Peter Brandvold - Obsession & Stubborness a Key to Success

Peter Brandvold, this month's interviewee is the Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award winner for 2020. Thank you to Peter for taking the time to share his insights into writing and his writer's life.  

Author Peter Brandvold and his trusty assistant.

*  When did you realize you wanted to be a writer? 

You know, I can’t remember NOT wanting to be a writer, so I’d have to say very early on. Maybe when I was six and just starting school and I learned there was such a thing.

*  Did you chose the genre you write in or did it choose you?

I would say it chose me. I’d gone to undergrad and grad school wanting to be the next Ernest Hemingway, but I wasn’t having any fun. So after I got out of school and still wasn’t having any fun writing the “literary” stuff, I asked myself what I’d really LIKE to write. That turned out to be westerns because I’d grown up on them. They were the first books I fell in love with. 

*  What was the nudge that gave you faith that you could and wanted to be published?

I was extremely naïve. After I had the desire to be a writer it never really occurred to me that I couldn’t be a writer. I was very obsessed, and sometimes obsession is what it takes. Obsession and stubbornness. I was very stubborn. I wasn’t NOT going to be a writer.

*  Do your life experiences influence or hinder your writing?

I think they always influence it, definitely. Even the bad stuff.

Peter's latest release from Wolfpack

*  Where did you get the idea for your latest release and tell a bit about the story?

I can’t say much about my latest releases—I’ve had three books come out in July alone—but they’re all pseudonymous books and I’m not at liberty to divulge their titles. Let’s call my latest release REDEMPTION TRAIL published by Wolfpack. It’s a Yakima Henry yarn. I have no idea where the idea for it came from. Sometimes I just come up with an opening scene and a character or two and put them into play and simply write to discover what happens. As I remember, that’s what happened with REDEMPTION TRAIL. Most of my books come about that way.  

*  Are you a plotter or a pantser?

Definitely a pantser!

*  Is there a writing routine you follow or do you write when the muse strikes?

I follow a fairly strict routine. 500 words right after breakfast, another 500 before noon. After lunch, another 500. Then some work around the house or yard or a nap or an errand run then another 500 before happy hour. Happy hour is a big incentive for me!

* If you had a choice, which is your favorite to write, short stories, novellas, or full-length novels?

Full-length novels. I need room for my imagination to breathe and wander.

* Do you ‘interview’ your characters before or at any time while telling their story and what do you do if they don’t cooperate with your story idea?

No, I don’t do any of that stuff. Sometimes I actually like it when they don’t cooperate with the story. Sometimes that makes the story more interesting. A nice surprise. Otherwise, if I get off on the wrong track, I backtrack and force them onto the right trail. But that rarely happens. Sometimes you just have to have confidence that what you're writing is good and to just keep going and entertain yourself. That’s the best trick for entertaining the reader that I know. Entertain yourself first.

*  Is there a process where you find your next story or does the idea just hit you?

Usually just hits when I’m out walking with my dog. I have a vivid imagination, and I can just start the camera rolling and images start appearing on the screen. It’s weird but it works.

Amazon

*  Is there anything else you feel people would like to know or would be surprised to learn about you?

I make beer and wine. 

* Do you write in other genres?

I’ve written two “weird” westerns, sci-fi westerns, or fantasy westerns. CANYON OF A THOUSAND EYES and DUST OF THE DAMNED.

Amazon

*  What are your favorite areas of research and why they are important to you?

Reading nonfiction books about the West. I’ve read a ton of them including the autobiography of John Wesley Hardin, one of my favorites. I also like to travel out west, camp in the mountains, and visit out-of-the-way museums. I once spent three summers in the Sawatch Mountains of Colorado and three winters in the Arizona desert, boondocking in my fifth wheel. Great way to soak up the Old West atmosphere. 

*   When do you start to ‘market’ your new released?

The publishers usually do that for me, thank God. I’m not much of a marketer.

*  What advice would you give to those who dream of writing, or what advice would you give your younger self?

Only do it if you can’t NOT do it. That’s what I did, but I came by it naturally. And I really think that’s the only way to do it. Because it’s a damn tough business and your chances of succeeding—well, let’s just say you probably have a better chance of getting hit by lightning in your basement in January than making a living as a writer.

Amazon

*  Are there authors you grew up with or inspired you to take pen to paper?

There are so many, I hesitate to name any. Certainly Jack London. He was probably the biggest for me and still really is.

*  If it were possible would you choose to go forward in time or back?

Nah, I like it right here. As long as I’m making up stories and telling big lies just as I did uncontrollably as a little kid—who had an imaginary friend named “Cousin”—I’m doing just fine. 

For more about Peter and his books:

Amazon Author Page - Peter Brandvold 

https://peterbrandvold.com/

https://wolfpackpublishing.com/peter-brandvold/

Post (c) Doris McCraw All Rights Reserved (interviewees have full use of this post)

The Western Fictioneers Library -- The Trail Brothers by Troy D. Smith

The legendary days of the cattle drive era come to vivid life in THE TRAIL BROTHERS by award-winning Western author Troy D. Smith. This classic novel follows a group of cowboys, young and old, as they push a thousand head of stubborn cattle north from Texas to the railhead in Kansas, encountering Indians, outlaws, and a vengeful lynch mob along the way. If they manage to survive the dangers that dog their trail, by the time they return to Texas they truly will be brothers for as long as they live.

Troy D. Smith is a past winner of the Peacemaker and Spur Awards, and current president of Western Fictioneers. He teaches American Indian history at Tennessee Tech University. Smith is one of the most highly regarded young authors of Western fiction, and this compelling, action-packed novel is a good example of why he has that reputation. For a great yarn, saddle up and ride with THE TRAIL BROTHERS.

Sample:

PROLOGUE

September, 1914

   A.C. Royal walked down the shady street, hoping that the East River would take pity on him and roll a breeze his way. It was to no avail. His gait was considerably slower than it had been a half-century before. This was strange when he thought on it, which was often, because the world seemed to turn so much more quickly now.

   He reached his destination, a brownstone building, which he picked out from among the many others which seemed identical to it. He heaved a tired sigh and straightened himself to a suitably dignified posture. He banged on the door with his oaken walking stick.

   A brightly-garbed doorman appeared, his annoyance fading into neutral subservience when he saw his guest. "Mister Royal, so pleased to see you, sir," he said. He was not convincing. "This way, please."

   Royal followed him into the drawing room, silently basking in the breeze of the electric fans.

   "Mister A.C. Royal," the doorman announced loudly to the half-dozen gentlemen who sat chatting and smoking cigars.

   "Is that who I am?" Royal said in mock surprise. "Damn! I've been trying to think of that all day, it was right on the tip of my tongue."

   Unamused, the doorman half-heartedly held out his hand. When nothing was forthcoming, he disappeared.

   "Really, A.C.," said a fat, balding man of around fifty. "Haven't you ever heard of tipping?"

   "I've heard it's bad for you if you're in a canoe. Besides, Walsh, if you paid your help they wouldn't go around looking for handouts."

   Walsh chuckled to his other guests. "Leave it to Royal to refuse to tip my help, and then make me out to be the cheapskate!"

   Royal settled himself, with some difficulty, into an armchair. "If people paid me to open doors," he muttered, "I never would have gotten a real job."

   "Everything's work with you, isn't it?" another guest said with a smile. This man, like Royal, was in his seventies. Unlike the new arrival, however, he was clean-shaven and still had a touch of color in his hair.

   "It is anymore," Royal agreed. "Even walking. Hoffman here knows what I'm talking about," he said to the rest of the group. "You others aren't far from finding out. Before too many years, they'll have to bring the dancing girls to Evans, instead of the other way around. And he'll spend more time rememberin' what to do with 'em than he'll spend doin' it."

   Evans, who was even more corpulent than Walsh, flushed with anger. "I beg your pardon!" he exclaimed.

   "Don't beg mine," Royal said. "Save that for your wife, if she ever catches you at it."

   "Sir!" Evans shouted, struggling almost comically to leap from his chair.

   "Oh, sit down," Royal said with a snort. "Show a little good humor. When you get to be my age, you can say whatever you like. That's just about the only benefit you get out of the deal, so you learn to use it liberally."

   Evans allowed himself to fall back into place. Hoffman said, "When I met you twenty years ago, Royal, you spoke just as freely as you do now."

   "Yeah, but I was just practicin' then. Now I'm serious about it. My presence is the price the rest of you fellows have to pay for joinin' Walsh's little gentleman's club."

   A servant entered, bearing a tray. He had a decanter of brandy. He refilled the guests' glasses.

   "Are you lookin' for a handout too, Vince?" Royal demanded when he passed

   "Not today, sir. I brought your customary bottle of whiskey, sir." 

   "Good man," Royal said, taking the offered bottle and a glass. He spoke to a guest who was hidden behind a newspaper as he poured. "What about you, Thomas? You don't seem to have much to say. Did America suddenly decide to stop smoking, or did they just decide to stop smoking your brand?"

   "Oh, nothing like that," Thomas said. "I was just reading about the war in Europe. The entire affair is mind-boggling."

   "I'm glad my mind isn't as easily boggled as yours," Royal grunted. "A bunch of Europeans are shooting at each other. They do it every few years. It's like the Olympics."

   "Do you think we'll get involved?" asked Milne, the real estate man.

   "Either way, I'll make a killing," said Austin, the munitions man. "So to speak." No one laughed, and he shrugged, unconcerned.

   "I think we ought to help the Germans," Walsh said. "After all, a lot of us have German blood, like Hoffman here. And who cares about a bunch of Serbs and Russians?"

   "But what about the English?" said Evans.

   "That does complicate things," Walsh agreed. "What about you, Royal? What do you think?"

   "I, like all sensible people, think we should mind our own business."

   "You're joking!" said Evans. "Besides Austin, you have more to gain than any of us. Warships use a lot of fuel, you know."

   Royal shook his head, his white beard wagging softly. "War is a foul thing. No one that has looked on it once wants to do so again unless it's absolutely necessary." He reached toward Thomas. "Hand me that paper," he said, his tone sharp. "There's bound to be somethin' in here that's more worth talkin' about."

   Thomas, smiling, obeyed. Royal rustled through the pages, snorting. "Europe, Europe, Europe. Apparently, the only time somethin' interesting happens on this side of the Atlantic is when I do it."

He continued to turn pages impatiently. He stopped when he was near the end. He became stock-still, his mouth dropped slightly open in genuine surprise.

   "What is it?" Thomas demanded. "Did I miss something noteworthy?"

   The others began to question him as well, but they were all ignored. He read the article in apparent fascination.

   Evans walked behind Royal's chair and stared over his shoulder. He looked confused. "It's about a nigger professor," he announced to the others.

   "Oh, I read that article," Thomas said. "A visiting Negro professor, giving a lecture tonight. Where's the excitement in that?"

   "I know this man," Royal said finally. "I never expected to see him again, though."

   Thomas laughed. "What, did your father own him?"

   "Hmm? No . . . no. I've heard him speak before. He's—very motivational."

   "Don't tell me you're thinking about attending?" Hoffman said.

   "I am considering it."

   "Don't you think it would tarnish your image a bit to be seen consorting with niggers?" Evans said with a sneer.

   "I doubt it. If I go to a Negro meeting, will the nation stop buying fuel?"

   Evans threw up his hands in frustration. "Why don't you go to a Jewish synagogue while you're at it, so you can cover everybody?"

   "Evans is afraid that the Jews will take his money," Walsh told Royal with a grin.

   "He shouldn't worry," Royal said. "I doubt they'd have it."

   The guests laughed, all except Evans. Then gradually the talk turned to other matters, and the Negro professor was forgotten. Some of the club members found it noteworthy, however, that the semi-retired oil man had little further to say that evening. If that was uncharacteristic, even more so was the fact that Royal's eyes were closed. His breathing was regular, so no one was alarmed. They merely took it as a sign that his advanced age was finally catching up with him.

   As far as the gentlemen's club was concerned, he could just as well be a thousand miles away.

   nook