Hey my friends,

I have a new novel coming out. I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I think it’s my best effort yet. You see, my old publisher and I have parted ways. It was an amicable arrangement for both of us (thank goodness!) and has left me eager and anxious* for this next chapter in my publishing career. This new novel (title yet undecided) is currently being reviewed by another indy publisher whose name I shall not mention lest the deal be jinxed.

Like my mystery Bait and Witch, my latest is set in a place called Tres Ojos. If you live in, or have visited, Santa Cruz, California, and have read Bait and Witch, you know that Tres Ojos is loosely based on our little bayside slice of paradise. What you may not know: the name Tres Ojos refers to Rancho Tres Ojos de Aqua, a 176 acre Mexican Land Grant given in 1844 to a man whose name is engraved in the sidewalk that abuts the dead-end alley behind my house. One Nicolás Dodero. I know nothing about Dodero, only that he and I have walked the same land, and the redwoods standing sentinel along the alley will likely outlast us both.

Tres Ojos de Agua means Three Eyes of Water and refers to the three springs that originate up the hill from us, in the high-rent district. Today, the most visible of these three springs is Westlake. It hosts a sweet park with an expansive green lawn where people often throw tennis balls to the delight of their dogs. A lesser-known occurrence of the spring, a tributary, flows down our alley. At the end of the alley, right next to where Dodero is immortalized in the cement, the little stream is channeled into a pipe that tunnels below two major thoroughfares (King and Mission), reemerges in a waterfall along Laurel Street, pauses briefly in the lagoon (Neary’s), then heads to the bay. I wonder what ol’ Dodero would make of this rerouting? He knew the creek before a neighborhood was plopped down on top of it. Watch a video about the history of spring.

I like thinking about water. It’s always going somewhere, and with such a sense of purpose. Lately though, someone upstream from us has been damming our tributary and it pisses me off. I’m going to have to file a grievance with the city, and not just for me, but for the crawfish and frogs.

Of course, people have been redirecting water since the dawn of time. Ancient Puebloan people made dams and dikes. The Romans were purportedly advanced hydraulic engineers. Shoot! The poor Colorado River has been dammed so many times it never makes it to ocean. I saw the spot in Baja where is fizzles out. Presumably, though, these dams and dikes and tunnels and aqueducts are done for the good of all, and by all, I mean all humans (obviously), though I remember visiting a site in Utah where the early Mormons had built a fort around a spring, hogging all the water for themselves, and starving out the Native Americans. Such is the case with our little stream: the only one benefitting is the wealthy man with the brimming pond. The rest of us are left with a trickle. It’s an epidemic these days. Greedy men grabbing up the resources of others. But that’s another blog.

Speaking of dams, waiting to see if this publisher takes my novel is a bit like being dammed up. I’m brimming with uncertainty. Will they take it or not? What will its journey be as it makes its way from my heart and brain to yours? I hope the flow is an easy one. I’ll keep your posted. And, as always, live the love. It’s all we’ve got.

*Word nerds, please note my use of eager and anxious, words with two separate meanings! So many people use the word anxious when they mean eager.