Beckydoc

Yikes, I was focusing on the forge site and forgot to check other words. Thanks for catching that. My fictional blacksmith worked for Parker Carnivals carving wooden carousel horses. Later on, he made the molds for aluminum ones. He was asked to create a mask similar to the WWI masks for someone with facial deformities in Kansas in 1919. The masks Zita Lea found were rejects. I am having difficulty in translating the picture of the mask to words. Paint chipped and oxidized, but the ceramic eye is what made me intrigued. It is frozen in the look of pleading, questioning. "Do I scare you? Will they see me as a whole man now?" In reading about the artists who made the original masks, they were diligent to reflect the soldier's face as it should be. Did this cause them to reflect the questions they were seeing in his face as they worked? Now after so many on I Forge Iron have helped me, if ever I meet a blacksmith I may spontaneously hug them.

Yikes, I was focusing on the forge site and forgot to check other words. Thanks for catching that.

Here is what I'd like to use unless it is blatantly wrong Blacksmith wise. The editor will catch my grammar and spelling. Next year watch for Painted Faces the story of Zita Lea Wilder and what she has in common with a 1904 train wreck victim. Peace to you all! The whole group headed to the open-sided structure attached to the barn. The men veered towards abandon farm equipment parked in the tall grass. Zita Lea and Sandy walked under the structure that was missing part of its corrugated metal roof. The Kansas wind sure had a hay day with this place. Systematically she looked the place over, starting with the central rafter, where black iron hooks perched sporadically like sleeping turtle doves. Her eyes followed the beam to a stove pipe and hood sagging awkwardly from their roost over a collapsed brick forge. Her eyes probed an overflowing barrel of twisted points and pieces of scrap, to see if anything of value had found its way there. Chet joined her and tested the integrity of a nearby galvanized washtub pocked with holes from someone’s shotgun blast. He lifted up on one side and the bottom stayed on the ground. “Looks like sittin' under this leaky roof has rusted this thing clear through.” Chet sauntered over to Chuck standing by a silver-hardened tree stump supporting a large anvil. He ran his hand over the once polished metal. “It’s amazing nobody’s hauled this thing away.They bring pretty good money, but I guess this one is too heavy for some ornery cuss to carry off.” He left when Chuck took out his cellphone to snap a few pictures and ambled over to the shared wall of the barn.There he righted one the many precariously leaning implement statues. “Hey, this is a miniature Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. I’d heard Owens did some metal sculptures but I didn’t think it was anything this commercial. Zita Lea spotted something painted wedged into the dirt floor. After trying to kick it free with the toe of her work boot, she used a stray metal spike to pry it from the hardened earth.The oxidized painted piece was not much bigger than her hand. She spat and rubbed it clean with her shirttail. It was the right side of a face. “Odd, what do you think this went to?” “I haven’t come across anything like that before. Probably something from one of those fine works of art over there.” Chuck gestured towards the statues with a jerk of his head. Zita Lea tossed the object on top of the scrap pile. Then another caught her attention. By the end of her search, she had five similar pieces. Maybe it’s part of a mask? "Have you seen enough?" Chuck used his summer Stetson to dust his pant legs.

Thanks for the tip on Elm trees. I need to tighten this section up before it the whole shebang his the editors. Scoot, Unfortunately, the blacksmith is part of the mystery of the story.He plays only a small role and more about him is discovered in his obituary. Though I do see your point, someone in the group knows he made the sculptures. I really need to work on the dialogue in this section. Add more emotion so says my writer's group. This site is keeping me honest in placing a forge in the story.

Have you read Don Coldsmith's Spanish bit series? He found an old bit and wrote a novel on it!

I love that idea! I remember my childhood farm had several old cars my brother used parts from.

I really do appreciate all the wonderful words of blacksmithing wisdom you all have shared. I admit I was lazy in researching information for this part of the story. But far beyond my hopes, I Forge Iron members have supplied me with the information necessary to convey what is needed in this chapter. I am eternally grateful. If anyone would like to read what I have written for integrity in the blacksmithing realm, it would be ever so helpful. In creating a historical fiction I try to keep things real and connected to the time, place, and subject. Even though this is a small part of the story, I want it to be accurate. Wth much thanks, Becky In Painted Faces, Zita Lea Wilder runs a professional organization business in Emporia, Kansas. Today she and her employees, Chet and Sandy Carlson are outside of Olpe, Kansas evaluating a hoarder’s farm with Chuck Anderson the local auctioneer. They have finished with the house and barn. Painted Face The whole group headed to the three-wall structure attached to the building. The sunbeams peeked through holes where the roof was missing parts of its corrugated metal. Zita Lea thought, “The Kansas wind sure had a hay day with this place.” Inside they found a central rafter, where iron hooks perched sporadically like sleeping turtle doves. From one of the hooks hung a few links of rusty chain dangling a cobweb covered pulley. A stove pipe and hood sagged at an awkward angle from their roost. Below the hood rest a collapsed brick forge sitting upon a decaying sandstone foundation. Next to the forge were twisted points and pieces of scrap overflowing from a time beaten barrel. Chet looked into a corroded galvanized washtub with sides pocked from someone’s shotgun blasts. He pointed to the bottomless tub. “Looks like sitting under the leaky roof has rusted this thing clear through.” In the center of the room, Chuck examined the rust covered anvil sitting on a hardened tree stump stand. He tried to lift it but soon gave up. “It’s amazing nobody’s hauled this thing away. They bring a close to a thousand at most sales.” Along the far wall, precariously leaned a pile of toppled sculptures made from implement parts. Chet went over and knocked off several years’ worth of windblown soil from one. “Hey, this could be the man made of tin from the movie about the wizard.” Zita Lea scanned the dirt floor and spied something wedged in it. After kicking it with the toe of her work boot, she used a stray metal spike and pried it from the hardened earth. The oxidized painted piece was not much bigger than her hand. When she rubbed it clean with spit and her shirttail, she found the flesh-tone object portrayed the careful details of the right half of a face. “Odd, it’s part of a face! What do you think it went to?”

Writing a historical fiction and need help describing an abandoned blacksmith area beside an old barn in Kansas. The person used it for metal sculptures 1910 - 1960's. In 1917 the artist helped create an electroplated copper mask to cover facial injuries for a Kansas local. Similar to ones made for soldiers in France. I know the method for making the mask is not associated with blacksmithing but rejected attempts are found in his scrap barrel near the forge. Questions; Would the area be a type of lean-to with shake shingles or a tin roof? What type of rafters and wood posts would hold it up? What would the Forge and chimney be made of? Local sandstone or brick? What kind of condition would it be in today? Would the Forge stand up through time or would it be breaking apart? What types of tools or chains would be visible today? Hooks, pulleys, anvil? Would they be hanging from the ceiling and posts? Would there be a coal bin? Would there be an old rusted metal tub? Any answers would be appreciated greatly! Becky