None of These Places are Real

I’m living in the middle of a movie set. As a writer, I find the experience fascinating, seeing how storytelling and setting are handled in film production, and also picking up inspirations for my own stories.

The streets on either side of where I live have been closed at times for filming. Most of downtown Truth or Consequences is playing the role of Eddington in a movie of that name, and the many buildings have temporary new fronts and even new interiors, like actors putting on costumes and make-up, getting into character. Tourists find it bewildering, not sure what’s real. Good thing we’re entering the off season. A commercial laundry is a gun shop. The Chamber of Commerce is a DWI program office. The sign on the Geronimo Springs Museum on Main Street is subtly changed to the Eddington Valley Museum, but otherwise the building looks the same as always. There are many more transformations. I won’t list them all, but you get the idea. Downtown is more Eddington than T or C for now. If a town could get an Oscar for best supporting actor, T or C would deserve it.

The street behind my apartment was closed a week ago for filming a scene of a protest march. Peering out my back window and between the buildings, I saw people with signs and heard them chanting and shouting slogans, heading up and down the street, doing the scene over and over.

Sometimes I can’t walk where I want to because of a scene is being filmed, but at other times I can freely explore and look into some of the windows. The ordinary becomes intriguing when it’s a work of art. I admired the perfect realism of the movie sheriff’s office in all its mundane practicality.

During the Saturday night Art Hop in May, townspeople could walk through one of the sets, where a former antique store on Foch Street is playing the role of Garcia’s Bar. (My photo shows the bar’s creation in progress.) Members of the movie crew were in there playing pool and having drinks. Not filming, just using the bar as a bar. I was intrigued by all the detail that’s not necessarily part of the plot but has to be included on a set. Because if it’s not there, the movie won’t feel authentic. Photographs of Truth or Consequences Miss Fiestas from prior years were displayed along one of the walls. If I were writing a scene set in a bar, I might only need to say “a small, dimly lit bar with a pool table.” I wouldn’t need to describe all the glasses and exactly what kind of beer signs or liquor brands were displayed. I probably wouldn’t need to mention the Miss Fiesta portraits unless a prior Miss Fiesta was part of the plot.

I have to highlight sensory information that tells the story, sets the mood, and which gets the attention of my point of view character, and then trust my readers to fill in the rest. A writer can—and should—include tastes, smells, temperatures, and textures, giving more internal depth to fiction than a film can offer. But a film can give you a hundred percent of the visuals. The mix of imagination and thoroughness on the part of the set crew is extraordinary.

The prolonged presence of this movie crew, living among us for March and most of May, reminds me I’d like I to write a book taking place during the making of a film. I thought of the idea years ago when a different movie came to town for just a few days, and I worked as an extra. The extras had a lot of down time together and developed relationships ranging from friendship to massive annoyance. I didn’t care to do such a job again and didn’t apply for Eddington. Walking half-way down the block over and over again for an entire morning was not exactly exciting. But it entertained a friend who watched me from the window of Ingo’s Art Cafe and waved every time I appeared. I can use the experience in a book along with this two-month immersion in a movie set.

The film company bought the town a beer twice, paying for free drinks at the Brewery for “Eddington social hours,” to thank us for enduring all the street closures and other inconveniences, such as simulated gunfire at night. The beer was generous, but residents are enjoying the strange experience more than they object to it. There hasn’t been a lot conflict or drama. In fiction, though, the potential for conflict is great. I’ve got at least two other books to write first, but I don’t think I’ll forget the idea.

The Annual Whole Series Sale for 2024

The entire Mae Martin Mystery series is marked down through the end of May. Book one, The Calling, is free wherever you buy eBooks, and the rest of the books in the series are discounted to $3.99 each. Book 7.5, Gifts and Thefts, the short story suite that bridges the time between Shadow Family and Chloride Canyon, is always $2.99.

If you prefer paperbacks and are one of those series fans who likes to drive to Truth or Consequences from Albuquerque to buy from Black Cat Books, you should know Black Cat will be following a T or C summer custom and closing for the off season. So, do your shopping in May and stock up on summer reading. They have the best prices on my books—and are simply the best, period. Enjoy soaking in hot springs and going to galleries while you’re in town. See if you can recognize the ones that are in my books.

Book nine, which I think will be titled Smoking Mirror, is almost ready for my beta readers and critique partners. Unless they find something dreadfully wrong with it, it should be with my editor by the end of summer and published in the fall. I hope to be able to show you the cover art soon.

I choose the dirt road

I wonder why running shoes are designed to be pretty. My new ones even have white soles with green and blue treads, as if the person behind me in a race should admire them as I charge ahead. But I run where no one is around to admire my pretty feet.

I meant to take the paved route to the edge of the Elephant Butte dam, but the dirt roads off the side stole my heart and soles. Pavement says nothing to my feet. It slaps back. Dirt has texture and depth. Each step on a dirt road is unlike the step before—soft, rocky, stable, slippery, flat, or uneven. My speed on dirt roads adjusts to the nature of each surface. And underfoot are such amazing finds. A desert flower that tolerates ten percent humidity and the battering of spring winds. In pausing for the flower, I also looked up at the mountains and dared the vertiginous view of the arroyo below.

History lay on both sides of the road. The dirt was dark as if blackened with soot, and in it lay chunks of sturdy white china. Mug handles, mug bottoms, plates, all so thick you could knock your breakfast off the table and nothing would happen to this dinnerware. But something did. One piece had words on the bottom indicating it was made in West Virginia. There was a substantial quantity of it. Friends who know local history think I came across the remains of a Civilian Conservation Corps work camp. If the dishes could talk, they’d have stories, for sure.

Two ravens glided past a red rock cliff, so synchronized I first thought one was the other’s shadow.

My new shoes have now been baptized in dirt.