My First Type M Blog

 Good Grief. I came across my first post for Type M and can't resist reposting it. Next time I'll tell you how much has changed about publishing. And how much things have stayed the same.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

Blog Heaven

I’ve died and gone to blog heaven, of course. When the gracious, talented Donis Casey invited to become a regular contributor, naturally my first instinct was to mumble “who, me?” I’m deeply honored! Not only is Type M for Murder my favorite mystery blog, during the past two years I’ve met some of the wonderful persons who keep this blog going. In fact, I’m now an honorary Canadian. This was decided in the bar after the Left Coast Crime Convention in Santa Fe.

Donis Casey came to my book launch at Poisoned Pen Press, which was a heady experience that gave me delusions of grandeur. Oh, if I could freeze these moments! They compensate for the panicky “can I do write another book?” paralysis that stuns our creativity. It’s rather overwhelming to have an award winner writer of Donis’s caliber in the audience. (A real writer)

Barbara Fradkin was my roommate at Left Coast Crime. She is one classy dame! She taught me a lot about dealing with adversity. Her flight was cancelled and she was rescheduled. She breezed in at 3:00 am and got up at six to go on the Taos tour, explaining that she was not going to let the plane snafu ruin her plans. Wow! Not a word of complaint. I bought her book, Once Upon a Time, and was awed by her ability to maintain the smooth pacing of a complex plot based on events evolving from World War II and war crime issues. Marvelous characterization.

Vicki Delany is one of the friendliest, nicest writers I know. I loved In The Shadow of the Glacier and bought Negative Image at Santa Fe. We shared a room at Malice Domestic last year. She tried to tell me Deadly Descent was a finalist for the AZ Book Publishers Award, and I hooted and jeered and patiently explained to her why that could not possibly be true. I won and have been trying to compensate for questioning her truthiness ever since. In short, I buy her drinks.

Now it’s true confession time. I have a weird half-life as a historian and do some academic work. Sort of like some drugs that keep working after you stop taking them. I’m an accidental academic without sterling credentials. Nevertheless, I'm a highly opinionated and relentless researcher and that counts for a lot. In fact, my first novel was not a mystery, but a historical novel, Come Spring, and it was published by Simon and Schuster.

In the meantime, I was publishing mystery short stories and loving every minute of it—so I added mystery novels to my writing mix. How is that working for me? Not very well. Too many editors and not enough time. Mysteries soon possessed my mind and soul. I love writing them. Who knew? So I’m polishing off my editors, one by one, and soon Poisoned Pen Press and my Lottie Albright series will be the last man standing.

For my next gig, I’ll tell more about the Lottie Albright series. Greek tragedies are alive and well, they’ve just switched their venue to the High Plains. I’m a native Kansan, with a flaming state loyalty, so it’s only natural that my historical novels, my academic work, and my mysteries should be set in this difficult state where conniving families with tattered pasts seethe with historical and contemporary tensions.

The Blessings of Ignorance

Truth is, I don't know a thing about writing. With four mysteries (soon five) two historical novels and a non-fiction academic book under my belt, I'm amazed at how little I've learned. Looking back, I'm convinced the best thing that ever happened to me was there was no one around to either encourage or discourage me.

My natural calling was reading. I simply read all the time. It didn't bother my parents or anyone else until society came up with the concept that children should be well-rounded. Then my parents worried. Because it didn't seem quite normal for a child to read that much.  

No problem. I learned to hide my reading. I propped up a book in the drain rack when I dried dishes. There was a book in my music when I played the piano. Yes, I could easily read while my fingers practiced the scales, or whatever. To this day, I'm never without a book.

Do not assume that I was a shy retiring child. In fact I liked other children, and adored adults. During my childhood, one of my biggest pleasures was listening to my father and uncles and their friends tell stories.

No one supervised my reading. When my parents played bridge with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Clarence I headed for the living room and Aunt Margaret's collection from the Doubleday Book Club. What luxury! And such a good little nine-year-old. Never any trouble. But what a brouhaha when they discovered that I had already read Annie Jordan, Unconquered, and Forever Amber.

If someone has asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up when I was nine years old, in my secret heart, I knew I wanted to write books. But saying so would have sounded crazy. I didn't know one single soul who was a writer. I didn't know how one became a writer.

My husband and I were both born in Anderson County, Kansas. When we married, we moved to Western Kansas. He was a truck driver and hauled cattle. A bullhauler. My creative side responded to the vastness of the Kansas prairie. I was certainly free from any social constraints. There was no one to tell me I read too much. I could open the back door and holler if I wanted to. Or eat ice cream. Or go fishing.

Or I could write a book. No one to stop me from doing that either.

I began writing for real when I was about twenty-two or twenty-three. Somewhere in there. I taught myself from articles in the Writer's Digest and from books I ordered through Interlibrary Loan. Although I've never had a creative writing course, my self-education was lengthy and very rigorous. I've never been in a writing group.

Because my "method" is rather strange and seems to vary from book to book, I simply cannot imagine reading part of a manuscript to people who might offer suggestions. Praise or criticism would be destructive during the creative stage. I don't even know who will show up for a book until I'm through with the first draft. It's a work in progress.

I remain convinced that everyone should write a book twice before showing it to anyone. If you have any integrity at all, you will know what's wrong with your own book. So fix it. Then let other people read it. If they have good suggestions that you know are right, apply their ideas. The quickest people to offer criticism will come from people who have never published a book themselves.

My first novel was published by Simon & Schuster. If there were anyone at all around to tell me how hard it was to find an agent, get published, learn how to write, I never would have tried. On the other hand, I really needed a mentor. I've made a lot of mistakes. I would love to take them back. But that applies to a number of missteps in my life.