garden and did I mention fish? They can and smoke and share and all the while they are outside they are surrounded by Alaska. Alaskan flora and fauna doing the very same exhaustive struggle to prepare for winter and those that pay attention can tell you what part of the summer you are in by what is blooming.

The riotous season begins with green-green anything. The fireweed shoots climb out of the ground before the snow is gone. Alaskan daffodils [dandelions anyplace else] spread joy and brilliance along the roadsides.

Mother’s Day, more or less, suddenly, there are leaves. I’m not kidding - over a three day period fat buds explode shielding all debris from sight. The understory begins to leaf out and bloom-Current and serviceberry and cranberry and Labrador Tea.
 

Ahh, June, the first week star flowers sprinkle like fairy dust through the woods. The second week the Prickly Roses begin and by then the Lupine has started. As the month progresses Chiming Bells and Geraniums take over and the last week Iris rule. At your feet a blanket of twin flowers flow over the sides of the lane.

July, the fireweed is five feet tall and pink spires proclaim summer is half over. Potentilla and Yarrow are everywhere. 

August-oh dear. Mushroom month. The green understory in the woods turns red and yellow.

Rain begins and the fireweed has started to seed. We call it getting fuzzy. When the fuzzies get to the top of the fireweed –snow is two weeks away.
 
These are some of my passionate observations - your milage may vary. There are soooo many more. Don’t tell me I forgot the chocolate lily or the arnica or — I love summers flowers. Sadly, winter is coming.

--- DeNise Woodbury
 

Real Men of Alaska - Mr. August 2013

 

...meet 'BILL'...

 

As Romance Writers We Are Always On The Lookout For Hot Hunky Hero Types, So Please, Take A Few Minutes And Tell Us A Little About Yourself, Bill.

1: Were you born in Alaska, and if not, then how did you end up here? What do you do for a living, and what do you do for fun. Age, height, fav. food, and any other statistics you are willing to share. Just remember though, we are a PG 13 site and blush easily J

I grew up in the southeast city of Ketchikan where my mother was born. I moved up to Anchorage when I was 25 years old to attend college at UAA . I have always been a pretty gregarious 'people person', so it made perfect sense for me to move into the restaurant industry as a means of supporting myself.

I’m 5’9” weigh 150lbs, have brown hair, green eyes and am blessed with a wonderful group of family and friends that are constantly supportive.

I’m not picky when it comes to food (with the exception of seafood- you can only eat so much fresh seafood growing up without becoming a little sick of it), but if forced to pick one place in Anchorage to eat I would probably say either Bear’s Tooth or Moose’s Tooth. They both have great food, but the atmosphere and most importantly the beer is what sets these two places apart.

2: What kind of person appeals to you, and who do you let make the first move, you or them?

I’m extremely attracted to someone with strong moral character who knows what they want and where they’re going in life. Someone with a great work ethic is a huge turn on. As trite as it may sound, I love when you meet someone and you can tell immediately that you’re meeting the “real” them. Life is all about these wonderful connections that you make with the people around you.

On a more basic level, if you love food as much as I do, we’ll instantly have something in common.

3: Where is your favorite place to take someone on a first date, and why?

 

I honestly really enjoy meeting people out on the town. One of the most important things you can do on a first date is put the other person at ease. When you both are in a comfortable environment it opens the door to honest communication.

4: What's the wildest thing you've ever done, other than, well you know, with a companion since living in Alaska?

Well… as someone from the southeast where tourism is such a major part of our economy, it’s sort of a rite of passage to moon the cruise ships in the summertime.

So I’m neither confirming nor denying anything, but some hapless tourist may or may not have seen my shining little behind.

5: Winter can be long, dark, and very cold here in Alaska. What are your favorite frosty pastime activities? (Remember the PG 13 rating J)

And, what is the coldest temp you’ve seen/been in?

I love the winter in Alaska. Many people have this misconception that winters here are long and depressing, which for me has always been a point of contention. Winter here is not unlike any other situation in life-it is what you make of it. I love getting out and skiing, skating, watching the northern lights, snowshoeing, whatever. As a true Alaskan, we all know that the weather doesn’t actually restrict our fun, often it just adds to it.

6: And, if we ask about winter then we simply must inquire about the too short, wonderful summers. What are your favorite things to do during all those long hours of sunshine?

I feel like I am like most Alaskans in that, in the summertime especially, I work hard and I play hard. Between double shifts at work, and extended camping/hiking/fishing trips, I more than make the most of my days.

7: Alaskan men take their vehicles very seriously. What is your favorite mode of transportation – car, truck, snow machine, four-wheeler, airplane, skis, snowboard, etc., and why?

I learned how to drive on a manual and for me, that is one of the most important aspects of driving. I’ll admit that I’m a sucker for big pick-up trucks, but more than anything I like being in control of the vehicle and having the option to downshift in the wintertime when braking may not be an option.

That said, there is nothing more fun than riding around in the summer sunshine on a moped.

8: What is your favorite Alaskan animal – to see along the highway or on your dinner plate?

I can honestly say that I’m not much of a big game eater, and while it is fun to see the common moose or bear along the side of the road it is pretty exciting when you get to see an Arctic fox or snowy owl.

Also can I mention how exciting it is to NOT see snakes, scorpions, or billboards while driving along?

9: Have you ever wrestled a polar bear, mushed a dog team, panned for gold, eaten muktuk, done the polar bear plunge, climbed Denali, run the Mt. Marathon, or any of the other, found-only-in-Alaska, activities?

I’ve probably had a beer in most reputable (and irreputable) bars in southeast Alaska. I’ve adventured my way around most of the state and have certainly tried (almost) every local microbrewery here.

I have refrained from such activities as eating muktuk given my dislike of seafood - and may I just speak for all men when I say that the Polar Plunge isn’t exactly a good way to (physically at least) impress anyone.

But I will say, that if you haven’t been, you should definitely check out the Ice Worm festival in Cordova.

10: In your opinion, what exactly is it that makes an Alaskan Male so wonderfully macho and appealing?

The beard.

11: What’s the biggest fish you’ve ever landed? And we mean the kind with scales and fins that swim in water, not the locker room bragging rights variety. J

In terms of story material, isn’t the one that gets away always the bigger/better tale?

With that in mind, I’ll have you know that I have lost many a lure in many an epic battle with our scaly friends. And I should note for the record that I come from a long, proud line of terrible fishermen.

13: And last but certainly not least, in your opinion, what is the most romantic thing about Alaska, and why?

In my travels throughout the years, I have found that in many places, “common courtesy” isn’t so common. One of the most romantic things for me about Alaska is that if your car slides off the road in the wintertime, without fail you’ll have 5 people stop to help you in 10 minutes time.

Here, it’s easy to get into a real conversation with someone in the Kaladi Brother’s line.

Here, when someone asks you how your day was, odds are, they actually want to know how your day was.

We haven’t resorted to apathy and disinterest, and to me, that is extremely romantic.

Our Thanks to Bill for a great interview - and to you

for stopping by!

 

Stay tuned for Mr. September 2013 -

- have a great summer!

Going to a Big Writing Conference: Is It Worth the Cost and Time?

Here’s the setup: a new-to-RWA author decides to swallow her nausea at the thought of dealing with hordes of people, and scrapes up the money for any of the following conferences: 


RWA National
RT Convention
RNC Convention

 


...or any number of more regional but just-as-intimidating conferences.

It’s a lot of money and she’s still so new to the whole writing-to-publish game. She has the online form pulled up; all she has to do is fill it in and write the check. Or log into PayPal and hit the button.

Perhaps she’s not a member of RWA and wonders if these memberships—and conferences and conventions—are even necessary. Maybe she’s better off holed up at her laptop or desktop, honing her craft and saving her pennies just in case she decides to self-publish one day. Will she learn anything that she can’t find online amongst all the resources now available on the internet for new writers? Isn’t she better served by staying the course, getting her manuscript all prettied up and not wasting time and money doing something she’s probably unprepared for?

Maybe. Then again . . .

I had been a member of RWA for a grand total of two weeks when I did a late registration for a local chapter conference. I was scared and nervous and nauseous and almost turned back several times on the drive to the conference hotel. I had even bowed to internal and external persuasion, and had decided to pitch my manuscript. It took every ounce of courage to walk into that hotel and pin on the badge I found in my goodie bag, because I am the very epitome of introvert and I usually don’t do well in crowds of more than three.

But I’m glad I went. I learned a lot about myself in those two days, and what I learned served as a huge affirmation that writing truly was my focus, my passion and my future. Of course my pitches were abysmal, my manuscript was laughably so not ready, and I was in awe of everyone else at the conference who seemed to have their stuff far more together.

But I met people, I found I could stand in a room with seventy other like-minded specimens of humanity without freaking out, and I came away with tentative friendships that have since strengthened.

A year later I attended my first RWA conference, threw myself into workshops and pitch sessions and networking. A month after that, I had my very first publishing contract under my belt, and a year after that, I became an editor for the publisher who took a chance on me.

Life continues its frenetic pace but it’s wonderful and uplifting. I’m ever the introvert, but you know what? If you ever meet me at a conference, you’ll never know I still have days when I want to lock myself in a dark closet and avoid people, phones, email messages and anything else that brings me into contact with other specimens of humanity.

That’s what going did for me, and it’s one tiny thing, of many, a writers’ conference will do for you: help to balance you out and teach you that you’re not alone in your creative needs.

I just returned from RWA 2013, in Atlanta. This time around I attended fewer workshops, connected with more friends, made myself available for the authors my publisher now works with, and had a wonderful time. I took pitches; in doing so met some nervous, talented authors and collected some wonderful synopses that I look forward to seeing in manuscript form, coming soon to an inbox on my desktop.

I became more of a participant but still retained my people-watching habits, and I saw myself in so many faces throughout the conference. That is, I saw my old self: that deer-in-the-headlights newbie who walked around as if wondering what on earth she was doing there. I also saw my future self, the author with more books published and more name recognition both as a writer and as an editor. I saw myself giving a workshop instead of just attending one. I don’t even have to think twice about it, because that’s where I’ll be. I’m secure enough now for that kind of affirmation.

Conferences instill confidence for even the shyest attendee. You can’t wander around during an event like that and not connect with people, especially if you have already developed a few friendships within your local chapter or writing group. Other writers want to smile at you, talk to you, perhaps offer up some of the mojo they have gained over the course of their own creative journey. You sit in a workshop and others will sit near you and start up a conversation; all it takes is one glance and a smile from you. Nobody ever has to be alone for any reason at a conference.

For anyone who wonders if a conference is worth time and money:
Yes, it most certainly is.

You not only learn, but you experience, and you need that as much as anything else usually found at an RWA-type event. Going to chapter meetings is only a part. It’s a very important part, of course, but it’s like a conference ‘seals the deal.’ Whether on a local/regional level or national, or a conference like RT, you need it. Time away from your normal life, for several days or just an all-day mini-con, is important to your creative juices. It affirms your status as a writer and we all need that.

Because in spite of everything else you are to others; a spouse, a parent, someone’s child, someone’s co-worker or someone’s boss . . . you’re also a writer and it’s a huge hunk of your life. Otherwise, you’d be doing something else.

When I’m asked if a conference is worth it, I always say ‘yes.’ Because it is. The cost can be horrendous and not everyone likes staying in hotels or flying to get there, but it’s worth it.

So when you go to your first conference, and you’re nervous and wondering why you shelled out all that money—or if it’s your second or third time at a conference and you still can’t figure out why you bothered . . . come find me. Make eye contact, offer up a smile, and I’ll sit down next to you, talk to you. I’ll listen to your pitch if you have one ready. I’ll have lunch with you if you find yourself sitting all alone. Because someone gave me the same courtesy at my first conference, and it meant a whole lot.

See you in 2014, somewhere!

--- Char Chaffin

Char Chaffin is a member of AKRWA, CNYRW, and the LaLaLas writing group. She is the author of three published works, currently working on her fourth novel, and is an Editor with Soul Mate Publishing. A displaced Alaskan, Char currently hangs out in Upstate New York and plots to return to Fairbanks, every chance she gets.

The RWA National Meeting on  Extrovert-ism

(and 6 hours of Sleep)

 

 As I write this it is just edging past midnight on Thursday (morning) of RWA 2013. I’ve been here in Atlanta since 10:00 a.m. Tuesday morning and, truth to tell, I have very little recollection of packing to leave home or the trip to Georgia. All I can say is, it’s a good thing I’m a night owl, extroverted, and run on the energy I gather from people during the day because this has been a truly interesting start to a conference!

The run up to this trip really began three and a half weeks ago when I got edits for my second book back from my editor and a deadline of July 15.

Since my brain is getting older by the day, it took me a week of editing to realize this was going to take me right up until I had to pack for the conference. So, I planned my editing schedule to finish a day early. I did well on this plan until the last week, when the wheels might not have come OFF the bus, but one of the tires went very flat. 

Suffice it to say, that due to a couple of family issue and some previously scheduled obligations, I watched the sun come up on Monday morning the 15^th after a full night session of giving my manuscript a final read-through. I watched the sun come up, took a three hour nap and then finished the last of the work. I did get brownie points for meeting my deadline. But I didn’t have a stitch of anything packed for Atlanta.

So, good thing I’m a night owl, extroverted professional procrastinator.

I’m used to pulling projects together last minute. I started hauling things out of my closet, matching folded clothing items by color to make outfits and plopping them into a suitcase hoping against hope I’d remember most of what I needed.

I got bags packed and plants watered and dog brought to my son’s house for dog-sitting...and fans running in the basement (oh, yeah—hubby is at Boy Scout camp this week and the basement flooded a day before deadline J ).

I spent the night at my parents’ home so I could be at the airport at 5:15 a.m.

As I said, there’s very little recollection of packing. Or sleeping. Or getting to the airport! But, I must have done all that, because I did arrive safely and it’s been an amazing two days so far.

What’s my point in all this? It’s that no matter how insane the lead-up to RWA, how many necklaces that match earrings you forget (that would be three) and how many half-pairs of earrings you bring (that would be two) or how little sleep you get (that would be eight hours in three nights) it is so very worth it to be at this meeting.

Granted, I wouldn’t recommend this prep routine for a first time conference go-er, but this is my sixth time and there’s little to get my undies in a bunch about anymore.

I am just thrilled to meet up with some old friends, to be making new ones and to just sit in the wide open bar area and watch the writers chatting, laughing, joining up and hugging.

The energy is full-on; inspiration just plain floats through the air, and I already want to head home and just start writing my little fingers off.

Can you tell I enjoy coming to this? This is our professional organization in all its glory. There are controversies and there are opinions about things but, mostly, there are kindred spirits. And that’s the real reason I come. My life would hardly be ruined if I didn’t come, but it would certainly be missing a little spark that comes with hooking up with the mother ship once in a while.  It really is a cool place to be—even if I only managed to bring one of those favorite swirly dangling earrings with me – dang it!

 Next year’s RWA is in San Antonio. If you’ve never come to the meeting or only come once in a while, I hope you get the chance soon.

 There are spots waiting for us in the bar. J

--- Liz Selvig

 

 

Who'd a Dreamt It Back Then...

When I was in High School and College – back in the last millennium – I could never have dreamed I would end up on a Dutch Island in the middle of the Caribbean. So that is probably why I never took Dutch as a language. Russian, heck yes, we were in the middle of the cold war and I have always wanted to go to those dangerous and exotic places that chilled my parents’ blood, not to mention scared the living daylights out of my grandparents who lived through WWII and saw the atrocities enacted on our family still in the old country of Finland. Spanish, gee that was a no brainer. My college offered an exchange program with the University of Guanajuato, Mexico and those dark latino men held such an allure for a nineteen year old majoring in languages and psychology (you are probably asking yourself how those relate… they don’t – it’s just the way my brain and personality fight each other…). Chinese? Of course, I was going to live there at one point and teach English. I got there, but only as a tourist, which made me think twice, or five or nine times, about actually living there. But Dutch? Really? No, not really. I don’t think it was even offered at any college in Oregon in the seventies.

So now I find myself on this lovely Dutch island of Bonaire with a total area of 111 square miles of land, trying to buy groceries in a Dutch Supermarket where everything is mostly in Dutch, thinking I should have taken Dutch! Take for example the name Kralendijk (the capital). It is pronounced crawl-en-dick. Any name with the word dick in it should have been reconsidered as the capital’s name! Of course, that’s a romance writer’s opinion (we tend to zero in on “dick” words), and I am sure it is a venerated name from Bonaire’s long and colorful past.

Who knew VDT Speklappen would turn out to be some of the best pork belly I’ve eaten (and possibly the only pork belly I’ve eaten). It’s like a cross between bacon without salt and a very thin pork chop. We got hooked after thinking it was bacon and buying some. Wow – pork with no preservatives and a huge amount of real taste. It makes you forget all about American pork. We still think koelkast smeerbaar is butter and it sure tastes like it. We have Dutch pastry every morning with our smeerbaar on it. Schoulder-ham we got right off and the packaging was a dead give away. Thank heaven for growing up with Oscar Meyer in the plastic wrap!

Well, I never learned Dutch, but I am not starving either. What we are learning here is how several diverse cultures live quite amicably on this tiny island and how after years of political strife and ecological stress, this island’s waters are coming back alive and flourishing. And so is the tourist trade. The politics, I’m told, are still a bit dicey. Hey… I’m from Alaska. Dicey is the norm.

So here’s a little Bonaire history lesson for all of you curious people who think America’s beginnings were difficult! The earliest inhabitants of Bonaire were Indians who came from Venezuela about 1000 AD. They left notes in the rocks. You can still see the petroglyphs today. Can you imagine being an author back then?

They were happy, tall Indians, the tallest of the South American Indians. That was probably their problem – when you stick out in a crowd you always get in trouble! I learned that in the 4th grade when I was taller than the teacher. Anything happened, she pointed at me because I stuck out about a foot above everyone else. Tall did not bode well for the Caquetio.

The good old Europeans arrived in 1499 and proceeded to screw everything up. They were probably short people. Eventually deciding the island was useless, they forced the natives into slavery and removed them to the copper mines on Hispaniola. That left Bonaire without cheap labor and, God forbid, the Europeans work hard themselves! That’s what conqueror means – the conqueror forces the conquered to do the hard stuff. Well, a dozen or so years later, Juan de Ampies, the Spanish Commander of the island brought some of the Caquetio Indians back to work the plantations on their own island. After all, they were tall and easy to see! Nice. Gotta love those Spaniards.

Around 1623 the Dutch started visiting the island to buy groceries (just like us) and dump their prisoners (not like us at all). I’m told the Dutch are some of the tallest people in the world. Well, the Dutch and the Spaniards didn’t get along, so says history, and eventually the Dutch conquered the ABC Islands and Bonaire became a plantation of the Dutch West India Company. They brought slaves from Africa to work alongside the enslaved Caquetio Indians and the convicts - a great combination; working away in eighty to one hundred degree heat in huge solar saltpans. But they had low-income housing provided; cement block houses about the size of a king sized bed with a crawl hole in the front and a small hole for a window in the back. Entire families lived in the huts. Reminds me of inner city Detroit, but smaller and hotter!

In the early eighteen hundreds Bonaire bounced back and forth between Britain and the Netherlands. The British tried out the “possession is nine tenths of the law” idea building and settling most of Kralendijk. It generally worked for them in most of the world, right? Eventually they lost to the Dutch in 1812. Bonaire remained a Dutch government plantation until 1862 when 607 government slaves and 151 private slaves were freed by proclamation. Unfortunately the Netherlands sold most of the island to two private owners – we know all about privatization don’t we? It caused a great deal of hardship and many people had to leave. Sounds like the FAA. Gee, they freed the slaves who then had to leave their own island because they had nowhere to live. Ya gotta love politics.

During WWII, Germany occupied the Netherlands so Bonaire became a British protectorate. The British, no doubt, were smiling cause they got it back without a fight. We jumped in as well because we were fast friends back then, and as usual, built a big airport as a military base. We also built an internment camp for the tall Dutch and German citizens who lived on Bonaire during that time. Turn about is fair play, right? I wonder how they felt about being locked up on their own land? Hummmmmm… Come on… we let them out after the war, right?

They got us back though, by turning the camp into the first big hotel on the island and painting the airport pink! That was then. This is now.

The Flamingo International Airport is still pink. The hotel is much bigger and much more expensive. Today, Bonaire is one of the world’s best scuba diving locations. Which is why we are here. Most of the surrounding ocean waters are protected as a marine sanctuary and respected by the diving community. Bonaire is known for its shore diving and the island is ringed with large yellow rocks marking dive sites. You just park and dive. Well sometimes there’s a hike involved. Or a bit of a climb!

Sorobonne, on the southeast side of the island, is a wind surfer’s paradise on huge Lac Bay, only a few feet deep inside a breaker reef. Atlantis Beach on the south west side is a growing and very popular kite surfing locale.

The descendants of Bonaire’s tumultuous history live here in peace, most of the time. There are no more slaves. There is no more war for ownership, only political jostling. And Dutch words on the supermarket packaging. And I still have a bit of a time saying the capital’s name out loud. It’s such a small problem and we’re not starving! Life is good. The water is warm and the sun shines every day. However, I still feel bad for those tall Caquetio Indians!

--- Miriam Matthews… a very tall, scuba diving author

The Good, the Bad, and the Bet

Ever wonder what happened to DB Cooper? 

Why he hijacked a plane and jumped into infamy?

He did it for her…and she loved him anyway

http://www.miriammatthews.com/