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Hi All! We’re in beautiful Billings, Montana, between airplanes. As of yesterday afternoon we completed the awesome task of signing 9,200 copies of PEOPLE OF THE THUNDER, PEOPLE OF THE W0LF, PEOPLE OF THE FIRE, AND PEOPLE OF THE EARTH. We didn’t break our long-standing record of 9,881, but boy-howdy do our backs and shoulders hurt today. We want to send our deepest appreciation to Marianne and Angie, the hearts and souls of the Michigan News Group agency. They allow us the privilege of signing such huge piles of our books. And, yes, it is a privilege. For those of you lucky enough to live in the midwest, keep your eyes open. Your friendly local grocery, airport bookstand, or drug store should sport a Gear book with a big yellow sticker saying “Autographed Copy.” When you find one, check out the signatures on the title page. Yep, them’s ours. The other good news is that many of the backlist titles are in the 4.99 edition. Cheap. With great new covers. And a signature, too. For those of you keeping track: PEOPLE OF THE FOREST, the sequel for PEOPLE OF THE LONGHOUSE, is complete. For the rest of you keeping track: The sequel to CONTACT: THE BATTLE FOR AMERICA, COMING OF THE STORM has also been turned in to Pocket Books. Tentatively the title is THE FIRES OF MABILA. On that note, we’re off for two weeks on a real, honest, really true, actual, with no work, vacation. Not only that, but after signing all those books, we’ve earned it. The next entry will cover where we’ve been. Oh, and sometime soon we have to report on Red Canyon Jake, scourge of the puppy world. He’s almost a novel in himself. Bye for now. Wish us sunshine, tequila, beer, seafood, and palm trees. Mike and Kathy

Greetings, All: Where to begin? We just returned home after 4,500 miles on the motorcycle. The purpose of the trip was primarily to attend the Books-A-Million managers’ meeting in Brimingham. While there we gave away 375 advanced reading copies for the upcoming February release of COMING OF THE STORM, out in hardback from Pocket Books. The reading copy is gorgeous with a picture of Pearl Hand and her dogs marching out of a Florida evening, her captured crossbow at hand. The reception by Books-A-Million was wonderful with a great deal of excitement among the managers. BAM has supported our work for years, and this one is right up their ally. Anyone who lives in the South has heard of de Soto, but few have any understanding of the impact he had on the great Indian nations that filled the Southeast upon his arrival. Telling the tale from the native perspective has been a sobering delight. Those of you who regularly read out blog know that Black Shell isn’t one to take travails lightly. He even sneaked into the blog for an entry! He’s got his hands full in COMING OF THE STORM. And, while Books-A-Million will have plenty of copies, so, too, will Barnes & Noble, Borders, Hastings and all the usual booksellers. You can preorder your copy now. Black Shell and Pearl Hand need all the help they can get. The evil Hernando de Soto has most of the advantages, so please, ally yourself with the good guys and at least provide moral support. Other news is that PEOPLE OF THE FOREST, the sequel to next summer’s PEOPLE OF THE LONGHOUSE is a completed manuscript which, after polish, will be delivered to Tor/Forge at the end of October. In the second book, vile of Gannajero is still doing nasty things. She’s one of the better villains we’ve ever written. The second book in Pocket Books’ CONTACT:BATTLE FOR AMERICA series will also be delivered at the end of the month. Black Shell and Pearl Hand are back, and this time their task is to chase de Soto across the Southeast to a fogotten town called Mabila. And, as to what happens there… Well, you’ll just have to wait. Which brings us to the second half of our trip. We rode up the Coosa River valley from Birmingham following de Soto’s trail. While we’d been there before, we really wanted to update ourselves on the geology and topography around the capital of the Coosa Nation de Soto encountered. They governed an area from eastern Alabama to the high mikko’s city near Rome, Georgia, then north to the Tennessee River, up the valley, clear to the headwaters of the French Broad River in North Carolina. A considerable chunk of territory in anyone’s book. For Kathleen, the trip was of particular importance. We rode into Ellijay, Georgia, founded by her ancestors in 1820, and saw the building where her great grandfather had a pharmacy. We walked the same streets her Hinson, Aaron, Walkingstick, Buckner, and Peeples ancestors walked. Heading north we took the Cherohala Skyway over to Cherokee, North Carolina, and toured the museum. Here, her Cherokee ancestors lived, many being born in Birdtown. The Walkingstick name is still seen prominently. Heading home, we bent some corners on the famous “Dragon’s Tail” over Deal’s Gap on Highway 129, waved to a lot of motorcycles, and headed back to Wyoming. We were good, honest, we swear. But the weather gods were waiting for us in Wyoming, and they were in a veangeful mood. So, let it be known. All those people who wondered who the two fools were on that BMW RT should be aware it was us. Thirty-mile-an-hour crosswinds plastered the bike and us with a crusting of ice, and froze Mike’s beard. Fortunately the road was wet, not icy, and we made it home with half-inch thick chunks of ice dropping off the fairing. Hey! The weather guessers on Weather Channel said it was only going to be light rain! Finally, an update on our new puppy, Jake. He’s doing fine. We’ve sent an occasional report back to Al Harris, in Roswell. His Worthington’s Shetland sheepdogs are some of the finest in the country. Jake is a great little guy, smarter than we are, and he’s wiggled firmly into our hearts. He even helped write part of the THE FIRES OF MABILA, but his typing was so atrocious that all of his composition has been edited out. So, until next time, we wish you all health, prosperity, and good will. Best, Mike, Kathy, Shannon, and Jake.

Greetings All: We thought we’d leave a quick note to let you know why we haven’t had an entry recently. Currently we are both working like mad beavers to finish the second de Soto book and PEOPLE OF THE FOREST, another novel about the formation of the Iroquois confederacy. The first de Soto novel, COMING OF THE STORM will be out in February and deals with Black Shell and Pearl Hand. Those of you who read this are aware that Black Shell has managed to sneak in and leave a message of his own. He’s still kicking, and headed for a place called Mabila, where he and the Tuscaloosa high chief are going to try and put an end to the monster who has invaded their world. Meanwhile, in PEOPLE OF THE FOREST, evil old Ganajero is still stealing kids for nefarious purposes, but will finally face a… Well, you’ll just have to wait to read it. We are headed to the Buffalo Gold Rush conference in Cheyenne on September 18 and 19. For anyone interested in the bison industry, in raising buffalo, or marketing their products, this is a MUST do conference. It will be held at the Terry Bison Ranch just south of Cheyenne off I-25, with sessions at the Cheyenne Holiday Inn off I-80. Registration can be made through the Rocky Mountain Buffalo Assoc. See their website. From Cheyenne we are driving to Roswell, New Mexico, where we will pick up Jake, the newest addition to our family. Jake is a tri-color (that means black-white-brown) Sheltie puppy. He comes out of Al Harris’s Worthington kennel, home of many champion Shelties. So far Jake has been dutifully emailing us on his progress as growing sheltie. He’s even been to a dog show already, and particularly enjoyed the treats people gave him. Last week he lifted his leg for the first time–an event with astounding implications for a male dog. Finally, the first weekend in October we will be at the Simon & Schuster booth at the Books-A-Million managers’ meeting in Birmingham to give away reading copies of THE COMING STORM to BAM managers and staff. Any of you BAM people, be sure to stop by and get a signed copy. Or, if you are not going, have your manager pick one up for you. We will be on the trade show floor for the entire day. Oh, and to the Russians who keep sending us blog comments. We can translate Latin, Greek, Spanish, Hebrew, and some Aramaic. Russian, however is beyond us. If you are commenting about our books that have been translated into Russian, we’ve got to have it in English. Otherwise it just gets deleted. Thanks, all. We wish you well. Oh, and Black Shell sends his regards, too. Until next time, Mike and Kathy

Dear Readers, We met Elmer Kelton twenty-two years ago when we attended our first Western Writers of America conference in Fort Worth, Texas. We hadn’t published any books yet, so we felt a little overwhelmed being in the presence of so many great western writers–many of whom we’d been reading since we were nine or ten years old. When we were introduced to Elmer Kelton, we were downright starry eyed. Generally writers who’ve won as many awards and acclaim as Elmer Kelton tend to be a bit stuffy. Instead, he was a true western gentleman, gracious, and self-deprecating, with a great sense of humor. Over the next twenty years, we tried to soak up every word he said about writing. Hopefully, some of it sank in. In our opinion, one of the greatest novels of all time is Elmer’s book, THE TIME IT NEVER RAINED. It should be ranked with London’s CALL OF THE WILD, and Steinbeck’s OF MICE AND MEN. To all of you who loved Elmer Kelton or his work, we mourn with you today. Regards, Mike and Kathy

We don’t get to town a lot. Our drive is seven miles over rocks, ruts, and through up to eight gates– depending on where the buffalo and our neighbor’s beef are pastured. We are two of the ten people in the whole world who actually drive a Hummer H2 because we use it. Ours is school-bus yellow, with a winch on the front and rear–yes, often. Over the last four years it’s been in the shop three times–because the field mice that live in the frame have chewed various critical wires in two. We have a great story about the six-foot-two mechanic at the shop in Billings, Montana who reached into a hole to feel for wires and grabbed a mouse. As he was “rapidly disengaging from the vehicle” the mouse ran up his arm, across his chest, and down his other sleeve. Between the screaming and dancing, and the subsequent pursuit, that mouse turned the Denny Menholt Chevrolet shop upside down for an hour. John, the service director, tells us that every time they announce our Hummer is coming in, there’s a low moan, followed by a rash of sudden and incapacitating illnesses. During winter our Hummer is eternally mud-spattered from spinning up the canyon, with a stratigraphy of green stuff from buffalo droppings frozen under the wheel wells. Leaving the Hummer at airports is always embarrassing, because if it rains while we’re gone, we return to find clumps of mud melting onto the wet pavement and spreading into the adjacent spaces. The locals in Thermopolis harrass us about how many months it’s been since we’ve washed the H2. The day we actually do, is for many, a sure sign that spring is finally coming. “Hey, did you see? The Gears washed their Hummer today.” “Thank God. Guess I’d better plant the tomatoes before it’s too late. Oh, and I can call Uncle Bob…tell him it’s safe to finally sheer the sheep.” On occasion we’ve taken the Hummer to the real city. You know, the place most Hummers live, generally in communities Nordstrom’s, Saks, and boutique clothing stores with French and Italian names. We’ve seen them ghosting down Fifth Avenue in New York. Watched them shining in the afternoon sun on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. Some even live places like Amsterdam, dominating the Herrengracht. Since many Barnes&Noble, Borders, and Books-A-Millon stores are found within a two-Starbuck radius, we’ve had opportunity to park our juniper-scratched, buffalo-dented, mouse-infested Hummer next to real city Hummers. The first time this happened, we stepped out of our truck, kicked the dust from the mud-caked floorboards off of our fancy city shoes, and looked back. The sight was pathetic. Our Hummer doesn’t have chrome-plated lug nuts or ten-thousand dollar wheels. If you ask it, it will tell you wax is what’s left when buffalo rub their ears on the brush guard. Wash is when the buffalo cows get to lick road salt from doors and fenders. A Sunday drive is when a sick calf get’s taken to Vet Steve in Worland. (Note: Calves ALWAYS start getting sick on Friday night so that they can be critical come Sunday morning when an emergency visit costs the most.) Our Hummer thinks a snaking road has at least three rattlesnakes per mile. So there it sits, surrounded by Jaguars, Mercedes, the odd Rolls or Bentley, and right next to a gleaming, chromed, sparkling “City Queen.” That’s what we call those Hummers with thirty thousand in lustrous options, oversized rims, and thin little tires. You know the type: No chain-scarred clevis hooks for these babies, theirs are gold plated. Many have weird blue or purple lights that glow at night from the undercarriage. We’ve even seen them with chromed skid plates–no buffalo green for them. How many times have we watched as our battered ranch Hummer tuck its wheels in, wilting as it stares at its reflection in the City Queen’s waxed and buffed mirror sides. You can see the tires deflating and flattening. The City Queen begins to swell, the chrome rippling with superiority. Her headlights raise and narrow, as if truly disgusted at having such a vulgar and bucolic Hummer hick in such loathsome proximity. Meanwhile, a spreading fluid stain appears beneath our vehicle, the final admission of abject submission. The first time we saw this, it broke our hearts. We love our Hummer. She’s carried fencing material to the high rim where only horses and mules have packed before. She got the four-wheel-drive John Deere tractor unstuck that time our lives literally depended on it. With the differential lock engaged, it’s made it to the Emergency Room in town when not even Flight for Life could have made it to our door. One February our Hummer towed eight-thousand pounds of Titan stock trailer filled with four champion bison from Rapid City to Wisconsin without so much as a flutter. Chained up she’s pulled an F-350 dually hitched to a jack-knifed gooseneck trailer crammed with frightened bison up, and out of the canyon. Bouncing and swaying, she’s clawed her way across unthinkable terrain to rescue orphan calves from certain death. Seeing our Hummer, devastated by such a snotty, over-manicured, urban glamour princess, we walked back, slapped Hummer on the dimple where Silvertip once banged a threatening horn, and said, “Buck up, sweetie. Tell that tight-assed, boulevard bitch to loosen up on her catalytic converter. And then, when she swells up in indignation, ask the delicate wax-witch how many half-dead buffalo she’s ever pulled out of drainages.” And as we were walking away, you could see it. Hummer straightened, mud cracking from her wheel wells, standing higher on her air shocks. The battle scars–so embarrassing scant moments before–began to stand out proudly on her paint. And the City Queen? We hoped her driver could crawl through from the passenger side. You see, she kept edging away, as if reassured by the Prius she crowded against on the far side. Oh, and the last thing we saw was two field mice scampering ambitously for the City Queen. You couldn’t miss the delight in their eyes as they looked up in worship. They’d never seen a vehicle with purple lights installed underneath just for their nocturnal benefit. Here, finally, they’d found a truck with virgin, unchewed wires! Ah, the lives of writers… Regards to all, Mike and Kathy