AKA the newsletter with writing retreats, lists, art, and of course another chapter from Down Gringo Gulch.
OCTOBER 2025: InkBlossom came to Santa Fe and I took part which was a delight, just what I’d needed after a year or more not touching a novel in the making. I’d had two major rejections and just lost hope. Now though, even after that first evening of a Meet and Greet, my inspiration came back. I’ve been working on Rocket again and that feels great, perfect timing with winter indoor months ahead. Well, back to Inkblossom, we spent a week together, writing, listening, and getting excited about our own projects and each other. The magic for me is in the connections made. As an alum of Vermont College of Fine Arts (rest its soul) many of the people who came were familiar names to me. Connie Fowler is an amazing writer, a gentle guide with a sharp eye for details and all round good person to have in my life. I’m happy to say we’re friends. If you are curious about her work, the gatherings across the States and other community events, check out the website.
We were also lucky to have Jo-Ann Mapson read from her novel coming out with Red Hen Press in 2027, she talked about how to write a series, what to consider, how to check. yourself for strengths and weaknesses and how to address them. All good stuff!
Julie Trelstad connected with us via Zoom and helped us know how to find our own Author brand. What makes our stories unique to us and how to describe that to others. Fascinating process. Check out her website if you’re curious to do the same work on your own author self.
CONNECTIONS: Have you signed up for Jeanne Gassman’s blog? She shares contests, retreats, and tons of writing related content for free. We’ve known each other for online for a few years now and happily met up for the first time in person this October in Santa Fe with Connie May Fowler and the Inkblossom writers. It was great to sit down, hear about her current novel, read some of it, and just hang out. That’s the beauty of these gatherings, right? Find out more from Jeanne here.
NOVEMBER 2025:
Nov 8th in Albuquerque, NM area, I’m hosting a pet portrait painting class! Yes, we have eight out of twelve seats taken already and I think it will be full soon! I’m excited. I love doing these cartoon-like portraits of our dogs, a mix of pen and watercolors. I’ve been doing then all year, word of mouth as well as via Sleam’s Artwork on Etsy. Fun and easy. I love making custom portraits for dog lovers. Not yet tried it for cats, but I’m game. Well, the upcoming class is open so we’ll see what happens.
As the advert says: Have you ever wanted to paint a fun portrait of your best friend, the four legged one? With one of your photos as a beginning point, we will sketch a cartoon version or three, finding the right balance of true to form and capture their unique characteristics, and lastly with watercolors, we’ll paint the chosen portrait.
DECEMBER 10TH: WRITING UNCONVENTIONAL WOMEN CHARACTERS!
If your female narrator says, This is also what it means to be a woman, then this is the course for you! The world needs more women in fiction who are vibrant, authentic, and willing to challenge the status quo. Too often, women characters on the page are reduced to tropes—flat and predictable, or written only in relation to others. This course is about changing that. Together, we’ll craft fully realized characters who are completely true to their own voices and stories—even when that upends cultural and societal expectations.
8 Weeks Open to All and offered with both Text and Live Video calls/ Zoom sessions Thursdays at 7 PM Eastern. Sign up Here.
MARCH 2026 WRITER’S GETAWAY: I’m hosting a weeklong time for a handful of writers, here in Madrid, NM next spring. With only 5-6 prose writers – all welcome, from beginners to practiced, we’ll each write on our own in the mornings, have lunch together in town probably and then sit together in the afternoons 2-5pm for a more interactive supportive style workshop, craft talks, feedback etc. Each writer would also get a one-to-one hour with me to talk about all things related to their work in progress. (For example, editing, publishing, revising, new work, other retreats etc.) At the end of the week we’d give a public reading, each one sharing 5-10 minutes of our new work. (Only if you want to!)
$500 per person.
You find your own way there, food, lodging and other costs and obviously I’m here to help co-ordinate all you need. Sound good? Get in touch for more details here
ART – yes, I’m still playing with watercolors and have a small series of skies. The photo above is one of mine and I’d love to take a class to help me capture the magical sunsets we get in New Mexico. One day soon…in the meantime, I’ve put some photos and favorite paintings on Fine Art America. It’s a wonderfully user friendly site that seems to support artists much more than Etsy does. Have a look around, you might find other artists like me who are little known but you are drawn to. Enjoy! I’ll add more this month.
DOWN GRINGO GULCH – continued
CHAPTER 8 JULY: TOURISTS
“You look damn pink for a New Mexican.”
The man stared at me, taking in the fried shrimp color of my arms and legs, and the boiled lobster of a nose. “Are you sure? Don’t you come from the Midwest or something? We do!” He turned to his wife and introduced her. “Maggie, these two live here now and I’d thought she came from Ohio or something!”
His wife giggled nervously and pulled on her denim skirt, trying to bring it past her knees.
“I’m impressed,” she said, “but don’t you get bored in a little town like this? There’s nothing to do, no mall or movies or anything like we have in Lafayette.”
Her skin glistened with sunscreen and her tidy brown hairstyle wilted. She smiled though, enjoying the newness of everything even as she complained. Her white sneakers shone in the afternoon light. The sky, as usual, offered no break from the relentless sunshine and heat.
Summer. July Fourth to be exact. Oliver had it’s own Independence Day Parade! How cool is that?
The man stood next to Mark and asked about the festivities here. Mark lost his cool edge by admitting we’d only been here a couple of weeks.
“But you live here now?” The woman piped up, taking a gulp from a can of sweating coke. She held a pink plastic cowboy hat, and tilted her head so she could look up at him. All of five foot nothing, she had to lean back to see into Mark’s eyes and from where I stood, I half expected her to crash backwards against the truck. I have the same problem being five foot five to his six foot two.
Hundreds of motorcycles, a few sedans and more than a handful of trucks parked along every free space in front of the stores on the highway. Straw hats and baseball caps gave a minimum of shade to tourists wilting in the dry heat. Elm trees offered dappled cover to the lucky ones. Town was packed. I was glad we’d parked up the north end of town, as we’d be able to get out of here whenever we wanted. The Fire department had stopped all traffic. At each end of town stood one of four volunteers with a big red fire engine. Suddenly I wanted to wear a uniform like theirs. Although, perhaps not in this heat. The firefighter wearing full gear and even a helmet had sweat dripping off her nose and she wiped her forehead repeatedly.
Horns blasted. Whistles blew. The parade had started! Tourists cheered encouragement. I hopped up and down, craning over the heads of all the kids near by. It was in the nineties and dry, not a humid percentage to be counted. No clouds came to threaten us with those monsoons we kept hearing about. Not a drop in sight. Mark kept up the conversation.
“Yes, well, we moved here from Olympia, Washington. We’re building a place outside of town, in the valley out to the west of here. It’s a rough road or I’d offer to take you,” Mark said, lying through his bandana.
She asked all about what brought us here and when. The details. It was a good practice run for us. What to say, and what not. The city lifestyle they understood. The compost toilet didn’t go over so well.
“You what?”
“Shit in a bucket,” answered Mark helpfully.
She put her hand to mouth as if to stifle a scream of disgust, or to call down the wrath of some god for our disgusting heathen ways. I coughed and covered my giggles as they made excuses and wandered off to stand in the full sun. Mark held out his bottle of water to me and I took it. He wore his usual blue jeans and a faded green tee shirt that he’d found at a thrift store. His face looked the color of cinnamon and tasted of sweat and smoke. He’d grown a goatee and kept his curls under the bandana.
A cheer went up and I stood on my toes to look to the south end of town. You can see one end from the other: it’s that small here.
“There! The Fire Dept. is leading the way. You should join them, Mark. Make some friends and get involved. Right?”
“Why not you? You’d look good as an EMT.”
“But I hate blood.”
“There is that,” he conceded.
A fire truck passed us with a man in seventies style aviator sunglasses waving at everyone he passed. The sirens boomed suddenly and we all jumped, squealing in surprise. He grinned and threw candy at me. I caught a melted ginger sweet and ate it, smiling to myself. Mark nudged me.
“Got a new boyfriend already, eh?”
I laughed, glad that he wasn’t the jealous type by any means. I poked him back. Pointing behind him, I joked, “and you just want a little ass!”
A donkey strolled past us and Mark laughed, hugging me to him. The donkey had a blanket on its back with a poodle sitting upon that, and an older couple walked and talked to each animal, stroking ears and tapping tails. The donkey pooped as it walked.
Next along came tan or twelve young kids in costumes, ranging from Spiderman (he’s still cool?), to ninjas, Madonna, and cuddly Pooh bear and friends. Quite the gang, they took candy from the audience instead of throwing any. I’d already eaten mine and had nothing to offer the four year old in a George Bush mask.
A couple of old beat up cars drove past at two miles an hour with local twenty-somethings leaning out of windows, waving flags and laughing hysterically. People walked by, some brought dogs wearing stars and stripes, others brought goats, horses and even llamas. A motorcycle crawled along and in the sidecar sat a clown who didn’t smile. Very odd.
Lastly four or five middle-aged cheerleaders strode past in big boots and not much else, doing handstands and cartwheels. The tourists liked them a lot.
The parade was over.
After standing in the full sun, I’d wanted some cold water or a shower or something. Mark suggested we follow the crowds (such as they were) to the tavern and get a beer before heading home.
“It’s not like it’ll be any cooler back there, is it?” he reminded me with a grin.
“You’re right. It’s no better there, heat-wise. But at least I could get out of my tee shirt and lay in the hammock under the junipers.”
“Well, I like that idea too. Hmm, half-naked girlfriend in the desert? Or a beer at the Mineshaft followed by half-naked girlfriend in the desert? It’s hard to decide.”
We walked with the donkey’s people. I wanted to ask a ton of questions even though my brain was fried but the husband, an old guy with long black dreadlocks said to get in touch some other time and gave me a business card. The Donkey’s card that is, Frodo The Burro had a local number. I pocketed it, thanking him.
“Did you win the bet?” a rather sun and wind weathered woman in brown leather chaps and sport’s bra asked Mark. He blushed and looked over to me for help.
“What bet?” I asked politely.
“Oh, we make a kitty of a dollar a guess as to how long the parade will last. I heard this one was eighteen minutes. One of the better ones.” She shook his hand, introduced herself, and studiously ignored me. As we came to the corner and crossed the road, she passed him a piece of paper with her address on.
“I don’t have a phone but come by some time.”
Mark glanced down at the paper. When he looked back up, she’d gone down some small alleyway. “She lives half a mile away from us, Jenny. That’s probably our closest neighbor. Should I tell her?”
I pulled him into the bar as he made to follow her. The door swung open and I pushed him through the crowds in front of us. A cheerful and very sweaty waitress headed over but I waved her off. She smiled briefly and then focused on a family of four behind us. We stepped up to the bar instead.
“A pale ale for me, thanks Mark.” I headed out to the porch for some fresh air.
I tripped over a dog lying in the middle of the doorway and almost fell off the porch. The mutt barely flinched. He raised his big brown mastiff head and stared at me, decided I wasn’t worth the attention and fell back to daydreaming. I found a corner where I could lean against the wooden edge and looked out over the parking lot. Filled to the brim with Harleys and the weekend bikers, I noticed a scattering of clean sedans and family wagons from out of state. That reminded me that I wanted to find the DMV next week and change my own plates. Get a New Mexico license. Post Office box. The list grew as I waited for Mark and my pint.
“You’re the new couple out down Gringo Gulch, right?”
I turned to see an older cowboy checking me out. I put out my hand and introduced myself. “Yes, in Pete’s place, I guess.”
“How’s it going out there for you? Hot, ain’t it?” He grinned widely and settled in next to me. His blue jeans were worn to a pale shade of gray. The black tee shirt was tucked in place with a leather belt. The cowboy boots were working boots and not for show.
“Daniel. My name’s Daniel. Pleased to meet you, Jenny. I’d toast you but you’re without a drink.”
I grinned and explained my boyfriend was waiting at the bar for us.
“Don’t worry. Once the staff starts to recognize you, your pint will be already poured by the time you try to order. The benefit to living here in tourist season.”
We started chatting about the land and Oliver and what the plans are. Daniel lived out in the hills to the south of town, and he described the roads to get his place as being impassable in the rainy season. There was a short cut from his road to ours. I didn’t trust those short cuts any more.
“We keep hearing about these rains but I haven’t seen anything yet. Is it really that bad?”
“It can be.” He wiped his neck and talked of one year how the big rains flooded out his stables and he’d had to move the horses up hill, tying them to the trees and watching over them even as he got soaked himself. “I couldn’t risk them getting spooked and running off because of the lightening strikes.”
“So what did you do?”
“I pulled up my collar, pulled down my hat, and settled in for a long night.”
“Since it rains like that, how come our neighbor hauled in a few truckloads of water last week? Isn’t it about to rain again?”
“You mean Danny Dieselhead?”
I nodded. “Does he grow his own food?”
Daniel kinda laughed. “Yep, he likes to grow his own.”
Mark showed up with drinks for the both of us. I introduced them to each other and sipped the cold beer. It hit the spot perfectly. Good shot.
“If there’s so much rain, is this a good place to do rain catchment?” asked Mark.
“Yep, you’d need a huge tank or three to store it all for the times of year when there’s nothing. It’s been a rough year around here; the weather’s been strange. Very dry and windy. It makes the fire department nervous. They’ve banned fires and are on the watch for anything risky. No fireworks today, for one. That didn’t go down well with some in town.”
“Even if they know why not?”
Daniel laughed bitterly. “We’re a town of outlaws. We don’t like to be told what to do.”
A young woman in her early twenties came out of the tavern and walked up. She nodded at me and turned to our new friend. Her hair was long, black, and loosely tied in back. Her skin was like a milky coffee with a splash of honey.
“Dad? You’ve got to take us home now. Mom said.”
THANKS FOR READING!
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