Filling the holes in a plot

Plot holes are the bane of every novelist. Sometimes large, sometimes small, they are things that keep writers up at night and drive them bats on the eve of publication. They are problems that hide in plain sight.

If authors are lucky, they or their editorial assistants will spot them in a novel's formative stages. If they are not, they will hear about them from readers after the opportunity to fix them has come and gone.

As the writer of time-travel novels, I must be particularly vigilant about inconsistencies in the narrative. I must keep track not only of universally accepted facts and circumstances but also of ones I create.

The night before I published The Fire, I planned to celebrate the novel's release by hosting a dinner for my editor. Instead, I spent a good part of the evening fixing a plot hole. With his help, I took care of a matter that should have been addressed weeks, if not months, earlier.

I would do it again, with less drama, in later books. In the American Journey, Carson Chronicles, and Second Chance series, I labored for weeks to work out the particulars of time portals that were, for all practical purposes, smoke and mirrors. Though time travel is fantasy, it is fantasy that has to make sense. In some cases, entry and exit times in portals had to be worked out to the exact minute.

Despite my best efforts, I haven't always gotten it right. In Class of '59, I left behind a plot hole, or at least a serious omission, that I chose not to fix. When Donna Ryan traveled from 1959 to 2017 to permanently rejoin her sons, she left Charlotte, the beloved family cat, behind.

I thought of the many close calls this week as I put out another fire, a plot hole in my current work in progress. By going through my first sixteen chapters, line by line, I was able to eliminate a potentially serious problem, in this case another time portal issue.

For that reason and others, I have taken a slower, more deliberate approach in producing this novel. I have attempted to address issues when I see them and not put them off for another day.

As for the book itself, it is coming along. I still expect to publish The Time Spring, my twenty-seventh novel, in December.

Thanks a million

Sometime this morning, an unknown reader made my day. Responding no doubt to the Book Bub and Fussy Librarian promotions running today, he or she downloaded an American Journey book on Amazon.com. In doing so, they completed my one millionth sale.

I am honored and humbled to say the least. When I published my first novel, The Mine, more than fourteen years ago, I did not expect to sell more than one hundred copies. Like other authors going the independent route, I quickly learned that selling a book to strangers in a competitive marketplace is much more difficult than writing one.

But I also learned that hard work pays off. I discovered that anything is possible with perseverance, imagination, and assistance from bloggers, beta readers, and others who believe in the power of a story.

I don't plan to go for two million sales. I would need a public relations firm, a dedicated sales team, eight to ten more books, and the energy of a younger man to even come close. Even so, I will keep writing and marketing books. I am already ten chapters into The Time Spring, my latest work in progress and my first stand-alone novel in more than a decade. I will do what I can to get it out by the end of the year.

In the meantime, I will take moments like this to appreciate the thousands of readers and listeners who have purchased or borrowed my books since 2012. Because of you, I reached a bucket-list milestone that once seemed impossible. For that, I am profoundly thankful.

Review: Masters of the Air

When preparing a novel, I like to read books and watch programs that give me a glimpse of the people, places, and times I'm writing about. I find the easiest way to understand another world is to escape to that world, if only for a few hours. This past week, I did it again.

For nine episodes, I watched Masters of the Air, an Apple TV Plus production that the BBC calls "a big old-fashioned war drama, glossed up with dazzling special effects and stocked with some of today's hottest young actors." I immersed myself in a different age.

For those who have not seen the series, Masters is part drama, part history, and part spectacle. It is exactly what one would expect from Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks, who produced the series along with Gary Goetzman of Playtone fame. It is a gritty offering that takes chances and pushes boundaries, as I suggested in a review of historical works in May 2024. It is what television should strive to be.

Though the series features countless characters, it focuses on Maj. Gale "Buck" Cleven, Maj. John "Bucky" Egan, and Lt. Harry Crosby, three American airmen who are capably portrayed by Austin Butler, Callum Turner, and Anthony Boyle, respectively. The men are part of the Eighth Air Force's Bloody Hundredth, a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress heavy bomber unit stationed in England during World War II.

Based on the book by Donald L. Miller, Masters is the 2024 companion piece to Band of Brothers (2001) and The Pacific (2010), two sweeping series I also enjoyed. Along with the earlier works, it offers viewers a gripping, if not always accurate, portrayal of history's worst conflict.

Though I liked the big picture, I liked the little stories, too, such as Crosby's dalliance with Sandra Westgate, a saucy British spy played by Bel Powley, and the heroics of the Tuskegee Airmen, who lend a big hand to the Allied effort in Episode 8. Each of the subplots added texture and substance to a massive entertainment undertaking.

Like Band of Brothers and The Pacific, Masters of the Air documents the trials of actual people, whose real-life resumes are compelling by themselves. It also gives viewers a thrilling, often sobering glimpse of the daily lives of genuine American heroes. For those reasons and more, I would recommend the series to anyone. Rating: 5/5.

Gearing up for No. 27

I admit I have taken my time. Unlike with past books, I have not rushed into my current work in progress like a music lover rushing into a concert venue. Instead, I have made the most of a long break.

The break is now over. With the creation of a still unfinished chapter summary, I have moved toward producing my twenty-seventh novel — and my first true stand-alone in more than a dozen years.

In my next book, two friends, recent college graduates, will stumble into the 1940s. After discovering a Florida spring that can send people through time, they will wander through the world of World War II.

Though the novel will borrow themes from earlier works, it will break some new ground. The two main protagonists, B-24 crewmen, will tell the tale of America's air war in Europe. A third character, a girlfriend, will assume the role of detective in 2026. Florida and England, minor settings in a few previous books, will get significant play.

Readers who like WWII, split time frames, difficult choices, and suspense will find much to like in this one. They will once again get a chance to ask "What would I do?" if put in similar circumstances.

I expect to finish my chapter outline in April and begin writing the book itself in May. I hope to publish the novel before Christmas.

Credit: The photo of Alexander Springs, Florida, is a public-domain image courtesy of the National Archives and Wikimedia Commons.

Review: The Madison

In The Madison, the latest series from producer Taylor Sheridan, two things are on display: grief and Madison County, Montana.

Grief unites and divides a wealthy New York City family after its patriarch, Preston Clyburn, played by Kurt Russell, dies with his brother on a day trip to a remote fishing site. Madison County brings out their best and worst qualities in the days following a tragic plane crash.

Michelle Pfeiffer stars as Stacy Clyburn, a society woman who manages two unruly daughters, two curious granddaughters, and a hapless son-in-law when they arrive in Montana to settle the dead men's affairs. As she does, she relives her happy marriage through flashbacks, current events, and a poignant journal her husband left behind.

The six-episode series, airing on Paramount Plus, shares many themes and settings with Yellowstone, 1883, and 1923, Sheridan's other acclaimed creations. Among other things, it gives viewers heavy doses of class divisions, family turmoil, and regret, something that hangs over the production like a dark cloud. It also gives them Montana.

As a former resident of the Treasure State, I enjoyed getting yet another glimpse of the mountains, valleys, and rivers that make up God's Country — or at least the part that lies south of Interstate 90. In The Madison, I saw a part of the state I had camped, fished, and explored several times. I particularly liked the segments set in the town of Ennis, where I took my family to Fourth of July parades in the early 2000s.

I liked other things, too, including the general storyline and the growth of characters who were not all that appealing at the start.

I cared less for the regional stereotypes. Nearly all of the New Yorkers were politically correct, potty-mouthed navel-gazers who could not see the forest among the many trees. Some of the Montanans they encountered were clueless hayseeds unfamiliar with even Peloton bikes. F-bombs and "ain'ts" punctuated an otherwise compelling script.

Even so, I enjoyed the series immensely. As with Sheridan's other creations, I found yet another reason not to give up on television in an age of meager offerings. I would recommend The Madison, which has been renewed for a second season, to any viewer in search of a gritty family drama and outstanding natural scenery. Rating: 4.5/5.

Review: The Wild Blue

For most of my life, I have considered George McGovern a historical footnote — the liberal senator who lost 49 states to Richard Nixon in the 1972 presidential election. But as I learned in The Wild Blue, a 2001 work by Stephen Ambrose, he was much more than that.

Among other things, I learned that McGovern, the peace candidate in 1972, was something of a bad ass in World War II. The South Dakotan flew 35 missions over Europe as the pilot of a B-24 Liberator, an aircraft that turned the tide in the campaign against Nazi Germany.

Though Ambrose does not focus exclusively on McGovern, he gives the captain and his crew ample play. He tells the stories of several men who battled everything from enemy fighters to deadly flak in winning the war in Europe. In exacting detail, Ambrose paints the kind of picture that made him one of our most celebrated historians.

In The Wild Blue, we see McGovern not as a war hero or a man destined for greatness but rather as a shy pastor's son who joined the U.S. Army Air Forces to do his part in the fight against tyranny.

As he did in Band of Brothers and other works, Ambrose gives us the soldier as the everyman. He presents McGovern as a common man who rose to the challenge of uncommon times. In doing so, he makes the airmen and their experiences more compelling and real.

Though I am no stranger to Ambrose's works — I have read several and was a minor contributor to his son Hugh Ambrose's companion piece, The Pacific — I did not peruse The Wild Blue until recently. I picked up the book to learn more about the experiences of B-24 crews and begin a journey of discovery for my next novel, due later this year.

As a research tool, The Wild Blue had limited utility. In covering McGovern's crew, which flew missions from Italy, Ambrose did not tell me a lot about the crews that operated out of England, the primary setting of my book. Even so, he provided much. He gave me a clear idea of what it was like to serve as an airman in World War II.

The author also told me a lot about McGovern, who later served as a history professor, congressman, and senator and developed a reputation as a thoughtful statesman. (I had the privilege of meeting the then former senator after a lecture at my college, the University of Oregon, in December 1983 and found him friendly and engaging.)

I would recommend The Wild Blue to anyone interested in McGovern, B-24's, and the air campaigns of World War II. Rating: 4/5.

Confessions of a collector

Sometime in 1973, when I was 11, my grandfather, Andy Hoeme, gave me an 1883 Liberty Head nickel. Enamored by the "ancient" coin, minted when Chester Arthur was president, I tucked it away and vowed to get more like it. I loved the idea of owning a piece of the past.

I no longer have the nickel. I lost it somehow in the shuffle of youth, but I did not lose my passion for gathering tokens of times, places, and events. For more than fifty years, I have collected coins, stamps, buttons, passes, stickers, postcards, business cards, photographs, family records, coasters, receipts, menus, theater programs, and other memorabilia. If it can be put in a scrapbook, it is fair game.

Many of my holdings, like sports cards, event tickets, and autographs, are common collectibles. They are the kinds of things many hobbyists acquire. Other items are more unusual. Among my more "exotic" treasures are stamps from the Soviet Union, a D.C. transit pass, a matchbook cover from a bistro in Maine, a Ken Griffey Jr. bobblehead doll, a Glacier National Park pin, and a UK penny from 1936, when three kings sat on the British throne.

Many items are souvenirs of experiences. They include a ticket to a 1981 Rolling Stones concert, a program to a "Mary Poppins" performance in Montana, a ticket to the 2002 Fiesta Bowl, lift tickets to several ski resorts, and a day pass to Disneyland. I took my family to the park in 2005, its fiftieth year.

Though I have collected memorabilia for decades, I did not seriously examine or inventory my collection until January, shortly after I published my last novel and began a much-needed break from writing. Only then did I grasp what I had amassed over the years.

I no longer had a few boxes and notebooks of keepsakes, but rather several. I spent the next seven weeks inspecting, sorting, and arranging the currency, coins, and ephemera in my closets. As I did, I realized something profound. When people collect like I have for as long as I have, they do more than fill albums and scrapbooks. They preserve a bit of history. They gather the odds and ends of their lives.

Though all of my souvenirs, mementos, and collectibles are valuable, at least to me, some are particular noteworthy. These include several items that remind me of relatives, friends, and acquaintances who have passed away. Foremost in this group are signed cards and a long thank-you letter from Harmon Killebrew, a baseball legend who knew my mother, Mary Heldt, when they were youths in the small town of Payette, Idaho. (I met the slugger himself at an exhibition game in Tacoma, Washington, in 1974.) Killebrew wrote to my parents after they wished him well following a surgery in 1990. I inherited his thoughtful correspondence after my mom died four years ago this week.

From my father-in-law, I acquired foreign bills, stamps, and coins, including some from nations that no longer exist. Bert Fellows, who passed away in 2024, was a world traveler who rarely passed up an opportunity to collect and preserve the interesting and new.

Another item, a paper coaster from the Gibson House in Seattle, reminds me of a night on the town in 1982. Like two of the four fraternity brothers who drove up from Oregon on break to help me celebrate my twenty-first birthday, the gritty, eclectic bar is no longer around.

Some keepsakes are too big for a scrapbook. Take the U.S. flag I ordered for my father, James Heldt, when I worked in Washington, D.C. for a congressman. Workers hoisted the flag over the U.S. Capitol on June 22, 1984, folded it, boxed it, and mailed it to my dad. He kept it, in pristine condition, until he died last year. It is now back in my hands, waiting for the day I can again pass it along.

I will set collecting aside in the coming months. I have people to see, places to visit, and another novel to write, but I will not give up gathering and preserving memorabilia. As I have learned in five decades of collecting memories, once you start, you cannot stop.

Images: A ticket to the Rolling Stones concert in Seattle's Kingdome on October 14, 1981. Pete Rose's 1982 Topps player card. An Elvis Presley stamp from the early 1990s. (Note the price.) A 1948 British Half Crown. A vintage postcard from Waikiki Beach, Hawaii.

A nod to Valentine's Day

In the minds of many, time travel and romance go hand in hand. They are like the peanut butter and jelly of literature and cinema.

Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series, the gold standard of the genre, combines the two elements. So do Time and Again, Somewhere in Time, Timeline, and even 11/22/63, works written by men.

I have combined time travel and romance, to varying degrees, in each of my 26 books. Since publishing The Mine, my first novel, fourteen years ago this week, I have found it difficult to send a character through time without providing him or her with a suitable companion.

Even Silas Bain, my worst villain, finds romance. In The Refuge, he builds a relationship with Ellen Dale, a fetching heiress, when not causing mayhem in Hawaii in 1941. He displays his softer side.

I inject romance into my stories to make them more interesting and believable. When writing time travel, it is easy to portray characters as superheroes who defeat bad guys, conquer mountains, and change the world. It is more difficult to portray them as vulnerable human beings who simply want companionship or even a night on the town.

Then again, there lies the fun. If there is one thing I enjoy about writing time-travel romances, it is putting different fish in different ponds and watching them interact. It is creating scenes only possible in fiction.

In Indiana Belle, Cameron Coelho, a doctoral student from 2017, and Candice Bell, a society editor from 1925, visit the dystopian world of 2041. In Let Time Fly, Jake Maclean, a boy from 2024, dances with Rachel Ward, a girl from 1780, on American Bandstand in 1958. In Duties and Dreams, Paul Carpenter and Emilie Perot, old souls from different eras, are thrown together as young adults in 1918 France.

Like Joel Smith in The Mine, Kevin Johnson in The Fire, and characters in other books, they create a rich social life in worlds they were never supposed to see. They make the most of their circumstances.

Of course, many of my protagonists find more than dates and distractions on their travels. They find mates. More than twenty marry people they meet in the past. Others form serious attachments. All find at least a smidgen of romance as they traipse through time.

Expect my next protagonists, U.S. Army airmen, to do the same. Stationed in England in 1944 and 1945, they will no doubt find plenty to keep them occupied. I hope to tell their story by the end of the year.

In the meantime, I will continue to promote books that combine two of my favorite things. Happy Valentine's Day to one and all!

Image credit: Charles Dana Gibson's "The Greatest Game in the World — His Move" was first published in 1903. It is in the public domain.

Stone Shed series

As readers know, I like to recycle themes, props, and characters. I do so for the reason some people choose the same vacation spot or ice cream flavor time and again. I like them better than the alternatives.

I have written about war, disasters, fairs, sheds, caves, malt shops, drag races, taverns, reporters, librarians, and teachers enough times to make even a casual reader suspicious. On occasion, I even recycle settings — like Southern California, New England, and the Pacific Northwest — because I never tire of their lasting appeal. I go back to the well.

In the Stone Shed trilogy, I went back to the well again. I revisited a brothers-and-sisters trope that worked so well in Class of '59 and gave it a fresh spin. I built a new series around an old idea.

In Class of '59, the plot was simple enough. Through the magic of time travel, two sisters from 2017 met two brothers from 1959, worked out a few kinks, and began a series of adventures in the present and the past. The older siblings clicked immediately. The younger ones did not. In the end, both couples, along with the boys' mother, settled in 2017.

In the Stone Shed trilogy, I flipped the script. Noah and Jake Maclean, brothers from 2024, traveled back in time and met Abby and Rachel Ward, sisters from 1776. The younger siblings clicked. The older ones, at least initially, did not. In the end, all four protagonists, despite some predictable difficulties, decided to remain in the perilous past.

When I created this series, of course, I wanted to do more than write about couples who bridge time and differences. I wanted to write about generals, spies, battles, and life in the age of muskets, mobcaps, and spinning wheels. I wanted to explore the American Revolution.

So I did. Before writing a word, I immersed myself in the 1770s. I read books, perused journal articles, and watched documentaries about the nation's founding. I brought myself up to speed on a fascinating era.

Yet even as I waded into history, I did not forget that this story was first and foremost about people and relationships. I often reminded myself that the Stone Shed novels, like Class of '59, were ultimately about two adventurous couples discovering each other and their limits.

I reminded readers too. Early in The Patriots, Jake, 15, and Rachel, 14, greet each other as he rides past her rural Pennsylvania estate on July 31, 1776. He tips his hat. She offers a wave. The time traveler and the merchant's daughter don't know each other, but they will. With subtle, curious smiles, they plant seeds that will last a lifetime.

With a few spoilers, here is a candid look at the Stone Shed series, a focused, immersive trilogy that is arguably my best work.

THE PATRIOTS (2024): Literally and figuratively, The Patriots is my War and Peace. It is a massive book that addresses not only war and peace but also society, class, and human nature. Like Leo Tolstoy's epic masterpiece, it is a sprawling story with a large cast of characters.

When I first plotted the novel, I almost walked away. I did not think I could do all the things I wanted to do in a single book, even one that exceeded 155,000 words. I considered splitting the novel in half and turning the Stone Shed trilogy into yet another five-part series.

I am glad I did not. By eliminating a few storylines and tightening others, I was able to achieve each of my goals. I was able to tell the story I wanted to tell in one big book.

Set in Philadelphia, The Patriots is the tale of two orphaned brothers who inherit a mysterious stone shed and a host of family secrets when they bury their grandfather in 2024. The shed, located on their property, can send people and objects through time.

When Noah and Jake finally test their inheritance by traveling to 1776, they intend to remain in the past for only a few weeks. Then they meet the fetching daughters of a furniture maker and an educational field trip to the eighteenth century becomes a transformative journey.

From the start, I wanted to fill this book with history. So I featured giants like Ben Franklin and John Adams and gave cameos to George Washington, Lafayette, and Peggy Shippen. I cited historic events at every turn and seized opportunities to give readers a feel of a turbulent time. I gave Noah and Jake Maclean an adventure to remember.

Then I did something else. I repeatedly tested the resolve and commitment of four headstrong characters. I asked two young couples to give up everything for love. I did what I did in Class of '59.

As readers know, I did not do so lightly. To force the hand of the book's conflicted lovers, I put them through violent trials that produced as many tears as answers. I raised the stakes in a winner-takes-all game.

Though The Patriots, in 1770s time, spans only fifteen months, it is, for all practical purposes, a two-year novel. As such, it served as a template for books two and three in a trilogy that unfolds over six years.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 98, Jake Maclean rides his horse to a safe position as a column of redcoats marches toward Philadelphia.

Jake did not look back. He did not even glance at the road until he reached the top of the ridge, a bushy clearing that loomed about a hundred feet over the surrounding area. He was afraid of what he might see. Then he looked at everything. From a high position that was hidden from the heavily traveled road, he watched hundreds of troops march around a wide bend in a perfect formation. He witnessed a foreign invasion. The British soldiers looked surreal. Wearing scarlet coats, white breeches, black tricorn hats, and black leather boots, they looked like extras from a lavishly funded Hollywood movie.

THE WINDING ROAD (2025): In The Winding Road, I reminded readers that the Stone Shed series was not just about Noah and Jake. It was also about the elderly relatives they had abandoned in 2024.

If Douglas and Donna Maclean are minor players in the first book, they are major players in the second. They confront investigators, reporters, and questions as they try to clean up the mess their missing grandnephews left behind. They attempt to hide an ancient family secret as they carry out an elaborate ruse.

I liked writing this part of the story because I knew readers would be able to relate to it. Who has not been left behind to clean up a mess made by others seeking fun? Who has not worried about loved ones in dangerous situations? Douglas and Donna are the grown-ups in the series. Like Lachlan Maclean, the Keeper of the Shed in the 1770s, they are the people who act responsibly, put out fires, and take care of business.

Even so, Noah is the star. From the first chapter, when he rides off to war, to the last, when he rides back to it, he is the focus of the story. He joins the Continental Army, survives Valley Forge, fights with valor in the Battle of Monmouth, becomes George Washington's aide-de-camp, marries Abby, fathers twin boys, and survives a British manhunt.

Though I struggled with this book, I also had fun with it. I enjoyed developing Noah's relationships with Abby and soldiers like Jasper Jennings. Even more, I liked introducing a villain, writing a battle scene, and exploring the world of espionage, a key part of the rebellion.

I also liked sending characters on "day trips" through time. In The Winding Road, Noah travels to 2009 to get supplies for his comrades at Valley Forge and Jake and Rachel sneak off to 2024 to get guns and modern amenities for family members. Later, the teens travel to 1946, where they gather penicillin and spend a day in Atlantic City.

When Noah uses some of the guns to kill enemy soldiers, the British respond. They deploy an agent to investigate and eliminate the rebel officer with the "magic pistols." They put Malachi Maine in play.

I loved drawing Major Maine, though I admit I did not create him entirely from scratch. I modeled him after British Captain John Graves Simcoe, the cruel, sociopathic, and oddly refined villain in TURN: Washington's Spies. [The real Simcoe was apparently much kinder and gentler.]

Though I mostly tackled big subjects in The Winding Road, like war, liberty, and politics, I did not shy away from the little things that make stories special. I added spice to the narrative whenever I could.

Rachel gives Noah Snickers bars, acquired in 2024, as he rides off to war in 1778. Douglas compares FBI agents in his home to Mulder and Scully of The X-Files. Lachlan befriends a crow named "Curious Clive" before ambushing British soldiers. Abby, stirred by oysters and wine, seduces Noah on the last night of his leave. Like other characters in other situations, they reveal themselves in delightful ways.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 42, Noah comforts Buttercup, his horse, before charging into British lines at the Battle of Monmouth.

"Listen, girl, I know you are nervous. I know this is new. I know I am asking a lot of you, but I also know you can deliver. I know it because I can see the roaring fire in your eyes. Today, you are not a workhorse or an old gray mare or even a girl. Today, you are freaking Man o' War."

LET TIME FLY (2025): As I suggested here on December 8, I like bringing stories to a conclusion. I like solving mysteries, answering questions, and tying loose ends. I like giving readers closure.

In Let Time Fly, my last series book, I did all that and more. I not only completed a massive family saga but also emptied a chest of props, tropes, and notions. I put everything but the kitchen sink into one of my favorite novels.

As many readers know, this is Jake and Rachel's story. The younger couple, secondary players in the first two books, come to life in this one. No longer playful, carefree teenagers navigating the treacherous waters of adolescence, they are bold young adults making their way in a dangerous world. Jake becomes a man in Let Time Fly. Rachel becomes a woman. Both take on duties and responsibilities their siblings have shouldered for years.

I took my time writing this novel. I did not want to rush a story I had developed in my mind for years. I wanted to attend to every detail.

In keeping with the spirit of the series (see above), I brought back tried-and-true themes. Heroines confront villains. Friends become lovers. Unlikely warriors face critical tests. Outcomes are foreshadowed and then realized. A number of wistful souls drive down Memory Lane.

In Let Time Fly, I used two thematic devices to propel and then end a thoughtful story — the sentimental sojourn and the reflective letter.

In the sojourn, Jake and Rachel travel to 1958, where they appear on American Bandstand. They celebrate their innocence one last time before letting go of their youth. In the letter, one of my protagonists looks back at the past fifty years and reflects on a life well lived.

If the second device sounds familiar, it should. I used it at the end of Indiana Belle, where Cameron Coelho sends a letter through time to his handler, Geoffrey Bell. Hollywood also used it at the end of TURN: Washington's Spies, where Abraham Woodhull sends a letter to his son and reflects on the decades following the American Revolution.

One final note: When I finished this series, a saga about two couples, I realized I did not include something that many consider essential to a good love story — a proposal. Though Noah "proposes" to Abby under fireworks on July 4, 1777, his actions are never described. Jake does not propose to Rachel at all. In the end, it does not matter. From the beginning, I indicate clearly where the couples are headed. Their future, unlike the future of the fledgling United States, is never in doubt.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 36, Rachel Ward ponders two very different eras as she awaits her appearance on American Bandstand.

As Rachel awaited "Bandstand Boogie," her cue to pull her partner onto a large linoleum floor, she thought about how much different this time was from her time. She found the differences stunning and stark. In July 1780, Pennsylvania boys were farming, toiling in shops, and fighting a war for independence. Girls were cooking, sewing, and attending to babies many had as teenagers. All were working. Few were playing. In April 1958, teens were cruising in hot rods, eating hamburgers and fries in malt shops, kissing in cars in outdoor theaters, and cutting classes in school to get on television. They were having the time of their lives.

As I noted last month, I plan to set series aside. For the time being, I will write only stand-alone books. Though my future works will no doubt cover a wide range of time periods and themes, they will still feature the elements I favor most — time travel, history, and romance.

I will publish my next novel, a World War II story, this fall. As always, I will post updates, trivia, and important notes along the way.

Thanks once again to the readers who have supported my works over the past 15 years. I appreciate you more than you can imagine.

Second Chance series

In her September 2022 review of The Fountain, reader Lara Girdler asked the central question of the Second Chance series:

"Imagine, if you will, the ability to live your life a second time. Would you take that risk, knowing you might end up in a world that looked vastly different from our technology-riddled world of today?"

Bill, Paul, and Annie Carpenter did. The widowed, childless siblings — battling grief, terminal illness, and depression — decided that a chance to relive their lives as healthy young adults was well worth a dangerous plunge into the great unknown. Following a trail of superstition to the mountains of Baja California, they made the call of a lifetime.

In my first trilogy, I dove into not only a fountain of youth but also the questions that have baffled humans for centuries. I tapped into the hopes and fears of three troubled souls who still had dreams and ambitions. I used time travel and a healing spring to explore possibilities that both intimidated and encouraged. I gave the Carpenters a second chance.

I loved writing this series, where Bill, Paul, and Annie, senior citizens from Portland, Oregon, become 23-, 17-, and 14-year-olds and begin new lives in Oakland, California. I particularly loved the trilogy's many challenges, including writing credibly about siblings from 2022 who bring old minds and young bodies to the early twentieth century.

As a Baby Boomer, I could relate to many of the experiences Bill, Paul, and Annie carried through the series like excess baggage. I could imagine their frustrations and concerns as they tried to adapt to an era of limited communications, rigid social customs, shoddy safety standards, and diseases that doctors had not yet conquered. But I could also picture the possibilities. I could imagine the thrill and excitement of living life a second time and getting a lot of things right.

When creating the series, I researched not only real people, places, and things but also fictional ones. I spent weeks learning about the fabled Fountain of Youth, a restorative spring once believed to bubble on Bahamian island of Bimini. I put the fountain in Mexico. Inspired by the sight of the Sierra de la Laguna range, which I discovered on a trip to Cabo San Lucas, I gave the Carpenters something closer to home.

When I wrote the trilogy in 2022 and 2023, I did so from the perspective of a man who had just turned sixty and lost his mother. Like the Carpenters, I could understand longing, hopes, fears, regrets, and the unstoppable passage of time. I could easily place myself in the shoes of three very different characters who were ready for a life change.

With a few spoilers, here is a look at a trilogy that is as much a sentimental journey through the first half of the twentieth century as it is collection of books. Second Chance is by far my favorite series.

THE FOUNTAIN (2022): If my book collection had a soul, it would be the reflective tome I published on August 14, 2022. No other novel asks as many big questions or asks them as often as The Fountain.

At the start of the story, the Carpenters are a sad lot. Bill, 81, has just buried his beloved wife. Paul, 75, has terminal lung cancer. Annie, 72, is a paraplegic with broken dreams. Depressed and directionless, the siblings face an uncertain future in their childhood home.

Then Bill, a retired professor, learns that the Fountain of Youth, his obsession for decades, may be more than a myth. Within weeks, he and the others begin a fantastic journey that leads to 1905, the San Francisco Bay Area, and a never-ending stream of challenges and moral dilemmas. Once in Oakland, the Carpenters must decide how much, if anything, to tell friends and loved ones about an earthquake that will claim 3,000 lives. They confront the curse of time travel.

In The Fountain, I describe not only the joys of living life a second time but also the sorrows. I remind Bill, Paul, and Annie that immortality, even limited immortality, sometimes comes with a steep price.

I also describe a contradictory world that is as stylish and elegant as it is unprincipled and crude. I give readers a 1905 taste of San Francisco, Baja California, and even Portland, which hosted the Lewis and Clark Centennial Exposition, the West Coast's first world's fair.

As mentioned above, one of the challenges (and joys) of drawing the siblings was navigating their transition from old people to young. Bill is a young man who can marry again and have children. Paul has healthy lungs and can play sports. Annie can move. Crippled in a car accident in her first run through life, she can now walk, run, and dance.

The Carpenters can also find work, make friends, and explore their potential, which they do at Oakland Preparatory Academy. They cross paths with Principal Edward Miller, literature teacher Cassie Lee, and graduating seniors Andy Lee and Pauline Wagner. They become intertwined with people they were never supposed to meet.

Though I wrote The Fountain around these relationships, I did not do so at the expense of action. As I did in The Fire, September Sky, River Rising, and my other "disaster" novels, I gave readers the spectacle they wanted. I put America's greatest earthquake on a plate.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 78, Cassie Lee experiences the 1906 earthquake from the balcony of her San Francisco row house.

Cassie looked with awe as more animals streamed out of buildings and raced toward the bay with reckless abandon. Then she looked with horror as distant structures started to sway and the ground began to rise. In the blink of an eye, a terrestrial wave, maybe twenty feet high, rose in the west and disrupted everything in its path. It crumpled buildings, buckled the street, and moved east like a tsunami. It hit a teacher with blunt force.

ANNIE'S APPLE (2023): When I originally conceived my twenty-second novel, I imagined something light and bouncy. I pictured Annie Carpenter taking a city by storm like Marlo Thomas in That Girl or Mary Tyler Moore in her eponymous sitcom. I wrote something else.

In Annie's Apple, set mostly in New York City in 1911 and 1912, I produced my darkest work, a loose collection of nightmares, violent events, and tragedies that cost me readers and reviewers. I went down a different path.

In the first few chapters, garment workers, victims of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, fling themselves out of windows or down elevator shafts. Andy Lee is shot at the start of the book and stabbed in the middle. A beloved new character goes down with the Titanic. Annie herself threatens to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. Three romantic relationships end badly. Annie's mentor, a society editor, grieves her lover and their child decades after losing them. Bill and Cassie battle infertility. No one is spared.

If I had to write the book today, I would not change a thing. I believe each of the storylines was necessary to propel the narrative forward and illustrate the hardships of living in a deceptively tranquil age.

Annie's Apple is a treasure trove of contradictions. Annie, a witty young reporter, and new characters like Prudence Rusk frequently punctuate a somber novel with lightness and laughs. Hopes rise and fall like an ocean tide. Though the story moves between four countries, two continents, and an infamous ship, it largely stays put. It is the only one of my books that does not contain a single act of time travel.

Set against all this is my best love story. In Annie's Apple, I throw Paul Carpenter, an Army sergeant, into the arms of Shannon Taylor, a beautiful young housekeeper with secrets of her own. I introduce a character who adds intrigue and spark to an already complex plot.

Though Annie's Apple is a harrowing novel that puts Bill, Paul, and Annie through often brutal trials, it ends on a positive note. As author Heather L. Barksdale observed in her September 2023 review: "The ending is fitting for the rest of the tale — a little sad, a bit romantic, and hauntingly hopeful. It set the tone for the next book in the series."

One final note: The title of Annie's Apple is derived from the name of the novel's main protagonist and the Big Apple, the city she calls her own. My illustrator created the book's distinctive cover using a 1911 drawing by Charles Dana Gibson, a public-domain image generously provided by the Library of Congress' Prints and Photographs Division.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 4, Bill Carpenter digests newspaper accounts of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire of March 25, 1911.

People on the ninth floor had it worst. Unable to reach the roof or the lobby or the ladders that extended only to the sixth floor, they leapt to their deaths. Some jumped alone. Others jumped in groups. All tugged at the heartstrings of more than ten thousand witnesses in the vicinity. One young man helped three young women out of a window and gently dropped them to the street. Then he assisted a fourth, gave her a kiss, and escorted her to heaven. He answered horror with humanity.

DUTIES AND DREAMS (2023): I never tire of writing about war. In 15 years as an author, I have written about war or the advent of war many times. Seven of my novels are set against the backdrop of World War II, three against World War I, three against the American Revolution, and one against the Civil War. One book is set against two wars.

In Duties and Dreams, I tell two stories, separated by a quarter century, that eventually come together. I follow Andy Lee and Paul Carpenter as U.S. Army officers in World War I and Shannon Taylor and Emilie Perot as French resistance fighters in World War II.

I loved writing this novel. I loved it, in part, because I was able to split timelines, feature a villain, reveal secrets, recycle beloved characters, and tell a story from several settings, including my native Pacific Northwest. I was able to put many of my favorite things on center stage and bring my first trilogy to a satisfying conclusion.

Though Duties and Dreams is a "war" book, it is so much more. It is a story of love, duty, and profound sacrifice, the kind that prompts serious questions and pushes comfortable people out of their comfort zones.

Three things drive this novel: a crippling war wound, a terminal illness, and two fountains that offer hope to the hopeless. They test marriages, add intrigue, and provide an unlikely means to a gratifying end.

When I wrote Duties and Dreams, I did more than create a thriller that spanned three generations and six countries. I tipped my hat to my childhood home, my father, and even my humble beginnings.

Much of the book is set in Western Washington, where I spent most of my adolescence. Fort Lewis, Tacoma, Puget Sound, and Mount Rainier National Park, an important setting in The Mine, get significant play.

Regarding the second matter, I dedicated Duties and Dreams to "Dad," my father, James Heldt. When I did, I did not realize that the acronym of the book's title was, fittingly, "DAD." So I ended up paying an extra tribute to a humble man who died at age 93 last February.

As for me, I did something only authors can do. When I realized the Carpenter saga would end in 1961, I did more than pick a random date. I picked a special one. I ended Duties and Dreams and the Second Chance series on December 30, 1961, the day I was born.

Favorite Quote: In Chapter 27, Nazi soldiers chase sabotage suspect Emilie Perot into a cave and push her off the fence of indecision.

Then the Nazis pushed her off it. When they flooded the cave and raced toward the darkening room, they reminded a prospective time traveler that there were worse ways to die than to dissolve in a vat of acid. Emilie glanced down at the once luminescent pool as it grew darker and stiller and dropped nearly a meter. She gathered her courage and stared danger in the face. She did what she had done for years. Then she did something else. The confirmed agnostic said a quick prayer and made the sign of the cross. She said hello to a childhood friend and jumped into a dark abyss. She took the leap of her life.

I published Duties and Dreams weeks before I retired and collected my first Social Security check. Though I was ready to adopt a slower pace and write only stand-alone novels, I did not. I jumped into a trilogy I had wanted to write for several years. Next: The Stone Shed series.