Dunn Center, North Dakota

I've never been to Dunn Center, North Dakota, but here it is.

With the assistance of Google Maps, I am able to see the road from Billings, MT northeast along old Highway 10 to Glendive, then east to Dickinson, ND. It gives me a birds eye view of the route my dad, Webster Warren Bateman, and his sister travelled on March 10, 1939 to the funeral of dad's first wife, Dorothy. From Dickinson, they turned north on Highway 22 and then east on Highway 200 to arrive - late - to the funeral at the Normanna Lutheran Church.

In this photo, you can see the location of the church. It's the grey area on the east side of Dunn Center, the right side of the photo. The grey area is parking lot. The north/south road on the far right of Dunn Center leading to the church is the same road where Webb's 1930's Chevy kicked up snow as he put the pedal to the metal (literally) the last mile to the church. Top speed for the vehicle was about 45 miles per hour the entire 350 miles from Billings.

I'm sure the church itself has been remodeled over time, but when I zoomed in I could still see a tall steeple so typical of other Lutheran churches in North Dakota.  I have a photo of the small, white wooden church in which Dorothy was confirmed, she and Webb were married, and where on that day in 1939, her funeral service was held. This aerial view shows the same church 77 years later.

March 10, 1939 was a sad day. Dorothy was only 26 years old. She would have been 27 on August 8, 1939. The novel I'm writing, Cat Skinner, A Story of Lust, Love and Loss in the 1930's is not only a story about Webb and Dorothy, but about the other women in his life: his mother Dena, sister Blanche, his three year old daughter LaReta, and another woman - my mother, Julia. It's on the road to Dunn Center and to the church, that the stories of these women unfold in surprising ways.

Stuck in the Middle

I’m in the middle, the middle of Cat Skinner, A Story of Lust, Love and Loss in the 1930’s.

At least I believe I’m in the middle. According to experts, a story has a beginning, middle and end. Since I haven’t finished the novel, I’m estimating that I’m in the middle. This is the part of the story when the dramatic arc is supposed to rise to a crisis point, then dip a bit in terms of action, then rise again to the climax and recede to the denouement. (Love that word; just fancy and French for ending or resolution).

Visualize Mt. Rainier from the Puyallup Valley. I’m climbing up the left side of the mountain and when I reach the top, there is a double scallop on the way down.

My problem? I feel I’ve plateaued on the left side of the mountain. I gained traction in Part 1 of the story which is my dad, Webb’s wild and crazy youth. Now that I’m in Part 2 – His Women, the women are more sedate and the pace of the story has slowed instead of escalated. It’s more about the characters than about action.

To get a better run at the mountain, my tendency has been to retreat to more familiar territory in chapters previously written. I review and revise, hoping that will give me inertia to keep moving toward new territory.

I asked my husband for ideas. His sage advice, certainly not unexpected from Scott was, “Add sex and violence.” Thanks, Honey Haverly. He may have something there, but I’m not sure it fits with who ‘His Women’ were.

Dena, Webb’s mother is 51 years old in this portion of the story. Blanche, Webb’s sister is almost 21 and riding with him to Dorothy’s funeral; and of course there’s Dorothy who is lying in a coffin at the end of the journey.

My mountain is certainly worth climbing, even though the challenge seems daunting. The answer I’m told - by those who know – Keep going. I’ll give that a try.