MYRON FERDIG
I spent my first thirteen years in the farmlands of rural America, as most of my generation — possibly somewhat different, as my dad was a nomad — traveling across country from Minnesota to Oregon to Michigan, back to Minnesota, and finally to California. Looking back, it took fourteen schools to complete my first twelve grades.
Education began in Michigan in a one-room school serving the six primary grades. School books were precious commodities, purchased by parents and traded in at year’s end for the next year’s subjects — and the fewer doodles inside or out, the more the “trade-in” value. I wrote in my books almost never.
By the time we moved to Minnesota I was in the fourth grade, having read several full-length novels, including Felix Salten’s Bambi; Roy Rockwood’s Bomba the Jungle Boy on Jaguar Island, Call of the Wild by Jack London, and a few Zane Grey westerns.
Love for books only increased as I grew — adventure, thrills, mystery, historical fiction, all brought satisfaction — Almost everything I could lay my hands on became reading material — from Men of Iron to The Foundling, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn to A Nose For Trouble.
I could check out twelve books at a time from town libraries, and almost always had my card “maxed-out.”
My business career included time spent as a commercial water provider; designing and selling municipal sports lighting; then settled in the glass/aluminium industry in the Bay Area of northern California. I held several positions: outside glass sales, general manager of a window manufacturing company, then moved to Vancouver Island, British Columbia — purchased and ran a glass business, later created a speciality home business — resilvering mirrors, restoring, and repairing antiques and collectibles.
Outside activities included serving as church soloist; member and director of church choir for several years; teaching adult bible classes; and for six years, fostering and mentoring socially and mentally challenged teens and adults.
My first attempts at writing included short stories, poems and songs, of which there were many. My first full-length book, A Lad from Sardinia, was written and self-published on a whim in 2015; today, at 79, I have eight books published, with more to come. I hope to have my ninth — the third in the Gumshoe and Fox series — available by my 80th birthday in December.
Crime stories all have ‘good versus evil’ plots — mine bring strong moral or Christian ethic underpinnings into view; I try to make the characters come alive, to be believable showing their struggles and hardships as well as victories.
I hope my creations — all PG — will have an appeal to all age groups and worthy of shelf space in your library.
I live in Southern California with my wife, Darlene and two rescue dogs, Thatcher, and Shylow. When I’m not writing I might be found playing guitar and singing.
P.S. Teach your children the joys of reading. Start by reading to them in utero.
Q. WHAT ADVICE WOULD YOU GIVE TO NEW AUTHORS THAT YOU WISHED YOU HAD RECEIVED YOURSELF WHEN YOU STARTED?
A. Write your book — shop for an agent. –dot your i’s cross your t’s. Don’t spend money on phony agents (printers). Know that traditional publishers are 2 years out before you’ll see your book on a shelf. Consider self-publishing. Learn Marketing — keep a file on clients and potentials.
Q. DO YOU VIEW YOUR WRITING AS A KIND OF SPIRITUAL PRACTICE?
A. Spiritual? No. Satisfying experience? Yes!
Q. WHEN YOU READ YOUR BOOK REVIEWS HOW DO YOU HANDLE THE BAD ONES?
A. Analyze the review. If valid, make changes if you can. If you determine it’s based upon ignorance, jealousy, or a different opinion, move on — your point of view should be respected, even if others disagree.
Q. HOW DO YOU FEEL WHEN YOU DO GET A GOOD REVIEW?
A. Elated! Had an 82 yr. old lady tell me, “I loved your book! (the Blacksmith and the Sheepherder’s Daughter) I liked Mr. Calder best .. . then Margaret!… Great Book!” Others have expressed similar accolades, for which I am appreciative.
Q. HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDER WRITING UNDER A PSEUDONYM?
A. Only if I write a fantasy.
Q. ARE YOU TRYING TO HAVE EACH BOOK STAND ON ITS OWN OR ARE YOU TRYING TO BUILD A BODY OF WORK WITH CONNECTIONS BETWEEN EACH BOOK?
A. I have written nine books — four are stand-alone, three are a private eye series, two are a separate crime series (or better said, a book with a sequel.
Q. DO YOU WRITE EVERY DAY? HOW MANY HOURS A DAY DO YOU WRITE?
A. It would be a good habit, but I sometimes skip 2-3 days before going back to a story. I might spend four hours in one session, but not a rule.
Q. HOW MUCH OF YOUR PERSONAL LIFE DO YOU INCORPORATE INTO YOUR WRITING OR DO YOU MAKE UP EVERYTHING?
A. I make up everything … nothing is based upon a real person … although I ofttimes feel a kinship to the objectives of characters. Who wouldn’t?
Q. HOW DO YOU CONNECT WITH YOUR READERS? DO YOU OFFER THEM A FREE BOOK? DO YOU OFFER THEM A NEWSLETTER?
A. I lack in this department. No Newsletters, I have offered free e-books, and will again
Q. DO YOU HAVE A FAVORITE AUTHOR? CAN YOU TELL US WHY? EVERYTHING?
A. David Baldacci –characters are genuine, earthy. Love almost everything he has written.
Q. HOW LONG DO YOU RESEARCH BEFORE YOU BEGIN YOUR NEXT BOOK?
A. None … I get an idea, begin writing, then the writing begs for an explanation of something, so I research that particular facet of the story and insert what I find. E.g. I have a story ( Cowboy Justice on the Border where the hero, Frank Justice, lives on the Mexican border in Arizona– he sees and discusses a Pronghorn, tells us it is not an antelope, it is the fastest land animal in North America, was almost wiped out as Immigrants moved west, cannot leap as antelopes can. Frank also discusses the grapes native to the area, and the notable wines. I didn’t need to put that in my story, but I wanted to, as it adds color and depth to the fellow’s makeup and character.
Q. WOULD YOU GO BACK AND REWRITE ANY OF YOUR BOOKS? WHY?
A. Poetpourri needs an edit. Most in it, I’m happy with … a few short stories should never have been included . . . too immature. I’m a better writer than that. Happy with all others.
Q. IF YOU COULD GIVE UP ONE THING TO BECOME A BETTER WRITER WHAT WOULD THAT BE?
A. Potato chips.
Q. WHAT IS CURRENTLY LACKING IN OUR CHILDREN'S EDUCATION TODAY IN YOUR COUNTRY?
A. Substance! The US is hard-pressed to have elementary students able to read with any proficiency. We are a nation of average or less than average in academia. Nationally, 30th in math/sciences. Linguistics? Who knows.
Q. HOW DO YOU COME UP WITH THE TITLES FOR YOUR BOOKS?
A. I start with a working title and if it fits as I go along, I keep it…. so far, I have kept them all.
Q. WHO DO YOU TRUST TO GIVE YOU OBJECTIVE AND CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM OF YOUR WRITING?
A. My wife.
Q. 36. DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF AN AUTHOR OR A WRITER FIRST? WHY?
Author. Writers are everywhere. Authors stand out. I think I’m a good author.
Up Near Fredricksburg
The hist’ry books are filled with tales Of guts and much bravado,
But blood and grit and sand and shit Express it – just a shadow.
No one can feel exploding hearts, Rubber limbs, useless parts;
No one can write the smells of fight, The horror of the battle.
Or fear expressed when eyes assess.
A bloody, empty saddle.
It happened up near Fredricksburg,
We blue coats was a’nappin’;
Before they came, twas eerie quiet –
With just a flag a’flappin.
Oh, on occasion nightbird sang,
Coyote yapped, skeeter stang…
Then someone shouted “Johnny Reb!
Comin’ up the river!”
And most like me grew skin like geese,
And pangs down in his liver.
Captain held a gloved hand up,
Midst cries all weak and giddy —
“Now keep a sharp eye,
Mind your nerves,
Weapons at the ready!”
I prayed there in the waning light,
Prayed for strength,
Prayed for might;
Sure, one can set a steely jaw,
Fix bay’net to his rifle,
But sure as hell his fleshy craw
Is jellied mor’n a trifle;
For who could tell this log of hell
And capture all it’s color,
The senses of a man grow dull,
And by the minute, duller;
They get into a trancey mode,
Just shoot, reload; shoot, reload;
Nostrils fight the acrid smells
Of sweat, and piss, black powder –
And through it all, your comrades fall
And demon death screams louder!
Fellas’ minds went mad that night,
Men from both sides scattered;
Most of us that made it through
Were bloodied, filthy, tattered…
My leg got mangled by a ball,
Below the knee, … won’t lose it all
Says Cap,“My lads, brave lads ye be,
But beaten by the Southern.”
So, Captain held one gloved hand up,
White flag in the other’n.
Southern General Lee came riding in
To honor all the troops,
Spouted off some “cock-n-bull”
Amidst the Reb’s war whoops…
Then Lee and Cap they both agreed,
All able hands to tend the need…
So, with the moon, and through the night
We tended dead and dyin;’
I wasn’t much of any use,
But I determined trying.
Among that mangled heap of flesh,
I found a younger cousin;
He wore the grey of enemy,
Just three — four mor’n a dozen.
I dragged myself up to his side,
Raised his head, and ‘fore he died,
“Papa, would you pray for me?”
He said, and then was gone…
He could have been my kid, your kid,
For sure, some brother’s spawn.
General Lee glanced o’er at me,
An’ I think a bugle tooted;
I know for sure I held his gaze,
And sure, we both saluted!
Now I sat there in the ‘proaching dawn,
Reb on lap, one leg gone,
Pecular sight I must have been,
A man of forty seven —
My tears, his blood, were mingled,
As I cradled him to heav’n.
It happened up near Fredricksburg,
We blue coats was a nappin’,
Before they came, twas eerie quiet –
With just a flag a’flappin…
Myron Ferdig © 2012