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As I began to write historical fiction for adults, I also drew from the customs and myths of my ancestors. My romance romance fiction novel for adults, "Cherokee Love" reflects the integration of life as it was lived in 1865 by a woman journalist, and myths of my Cherokee people. "Cherokee Love" begins with a short forward in the voice of the protagonist, Deborah Howell. (Note: interesting isn’t it that my grandmother’s last name was Howell). This is a scene that took place when Deborah was nine years old. The scene involves her Cherokee father telling her a Cherokee myth: Tlanuwa the Great Mythic Hawk. This Native American myth gives a vital background to my novel and relates dramatically to a special discovery and several events that unfold throughout the novel. But how would I get petticoats, native regalia, myths of the Cherokee, President Lincoln’s assassination and an interview with Charles Dickens all packed into one novel? My novel must read as though it was no coincidence the historical events, figures and Native American customs were there among the pages. That’s where the love of writing fiction comes in. You love fiction because you can write about a woman’s life in this era, describing her innermost emotions, and you can take them beyond any historical records of women during this time period. No historian can get inside the mind of a character that lived one hundred years, fifty or even twenty years ago. This is afforded only to the creative imagination of the fiction writer. I will add background and two snippets from my novel so you will see how interjecting the myths of my ancestors add depth to my novel. Deborah’s seven-day old daughter has just died (the baby was actually stolen and sold on the Black Market). Deborah goes to her half-brother, Tlanuwa, at the Cherokee Village for rest. They decide to go for a ride on their horses and run upon the shaman (or foreteller) from the village. ___________ "Following the shaman’s chanting over the rise, they heard the bleating of deer and saw several deer gathering in a hollow just below. They were waiting in stillness for some event, and the shaman seemed to know what it would be. Deborah and Tlanuwa dismounted and crouched low in the weeds overlooking the awesome scene. They were witnessing the birth of a deer. Deborah’s heart warmed as she saw the newborn struggling up on stiff legs. Usually an hour passes before a new fawn can rise, but this one was immediately standing. The little one had already reached his mother and was being licked clean as he stood staggering and bunting beneath her, seeking his first meal. Dark brown and almost black, the fawn’s wet coat was shining like a raven’s wing in the noon day sun. They could hear the shaman crying and chanting to the Great Spirit. Mounting the horses, Tlanuwa motioned Deborah to follow him back to the village before darkness would make it impossible to travel. They heard the high signal call of coyotes which told of another night approaching. Deborah thought about the young deer and hoped he would be safe with his mother…and of her dead baby…her dear little baby. They could see the shaman directly across from them, sitting on a steep cliff overlooking a cave. After a while he stood, mounted his horse and rode away. They looked down and saw a river winding around the crevices made by the swift-moving stream. The sun was beginning its descent behind a mountain in the west. The sky was red and bright orange. Then Deborah looked in the eastern sky. She saw a rainbow, but there had been no rain! Tlanuwa put his arm around her shoulders so she wouldn’t be afraid as a large hawk swept down from the cave and upward toward the sky. "It’s Tlanuwa, the Great Mythic Hawk," Tlanuwa said with emotion. "Adrena brought me here years ago and we saw the hawk. She told me the story of the hawk told by our ancestors." Tlanuwa and Deborah sat still, neither of them daring to speak, hoping the hawk would return, but he did not. At last, Deborah had seen Tlanuwa, The Great Mythic Hawk, the story her father had told her over and over so many years ago." ___________ Part Three of "Cherokee Love" features the Sun Dance (a Cherokee custom). This is Deborah’s daughter, Victoria, at age 18 (Yes, the one that was stolen) attending the Sun Dance with her Indian cousin, LeLanna: ___________ "LeLanna. How cruel! He will die! I can’t bear to look at this…I’m leaving." Victoria squeezed her cousin’s arm. "No, Victoria, he will not die. The brave, Hawk, will become a tribal chief once the ceremony is over. Our people consider this ceremony to be a great privilege and it’s only bestowed on the bravest men in our village. It’s a beautiful ceremony. Please stay." "I’ll try," said Victoria, swallowing hard. She felt sick. Victoria sat up; she was breathless! The brave named Hawk had a ruggedness and vital power that attracted her. He held his head high with pride, and Victoria could see that wind and sun had bronzed his face. He was handsome, compelling, and Victoria let out a gasp as he danced close in front of her. His dark eyes gazed directly into hers and held a secret expression she did not understand. He danced around and around the circle." ___________ I know you are ahead of me on this one. Yes, she falls in love with the brave who danced in the Sun Dance Ceremony. Two cultures, can it work? "Cherokee Love" gives the reader a story of unforgettable courage and heartfelt second chances and shows love can transcend cultures, but only when a deep sense of traditional values are evident in the lives of those involved.
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