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Ken passed away on April 21, 2009. He’d been a friend for over twenty years, one of the most talented writers we’ve ever known, though his very creative science fiction stories never got the attention we thought they deserved. His novel, PAX DAKOTA, is one of our favorites. Ken was one of those rare people who come into your life and you know beyond a doubt that the world is better because of them. He was an optimist, thoughtful, and really fun to be around. He was also one of the bravest people we’ve known. He spent the past fifteen months on a TPN through a hickman line set in his chest twelve hours a day. When he knew it was time, he simply went off the TPN. He made the choice, not someone else. Eight days later, his spirit was free to wander all the wonderful realms he’d created over the years. We’re going to miss you, Ken. Mike and Kathy

Hello All: What’s this? That cunning Black Shell thinks he’s pretty smart, huh? Oh, man, never, never, never irritate an author. Mike’s good friend Crazy Geno can tell you about the time he was reading over Mike’s shoulder, making comments during the writing of a draft that would become MORNING RIVER. Geno suddenly appeared in the story and ended up lying gut-shot in the middle of the road. Curious, he never read over Mike’s shoulder again. So, what should we do about Black Shell? After all, you’ve got to keep characters in their place. Let’s see… de Soto: One bad dude. And then there’s Antonio, captured by Black Shell and Pearl Hand in book one. Yep, lots of trouble looms for Black Shell in book two. That will teach him to get his sticky fingers on our blog keys! Meanwhile, Mike rode the Beemer down to Atlanta, hitting a little rain on the way down. Just into Kentucky he was amazed by the sight of double rainbows! Wow! That was the highlight on the trip south. Mike stopped at the Etowah Mounds just outside Cartersville, and spent a windy afternoon walking the mounds, enjoying their excellent museum, and reacquainting himself with the site. That foul weasel, de Soto, spent an entire seven days there, inflicting misery on the locals. It’s always sobering to walk on the same soil a monster did. The veil of time grows thin, and often one doesn’t like what they just barely glimpse on the other side. This year’s Society for American Archaeology meetings were just super. After all the years we’ve been going to the SAAs, this was the best! Super symposia, stunning hotel, great presentations, excellent food, challenging converstations, and lots, and lots, and lots of new information on American archaeology. The book room was splendid, and at the Paleoresearch booth, they held a drawing for several “PEOPLE” books that were part of the display. Congratulations to the winners! Our poster presentation on food–involving excavation, analysis, and interpretation through fiction–was a hit. Curious age-grade reactions, though. The old gray-bearded archaeologists tended to look skeptically at the work, while the younger archaeologists mostly beamed, saying, “We need more of this.” Currently we’re considering a workshop on archaelogy and fiction at next year’s SAA. We’ll be doing this in coordination with Linda Cummings at Paleoresearch. For copies of this year’s poster presentation, they can be downloaded at the paleoresearch.com website. Enjoy! The ride home was great. Mike pointed the RT north, following–as best we can tell– Hernando de Soto’s route up through Georgia, to South Carolina, and into North Carolina and the lands of Coftiachequi. This is mostly city these days, but one can still gain a sense of the country. Then it was west through the mountains, along the Blue Ridge Parkway to Cherokee: Center of the Eastern Cherokee Tribe. To those who haven’t been there, you will find gorgeous country, friendly people, and a wealth of Cherokee tribal lore. And, yes, yes, that irritating Black Shell was correct. Mike rode the Dragon’s Tail, through Deal’s Gap, and did all 318 curves in the eleven miles of US 129. It’s a great technical section of road and Mike scuffed up the sides of his tires. The place is motorcycle nirvana, and the Beemer lived free, as God and German engineers intended. All in all, a Super trip, but now it’s back to work with Black Shell, Pearl Hand, Blood Thorn, and that slimey de Soto. Oh, and while Black Shell was up here inflicting his wit up on the blog readers, several revisions were made to the existing story. You see, Black Shell, that’s what you get when the author has a couple of weeks to think up new twists to the story… What? Yeah, you better worry, buddy. You’re in for it! Our latest fun read is Kim Harrison’s WHITE WITCH, BLACK CURSE. Good stuff for fun, thrills, and entertainment. Stay safe, watch for motorcycles, and be well. Mike and Kathy

I’ve been seeing some good stuff here in Atlanta. Very interesting. Today I listened to a really wonderful paper on Southeastern pack dogs. They found sixteen of them buried in a North Carolina Late Woodland site. The older dogs all had significant back problems, including osteophytosis (arthritis), and deformed spinous processes (deformed spines). Obviously, they spent much of their lives carrying heavy packs. But the animals were clearly beloved, and two were even buried in the same pit several months apart. They animals may have been best friends, and their human owners wanted them to be together. Archaeology is such fun… Michael

It’s beautiful here today in northern Wyoming. It’s been raining or snowing for two days straight. The first buffalo calf, Little Evening Star, has been tiring herself out racing around dancing in the falling flakes. Kathleen

Greetings, and best wishes in the name of Breath Giver, the Creator of all things. I am Black Shell, of the Chief Clan, of the Chicaza nation… although it’s been years since they threw me out. To my family and clan I am an outcast, effectively dead. For a while it bothered me. But who wants to be a high chief and spend all their life atop a mound dealing with pettry tribal politics? Instead, I’m a Trader, traveling with my dog pack from nation to nation. At least, I was until I headed south in search of the strange invaders from the sea. There I met my wife, Pearl Hand, and got captured by the Adelantado, Hernando de Soto. That’s a long story. You can read about it when CONTACT: THE COMING STORM is published in February 2010 by these new guys at Pocket Books. They remind me of the kind of people traders value: the ones who are pleasant to sit around and visit with, and don’t try and foist some cheap shell off as being as valuable as something like copper. Traders wouldn’t be traders if they weren’t smart. But I’m digressing, which happens with any good storyteller. I’m writing because I read the entry by my not-so-humble ancestor, Green Snake. The one you know as Trader from PEOPLE OF THE WEEPING EYE and PEOPLE OF THE THUNDER. Granted, he lived almost two hundred years before I did–and the stories told about him would make you think he was more ancestral spirit than mortal man. But reading his entry was a revelation. Maybe not so much a revelation as traveling to the Underworld, or being eaten by Horned Serpent, but that’s all in THE COMING STORM. No, what I mean is that if characters are stuck with down time, why can’t they write a blog entry? See, that’s my point. I’m supposed to be smack in the middle of my fight with de Soto and his Kristiano invaders, the very future of my world hanging by a thread, and what happens? Mike and Kathy drop everything, leave me, Pearl Hand, Blood Thorn, and all the dogs, and ride off on their motorcycle for Atlanta! And for what reason? Just to give a presentation to a bunch of archaeologists at the Society for American Archaeology. What do characters with need archaeology? We’ve lived it. Oh, sure, Mike and Kathy will tell you that they’re researching, riding along the same route de Soto took north to Chiquitacofi, and back toward Mabila. They’ll tell you that they want to see the ancestral Coosa lands on the upper Tennessee. Pearl Hand and I know it’s just an excuse to go ride that trail they call Deal’s Gap, or the Dragon’s Tail. Maybe next time they go off to drink beer, hobnob, and socialize with a bunch of archy’s they’ll be sure to unplug the computer first. After all, you never know what a crafty character, especially a trader with my reputation can accomplish. Oh, I know, as you’ll find out in THE COMING STORM, first book in the CONTACT:THE BATTLE FOR AMERICA series, our fight with de Soto didn’t start out so well. And in the second book, we’ve got to follow de Soto to Mabila, and what happens there… Huh, let’s put it like this: It ain’t gonna be pretty. I know what’s going to happen, so I can’t spill the corn cakes yet. Meanwhile, we’ll just have to wait for them to ride that big BMW motorcycle down to Atlanta and back. That’s tough for me. I’m still trying to get my head around things like thunder sticks, iron armor, and cabayos. How do you fathom something like a motorcycle? It will never beat a good pack of dogs for tansporting goods. That will be enough for now. I’m going back to my own computer and working hard to figure out just how I can send some more of de Soto’s soldados to their just desserts in Paraiso. May Water Panther never bargain for your souls. Black Shell, of the Chicaza.