The Sequel to Out and In is Live!

Pat Dunlap Evans
Apr 14
6 min read

Updated: Apr 15

If you've read Out and In: A Mystery-Thriller, you know the ending leaves you begging for a sequel, but I dragged my feet completing it. I knew I wanted to write a novel set in Hawai‘i, but there was "life stuff" going on, like downsizing our home in Lakeway, Texas, after the local Fascists discovered we weren't their political stripe. Then, after we downsized to a villa in Steiner Ranch in Austin, Covid hit. Should Bill and I stare at a wee Hill Country view for years. Or should we "do the dream," as we called it, and move to Hawai‘i?

Other blog posts detail the trials of that move, so I won't repeat. But after we moved, I made a stab at writing my "Hawai‘i novel," instead of the sequel. My first attempt had a Native Hawaiian woman as the heroine. The idea was that she would rebel against her father's anti-astronomy views, study astronomy, and then achieve great things working for one of the magnificent observatories atop Hawai‘i Island's Maunakea.

I got about 75 pages into this but eventually realized I could not write this story. The ins and outs of being an island girl were not in my DNA. How could I research this? I posted ads asking for input from locals, but I received zero replies. I would have contacted the University of Hawai‘i for resources, but also about that time, I saw a news report on the K-5 News channel, during which the lovely Hawaiian anchor gleefully announced that a legislative working group had presented a proposal to the State House of Representatives to establish a new governing authority over Hawai‘i summits. This new authority would be made up solely of 12 Native Hawaiians. Nobody else allowed. They would ban further construction of astronomical observatories atop Maunakea, eventually decommission and remove all 12 observatories from Hawai‘i summits, and "return the mauna to its natural state."

Not only was I stunned. I was horrified.

Although this proposal may sound like a naturalist's dream, the many things Bill and I enjoyed on the Big Island would vanish if astronomy went away. In fact, Bill and I chose the Big Island because of the astronomy activity there. We were fascinated by the discoveries being made and felt that the astronomy "industry" lent a certain substance to the northwest part of the island, with restaurants, medical services, stores, and schools readily available to residents of Waimea, Waikoloa, and the resort area condos.

After all, world-famous chef Peter Merriman built his flagship five-star bistro Merriman's in the paniolo town of Waimea because he had a ready audience of international astronomers, engineers, technicians, and other personnel who work with the Keck, Canada-France, and other renowned observatories based in Waimea and also over in Hilo.

Because astronomy has driven this growth, Waimea has a Queens Hospital, not to mention some of the best medical professionals on-island. It also has some of the state’s best schools, a lovely garden park developed by local citizens, a theater center, a writers' guild, and even a philharmonic orchestra. And, just to the south, neighboring Waikoloa Village had (at that time) affordable housing, which is why we chose it for our little grass shack in a new subdivision called Maka‘i Vistas.

If astronomy went away, the islands would be the losers.

Immediately after I heard about this working group proposal, I put on my PR hat, wrote an op-ed opposing this measure, saw it published island-wide, suffered some bullying on social media from local anti-astronomy nuts, and then collaborated with members of the West Hawai‘i Astronomy Club to voice opposition to this proposal.

This took a good year of effort, as the state had an arduous process of public hearings, where, if you didn't speak up, write, show up, etc., a bill as backwardly short-sighted as HB 2024 would pass. And it did. The darn thing kept passing. Despite tremendous public opposition, as well as data showing the economic value of $2 million that astronomy brings to the islands, along with promises from the Thirty Meter Telescope to provide monetary support to Native Hawaiian initiatives, the stupid bill kept passing.

Evidently, this is the process in Hawai‘i, where legislators don't openly oppose "locals" until the process they call "conference committee." At that time, these types of bills are revised and rewritten, with no opportunity for public input. Then they reappear as something completely different.

Long story short, House Bill 2024 became Act 255, establishing a new governing authority for Maunakea. That means the University of Hawaii will no longer be the summit steward. But this new authority will not be made up totally of Native Hawaiians. Instead, it now includes representatives from government, land management, the University of Hawai‘i, and the observatories. More importantly, among the language developed was a phrase establishing astronomy as a state policy, saying that this newly established Maunakea authority must support and nurture astronomy. (I must add: this remains in contention, with lawsuits filed against it.)

Don't panic. Ice and Fire is a light crime-fiction tale.

After my naive mainlander self awakened to how things work in Hawai‘i, I changed my approach to Ice and Fire. What's in the book is what I've learned as an Anglo newcomer to the islands. Some islanders may resent what a few of my characters have to say, but one of my beta readers told me, "Anybody who wants to move to the Big Island should read your book." That was a nice compliment.

Over and above the astronomy issues, Ice and Fire was designed to be a fun read with some interesting background. Bill and I were grateful for the opportunity to experience living on Hawai‘i Island, with occasional visits to other islands as well. We lived in a wonderful neighborhood. Over time, a few locals warmed up to us as "good guys." In Hawai‘i, your service people become your friends. I especially recall Travis, my "bug guy," and his wife who were so kind to us. And Mike who installed our floors. And the wonderful receptionist at our dentist's office with whom I chatted over the years. She and I used to moan about the price of bread.

If you can get Native Hawaiians to "know you," and if you are pleasant to them and show an interest in them, then they are the most wonderful people in the world. Warm. Wise. Funny. Then again, far too many locals are resentful, territorial, and rude. After learning their history, I understand why. Ice and Fire touches on these issues. I've tried to present both sides, but some of the attitudes expressed toward me and Bill during our time on the Big Island were so rude, we did not want to be treated that way on a daily basis.

We did not move to Hawai‘i to be sneered at by "Hawaiians." (We did not move to Lakeway to be sneered at by “Texans,” either.) We are who we are. But we are also the type of people Hawai‘i needs, economically. We supported local businesses and local charities. We bought a home and paid taxes. We bought a car there and paid taxes on it. We spent tons of money moving back and forth, and dined out often at locally owned restaurants, rather than at the resorts or chains down in Kona. In short, we tried our best to be good citizens. But, for our two rather strong egos, as well as for my heroine Marie and her new husband Ryan, it was better for Bill and me to return to the mainland. Unlike Marie and Ryan, Bill and I were relieved to leave, except for losing the best neighborhood we've ever had. When you're out there on that island, you take care of each other. We miss that Maka‘i Vistas spirit.

The experiences of our three years on the Big Island resulted in the background for Ice and Fire. I hope you enjoy the story.