Sonoran Borderlands – Starters

Dear Reader;

Thank you for stopping by to read a few sample chapters from my up-and-coming novel tentatively entitled “Sonoran Borderlands.” (Note: up and coming may be a year or two). While the vast majority of the novel is written, it is still a work in progress. The posted sample chapters are presented for you to read and enjoy.

I do have a favor to ask of you. If you spot any inconsistencies or areas that seem to be vague, please let me know. Also, please know that while I will post chapters from time to time, each chapter may morph a bit when the final edits are in and complete prior to publication.

Also, feel free to drop me a note. I’ll gladly provide you with an electronic copy once the final edits are in and the publication is done.

Thanks! Ron

(c) 2018 – 2019, Ron McFarland, All Rights Reserved


Raul is a good man. He was once her Hernan Cortes of historic Mexican fame, her hero, her conquistador. Maria was his Nahua Malintzin, a heroin by Mexican culture. She was his young innocent indigenous girl. The handsome chiseled stranger from Agua Prieta, AP, Sonora Mexico swept her away. With parents in tow, she left the magical rural town, un Pueblo Magico, of Talquepaque, Jalisco, to live with Raul.

Continue reading “Maquiladora”

The Blessing

Prelude: The Blessing
From: Sonoran Borderlands

The sun knifed through the stained, bent Venetian blinds. The sun couldn’t set soon enough. He twisted the auger on the blinds to halt stilettos of beams slicing through the long yellowed plastic slats. He yanked the sun-worn olive curtains together. Glittering dust lifted from the tattered swags. Continue reading “The Blessing”


Chapter 26: The Funeral
From: Sonoran Borderlands

Each day opens as an authored script. The culprit of the script is the one who led these distant matters to a savage end.

By early May that year, the sun was bright and glittering. The brown and grey desert from the winter months had  turned into an immodest green with the late-spring rains, especially in riparian areas. The more recent of downpours carved new paths into stream beds. The desert was in late-bloom, suffused with sparse swatches of bright colors — the pink neon crimson of the cholla bloom, brilliant purples and lavenders of trailing windmill and brownfoot flowers, and the vibrant orange of the common fiddleneck. The last of the lingering spring winds were whipping up in aching defiance to the on-coming burning summer heat. But on that afternoon, houses in Douglas were emptied, doors locked. Continue reading “Funeral”