Book Mania

 By Charlotte Hinger

Every Christmas our family goes all out to support the publishing industry. We buy books like crazy. 

A friend asked me recently if I read fiction when I'm writing and if that interferes with my own work. No, reading while writing doesn't affect the work in progress, and giving up reading when I'm writing just makes me cranky. When I read a book with great description or characterization I try to improve whatever is on my computer at the time. I also find myself giving more thought to details in my own work.

I own way too many books. I simply can't help myself. They are as addictive as a drug. 

Most novelists have a horror of "unconscious plagiarism." So I was infuriated by a friend's recent blog on the outrageous blatant plagiarism perpetrated by a woman who copied a novel nearly verbatim and then posted it on Amazon as though it were her own book. She made quite a bit of money by doing this.

I feel so strongly about the issue of creative piracy that I won't even read books that expand on a dead author's characters or plot lines. I'm too cowardly to list all the books I refuse to read because I don't want to respond to readers who see nothing wrong with it.

To me, poaching characters is dishonorable! What's more, a line from an old Kipling poem, The Mary Gloster, comes to mind: "They copied all they could follow, but they couldn't copy my mind, And I left them sweating and stealing a year and a half behind."

Now we have AI to deal with. But I've noticed books built on another author's work flounder in the marketplace because the original creative spark isn't there.

Creative energy is unique to an individual. The source can't be duplicated. There is a great deal of craftsmanship involved with creating good books and much to be learned by studying the techniques of the masters. Especially when one begins to write. 

I often turn to books that I especially liked to see how they did something. I went back to Love Let Me Not Hunger to see why I thought Mr. Albert's leaving the circus was one of the saddest events I had ever come across.

How do other writer get characters out of room and change scenes? Oh. They don't. They simply double space. Why do the pages in this book rush by? Oh. Short, short sentences. Short chapters. Mostly action. Why do I like longer books with more detail? Oh. It's characterization.

Most of us go to the masters for instruction and inspiration, but a pox on anyone who goes with the intention of copying material.

 

My Favorite Present

 

by Charlotte Hinger

My favorite Christmas present this year was not one I received, it was one I gave to my granddaughter, Audrey Crockett. My photo of this project (taken in haste) didn't reproduce very well on this blog. It's a collage of seven generations of women beginning with Marie Stephanova Pishney. (bottom right)

Next is my own grandmother, Lottie Caroline Pishney Smerchek, then my mother Lottie Josie Smerchek Southerland and myself, Charlotte Faye Southerland Hinger. Above is my daughter Michele Renee Hinger Crockett, then granddaughter Audrey Charlotte Crockett Bell, next to my first great grandchild Francesca Michele Crockett Bell. 

I put all the photos in inexpensive frames from Michael's. Then I glued them all to foam board. The finished project looked much neater than it does in the photo and the colors are more consistent. I was able to size each photo through my word program and also apply a sepia tint. 

The Smerchek family did an outstanding job of keeping records. Our Bohemian heritage has been traced back to a church in Moravia, I believe in the 1600s. 

Readers who are familiar with my mysteries will recognize my mother's names, Lottie Josie. Lottie is the protagonist in my series and her twin sister, Josie, serves as a female Dr. Watson, who keeps her on the right track. 

I have tons of pictures to file and place in albums, but I wish I had taken more through the years. Back in the day, film was costly and I had to watch every penny. Now we have digital photography and can take as many as we like. 

One of my most joyful writing projects was the honor of editing the Sheridan County history books. There were over 500 family stories submitted and the photos brought tears to my eyes. 

In addition to my family pictures, I treasure each photo I took at conventions through the years. This coming year I want to develop better photography skills. Even if photos aren't to be used directly in our written material, they are a wonderful reference. 

Evolving traditions for the modern world

 As a few people have noted, the holiday season has begun, and with it, the good, the bad, and the sad of family traditions. I decided that rather than write something erudite about the creative arts, I would, like Donis, add my own evolving traditions over the past three quarters of a century.

I was born in Montreal, my mother a native Anglo-Montrealer going back several generations and my father born in a Newfoundland outport and arriving in Montreal as a McGill student via a circuitous route. Both were of British Isles stock, equal parts Irish, Scottish, Welsh, and English, and brought to the Christmas table many of the traditions of "back home". We had a huge turkey with stuffing inside it - chopped celery, onions, turkey liver, walnuts, chunks of bread, sage, thyme, and sometimes rosemary. Mashed potatoes smothered in the gravy made from the drippings, peas, cranberry sauce, plum pudding set afire in brandy and served with hard sauce, and as many chocolates as we kids could handle. It was not a meal for the faint-hearted.

This meal was served mid-afternoon on Christmas Day. In the morning we opened stockings and presents under the tree and then while my mother ran around the kitchen, my father read us the portion of Dickens' The Christmas Carol about the Cratchet Christmas dinner. He was a university professor and delivered a dramatic reading in his powerful, sonorous voice. 

We often had an extra guest or two at the table, often one of my father's foreign students who was far from home. Christmas crackers sat at each place setting and once they were pulled, we all had to wear the silly paper crowns.

My mother was the undisputed queen of the day, and she presided over Christmas dinner long after we all left home, until she moved into a retirement home at the age of 87. By then, I had married and had my own children. My husband was Jewish, so although we continued to share Christmas with my extended family, in our own house we switched our celebration to Hanukah. My husband was an only child whose parents were dead and who had no family in the city, so we developed our own traditions. We made latkes and lit several menorahs each night for the eight nights. To make it festive, we made Hanukah-themed decorations, played Hanukah games such as dreidel, and sang traditional hanukah songs and lively Yiddish and Hebrew ditties. All these we learned from records and tapes and I played them on the piano. Hanukah was a playful, joyous holiday, and our three children got a small present every night!

This is the combination of celebrations that we continue today. As my mother grew old and later died, my sister and then her sons hosted the large extended family Christmas dinner. As spouses, in-laws, and grandchildren appeared, the crowd grew. This year I expect there will be about twenty-five people around my nephew's table. We all pitch in with some side dishes, but the turkey remains the piece de resistance.

As my own children grew up, moved to other cities, and began their own families, we have worked hard to maintain the tradition of all the family getting together. Christmas is easier to coordinate because both school and work holidays take place around that holiday, but the dates of Hanukah change every year. Sometimes they coincide with Christmas, but often, such as this year, Hanukah is over before Christmas holidays begin. It's not possible for my family to all get together for one of the nights of Hanukah. So, ever flexible, I instituted "Fradkin's famous Ninth Night of Hanukah" so that one of the days of the Christmas holiday, when my children are all at my house, becomes our joint Hanukah celebration. This year, it will be December 26. My motto is "better late than never".  We have the traditional latkes, light several menorahs, and have a festive meal. We are now introducing my grandchildren to the songs and the dreidel game. 

In recognition of the diversity in our family, I have a tree that is decorated in blue and white and we hang stockings on Christmas morning for the grandchildren before heading over to my nephew's for the big feast. I believe combining and honouring both traditions enriches the family and gives us twice the chance to celebrate together. 

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Holidays to everyone, and may 2024 be a year of happiness and peace everywhere!

Sidestepping Tradition

 We've entered that period in America known as the Holidays! And with my schedule here on Type M For Murder, my posts coincide with the big holiday celebrations, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

While Thanksgiving is about getting together with loved ones and friends and sharing a meal in a spirit of gratitude, hosting Thanksgiving dinner is an exercise in anxiety. This year, my girlfriend and I decided to sidestep tradition by hosting a low-key breakfast for my sons and their significant others. While the meal was simple--waffles, omelets, sausage--there was a bit of anxiety since there's this pressure for everything to be perfect. I'm happy to report that a good time was had by all. 

We did enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner of sorts by dressing up and going out that evening to nosh at The Ship's Tavern in the swanky Brown Palace. Followers of this blog will happy to hear that dinner conversation involved stories of murder at the Brown Palace and other tales from Denver's sordid past. On the way home we drove by the Denver City and County Building and saw that it was decked out for the Holidays!  

A Weird Christmas

 by Charlotte Hinger

This Christmas went awry. Even some of the church services that keep my heart in the right place were displaced due to extreme weather. 

It was the "off" year for our family gathering. By that we mean that everyone goes to the in-laws. Next year is "Hinger' Christmas. Which means we negotiate the time and place for my daughters, their spouses and all the grandchildren to show up.

But talk about "off." My daughter, Cherie hosted Christmas for her daughters at the new/old four-story house on the coast of North Carolina. It was 20 degrees outside and a mere 40 inside. They were totally miserable. The geo-thermal heating system wasn't built to cope with the extreme cold. So it gave up the ghost. The pipes froze. Even the dog was rolled up in extra padding. 

My youngest daughter, Mary Beth, worked long hours Christmas Day. She's the administrator of an assisted living/memory care center and ended up supplementing the ones who usually work the floor. She works in Raleigh, but lives in Clayton, NC. She suffered through a complete power outage and her pipes froze too. She showered at work. 

I was snug and happy here in Colorado where we are prepared for cold weather. Even so, no one is used to 17 degrees below. All activities were cancelled. Thankfully, our power stayed on.

My daughter, Michele and her husband, Harry, prepared a wonderful Christmas dinner and their daughter, Audrey, her husband, Pete, and the new baby, Francesca, came up from Denver. Nothing makes a day more joyful than the presence of a baby. For one blessed day, it felt like Christmas. 

Nevertheless, this Christmas was weird. Presents never arrived, or were misaddressed or something. We have a historically long message chain to one another trying to straighten out little messes. We exchange a large number of books and many of us ended up with the wrong ones. 

But guess what. Christmas came anyway. Despite the weather. Despite our bumbling. 

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas was one of my husband's favorite movies. Don's laugh was contagious. We all loved to watch him watch the movie. He delighted in the central message. 

Nothing can stop this special time of year. Christmas draws us closer to our families, to memories of times past, to an awareness of the needs of others who are less fortunate. 

We open our wallets and our hearts and for a brief season join a collective circle of humanity acutely aware of those without homes and families.

The season reminds us that we can do better for our fellow man. 

Focus Redeaux

In the words of Yogi Berra, it's déjà vu all over again. So what's going on, guys? When I was thinking about blog topics, I was tempted to write about my struggles with focusing on my manuscript or what we scribblers fondly refer to as the work in progress. Or not in progress. And lo and behold, both John and Rick wrote on the very same subject.

Truth is the world conspires to keep me from writing during the holidays. Everyone doubles down on activities. I don't want to miss a thing. I had a mini-Thanksgiving at my house. It was very small as the family was split in a variety of locations. Plus, I had had my Moderna booster shot the day before and just supposed it would me sick. The kick was very mild, but my granddaughter and her partner brought the whole dinner anyway and daughter Mary Beth came with a wonderful pie. It was a delightful small gathering.

This month my church, St. Luke's Episcopal, has something for everyone--ranging from special devotional studies to carol fests and an ugly sweater contest. My HOA will have its annual meeting. My Sisters in Crime chapter has a Christmas gathering. So does the Rocky Mountain chapter of Mystery Writers of America. And that's just to name a few. There are all sorts of special musical programs, and charitable events. I also have a part time accounting job and the end of year is especially manic for businesses.

Daughter Michele had a birthday party for me Tuesday and she is giving a Thankmas event Sunday for the family that will be split Christmas and spent Thanksgiving with in-laws.

So what is poor writer to do? Frankly, I have to endorse John Corrigan's comments. I believe the best approach to set aside a block of time, but for me it simply doesn't happen. I yearn for it and plan for it, but something always intervenes. Still, something goes sour for me if I leave my manuscript and as with John, I settle for very short lengths of time on weekdays from Thanksgiving until New Year. That's easy to do when I'm on a second draft--but it's a bad idea during the first creative draft.

During the second draft, I can at least read through some pages every day and spiff things up.

I'll soon leave for North Carolina to have Christmas with my daughter and her family. I plan to take my laptop with me, of course, and plan to hack away at my book.

Care to place any bets on how that goes?

Where was I?

Hi, Douglas Skelton this end.

This year will the strangest Christmas in living memory, thanks to you-know-what.

Here in dear old Blighty families should not congregate to tuck into the turkey over the holidays. The original advice not to do so was reversed to allow a period of five days when they could get together but that reversal has itself been reversed to only one day.

Honestly, there are so many reversals it's like reading a William Goldman novel. Especially when the uppermost question on our minds when we think about popping out for a pint of milk is 'Is it safe?'

The wacky world of publishing appears to shutting down for the holidays nonetheless.

Well, at least the bit that signs off on deals and edits and, importantly, signs the cheques. For the benefit of the US, that's the correct spelling of check. Yes, I know it's simpler but that's not the point. Standards must be maintained and once we are contagion-free I will be despatching a team of spelling and pronunciation missionaries to your fair land to educate with evangelistic zeal. 

I'm kidding, of course, and to prove it here's a smiley face - 😀

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes...

For the next two to three weeks there will be no queries from publishers or agents. No deals being made. No edits being demanded. 

Many authors will not be shutting down. Oh, they may take some time on Christmas Day to pull a cracker (if this blog had been for the UK market I could have made an off colour remark at this juncture followed by a virtual Sid James/Carry On dirty laugh. And I apologise to anyone who doesn't understand all this but it's been a long day and I'm tired so please bear with me because I may veer off at a tangent at the drop of a Christmas Pudding, this paragraph being a case in point).

Now, where was I?

Oh yes...

I for one will be treating the holiday period as, well, something that is not a holiday period. I have a new book I am writing on spec and I want to complete at least its first draft by January or February because then I have a deadline for the fourth in my Rebecca Connolly series. That's not until the summer but time flies like an arrow they say. And fruit flies like a banana. I remember the first time I heard that line, I laughed fit to bust. Ah, laughter - those were the days.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes...

How many other scribblers of words, sometimes in the right order, will be thusly labouring while others are Zooming and Skyping? 

Quite a number, I'll bet, for the creative process recognises no Yuletide fun and brooks no New Year stoppages. Of course, in Scotland, we call New Year's Eve Hogmanay, which sounds like Hug Many and there will be none of that, thank you very much. In fact, I would quite happily see the whole huggy/kissy things banished for good. Not that I get much of that, of course, for traditionally the women here hang me up and kiss the mistletoe.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes...

So Christmas Day will see me banging away (see reference above to Sid James and Carry On movies). I may stop for a mince pie or two - for reference, it's not made of minced beef but minced fruit - before I make myself something suitably festive to eat. I'm not ignoring the midwinter feast completely. My name is not Ebenezer Scrooge, you know. At least, I don't think it. Hang on while I check the name tag sewed into my collar.

Nope, not Ebenezer Scrooge. I seem to be called Machine Washable.

Anyway, if you are still with me, thanks for sticking with this ramble. I'm going to head back into this world of mayhem I am creating.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes...

(PS - I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and that 2021 will be better than this disaster movie of a year has been).

Unofficial Poll of Favorite Holiday Books and Movies

My latest Geneva Chase mystery, Graveyard Bay, takes place shortly before Christmas. Now, under no circumstances, would I classify it as a holiday tale. Of my three published novels, Graveyard Bay is probably the darkest. Whips, chains, assassinations, jailbreaks—not a lot of eggnog moments. Toward the end, I broke down and gave Geneva a proper holiday ending, but that’s not the kind of girl she is. We know she’s really not going to enjoy it. Pour her another Absolut.

When someone asked me what my favorite Christmas movie is, I immediately answered Die Hard. Filled with murder, action, explosions, gun play and Bruce Willis wisecracks, there aren’t a lot of warm and fuzzy holiday moments. But in the words of that infamous bad guy, Hans Gruber, “It’s Christmas, it’s the time of miracles, so be of good cheer and call me when you hit the last lock.” Yippee-ki-yay.

Curious about everyone else, I reached out on my social media platforms and asked what their favorite Christmas story, book, or movie is.  The book (and many movies it spawned) named, overwhelmingly, was A Christmas Carol.

There’s no need to recount the story because we all know it, but a couple of little-known facts are: the book was published on December 17, 1843 and was sold out in three days. By the end of 1844, thirteen editions had been printed. Dickens began writing the novella in October and finished it in six weeks to have it ready before Christmas.

One last fact, Mark Twain was in the audience when Dickens did a reading (actually, more of a performance than a reading) in New York and gave him a tepid review. “There is no heart. No feeling. It is nothing but glittering frostwork.”

Before his readings, Dickens would drink two tablespoons of rum with cream for breakfast. Later, he would have a pint of champagne, and just before the performance, he would drink a sherry with a raw egg beaten into it. During the reading he would sip beef tea and would have soup just before bed.

Much like Graveyard Bay and Die Hard, there’s not a lot of laughs in A Christmas Carol. It does have a satisfying story arc.

The number one movie pick in my unofficial poll was It’s a Wonderful Life. Here’s a little known fact about it. Philip Van Doren Stern, an author, editor, and Civil War historian was inspired by a dream he had, based on A Christmas Carol, and wrote a 4000-word short story called The Greatest Gift. He shopped it around, but couldn’t get it published. So, in 1943, he printed 200 copies and sent them out as Christmas cards to his friends. Someone showed it to a producer at RKO Pictures who gave it to Cary Grant to read. The actor was interested in playing the lead and the studio purchased the film rights for $10,000. Grant eventually passed on it, however, and Liberty Films bought the rights and George Capra made the film calling it It’s a Wonderful Life.

Should you forget, there are some mighty dark scenes in that movie as well.

The next most popular movie choice was Miracle on 34th Street. Look hard at Kris Kringle’s Foley Square trial scenes. If it looks vaguely familiar, it’s because in the movie The Godfather, those are the same steps where Barzini is murdered.

Interestingly, the comedy Christmas Vacation came in third. This was the last film for Mae Questal who played Aunt Bethany. She started her career as the voice of the cartoon character Betty Boop in 1931, then voiced Olive Oyl starting in 1933 in the Popeye series of cartoons. And in the movie, look closely at the kid playing Rusty. He’s actually Johnny Galecki, who went on to become a megastar as Leonard Hofstadter in the series Big Bang Theory.

Some honorable mentions in the poll were White Christmas, Holiday Inn, Christmas Story, Polar Express, Elf, Bells of St. Mary’s, Mixed Nuts, Home Alone, and Nightmare Before Christmas.

Other than A Christmas Carol and the Bible, the only other literary vote was cast by my daughter-in-law, Gillian. She says, “There’s a series of children’s books by Graham Oakley about church mice. I’ve always loved Church Mice at Christmas. The written story is entertaining, but the illustrations are what really ties everything together. My mother and I would spend hours looking through the book, finding little nuances and clues about what will happen next.”

Gillian hits it on the head when she talks about how she and her mother bonded over that story. Perhaps that’s why we have favorite holiday stories and movies. We have warm memories of sharing them with our families and friends. Tearing up a little when a bell rings and an angel gets his wings or laughing our butts off when Cousin Eddie shows up unannounced and uninvited at the front door.

So, step away from your Work in Progress, close your laptop, pour yourself some eggnog and spend some time with people you love. Happy Holiday and Merry Christmas!

Holiday thoughts

Today's blog will be brief, because I have a house full of family, so there are dinners and dishes and presents, oh my. Today is the day after Christmas, which means many things to different people. For some, the festivities are ongoing, often with visits to the extended relatives. For others, it's a day to throw out the wrapping paper, pack away the good dishes and silverware, and generally restore order to the house that had descended into chaos. For still others, it's a day to sleep, toss back Alka Seltzer and Gaviscon, and nurse the hangover from overly enthusiastic celebrations of the day before. And some (especially those with  hangovers) are waving good bye and good riddance to the out of town relatives, mere moments before blood is drawn.

And for Canadians, there is also the tradition of Boxing Day on December 26, which used to be the biggest shopping day of the year, when businesses discounted their goods by huge margins to clear the holiday merchandise before years' end. Now Boxing Day is being eclipsed by pre-Christmas sales, as each business tries to get the edge in a highly competitive market, and by Black Friday, which has sneaked in from the United States due to vigorous advertising.

Gone are the hype, the good cheer and the wishes of peace on earth. Gone are the church masses and the touching nativity stories. It's a memorable time full of anticipation, excitement, and laudable messages of caring, and in the aftermath, feelings can range from disappointment and exhaustion to exhilaration and relief. Often all of the above.

There are those, however, for whom the holiday is tinged with pain or even eclipsed by it. People who are missing loved ones, people who are alone and far from home, people who have lost their families through war or misfortune. At no time is the loneliness more acute than when everyone else is celebrating with family, talking about what gifts they are buying and the festive feasts they are preparing. To them, the end of the holidays comes as a welcome relief, when they can get on with their lives and look forward to the fresh start that a new year can bring.

Our family celebrates Hanukah and also, with our expanded family, Christmas as well, which makes for a lot of celebrating! By the time of my next blog post, we will be six days into the new year. My new year's resolutions, pro forma at best and always pointless, will be long forgotten and I will be back hard at work. So I will take this occasion to wish everyone a wonderful 2019 and a fervent hope for peace, happiness, and security across the world.

Twins, the Holiday, and Pushing Laundry Up the Steps

I’d like to start out this blog with holiday news on the family front.  My daughter, Jessica, and her husband, Josh, have struggled for years to have a baby.  In the end, they went in-vitro and discovered that they were going to have twins.  An ultrasound told them that the kiddos were a boy and a girl.  Due date scheduled for the middle of January.

My oldest son, Tom, and his wife, Gillian, have two sons (my grandsons) Henry, twelve, and Jake, ten, whom I adore.  They’re smart, athletic, and funny as hell. Tom and Gillian are wonderful parents and it shows in their kids.

But we doubled the amount of grandkids around here when my daughter went into early labor last week and delivered Caroline Elise, 4lb 9 oz, and Thomas Frederick, 4lb 8 oz, 22 minutes later.  Both children are doing well but they will be in the NICU while they finish “cooking”.

I got the call after midnight from my son-in-law about the delivery.  When I heard they’d named the boy ‘Thomas’, I sat down at the kitchen table with a scotch in my hand and tears in my eyes.

And I about lost it when I heard the girl was named ‘Caroline’.

A little back story: I was a single dad from the time my daughter was thirteen. Jessica and I learned a lot together.  I didn’t know anything about shopping for groceries or cooking, but Jess and I learned it together.  Now, I love cooking.  I make mention of that in an earlier blog.  It’s really the main reason Cindy married me.  I do all the cooking.

In my first Geneva Chase book, Random Road, I introduce Kevin Bell, Geneva’s love interest.  He’s a single dad raising a thirteen year old girl named Caroline.  I had written Caroline with my own daughter in mind.

And now Caroline is real.

Switching gears:
Two days ago, Frankie Y. Bailey wrote an excellent blog about how she imagined her characters would spend their holiday. 

In Graveyard Bay, scheduled for release in July of 2019, the novel takes place the week before Christmas. I can’t say a whole lot about how Geneva Chase, Caroline Bell, and Mike Dillon spend their holiday, but if you’ve read the first twobooks in the series, you know it isn’t all decorations, sugar plum fairies, and boughs of holly.  It’s more guns, murder, whips and chains.

Good holiday fun.

The time of year that I begin writing a book has been the time of year the story takes place. In Random Road the story is told in the heat of July.  That worked for me on a number of levels.  A lot of the action takes place outside but the hottest scenes are in the bedroom.  Summer was perfect, plus that’s when I wrote the opening scene.

The second book, Darkness Lane, takes place prior to Halloween.  I love that time of year.  It’s autumn, the trees are resplendent, there’s a bite in the air, and it’s spooky.  Scenes in that book unfold in a dark forest, an old theater, and a haunted house.

Establishing the time of year and the location gives me the opportunity to afford the reader details that help make the book more real.  I use sounds, sights, and most importantly, scents in my descriptions. Holiday time has such wonderful scents—Christmas trees, baking cookies, cinnamon, roasting chestnuts (especially in New York).

Some smells are nearly universal in how they trigger memories.  For example, the holiday scents I mentioned in the prior paragraph.  The smells of a pizzeria—garlic, tomatoes, peppers.  The scents of a walk through a forest in autumn—decomposing leaves, damp earth, the smoke from wood fires in distant fireplaces. All of them are relatable to readers.

Okay, I’ve rambled enough.  I’m heading out to buy last minute presents.  But before that, I’m checking out photos of the kiddos again.

One last thing, I’ll leave you with a Facebook post by my son about Jake and Henry:


After comparing the 10 year old to Sisyphus as he was pushing two baskets of clothes up the stairs one step at a time, he gets to the top and says to his brother, "help me, I'm dying"

His brother, like the rest of the family, well schooled in the nihilistic fact that our long trek towards death begins the moment we're born, responds, "we all are."

I've raised them well.

Cheers and Happy Holiday.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

Today I've been thinking about Christmases from my childhood and some of my most bittersweet experiences.

One Christmas eve my family (my parents and my younger sister, Phyllis) had gone to Garnett to visit my Aunt Aura Lee and Uncle Nappy. They had one child--our beloved Cousin Rosemary. She was the youngest of us three.

Roads were miserable in those days and as luck would have it we got snowed in. What normally would have been a treat--spending all night with the Galloways--was a miserable experience for me. I didn't sleep well.

For of course Santa Claus would by-pass us. When he found we were not at home sleeping in our beds, a whole year of being good would go to waste. Phiz and I had redoubled our efforts when it came close to Christmas.

Finally Christmas morning came and when we awoke Santa had showered gifts on Cousin Rosemary. She was an only child and Phiz and I thought such largess was really uncalled for. She was not that good! Honestly, the things we could tell Santa. If we were inclined to snitch, which we were not.

The snow was over and we were able to drive home. My heart pounded the closer we came to our farm. We dashed into the house and crest-fallen realized that the worst had happened. Santa had indeed by-passed us.

Then my father found a note. We gathered around while he read it. Santa explained that he was worried about the safety of our presents since the house was cold and dark. He wished us a merry Christmas and urged us to check the woodshed because he certainly hadn't forgotten us. Daddy immediately led us out to the woodshed and much to our joy there were two identical precious dolls, each in their own high chairs.

Our joy was unbounded. Especially since our good behavior had not gone unnoticed. My faith in Santa and the goodness of the Universe was restored.

Until it wasn't.

Lone Elm was a very small community. Grades 1-3 were in the same room. As Christmas approached the next year there was a vicious rumor afloat that there was no Santa Claus. It was really just our parents. I think it was started by the truly offensive big kids in the third grade.

It finally made sense to me. I simply could not understand why Santa treated one miserably poor family so cruelly when they were good as gold. They got gifts like tooth paste and a pair of socks. The despicable daughters in another family who were not good were lavished with all kinds of treats. It was nearly intolerable when school resumed after Christmas to hear them tell of all they had found under their tree.

But seared on my memory was the shocked sobbing of one of the daughters in the poor family when she realized if Santa was truly her own parents there was no hope. They were already doing the best they good.

For me, understanding the tragedy of loss of hope, and my initiation into complexity was one of the most important lessons of childhood.

I think of that, the weeks when our church helps host homeless families. I was shocked when one of the fathers had three jobs, but housing was still beyond his reach.

Churches redouble their efforts during the Christmas season to let families know that someone cares. May Christmas always be a time of generosity when communities give food and special presents to struggling families.

And give the gift of hope to those who need it most!

Merry Christmas from Charlotte Hinger.

'Tis the season of wandering minds

Barbara here. I was so happy to see the two previous posts of my blogmates. What to write about? No ideas. Nada. Let's try to think serious thoughts about writing while making Christmas cookies, Aline says. Let's write about Christmas trees, Rick says. What a serious group we are. The reality is that the holiday season plays havoc with a writer's schedule and focus. Charlotte Hinger's post on her valiant effort to write a book at this worst of possible times struck a chord. I am just embarking on the third book in the Amanda Doucette series and I am trying to use Charlotte's tricks. Consider writing like any other job; set a daily goal, choose a time of the day, write no matter what's going on around you or wandering through your head.

Easier said than done. Even if you're not trying to get ready for that Christmas luncheon or shop for gifts before the rush hour or clean the house for the neighbours you invited over so that you would have to clean the house (it's nice to see the neighbours too), it's difficult to pretend this is a time of year like any other. In my extended family, we celebrate two traditions, so I get distractions in spades. Do I have enough Hanukah candles for the menorahs, and where on earth can I buy Hanukah napkins and wrapping paper? The colours of Hanukah, at least in my family, are silver, white and blue. Try finding those in a season crazy about red, green, and gold.

Every year I pore over Hanukah recipes looking for a combination of old and new dishes. At the very least, my children expect classic potato latkes and Hanukah sugar cookies cut into shapes; all else is negotiable. We also celebrate Christmas with my extended family so I have gifts and food to prepare for that as well. And when you're a work-at-home writer sharing a house with two rambunctious, long-haired dogs, there is not a high premium put on house-cleaning. Until all three children and their partners descend for the holidays, in which case not only do the beds need to be changed, but the accumulated dog fur has to be vacuumed, muddy dog prints mopped up, the books, maps, pages of notes, and other clutter of my craft cleared off all the available surfaces in the house, etc.

With all these demands yammering in the back of my head, how on earth can I expect to find that zone of creativity and inspiration that a writer needs to produce a reasonably coherent sentence?

Then I take comfort in the thought that, even when I had a normal job out in the world, not a lot of real focussed work got done in the two weeks leading up to the holiday season. There were staff parties and gift exchanges and lots of gossiping around the water cooler. Not that there was an actual water cooler in my job, but in each school I went into, the kids and teachers seemed more excited to talk about decorating and baking and shopping and visiting than about the serious business of learning. Life is not all work; there needs to be time for fun too. Time for connecting and laughing and indulging oneself. So with that in mind, I accept that I'm not likely to get a whole lot of serious writing done over the next three weeks. I'll be lucky if I get the dog hair vacuumed. But I plan to have fun.

Happy Hanukah, Merry Christmas, and the best of the season to you all!

The Best Worst Time

I began writing a new mystery Wednesday. The timing was absolutely horrible. I'm always stressed during the Christmas season. There is too much to do, too many decisions to make, and since I'm extremely introverted, way too many places to go. I'm very quickly worn to a frazzle.

I began this book at this dreadful time on purpose. Yes. Deliberately chose the worst possible day in a year that hasn't been all that hot. I even wrote my ideal quota of five pages. In longhand, yet.

Fractured Families will come out in March and I would love to have the first draft of my next book done before that time.

But really now. Beginning a book right during the Christmas season? Why would I make such a peculiar move? Because one of the most important things a novelist has to learn to do is to get over regarding writing as more precious and mysterious than other kinds of work.

We are on the same plane as everyone else in the world. We do not exist at a higher elevation. Nurses, teachers, mathematicians, musicians, fast food workers, clerks, bankers, truck drivers get up every morning and go to work.

There's a downhill slope from regarding writing as very special undertaking to then seeing oneself as a special person. From that comes the sense that the world should accommodate your talent and leave a box lunch at your doorstep every noon.

Ain't going to happen. I started writing when my daughters were young and I used a quota system for a book. Five pages a day, five days a week. I've strayed from that many, many times, but it still works the best. I trained myself to write anywhere under any circumstances. One of the bonuses of the quota was that I became much more realistic about time. Since I'm a morning person, I began scheduling appointments in the afternoon.

There were and still are days when it's nearly impossible to work in writing. And looking back to the time when I was quite rigid about the quota and wrote just pure D crap on these very horrible days, when I reread the material the next day I was always, ALWAYS surprised.

The pages I had created were as good or as bad as the drivel I usually turned out.

Great things in little packages

Barbara here. It's the beginning of December, and even the most reluctant and curmudgeonly among us has no doubt noticed the holiday ad season is upon us. In the true spirit of the season, I confess this post will be a gift-buying pitch of sorts. Dare I say there is no greater gift for the mystery lover on your gift list than a newly discovered gem, or the newest release from their favourite author, or even the latest hot new sensation.  Support your local authors, and make sure the industry thrives.

With millions of books published every year, how do you wade through the titles in search of something worthy? You can read reviews and blurbs online or in print. You can ask friends who have similar tastes. You can float the question on social media and be prepared for dozens of answers. After all, there is a book for every taste and mood, something for the beach and the armchair by the fire. Something for the bedside and the morning coffee time.

You can visit your wonderful neighbourhood independent bookstore and ask for recommendations. They will ask what you (or your Aunt Bertha) like, and they will put a few suggestions in your hands. Or you can browse the bookshelves on your own, picking out books, reading the jackets and first pages, looking for that magic connection.

And if you are Canadian, another place you can check is the website of Crime Writers of Canada, which maintains a e-catalogue called Cool Canadian Crime, which lists the new releases of its members (just about every serious crime writer in Canada). It is updated quarterly, and you can find it on the CWC website or sign up for email notices. Sometimes, as in the case of my latest book, The Night Thief, we forget, but most of the time the catalogue is complete.

Which brings me to my own little sales pitch. Almost every year for the past fifteen years, I have had a new book out to promote during the holiday season. I can barely remember a year I didn't have signings in bookstores in the weeks leading up to Hanukah and Christmas. The latest Inspector Green novel has become a reliable gift for quite a few of my family and friends. Much to their dismay, there is no new book this year. None So Blind was published in October 2014, and my next book, Fire in the Stars, the first in the Amanda Doucette series, is not due out until September 2016.

There is, however, an unsung hero on my bookshelf–my Cedric O'Toole easy-read series of short novels. Cedric is an unlikely and reluctant hero, a simple country handyman with a caring nature, a stubborn independence, and a knack for trying to help out people in trouble. Although the novels are written in the straightforward, easy-read style for reluctant readers, they are powerful stories with an adult punch and can be equally enjoyed by readers who want a short read for the plane, the doctor's office, or the beach. Many Inspector Green readers have bought them and enjoyed the same themes and sensibility as the Green novels. The books come in small trade paperback and all ebook formats.

The novels, and the other books in the Rapid Reads series published by Orca Books, would fit neatly into stockings or as part of a modest exchange among colleagues, families, and friends. Or for a more substantial gift, how about bundling all three Cedric O'Toole books, so the reader can follow his adventures through the whole series? Cheerfully wrapped together with a big bow, they made a great little package.

Precious Possession

Our family gives an extraordinary number of books for Christmas. During one lazy Christmas vacation day a couple of weeks ago, we discussed the importance of libraries in our lives. We fondly remembered favorite books from our past and traded library stories. We recalled librarians we had known.

I'm a passionate advocate for interlibrary loan. Without that service I could not do academic research. I can locate microfilmed newspapers and obscure documents and have them mailed to my local library. When I heard of library closings or of students doing strictly on-line research I rise up to argue in favor of hitting the stacks.

The problem with using Google or other search engines rather than supplementing with library research is that on-line is too narrowly focused. By going to the library we are free to explore books that would be overlooked otherwise. It's an opportunity to expand creativity and make connections.

During this discussion, my grandson, John Crockett won the prize for library devotion. He's a junior at Colby College in Maine. He reached for his wallet and pulled out his very first library card. He received it when he was in kindergarten and had proudly signed his name.

This will be short tonight as I'm behind on a manuscript, but I just wanted our readers to know that libraries are alive and well and deeply embedded in the heart of America.