Big Sand Lake, Transplanted
The
Cauldron is only one of the many titles available in the
current and MOST AWESOME SF bundle of books. So much reading for so little
money…and some of the proceeds are set aside for charity.
So while The Cauldron is only one of the titles, it
is the one I am most familiar with, as I wrote it with esteemed NYT Bestselling
author Gene DeWeese. And so I’ll tell you about a little piece of that book.
Gene insisted on
a vacation resort smack in the middle of Indiana and smack in the middle of the
book. He remembered a resort in Indiana and attached fond memories to it.
Well, I
remembered a fishing resort near Spooner, WI. And I had fond memories, too. Me
and my parents vacationed there for one or two weeks every summer from the time
I was seven until I graduated from junior college. Lots of years. Same place
EVERY SUMMER. My parents’ friends owned the place, and they gave my dad a good
deal on the cabin and fishing boat rental.
So I told Gene “of
course there will be a vacation resort in The
Cauldron.” But since I’d never been to the place he regaled me about, I
took the Birch Haven Resort of Spooner, renamed it, and plopped it down in the
middle of our manuscript. The characters stayed in one of my favorite cabins…it
afforded probably the best view of the lake.
I can still feel
the sand between my toes.
Seriously.
And I can
picture the place so vividly in my mind, like I could step out my back door and
be there.
The lake was the
kind of blue you imagine heaven being…dark, bright, shiny, smooth like glass
when the wind stopped, looking like silver pieces had been tossed to float when
there was breeze and a faint chop.
It smelled clean
and wonderful, and when you stood at the shore, your heels in the sand and the
water lapping at your feet, you pulled the scent to the bottom of your lungs
and held it as long as you could…before breathing it deep again.
Best of all, it
smelled like summer.
Big Sand Lake
had sounds too, the shush of the water, the cries of children running up and
down the beach, the purr of motors on fishing boats, the cries of birds
swooping low. Sometimes dogs would bark…rez dogs they were called, beautiful
mixes covered in ticks. And you’d sit on the docks with a pair of tweezers,
culling the ticks and trying—desperately—to talk your parents into letting you
take one of the dogs home. They were friendly dogs.
And, every once
in a while, parents relented.
The lake was so
big you couldn’t see the other side of it, and it was a hundred feet deep at the
center. Occasionally a college student or two would swim across…usually with
someone in a boat following because it was a very big lake. One day me and some
buddies—all the kids who vacationed at the resort instantly became friends—decided
we would try it. Didn’t even get halfway. But we were age twelve or
thereabouts, had no business attempting such a thing, and didn’t have anyone in
a boat following. Of course we never told our parents. Back in those days
parents let their kids run from sunrise until it got dark.
We got out
pretty far, though. Exhausted, we treaded in some lily pads and squealed when
fish brushed our legs. We knew there were some darn big fish in the lake…really...lunker
pike and muskellunge. We made it back to shore and lay in the shallows, having
a good laugh at our foolishness and vowing to try it again next year.
And we did.
And we turned
back again.
But in my dreams
I made it to the other side.
The
Cauldron is about “the other side.” I am so very proud of
that book. Gene DeWeese taught me that it is possible to put an elephant, the
Civil War, spaceships, and a transplanted fishing resort into a science fiction
tale about the fate of our planet.
There’s
something amazing about that.
And now my mind
is focused on that impossibly blue lake and sand between my toes. A cold orange
soda slipping down my throat. I can hear the water lapping.
Join me, won’t
you?
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