The
Writing of THE ICE BRIDGE
By
Kathryn Meyer Griffith
Eight years ago my husband, Russell, and I were
celebrating our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and decided to return to
quaint Mackinac Island in Michigan. We’d been there a few years before, but
just for a quick afternoon stopover on our way home from visiting family in Wisconsin.
We’d loved the Island for the few hours we’d been on it and promised ourselves
we’d go there again someday. So when we began to plan for our anniversary
vacation we traveled back for a longer stay of six days. I’d made reservations months
ahead at the Iroquois Hotel on the water’s edge of Lake Huron and when the time
came, after packing up everything we’d need, we jumped in the car and took off.
The Island doesn’t allow cars, only bicycles, horses and
snowmobiles (in the winter) so we left our vehicle in a Mackinaw City parking
lot on the mainland and boarded the ferry that would take us across the water
to the Island, our luggage and two bicycles in tow. It was much cheaper to
bring our own bikes instead of rent them there.
It was late August and the Island was beautiful. Crowded with colorful,
fragrant flowers, clomping horses, whizzing bicycles and, of course, lots of tourists.
Fudgies as they were called because
they came, purchased and devoured so much of the little town’s fudge.
The Iroquois Hotel was lovely with its bright pastel colors and
friendly service; a fancy in-house restaurant and our room with its wall of
windows facing the lake. A lake that to me was as large as an ocean…because it
went on forever.
Our six days there were heaven. We rode our bikes, peddling around
the horses, carriages, and equine taxis, around the eight-mile in circumference
island and enjoyed the sights. The friendly people. The breathtaking views of
water, boats and woods. The fudge. We sped along West
Bluff Road to the ritzy Grand Hotel (made famous in the 1980 romantic time travel movie Somewhere in
Time
with Jane Seymour and Christopher Reeve), ate the scrumptious and lavish
tourists’ brunch there and afterwards, so full we could barely ride our
bicycles, we gawked at the magnificent Victorian mansions with their elaborate
gardens lining Lake Shore Drive.
We visited Fort
Mackinac and listened amusedly to people talk about the ghost soldier some had
reported seeing when twilight began to fall. My husband, a photography buff,
even slipped out of our hotel room in the middle of one foggy night to get
artsy pictures with our new digital camera of the fort, hoping to catch the
ghost. He captured no ghost, but plenty of stunning photographs.
One night we even
sat, spellbound, as a Lake Huron thunderstorm pounded wildly at our wall of
windows. It was as if we were gazing at a tumultuous ocean.
Then one day someone, in a cubbyhole of a local hamburger
joint, over our lunch, said something about the
ice bridge, as the islanders called it. During the dead of winter, when the
straits froze over, it was a narrow path that stretched about four miles across
the ice that separated Mackinac Island from the St. Ignace mainland. The locals
would drive in old Christmas trees along the path to show the way, to show it
was now safe. To them the ice bridge meant freedom to come and go for up to two
months a year without paying ferryboat or airplane fees. To me it sparked an
idea for my next book…what if someone crossed the ice bridge one wintry night
and fell through the ice? And disappeared…maybe even died?
I started asking questions of the locals: Had someone ever
fallen through the ice and perished? Turns out over the years, that yes, some
people actually had. Fallen in. When the ice wasn’t firm enough. Or when they’d
gone off the solid marked path. Or in a snowstorm. Some on snowmobiles. Some
were saved, dragged out, and some had not been. Hmmm.
That’s all it took for the book to begin forming in my
head. The rest of the trip I looked at the Island with different eyes. A
writer’s eyes. Writer’s ears. I filed away the memories and the home-grown stories
recounted to me. Though
most of my earlier books were romantic horror, I’d written a couple of straight
contemporary murder mysteries, Scraps of
Paper and All Things Slip Away, a few years before and
Avalon Books had published them. I’d quite enjoyed writing them.
So I thought I’d write
another one with Mackinac Island and its real and fictional ghost tales as the
background. I’d show the beauty of the island, changing of the seasons, what it
was like in summer, fall and winter (tons of snow and ice), and describe the
historical landmarks. I’d spotlight the quirky close-knit inhabitants and have
the protagonist gather their imaginary spirit stories to put into the ghost
book she was writing. I’d make the Island nearly a main character itself with its
enigmas, water, snow, ice and fog.
The novel would be about a
woman, Charlotte, jilted in love, coming back
to heal and visit her poignant childhood playground, and her lonely Aunt Bess. She’d
meet an Island cop, Matt, and together they’d not only fall in love but would
embark on a great dangerous adventure together. There’d be a spunky old lady,
Hannah, living next door and the four would be great friends. Until the old
lady disappears on a winter’s night while crossing the ice bridge and the mystery
would begin. Had Hannah been murdered by someone….how exactly…by whom…and why? The
remainder of the book would be the unraveling of that mystery as the central
characters try to keep from being killed themselves by the devious murderer
behind Hannah’s death. I’d embed the Island’s so-called ghost tales throughout the
book to spice up the story even more. So it’d be a romantic ghostly murder
mystery. Ah, ha. I couldn’t wait to begin.
When my husband and I
returned home, refreshed and happy, I started it right away, with the memories
of lovely Mackinac still fresh in my mind. Gosh, how I’d loved that Island. A
tiny piece of old-fashioned paradise. The book came easily to me. And so The Ice Bridge was born. Now with a
stunning new cover by Dawne Dominique and edited by my publisher, Kim Richards
Gilchrist, it’s out in the world for everyone to read and, I hope, enjoy.
Written this 10th day of June 2012 by the author
Kathryn Meyer Griffith
*********************************************************************
Her published novels & short stories:
Evil Stalks the Night (Leisure 1984;
Damnation Books 2012)
The Heart of the Rose (Leisure 1985;
Eternal Press Author’s Revised Edition 2010)
Blood Forge (Leisure 1989; Damnation Books
Author’s Revised Edition out 2012)
Vampire Blood (Zebra 1991; Damnation Books
Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
The Last Vampire (Zebra 1992; Damnation Books
Author’s Revised Edition 2010)
Witches (Zebra 1993; Damnation Books
Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
The Nameless One (short story 1993 Zebra
Anthology Dark Seductions;
Damnation Books Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
The Calling (Zebra 1994; Damnation Books
Author’s Revised Edition out 2011)
Scraps of Paper (Avalon Books Murder Mystery
2003)
All Things Slip Away (Avalon Books
Murder Mystery 2006)
Egyptian Heart (The Wild Rose Press, 2007;
Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
Winter's Journey (The Wild Rose Press 2008;
Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
The Ice Bridge (The Wild Rose Press 2008;
Author’s Revised Edition 2011)
Don't Look Back, Agnes short story
(2008; ghostly short story Eternal Press 2012)
In This House (ghostly short story 2008;
Eternal Press 2012)
BEFORE THE END: A Time of Demons
(Damnation Books 2010)
The Woman in Crimson (Damnation Books 2010)
The Complete Guide to
Writing Paranormal Novels: Volume 1 2011 (I
wrote the foreword) ***