Calling Dr. Freud, or Novel Writing for Fun and Psychoanalysis

 Over the course of my novel-writing career, it has occurred to me to wonder about the psychology of those of us who create whole worlds on paper and populate them with characters who do more or less what we want them to do. Are we indulging in self-psychoanalysis without being aware of it? I've often noted that what readers say about my books tells me more about them than it does about the books. So I'd better admit that what I write says a lot about what's going on in my unfathomable (to me) brain.

I like to write historical novels. My first series consisted of historical mysteries set in rural Okalahoma at the turn of the twentieth century, featuring Alafair Tucker, a farm wife with a very large family. The historical novel I'm working on now stars a young Irish woman named Katy, who is working her way across America from New York to San Francisco in the 1870s and '80s. How I conjured up these characters I don't really know, for neither is like me in the least. And yet they obviously are me to some extent, since they both live in my head.

Both characters live a life I never could. I couldn't abide it. I don't have the slightest desire to romanticize their lives. It was tough, and so were they, in entirely different ways. I imbue Alafair with virtues I don't have. She's self assured and doesn't second-guess herself. She's kind and tolerant of human weakness. She takes care of everyone and is patient with the follies of others – which Katy is not. Alafair is tethered to her life. Katy is tethered to nothing, not even honesty, virtue, or morality if they don't further her goal – to survive at whatever cost.

I never set out to deliver a message or make a statement when I write. I just want to tell a ripping yarn. However, I do find myself wondering what Dr. Freud would say about my stories. Both Alafair and Katy are more successful at confronting their fears than I am. They're not afraid to fail. They stick themselves out there.

Both Alafair and Katy and all the other characters I create are much more than the sum of their parts. The great British mystery novelist Graham Greene said, "The moment comes when a character says or does something you hand't shout of. At that moment, he's alive and you leave it to him." I put Alafair and Katy on the page, but then they stood up and walked away, and now I just follow where they lead. What that tells me about myself, I do not know. 

Conquering the messy middle

 As you might guess, I am in the middle of my latest Inspector Green novel, at about the halfway mark of the first draft, and I am floundering around. Not for want of story ideas but from too any. After starting off my writing career as a pantser (from the "let's dive in and see where this goes" school) I have gradually, over the course of about twenty books, become a "modified pantser". By that I mean, I dive in and see where the story goes but usually project about three or four scenes ahead. I still don't know what will happen or how it will all end, but I'm no longer flying blind from scene to scene. The reason for this is not that I have fallen in love with outlines, but that I have two or three storylines developing simultaneously, with different POV characters, and to keep this juggling act going, I have to keep track of where those storylines are going next so that timelines match up and plot revelations don't trip over each other. It really does feel like juggling, and at the moment, in this messy middle, I've got way too may balls up in the air and I'm at risk of dropping them or having them land on my head.

My creative muse visits not when I'm sitting in "outline" mode, which is bare bones and plot only, but in the creative process of writing the scene itself. Ideas come from several sources. When I'm deep in that zone, "what if" ideas fly at me from left field, often more brilliant than the one I had planned. Other times, I realize I need something to fill a void in a character's day or a reason to get him from Point A to Point B. Or in order to maintain the balance of the story, I need Character Y to do something for a few pages before we rejoin Character X. Solving these dilemmas often gives me my best ideas ever.  If I were writing entirely from outline, none of these serendipitous, unpredictable ideas would happen and the book would be the poorer for it.

But this brings me back to the surfeit of ideas I mentioned earlier. In order to keep track of these brainwaves, I pause long enough to jot them down so I don't forget them. I sometimes end up with too many possibilities for where the story could go next and what Characters X and Y should be doing. This is the real challenge of my messy middle. Do I go in this direction or that? Which will generate the most surprising, exciting story? Which will ultimately lead me out of this maze and reach the end of the book? Like any maze, there are dead ends and blind alleys, and at times the whole exercise feels overwhelming and insoluble. 

But after twenty books in which I did ultimately find the way out of the maze, I have to trust myself. Stay tune, I will report back.

Who Needs This Madness, Anyway?

by Catherine Dilts

I have asked myself, why write fiction? This pursuit feels so anonymous and unrewarding at times. I could settle into retirement. Enjoy travel, hobbies, and leisure.

During the past month and a half, my writing routine has been disrupted multiple times. First, by our two-week Alaska trip, next various writing meetings and workshops, and finally, participating in the 24 Hours of Palmer Lake endurance event. Did I mention downsizing our rarely used fifth wheel trailer for a more manageable RV, and the wheeling and dealing that required?

Obviously, more travel is in our future.

Catherine, husband Leonard, and traveling companion George

So why keep writing? Why spend time on attending writing events and zoom meetings? Not to mention outlining, endless revisions, seeking publication, and self-promotion?

During the most recent five-day hiatus, I discovered the answer. I am miserable if I’m away from my writing for too long. I have projects on my agenda that have great meaning. To me, if to no one else.

The travel and the time off? It doesn’t reduce my appetite for artistic agony. It fuels the desire to create, giving me new energy and ideas. 

Late August in Alaska is not summer

Without those breaks, I’ll admit I do get burned out. So I suppose I have to accept that life isn’t all work. Time must be carved out for fun and relaxation. Our friends and community have wondered lately why I haven’t made it to recent gatherings. I’m trying to remedy that.

We’re told life requires balance. Sometimes that balance is forced into our schedules. I’ve enjoyed the “disruptions” to my routine. The Alaska trip was wonderful. Connecting with other writers is inspiring. The 24 Hours of Palmer Lake endurance run is insanely fun.

Catherine, daughter Merida, and new friend Andrea in the middle of the night at 24 Hours of Palmer Lake

I had a revelation during the race. Writers and distance runners both share the trait of persistence. The goal may seem far away, but we pursue it anyway. It doesn't matter whether we come in first. It only matters that we complete our personal goals. With relentless determination. Occasional despair. Mild hallucinations. When we cross the finish line, or write The End, all the pain suddenly fades.

We’re ready to tackle the next race. The next short story. The next novel.

Falling Into Plot Holes.

 by Thomas Kies

I not only love reading good books, but I love watching movies.  I love the art of storytelling.  

But I hate plot holes.  A few nights ago, I tuned into a new movie on one of the streaming channels (there are so many of them now) that had gotten some “buzz” and featured some well-known actors.  I loved the way it started.  It was fast, the dialogue crisp, the storyline was dark, and I thought I would be enjoying film noir at its best. Something reminiscent of Reservoir Dogs.

I was sorely disappointed.  It was filled with action, much of it improbable, but even worse, it was chock full of plot holes.  It was as if the writers, producers, and director just didn’t care.  They wanted to throw in escalating violence and action without any thought to plot.  

It was an awful mess.  

And don’t get me started on all the unlikable characters.

Back to plot holes.  What are they…exactly? According to Wikipedia it’s: an inconsistency in a storyline that goes against the flow of logic established by the story's plot. Plot holes are usually created unintentionally, often as a result of editing or the writers simply forgetting that a new event would contradict previous events.

Or it’s being lazy.  For example, if a historical novel takes place in the mid-1880s and a character reached out to a switch to turn on the lights. That’s a pretty big plot hole. 

Or, for the sake of argument, there’s a space battle, like in Star Wars, and a ship gets blown up in space and there’s a deafening explosion.  Well, there’s no air in space, so there’s no sound. But flames and explosions are cool on film, so…

Or there’s one that really drives me crazy.  When someone hits someone else on the head and knocks them out.  Then a few minutes later, they get up, shake it off, and get back into the action. 

I’m pretty sure there would be a resultant concussion. 

I recall catching a plot hole in my first book, RANDOM ROAD, where my protagonist gets a ride with her boyfriend to someone’s house.  Intense dialogue takes place, then my heroine jumps in her car and drives off.  

After rereading the manuscript for the fifteenth time, I realized her car wasn’t there.  I had to rewrite the chapter.  

In the dinner theater I wrote, and the theater troupe is performing next week, the whole thing takes place in 1953 during the Cold War. Even though it's a comedy, I tried to get it as close to historical accuracy as possible.  Except for one line.  And I put it in to see if anyone catches it.  It's a throwaway bit of dialogue but wouldn't be accurate for another ten years.  

I don't know.  Maybe sometimes a plot hole is on purpose to see if the reader or the audience is paying attention?

Plot holes can be jarring.  They disrupt the reader of a book or the person watching the movie. When you're lost in a good story, you've suspended your disbelief.  A plot hole just brings you out of it and makes you say, "What the heck?"

  They happen.  But when they’re glaring, it tells me that the writer or movie maker didn’t really care.  

What plot holes have driven you crazy?

Television Publicity: We Can Do Scary Things

 Hello, Shelley Burbank here, still in my home state of Maine and absolutely loving the fall foliage and glorious weather. Also "enjoying" a mini-publicity tour of two events in two weeks. Stressing the "mini" aspect because I know two events is really very modest. However, both events stretched me as an author and public speaker. 

Have you ever been interviewed on your local news? I hadn't. Not until this week when I was the guest author on WABI TV Channel 5's Book Club segment on the 4 o'clock news. I spoke with Brian Sullivan at the studio--my first time in a tv studio. Before my spot, I could see the meteorologist standing at the weather map in her dress and tall boots. So chic. So cool. 

Then I was escorted into the studio and mic'd up--yes a wire run under my sweater and little mic attached to the collar. I had a quick 12345 soundcheck for my voice and after a bit of small talk to warm up, we were live on the air. Brian asked me questions, and I was able to sound somewhat coherent on the topic of my Olivia Lively series and synopses of each of the two novels and the upcoming novella. 

In 3.5 minutes, it was over. Watch the whole clip at https://www.wabi.tv/2025/10/02/mystery-womens-fiction-author-discusses-olivia-lively-mystery-series/

Here I am before the interview with PR guru, Melissa Gerety of BookMarks-Maine. She sets up the Book Club interview schedule, and I am so thankful for her because I never would have reached out to my hometown TV channel on my own. I grew up in Bangor, Maine. Yes, I know the world's most famous horror author also lived in town. Stephen King sightings were rare, but thrilling. Also, if you haven't read Tabitha King's Nodd's Ridge series of books, you are missing out! 

You can follow BookMarks-Maine on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/bookmarksmaine and Facebook. 

This wasn't my only event this month. Last week I spoke at the South Freeport Church's author luncheon. They hold these four times a year, and I heard that the last speaker was none other than Tess Gerritsen. Tess. Gerritsen! Okay, that was also intimidating, but the people were so welcoming and kind. They served a fantastic lunch, and then I spoke about external versus internal storylines and how to create a character arc over a series. 

Members of the Freeport Woman's Club also attended and took this lovely photo. If I lived in Freeport I would certainly join both these groups. I had such a good time talking with everyone about Olivia Lively.

Both of my recent events caused me a little bit of stress. It's been awhile since I've had a public speaking engagement. But, my friends, we can do hard things. 

This is the lesson I'm taking from the tv interview and the author talk. I can be scared. I can prepare. I can practice. I can think deeply about what I want to say and the best way to say it. I can mess up. But the important thing to remember is, I can do hard things. I will survive them. And sometimes I might even surprise myself and do better than I expected. 

And so can you! 

DAMN GRASSHOPPERS

 The weather here at 7500ft in Colorado has been and will be lovely. 50 at night, 75 during the day, severe clear. So, instead of writing, I'm helping in the garden, wrapping up the summer, nurturing the final, ripening phase of pumpkins, apples, zucchini,  pickle cucumbers, beans, and tomatoes. Fairly successful this year, except:::::

There is no garlic. The grasshoppers ate every stalk down to ground level. Most pickles were literally nipped in the bud. The spaghetti squash have bites in their sides, ditto many tomatoes, apples, and butternut squash. The potatoes were savaged and there isn't much underground because so many leaves were eaten away. The blackberry and raspberry bushes didn't bear fruit. They are lucky to have made it this far with a few leaves still showing. Forget the peppers, three varieties, and the cilantro because the grasshoppers didn't, and the plants died before they could get established.

What can you do? We tightly wrapped each raised-bed garden with anti-hail cloth (plastic netting). We spread some bacterial agent that makes them get tummy aches, but the levels remained high. No chemicals on my organic gardens, especially when I plan to eat the produce myself. You can get ducks and chickens, maybe eat them too later, but that's a whole 'nuther enterprise I don't want to get into. Snakes, but they've been scarce since the neighborhood filled in with houses.

Electric shock, like with a cattle prod?  Flame throwers? Big flyswatters? Venus flytraps or Pitcher plants - no, the grasshoppers would eat them as they came up.

The are few natural ways to control grasshoppers. The one factory that made a strong grasshopper bait burned down a few years ago. Farmers try all the usual tricks, but there are just some plants they no longer try to grow because the grasshoppers eat them to nubs.

We can go to the Moon, but we can't control grasshoppers.

So, I started this blog tonight to spread utter damnation over my colony of grasshoppers, but in a literary way. I started with Googling "Grasshopper Quotes", but the suggestions were almost insulting. Apparently, Emily Dickinson etc loved grasshoppers as symbols of nature, freedom and happy songs. My grasshoppers don't sing because their mouths are always full.  Other literary quotes were equally fantastical, warm and fuzzy. I searched for half an hour for someone to quoteably hate grasshoppers, but no one did. I guess Shakespeare wasn't a gardener.

I think I'll stay in my writing lab tomorrow.

I Got Judged

We often hear: "Don't judge a book by its cover." Then balance that advice alongside: "Always trust your gut instinct." We humans are tribal animals, meaning we pull into groups for survival. This constant awareness to be wary of strangers is wired into our consciousness. If something about another person seems off, our antenna perks up, and we retreat into defensive mode. I was the cause of such a response even though I was only intending to be a friendly, fellow dog lover.

 

The big trend in fitness is rucking, that is, walking extended distances with either a weighted vest or a weighted backpack to add more of a cardio challenge. The term rucking has a military origin because a military backpack is called a "rucksack," shortened to "ruck,"and forced marches with rucks are known as rucking. As a former infantryman, I know quite a lot about rucking.

Although I have access to a weighted vest, I thought it too light and hipster for me so I put barbell weights in my camping backpack in an attempt to turn my morning exercise routine into "rucking."

A few blocks from my house, I ran into a man walking a little girl to school. He had a shiba inu on a leash, and so I approached, saying that I once had a dog like theirs. (My Scout who I lost last May.) The expected response is for the shiba owner to offer an enthusiastic greeting, ask if I want to pet the dog, then we trade favorite anecdotes about our canines. But this time, the man glowered and shied from me, taking a step back, and drawing his daughter behind him. Stranger danger! The man was younger and much taller than me, so I didn't see how I represented a threat. Plus I had kept a respectful distance.

Deciding to leave well enough alone, I continued my walk and wondered what about me had provoked such a suspicious reaction. Then it dawned on me. A short, dark-complexioned man like myself, with a backpack, wandering around that time of the day in a mostly White neighborhood. Who else could I be but a homeless vagrant? 

Despite his display of ethnic prejudice, I couldn't fault him. I've run into plenty of sketchy looking people and you learn, better to misjudge than to be taken by surprise. As a result, I've ditched the backpack in favor of the weighted vest and haven't been turned away since.

And now a word from our sponsor.

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Introvert/Extrovert

 Donis here. I've been having a bit of trouble making significant progress on my current WIP, mainly because I keep being interrupted by life situation that have to be take care of RIGHT NOW, and which take me away from the story for days, sometimes. You know how difficult it is to get back into the flow when you've been away from you WIP for even one day, much less several days.

When I do have time ... days stretching out before me with nothing that must be done but write, oh, how I love that. In fact, I don't even have to be writing to enjoy a day of nothing. Italians call this "the sweetness of doing nothing." I can diddle around and/or stare happily into space all by myself for hours on end. Because, like many authors, I am an introvert.

I heard David Morrell, author of First Blood and Murder as a Fine Art, describe himself as an introvert, and explain that being an introvert doesn't mean you're shy. It means that you are energized by being alone, and being around other people drains you. An extrovert may become bored by a day with a lot of activity, to to an introvert, quiet time is a necessity.

A few years ago I read an article on Huffpost by Carolyn Gregoire on just this topic. Gregoire listed some twenty-three indications of introversion, many of which fit me. But a few of them really hit home.

For instance, she pointed out that to an introvert, giving a talk in front of 500 people is less stressful than having to mingle with those people afterwards.

Amen, sister. In fact, I've wondered if I could have been a successful actress. When one is "on stage", one is in charge of the situation. When one is trying to make small talk in a crowd, there is no telling what the heck you're going to have to come with. It's exhausting.

An introvert, Carolyn says, has a constantly running inner monologue.

No kidding. It's a zoo in here.

Carolyn also notes that if you are an introvert, you might very well be a writer. Sadly, if you want to successfully promote your brilliant work, you're going to have to try and cultivate your inner extrovert, as well.

Surviving the chaos.

 The Jewish New Year began on Monday evening and marks the beginning of a period of introspection, personal accounting, and actions to address the wrongdoings of the past year, before culminating in a day of fasting and confession on Yom Kippur. Regardless of one's beliefs in the existence of a deity, it's a meaningful exercise to remind us to assess our successes and failures over the past year and try to recalibrate for the next year. In many ways, September seems better suited to this exercise than January, which in our culture is usually the time to make new resolutions to improve our lives. 

The past year has been one of increasing chaos and disaster in politics, nature, international relations, and technology. It feels as if the world has come loose from its bearings and is spinning ever faster out of control. I'm not going to go into detail; I know we are all feeling that sense of impending doom and struggling to keep a toehold in normalcy. It makes it difficult to stay focussed on mundane tasks, like writing the next chapter of my book or indeed remembering to write my post for Type M for Murder. I apologize once again for the long lapses! 

One suggestion for retaining our sanity is to avoid reading the news and social media. Nowadays, AI is turning truth upside down so that nothing is trustworthy any more. There are forces, whether merely malicious or deeply malignant, that are constantly trying to promote lies to mislead us. The effort to fact-check and double-check is exhausting, and as AI gurus get cleverer, we still might get sucked into some lie or scam no matter how savvy we try to be.

Decades ago, Maslow developed a theory about the hierarchy of needs that motivate our behaviour, which is still a useful lens through which to see today's struggles. Basic needs like food, water, and sleep, all essential to our individual survival, come first, and only once we have satisfied those, can we move on to safety and security, then to the need for love and belonging. More existential aspirations like self-fulfillment, betterment, and humanitarianism only become important when those more basic needs are taken care of. 

Maslow would not have conceived of a world where almost everyone can be exposed to the violence and threats occurring anywhere in world, not just in our immediate neighbourhood, through constant news feeds and social media eager to get our attention. He would not have imagined the misinformation amplifying, even directing, our perceptions. We feel a level of anxiety and insecurity greater than the reality. This is not to say that climate change is not threatening the existence of the planet and malignant leaders are not destabilizing the world order. In fact, faced with those realities, it's easy to feel powerless to make a difference.

But turning away from the screaming headlines and social media gives us respite from that pervasive, existential anxiety. So, instead of scrolling, I will spend part of my day doing peaceful things. Taking my dogs for a walk in the woods with friends, reading a good book, meeting friends for lunch... It's not just "head in the sand"; it's a survival tactic. Somewhere in there, I will find time to write another scene of my WIP. Small victories that I can control, when I can control so little on the world stage.

On the other hand, however, I think it's important not to ignore the crisis we are in. We can't all turn inward to take care only of ourselves, and let the world burn. So I will try to find small steps that I can personally control. I will vote thoughtfully. I will donate to reputable agencies whose mandate is to take care, be it food banks and shelters in my own city or international relief agencies. I will try to make environmentally wise choices. And so on.

And I will always try to write with compassion and understanding for people who are struggling. Murder is not just about thrills or chills or laughter. It's about pain and fear and desperation. The world needs more compassion.

A Different Perspective - Notes from Alaska

by Catherine Dilts

Routine can be a writer’s friend. Committing to a schedule can be productive. But routine can be a creativity killer. We risk burning out, losing the passion for our writing.

I was pushed way out of my routine, and my comfort zone, on my recent trip to Alaska. One big creativity booster was learning about a very different culture. Most of the population lives near the coastline, lakes, or rivers, unlike dry, high desert Colorado.

Our first morning in Anchorage, the hotel was on a small lake that is an active aerodrome. Float planes had been landing and taking off from the water constantly the previous day. I was enchanted. The air was too foggy early the next morning to fly. The peaceful quiet was soothing.

Anchorage Alaska aerodrome

My husband was still getting ready for the day, so I walked along the lake alone, breathing the humid air. Nothing felt like Colorado. That was a good thing. Why take a vacation to a place that's the same as where you live? I'd seen float planes on TV and in movies, but had never seen one close up.

Float planes in Anchorage

In a state with few interior roads, airplanes are a necessary means of transportation. There are towns and lakes that cannot be reached by road. But my experience with the small planes was several days away. Our first adventure was on very conventional wheels.

We rode the hotel van to downtown Anchorage and wandered around. I had halibut fish and chips for lunch. We met a native artist carving scrimshaw. Then we met up with our bicycle tour.

Scrimshaw artist at work on whale bone

A driver took us to our starting point. We were fitted to bikes and given helmets. Then we were off! For about ten miles over three hours, we learned about the Anchorage area, the plants, the sea life, and the history. 

​Of course Curious George went on the bike ride. 

Curious George ready for a bicycle tour

I live in the land of mountain men and women. Cowboys and cowgirls. Hikers, mountain bikers, and trail runners. Colorado has an outdoorsy vibe. We get near constant sunshine, and fight about access to water.

​Alaska has the same independent feel, but reminded me more of what Colorado used to be like a couple decades ago. And it is wilder. Vast wilderness covers most of the state. There is an abundance of water. Even the sun shines differently, and on an entirely different cycle, than in Colorado.

Anchorage Alaska

​We had nearly two more weeks to experience, and already I was feeling refreshed. Not just from escaping my self-imposed work routine. I was inspired by being in a place with different smells, sounds, flora and fauna. The contrast of climate and culture were inspiring a new perspective.

My Alaska trip will provide background for book three in The Tapestry Tales YA science fiction series, written with co-author Merida Bass under the pen name Ann Belice, coming in 2026. Maybe it will lead to a short story, too.

Seeing Characters Come to Life

 by Thomas Kies

On October 14 and 15, actors from the Carteret Community Theatre will be performing MURDER ON THE MENU at the Culinary School at Carteret Community College.  Along with a stellar performance, there will be a brilliant three course dinner, a singer, and a multimedia mystery.  

The time, 1953.  The place, Paris, France.  The precise venue, Chez Beaujolais-the first American owned restaurant in Paris post-World War II. 

The Korean War has just ended but the Cold War rages on.  The guests for opening night at Chez Beaujolais:  Sally Willis, the first female US Ambassador to France.  Senator Winston Palmetto from the great state of North Carolina.  Captain Vladimer Smirnov, Soviet Ambassador to France and nephew of Nikita Khruschev

.

The two special guests are Dr. Cassandra Hawking, eminent US physicist, instrumental in the design of the first nuclear submarine, the Nautilus.  Sitting next to her is her love-stricken suitor, Elliot Chesson-Fitzpatrick, of the Boston Chesson-Fitzpatrick’s.

Okay, not only did I write this, but they were an actor short and now I’m playing the Russian ambassador.  My accent is driving my wife crazy. 

This is the third murder mystery dinner I’ve written for our local theater and the culinary school.  I have a blast because I love the theater…and food…and having my characters take on a life of their own.

Unless you get a movie or television deal, how often do you get to see your story unfold before your very eyes?  Hear your characters say your dialogue?  

And more importantly, I get to watch the audience.  I love it when they laugh at the jokes and work to try to solve the crime at the end of the evening.  How many people at those tables got it right? 

Sure, I can put playwright on my resume now, but I’m still learning the craft.  The very first year, at the end of the first act, I had to contend with a dead body in the middle of the dining room.  It’s just not fun trying to serve dinner around a corpse.

Kind of a distraction.  And not easy for the poor actor portraying the stiff. 

This year, I’m trying something a little different.  Sure, there’s a murder, but it happens long distance.  There’s no body to worry about.  But what is truly different, we have a main character that’s been poisoned, and we must find who the culprit is and get the antidote in thirty minutes, or the character will die.

There will be a ticking clock on the wall. The audience will be able to see how much time is left while watching the plot unfold before them.  

So, it’s a fundraiser for the culinary school at the college and for the community theater.  I may sell a few books at the event, but more importantly, I have an absolute blast. 

Lolly the Lobster, or Why We Need a Little Silliness Right Now

by Shelley Burbank

I've been in Maine for a few weeks now, and it's filling me with such contentment. And by that I mean seafood. Lobster rolls. Fried clams. A nice fried haddock sandwich. (No chowdah yet, though. I might have to make some at home.)

Photo of the week & a life as a wacky football game

Here I am hanging out on the coast this week with my good friend Lolly the Lobster. Actually I have no idea what the lobster shack named this cutie-pie crustacean, but I can tell you this: we all need a little silliness right now. Going onto social media is like walking into the middle of a football game--linebackers coming at you everywhere, whistles blowing, nobody paying attention to the refs, cheaters jabbing of fingers into eyes when no one's looking then looking around all wide-eyed innocent and saying "who me?"

And then the big dude in the sky box declares the winner before the game is over and an all-out brawl breaks out on the field and fans start throwing stuff from the bleachers and NOBODY is having a good time. 

Can't someone call a national time out? 

Meanwhile, when I avoid the interwebs and the ever-present handheld computer otherwise known as a smart phone, life seems pretty grand. I've done everything I love to do in Maine besides the one thing I probably should be doing: writing. I've given up the idea of finishing and publishing the novella before November and am now thinking, "Why not get it out in time for the holiday shopping season?" Stay tuned. 

How not writing is actually writing. 

Today, actually, I was visited with an idea for a good exterior plot action scene for Olivia Lively book 3, the next novel in my limited 4-book series. This book is going to be a lot of fun to write, but it will also be tricky to figure out the interior story line. It has to be a transition-type personal journey to mirror the (very cool and I can't wait to tell you about it) mystery plot. I know where my character will end up, emotionally/personally at the end of the series, but this third book has to get her there. This is how I'm looking at it: 

• Over the course of books 1 and 2, Olivia matures regarding friendship and romance and her personal goals and seems to come to a stasis. But stasis doesn't propel novels, so
• In book 3, I need to give her some sort of personal challenge with a resolution that will prepare her for
• A final opportunity to mature in the final book which will lead to a major life change by the end of the series.

This problem is what happens when you start out writing a flash fiction that turns into a serialized novel that turns into a series you never planned to write. It's okay. Thinking through plot lines and character development IS writing. Plus we all need puzzles to keep our brains in shape, right? 

I also hear seafood is helpful for optimal brain function. 

Good thing I'm in Maine. Now where's my recipe for fish chowder? 

One Eye Down, One To Go

 by Sybil Johnson

This post will be short. I had cataract surgery a week or so ago and have another coming up on Monday. It has been an interesting experience so far. I’m sure a lot of people who are reading this have had this surgery. Eye surgery is something I’ve never experienced before. I suspect some of this may end up in a story someday.

You’re awake during it, though they do give you anti-anxiety meds (what I like to call “happy juice”). Lots of lights and maybe some murmur of conversation (don’t really remember that part), instructions to look some direction and suddenly it’s over. They give you a shield for your eye and you’re on your way home.

This started me thinking about the origin of the word “cataract”. It’s a clouding of the eye’s natural lens, but I’ve also heard the term used for areas in the Nile river where there are waterfalls and rocky areas that make passage more difficult. The First Cataract on the Nile is just south of Aswan. There are six total. 

Apparently, they both have the same word origin. From Latin cataracta "waterfall," from Greek katarhaktēs "waterfall, broken water; a kind of portcullis." So the eye cataract is sort of like looking through a waterfall or through a portcullis. 

There’s your bit of wisdom for the day. I thought it was interesting, anyway. 

While I’m recovering, I’m resting my eyes a bit and listening to some podcasts and an audiobook with an AI-generated voice. The AI-generated voice is okay to listen to, but there are what I consider to be unnatural pauses that annoy me a tiny bit.

One of Those Days

 By Charlotte Hinger

I don't understand days like yesterday. It was more Monday than usual, and to make things worse, today is Tuesday and it thinks it's still Monday. 

I've been pondering the colossal best seller by Marie Kondo, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and decided I should write the Life-Changing Magic of Shoving Everything into a Huge Hefty Bag and Leaving It For Somebody Else to Deal With.

My life is basically the same. I do some things well and some things poorly. I have good days and bad days, but mostly my days are pretty satisfying and on the whole I'm a happy person. I have a lot to be thankful for. But I can't for the life of my understand how a simple bad day seems to carry over to the next. I think a good time manager would point out that I'm over-extended. I know I need to cut down, but even so. .  . .I wonder how the authors who are super stars manage to get it all done. 

Simplicity is appealing to those of us who are overburdened with the demands of our stressful societies and our plethora of electronic gadgets. Right now, I'm going through piles of paper and steeling myself to discard bunches. 

Then surprise! I realized some of the letters I had received from writers were important. There are three that might by valuable to collectors. Wouldn't that be lovely? It sure put the brakes on careless discarding. 

Kondo's book has a serene cover with a blue sky. It promises happiness. Serenity. A perfectly ordered house with everything in its place. There is a compelling narrative. The author, Marie Kondo, started down this decluttering path when she was in kindergarten. At the age of five, she could not wait to get home after school and begin organizing her things. It's her passion. She built a business out of organizing stuff.

She's the ultimate authority and very opinionated. No one else could have written from the same point of view.

But making a fortune from tidying up! Who would have thought?

This is a simple book. There is a lesson here for beginning novelists who complain that they are stuck in ordinary towns with ordinary uninspiring people. The greatest writers see the stuff of stories right in front of them. It doesn't take great adventures to come up with great fiction. And the same could be said of non-fiction.

Beyond being inspired by our ordinary life, but it's important, I think, to be aware of conditions that us miserable. What makes you NOT want to write. 

 I can only stand x amount of clutter before it drags down my psyche. I think I've hit my limit. 

It's time to finish the last few chapters of my new mystery and tidy up my book and my house.