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. . . it feels like I’ve found a long lost friend.
I left Florida in mid-April amidst a string of record-setting days in 90’s — with humidity it was too much for a Minnesota kid. I did bring back a rough draft of my next story and have been working on the re-write every day. It’s been tedious but I’m feeling better about the changes. Enough said for now.
Being home is a state of mind. Believe me that after palm trees and smooth streets and new construction everywhere, Hibbing fails to impress. It’s not just the aging process, it’s the demographics. Buildings are being torn down and new ones aren’t being built. Yet when summer blooms these things don’t seem to matter. I only hope it is summer when we can enjoy get-togethers, our lakes, and all the things that make a Northern Minnesota summer like nowhere else I’ve been. Until then, however, stay safe.
In the back of my thoughts, I’ve been wrestling with something that I go back and forth with. I love my little place in Florida and there are days when I can see myself there for months every winter. Then there are days when I feel that Minnesota is home and I miss the winters that have been a part of my life since childhood. The market for sales there is hot, here not so much. I could use the money to do some upgrades here, and travel. I don’t have too many years left and there are places I’d like to see. Another factor is that when I’m gone for months I leave Gail with all the work of keeping up the house and moving the snow. It’s not fair. She’s not built for snow like we had up here last winter . . . and she’s just retired. I’ve had trouble deciding the path to travel. Florida is more healthy for me — I can bike and hike and comb the beaches. And the snow can become monotonous.
I’ve spent some time in my backyard flower garden and realized that all the cleanup has given me a sore back and a sore everything. I hate to admit it’s becoming a chore. And I still have about 3 bags of Miracle-Gro and 6 bags of mulch to spread. Yet I still get a thrill out of watching the perennials poke through the ground. And the plethora of color in the summer is redemptive. Writing and gardening. I haven’t even found it a problem to be homebound through the pandemic.
I’m looking forward to upgrading my website so that friends and readers can make a better connection with me. I do enjoy talking about my stories — even the things people don’t like. Feedback is important and inspiring. If I get comments through the site I know I will do much more blogging. Not just about my books but about life in general. That includes politics and religion. So, lets try to make it work. Until next time . . . Pat.

I communicated with my website manager a short time ago. He suggested a major overhaul to bring it up with the times. I agreed to meet with him when I returned to Hibbing, probably in April. One thing I am aware of is that I am not getting any comments regarding my blog page — with one exception.
Now I’m asking a favor of anybody that finds this site to comment on it. My in-mail box seems to have died and the Coronavirus is not to blame.
Please, please give me your input. Thanks.
Pat
PS: Just go to the ‘Contact’ page to send your message.

It was an ideal Saturday afternoon down here in SW Florida and a special day for me as well. Fort Myers was hosting their annual Reader’s Convention at the local library. The event was huge as many well-known authors had been invited. I noticed in the local paper that my old friend, Kent Krueger was among those authors so I emailed him to see if his schedule there had any gaps so we could get together and have a cup of coffee. He responded the next day. I met Kent right after arriving and we visited briefly as he was going on stage in a few minutes then signing books afterward.
Kent was promoting his latest novel, ‘This Tender Land’, which has been on the NYTimes best-seller list for weeks. His presentation was remarkable. Insightful at times, humorous at times, and compelling in every way. If you’ve met him, you know he’s a genuinely nice man as well as a gifted writer. I’ve always known that we have much in common in terms of story themes: he has his Cork O’Conner series, I have Father Mickey, we are both spiritually inspired, respectful of indigenous cultures (Ojibwa), and set our stories in the North Country. One big difference, however, is that he’s a huge success and I’m not. We talked about that and many other things. I told him that I didn’t aspire to become an international success. I’ve looked at his schedule and see how much travel he is required to do. (He was in Miami the day before and will be in San Diego next Saturday). I’m perfectly content to have a regional readership that requires little travel and few events. He’s mentioned that some of his readers have told him that they find similarities in our works. Ironically one thing I was most surprised to learn was that he taught cultural anthropology years ago — just as I had.
Kent’s latest work is titled ‘This Tender Land’. I’ve read it and recommend it highly. It’s a stand-alone novel with Minnesota roots. I must add, his presentation tent was jammed overcapacity (I guessed about 800 or more people) and the line for his book-signing was two blocks long.
We had lunch and talked about writing for an hour or so before Kent had to do a second signing. We parted with wishes for continued success. His publisher has him under contract for two more novels and he has one soon to be released. I, on the other hand, have no contracts, no deadlines, no presentations on my schedule, However, like Kent, I woke up this morning and worked on my next novel for three hours. Mine is not going smoothly and I’ll have to do two more rewrites before heading home. I fear a couple 6 hour days lie ahead as I hope to head north at the end of next month. Anyhow it’s too hot outside. I don’t know how to post a picture on my website so I’ll post a picture of Kent and I on Facebook.

It’s been quite some time since my last posting so there is much to share.
I’m writing from Naples, Florida again this winter so I’ve missed a lot of snow I’m told. Just between you and me — I miss the snow. Yes we have sun almost every day, I’m a bike ride from the Gulf beaches, and we’ve broken records for heat several times this month. It’s already my 10th year down here and 5 in my own place. Weather aside, my routines are about the same every year which means I’m writing daily (early mornings) and enjoying the sun in the afternoons. Writing what?, you might ask? I’ll start with that.
I’ve had lots of positive feedback on ‘Lester’s Gift’ and Adam Trygg as my lead character and, God willing, I’d like to do another Adam story. However, my priority is to finish with my Father Mickey series. Yes, finish. The last Mickey story is unique. For the first time I’m writing Mickey in the first tense — in other words, I’m Mickey telling the story. I struggled with the change from third person to first for more than a month but finally got some traction in late January. Despite a few interruptions, I’ve hit the keyboard daily. (Some days run smoothly, others are a headache).
Hopefully, a yet untitled novel will be published by late summer.
One interruption was a trip to Ireland courtesy of my daughter. Erin finally has a beau and I’ve come to like him very much. His name is Josh and he helped with the costs of our foursome–Erin, Jack (Erins college sophomore son), Josh and I. We drove from west from Dublin to Galway, south to Cork, and a small town Kilkenny, before returning to Dublin and a tour of the Guiness Brewery. Yes we visited many pubs! In fact in a town in central Ireland (Athloon) we spent an afternoon in the oldest pub in the world; a place called Seans first built in 700 AD. It’s verified. I hadn’t been to Ireland in 40 years so it was special.
And, a group of us went to a Willie Nelson concert in Fort Myers. He was awesome, despite his serious health issues. Now, I’ll take some breaks to head up to the Twins spring training fields and check out some of the new faces. Big things this year.
I’m sure many of you are envious but I do get spells of homesickness. Gail is tending the fort while I’m gone and she’s moved a ton of snow. One good thing, however, is that she is now retired and doesn’t have to get her car out of the garage to get to work in the morning anymore. She’s a blessing. I’m always struck by how fast time passes. I think I’ll be over 70 next month.
Speaking of blessings. Writing this Mickey story has been a unique spiritual trip for me. With all the divisiveness in the news I’ve taken a deeper look at the blessings in my life — especially my three children and six grandkids. Shannon was down to visit for a few days, Chris (Tiffer) is holding his own with the new moving company — January and February are tough for small businesses, and Erin has a good job and less stress in her life. I could brag about my grandkids for hours.
I hope to share my goings-on more often and plan to head north toward the end of April. Count your blessings and thank God for them every day. And to my friends with cancer and other health issues I keep you in my prayers.
Feel free to comment. I’d love to hear from you via this site.

One may think that an author’s delight might be the completion of a new story. You would be correct. Or, you might think that the author’s delight is returning from a book-signing event with a significant profit. Again you would be right. And it’s always a delight to hold a new book in your hands for the first time. This year I’ve experienced all of the above and, as tedious as I know it will be, I hope for the same experiences in 2020.

However, last night I had a delight unlike most. I enjoy talking about my books, about writing, and almost any topic I’m invited to speak on. A few weeks ago I spoke to the ‘Range Genealogical Society’ at their monthly meeting at the Eveleth library. My topic was “On becoming a Ranger” and it was fun to review my life on the Range as an older man who happened to have been born in Duluth. In my younger days in Hoyt Lakes, where I graduated high school, I was considered a ‘pack-sacker’ by my new classmates from Aurora. I didn’t like it but realized the deep feelings that those born on the Range have about being unique. It is an interesting topic and my audience was divided on the legitimacy of my considering myself a ‘Ranger’.

Last night I was invited to speak at the Lyric Center for the Arts in Virginia. It was terribly cold and a few people came simply to purchase my new book and have it signed. I encouraged them to stick around for a few minutes and talk about the new story. The group swelled to about twelve to enjoy a cup of coffee and conversation. I quickly learned that most had read all of my books over the years — all thirteen previous novels! (I’m always flattered about that, but especially so in the relaxed setting of the Lyric). I gave a brief presentation on ‘Lester’s Gift’ and why I wrote it. There were several questions about the writing life which was expected. But then a lady asked, “What happened to Lucy?” Lucy was a character in several recent novels.

“She met with a terrible death,” was the best I could say. Then is became obvious to her and her husband that they had missed a book. “That’s not possible,” the wife insisted. “I’ve read every one of your books.”

After explaining the circumstances surrounding Lucy’s death it became obvious that the missing book was last year’s drama: ‘Waiting’. Over the course of an hour or so we talked about other books and other characters in the stories. That’s what was fun. No, that was delightful.

On the drive back to Hibbing I had good feelings about myself. I have brought a sense of joy, intrigue, drama and every human emotion to many people. I’ve often said that ‘I write to be read . . . and, hopefully, enjoyed. Last night I received some needed feedback and for that, I am both grateful and delighted.

Blessings.

Sorry, not a recipe. Or maybe it is.

I rarely volunteer for things going on in my community. Good things people are doing for others. I’ve served on a few boards and visited Hospice patients over the years of my retirement but I never feel that I’m making much of a difference. Again this year I was asked to teach a class on writing to kids in grades 4 through 6 at the Assumption Catholic School. My able assistant is Teri McKusky. Having taught seniors at Hibbing High School for many years I’d have to turn things down a few notches. Our goals were simple . . . instill a love of writing in young people.

Mostly I want to encourage kids to use their imagination and tell stories. To do so I find myself telling stories as it comes naturally to me. Yesterday I got them started on a story where the boy or girl (their choice of course) found a mysterious trail into the forest. Being adventuresome, I brought them to a fork in the road where continuing on the trail seemed a safe thing to do, but taking a much narrower trail that had a ‘No Trespassing’ sign and seemed to wind up a treacherous hill. There was something intriguing on the top of the hill. Just to add an element of destiny, whichever way they went there was something very special that they found. Some so scary that they raced out of the woods to their Grandma’s house. Grandma took the object into her hands and told the boy/girl that they had found something magical.

Next Monday we’ll see how the kids create a series of missing details. I told them that they were not to share with any others in the class what they had written. In other words, keep their story secret for one week. What are the chances?

Their earlier assignment was to select from a list of ’emotions’ they came up with (happy, sad, guilty, embarrassed, ashamed, proud and others) them write a minimum of 100 words of a personal experience with the emotion they chose. I enjoyed reading them. It brought me back to elementary school for a few minutes. It’s a much different world out there but kids are still kids just as you and I were. It was ‘somethin’ good’.