I see myself more as a writer than an artist, so I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the interest in the illustrations in my books.
My journey began in childhood. I was eager to share the stories swirling in my head, but I didn’t know how to spell many words. This made things tricky for a budding author. To solve this, I told my stories through pictures and short captions.
As I grew, my writing improved until I could finally make a living from it. Unfortunately, that left me with little time for artwork. Now, as I try to rekindle my artistic side, I realize I’ve lost some of my practice! I hope to add more children’s books to my collection, which will give me plenty of chances to hone my skills again!
Here is a sampling, including a few of the frontispieces, pictures from the Ice Age Animal Index that appears at the back of each volume in the 8-book series, and several illustrations from thechildren’s book, KAW. (The Header image is also from KAW.)
PS: If you like Dreamer Book’s original artwork, you can find some of it on our Merch! See a selection of tees, hoodies, tote bags, mugs, and more HERE!
Illustration from KAW
Frontispiece from The Cave of Bones (colorized).European cave lion (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Detail from The People of the Wolves frontispiece (colorized)Reindeer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Lynx (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWRoe deer (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Illustration from KAWEurasian wolf (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)Woolly mammoth (colorized, from Ice Age Animal Index)
Seven years ago, my imagination opened a portal to an ancient landscape. Layers of time peeled away, and I was thrust into the consciousness of one who had lived in a time and place now lost to memory. This Neanderthal man and the epic adventures that make up his life’s story may be fictional, but as I write his experiences it feels as though I am recording actual history, rather than composing a literary work. Bringing to life the peoples and cultures of Ice Age Eurasia has enthralled and inspired me, and I can’t help but think I will miss being immersed in their world when the series is complete.
(Header image credits: book cover photo by Paula Kugerud Photography, Venus figurine pendant and lithics by Neanderthal Joe. Header photo and blog photo by E. A. Meigs)
Our scallop boat, referred to as a dragger, the Kathy Dick.
It’s 4AM and I’m standing on a dock. Harborside lights illuminate the crystal-clear water, where I can see small bait fish flit about, while a crab scuttles to hide in the shadows. At that moment, I am less interested in marine life than I am the depth of the water. I know we need at least a half-tide to make it over the creeping sandbars that continually infiltrate the channel. Many a morning was spent peering into the depths, awaiting the moment when we could depart.
My Dad was a commercial sea scallop fisherman. His boat was a thirty-foot long wooden dragger, built in 1931. She was a modest working vessel, with the well-worn, slightly dingy look that typified most fishing boats. A symphony of aromas accompanied her wherever she went: a pungent mixture of old fish, diesel exhaust, and paint. Her pilot house was outfitted with a compass, fathometer, VHF radio, and wind-up clock. Down below and forward, an old-fashioned cast iron stove, fold-down table/pantry, and a berth made for a cozy little cabin. A large coffee can served as the head (toilet) for anyone who did not wish to make their deposit over the gun’ale.
I accompanied Dad on these outings whenever possible. As a kid raised in a semi-famous “Sea Captain Town”, it was almost impossible to avoid at least some familiarity with the nautical world, but my childhood was well-steeped in it. And I was hooked from the start. I loved everything to do with boats and being on the water. Dad usually fished alone unless accompanied by a family member or friend, so when I was first invited to go out scalloping at age eight (after pleading to be allowed to go for some time), I was thrilled. The hours were long, but as a “day boat” that returned to harbor by nightfall, the trips were less onerous than those of bigger off-shore boats.
We left as soon as the tide permitted and I made bacon and eggs for our breakfast while we steamed to the grounds. The stove was probably intended to be fueled with wood, but as I recall, we most often used cans of ethanol gel for cooking. The stovetop had a clamp system called fiddles that kept pots and pans from suddenly levitating or taking flight across the cabin while we were underway. The fiddles also allowed the cook to use both hands when tending food, and sometimes, to brace against the carnival ride-like motion of the boat.
Painting the dragger’s bottom before the tide comes in!
Later, fortified by a hearty breakfast and still plunging along, we washed the dishes. The plates and silverware were washed in the shucking box, but most of our dinnerware had holes in it, so the skillet, ironstone coffee mugs, and spatula had a line run through the holes and after being tied-off, were thrown over the side to be scrubbed as we forged ahead to our destination. Following a period of being subjected to a saltwater-and-sand scouring, we hauled back on the rope and the sparkling-clean items were dried and stowed.
Sea scalloping involves towing a drag across the ocean floor in strategic areas. With luck, you will have found a few good scallop beds, and if you’re careful not to overfish them, you can alternate between these beds indefinitely. After the drag comes up, its contents are dumped onto the deck and the pile is culled for scallops, which are then shucked while the drag is returned to the water. This cycle of drag down/drag up goes on all day, but we must stop in time to steam back to the harbor to catch the evening tide.
Days worked on the water are unlike any day on land. It is almost as though you have been transported to another world. Time moves at its own speed, measured by the cadence of the waves, and the duration of each tow along the seafloor. On pleasant days, the breeze whispers softly in rigging and the moist salt air refreshes the skin. That said, there were many bitter cold days when the biting wind caused what we called “wind burn” and I envied my father his beard!
I was scalloping with Dad on a winter’s day when the snow began to fall fast and thick. The seas were relatively calm, but it was quite cold. As mentioned before, Dad had a full beard, and it was coated with frost, his mustache edged with icicles. The snow stuck to us as we worked, until we more closely resembled a pair of Yetis than a couple of humans. I may have been twelve or thirteen years old at the time, but I still vividly recall how thoroughly chilled I was, especially considering it was difficult to do that kind of work while wearing gloves. I knew Dad had to be cold as well.
“Dad,” I said, having had an epiphany, “Do you want a cup of hot chocolate?”
Dad and me (age 8), shucking scallops.
He answered with a decisive affirmative, so I was down below in a flash to boil water. These days, when I make hot chocolate, I cook it on the stovetop from individual ingredients. This was just instant cocoa, but the ironstone mugs made wonderful hand-warmers and it felt so luxurious to sip the piping-hot beverage as I thawed my fingers. There’s a great sense of camaraderie that comes from standing together on a gently heaving deck, listening to the engine labor as the boat leads the drag on yet another pass, silently enjoying a simple cup of cocoa. The drag would be hauled up shortly, but this few minutes’ respite was priceless as snow swirled around us; no one else was in sight – we were just two people on a little boat as it plowed across a vast expanse of green water.
Some part of me will always be a fisherman’s daughter: the kid who drew pictures of fishing boats in art class, while the other kids drew horses, cars, and houses; the kid who went to school with dried scallop guts and blood on my oil skins (raincoat).
I haven’t worked in the fishing industry for many years now, but it was an important part of my upbringing and it made my living for some decades. I am past the point in life where I would want to return to that occupation, but I still wax nostalgic on occasion for the smell of the ocean and freedom of riding the waves. I hope I have passed on this affinity to my children, who were exposed the ocean and boats literally from the time they were babies.
It was my fate that I should be drawn to two very different worlds: the call of the sea and the grounding effect of living a terrestrial life. And I harbor a deep and abiding love for both.
This plaque was mounted on a bulkhead in the dragger’s forward cabin.
Commercial fishing and working in boat yards has also influenced my writing, especially as it pertains to my current book series. Not only because I worked almost exclusively with men, but because of the insights gained from working with men who labored in one of the most physical and dangerous occupations known. Surely, our early ancestors would have shared at least some of their views on the pursuit of prey (whether fish, fowl, or mammal) and the risks involved with the less-than certain lifestyle, and empathized with the discomforts that come with exposure to the elements, no matter what form they may take. All such challenges are timeless.
My nephew wrote this about Dad: I can remember many times seeing him hanging upside down into the engine compartment battling with some rusty thing or other that wasn't cooperating, monkey climbing partway up the mast or rigging to untangle some unfortunate and uncooperative line that got tangled...
So, you might ask, how does one start writing a historical fiction book series? Where does one gain knowledge and insight sufficient to breathe life into an ancient world, a world whose inhabitants have long-since perished? Speaking for myself, it has been a lengthy and convoluted –but never boring– journey!
The writing bug bit early. It wasn’t a dainty nibble, but rather a hearty chomp. As my childhood years flew by, I filled notebook after notebook. After landing my first job, the earnings went toward the purchase of a cheap manual typewriter. There was no gentle tippity-tappity to get a legible font; this machine required the kind of vigorous finger-strokes needed to play Rachmaninoff’s 3rd Piano Concerto. Nevertheless, I pounded out my first full-length (and very silly) 300+ page novel at the age of ten.
Discovering the World of Natural History
My working career began (outside of working with my Dad on his commercial fishing boat) at the Cape Cod Museum of Natural History. It was my great good fortune to be employed there for four years. I worked with noted naturalists such as John Hay, Robert Finch, Robert Prescott, and Donald Schall. My title was “Girl Friday“, which meant that I did whatever was needed at the moment. I swept floors, tended various resident animals on the grounds (such as a one-winged Great Horned Owl), assisted with field work, or shelved returned books in their library. I had a strong interest in science and natural history, and luckily for me, the museum staff were more than willing to share their knowledge.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Learning More About the Outdoors
I had lots of woodlands, marshes, and beaches to explore. A little creek ran past our house and a foot bridge (um…well…a plank) gave us access to a verdant glen hidden amongst the trees. There, I would erect a tent from whatever materials I could find, in which I spent the night whenever the weather (and my parents) allowed. I use the term “tent” loosely. It was a drop-cloth strung up between trees with an old carpet underneath. It was scarcely weatherproof, and certainly not bug-proof. But that was no concern to me; all I cared was that I could stay outside. Later, I was gifted an old canvas tent that appeared to have been last used during World War II. It was a bit musty, but I was very glad to have it; it was a vast improvement over my improvised shelters.
I have always enjoyed camping. As a young adult, whenever I was in-between rentals I would just camp in the forest until my next lease started. It could be chilly at times, but thankfully, my father had brought me up to be comfortable in the woods. Living out of a backpack never posed a problem.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs
Boats, Boatyards, and Commercial Fishing
I aspired to be a naturalist, like those I knew at the Museum. But however appealing the study of nature, I didn’t think I could make a living at it. After graduation, I went on to have a nautical career. As the daughter of a commercial fisherman/backyard boatbuilder, for me, this was a obvious choice, but it sometimes presented a bit of a puzzlement to others. Feminism was in its infancy in those days, making me somewhat of a curiosity. I was often the only woman onboard, or at the work site. I didn’t try to be one of the guys or compete with them. In fact, although I was very strong for a five-foot tall female (they sometimes called me Mighty-Mite), I knew I could not match their size and strength.
I was grateful not to be asked, for example, to load a battered 55 gallon drum onto the back of a truck. My burly co-worker gamely stepped up to the drum and embraced it as a wrestler would his opponent. Following a breathless struggle, he finally placed the dented and rusted receptacle on the truck’s bed while the owner of the drum looked on, nodding with satisfaction. It was only after the task was completed when it was revealed that the drum was filled with chunks of lead. Another time, I saw one of the guys pick up two two-hundred pound mushroom moorings by the shank, and walk away with them as though they were a pair of suitcases.
(Image Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Working in a Man’s World
I had already amassed more than a decade of pertinent experience when I started working in boatyards. But as low man on the totem pole, I was assigned some of the worst jobs. When they needed someone to crawl around in a tight bilge, up into a forepeak, or down a cramped lazarette, as the smallest, I was the one tapped. If you think they were giving me crappy jobs because I was female, rest assured my male contemporaries were given assignments equally as bad.
One boatyard’s sail loft was located up a very old and creaky flight of stairs, and the loft’s doorway was a mere 5 feet high and just over a foot wide. Guess who got to retrieve all the sails? While I fit through the doorway just fine, the sail bags were usually a lot larger than the door’s opening, so shoving them through was quite a process. Once I managed to accomplish this, there was nothing to stop the sail bags from tumbling down the rickety stairs, thundering and shaking the stairway as they went, looking like an enraged elephant seal charging down a steep beach.
On the job: sanding brightwork, under the supervision of my old dog, Sugar.
All in all, I enjoyed laboring alongside my coworkers. Over the years maybe one or two of the guys were somewhat hostile, but most were quite pleasant. People not acquainted with commercial fishermen and boatyard workers might think them a bit rough around the edges, but I generally found them to be pretty easy to get along with. They were salt of the earth folks; they may not have been “pinkies up” kind of guys, but they were funny and caring, and I considered them to be friends.
Marriage
I married while still in my early twenties and gave birth to two daughters. I was a content to be a wife and mother, and I thoroughly enjoyed my children and all the things that came with domestic life. We lived on a small homestead complete with goats, chickens, honey bees, and large gardens. After the marriage broke up, I was forced to support my household and return to the work I knew…and paid the bills. So, it was back to working on boats.
Starting a New Chapter
By the time I was nearing 40 years old, the heavy toil was taking a toll on my physique. So, I began to look for alternate means to make a living. I was excited to find a job managing a shipping department; oh joy, to be clean and warm and dry! But I soon discovered that 95% of the shipped product was cut slate – ROCKS! So much for light work! But at least the boxes of rocks were marginally lighter than the loads I routinely carried in the fishing industry. That said, I still needed to segue to a career that didn’t potentially include a hernia.
On the job: Fish & Wildlife (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
Fish & Wildlife and Forestry
As time went on, I found employment in a small field office for Fish and Wildlife. As with the staff at the Museum of Natural History, the wildlife biologists were generous with their knowledge. In addition to my usual duties logging check station data from the hunts, handling Management Area purchase orders for everything from copy paper to heavy equipment, and other mundane tasks, I also occasionally accompanied biologists on controlled burns and field work.
I spent a year as a resident employee at a State Park, as well; another wonderful experience! My dog Sam and I hiked the trails every day, often waking up the deer as we trekked along at sunrise. Most animals are not keen about people – and dogs, even less so, but I reveled in the fleeting glimpses of these creatures.
Daily hike with Sam. (Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Early one morning, Sam and I spied a black furry butt sticking out of the brush up ahead. We stopped in our tracks. I said to Sam, “Well, that’s either a bear or a hog.” At that, the animal backed out of the foliage. It was still a distance away, but I could see by its ears that it was a wild hog. A large one. Hogs usually run away, but this one stood his ground. I have seen what wild hogs can do to a dog (and humans, for that matter) so Sam and I changed direction. While I enjoy seeing wildlife, I realize it is important to give them lots of space. I have no doubt there were countless times when Sam and I were in close proximity to animals we never saw, because they had the good sense to move off without giving themselves away.
(Credit: E. A. Meigs)
Becoming a writer.
Eventually, I found work writing and editing. Also, I put in a few years as managing editor for an academic journal. I learned a lot about the publishing business, how books are laid-out, and I was finally able to use my love of words in my profession.
It had always been my goal to find a way to combine my love of nature/writing/history, but I never planned to write a book series chronicling the adventures of a Neanderthal man.
I later recounted this information to a friend. After a brief pause during which she looked me up and down, she said, “Was there a picture of you in that article?” No, but there may as well have been. More recent discoveries have found that they had a wider variety of hair, eye, and skin coloring, and some were in fact a bit taller, but from that time on, I must admit I felt an affinity for the Neanderthal.
Illustration from The Dreamer III ~ The People of the Wolves (Image credit: E. A. Meigs)
The Dreamer Book Series
Fast-forward a number of years to a February morning in 2015, when I woke up with The Dreamer in my head. Like all my novels, I had no idea where the plot came from, it just suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Initially, I didn’t know it would be a series. As the writing progressed, I soon realized the story needed to broken up into multiple volumes. So, onward I forged, pulling Tris’s story out of my brain one tap of the keyboard at a time.
Making Use of a Lifetime’s Experiences
Finally, much of the “useless” historical, zoological, anthropological, wilderness survival, etc., data gathering dust in my head can be utilized! Some of the plots take place around actual historical events and locations, so I did my best to seek out as much information as can be found on these topics. And, of course, I did general research all the time.
Additionally, every now and then I squeeze in an online University course. As ever, I remain hungry to learn more. Not only because of my burning quest for knowledge, but because I want to provide enough layers of depth and realism to make the tales seem plausible for the reader. We may never know what life was really like during the last Ice Age, but it is my hope to offer a literary portal to that perilous – and yet magnificent – juncture in time.
Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
Dreamer Books 1 -5. Book 6, The Dreamer VI ~ The Outsiders is due to be released in the summer of 2021. (Header & graphics by E. A. Meigs, cover photos by Paula Krugerud.)
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The Dreamer: Just before dawn on a cold spring morning, a young Neanderthal man awakens from a strange and frightening dream that will change his life forever…
