Frankie, here. I'm delighted to join this terrific community of writers. First time out, I had intended to write about research. But then my hair got in the way. I know you're wondering what my hair has to do with writing, but I'm a Southerner, so you're going to have to bear with me while I tell you a tale.
It started a couple of months ago. I was invited to give the Martin Luther King, Jr., lecture as a part of the spring speakers series at a local community college. I do research on crime and popular culture, so I proposed doing a lecture titled: "What to Wear to a Revolution" about clothing, dress codes, and hair censorship during the 1960s civil rights era.
Soon after agreeing to do the lecture, I was going through a closet, trying yet again to "discard and organize." I opened a box, and there inside was my high school senior photo. My hair was in an Afro. Great! I had my "show-and-tell" for the lecture.
I took the photo to my office at school and set it on a cabinet, thinking it would inspire me. It also reminded me of happier hair days.
In mid-January, I went down to New York City for a writers' meeting. I fluffed my hair out. A friend noticed I was "letting it grow." But that was only for that weekend in Manhattan. Back in Albany – back in my professor role -- I tamed my hair again. Until the morning I looked in the mirror at my droopy curls, groaned and dug around in a drawer for an old "pick" (a steel-toothed comb). I used it to demolish the curls, then stood there grinning at my reflection in the mirror.
About a second later, I realized I didn't have time to go through the process of washing my hair again to get it to curl. I would have to wear my Afro.
As I rode up in the elevator at school, I anticipated the surprised looks.
And that was when I had my flashback. I was thirteen or fourteen, and I was walking down the hall in another school. My hair, to my delight, was rising up from my head in waves and spirals and spikes. A teacher coming toward me, stopped in her tracks. And then she rushed up and hustled me to the side, out of the flow of traffic. "What on earth happened to your hair?" she said. Taking a comb from her pocket, she dragged it through my hair and twisted my wild mane into a knot. Satisfied, I was now acceptable, she told me to go on to class.
This was before the days when combing a student's hair might have been grounds for a lawsuit. But I had been injured by that well-intentioned teacher. That part of me who -- if she hadn't been afraid of snakes -- would have thought Medusa's hair was cool, who loved Tina Turner's wild wigs and Patti La Belle's sculptured dos, had been injured.
The late 60s and early 70s liberated my hair. But before my mind could catch up, the Afro was gone. Now, it was several decades later. Marc Jacobs might be featuring Afros on his runway models. A few musicians and actors might be wearing ‘fros. But here I was again, walking down a hall, waiting for someone to tame my hair. Not with a comb, but with a grin and a joke. . .No grins, no jokes. In fact, no one said a word about my hair. Not that day or the next. Hadn't they noticed?
After a while it occurred to me that they might be wondering if I was making a “political statement”. Maybe they thought it was safer not to comment.
Whatever my friends' and colleagues were thinking, I was more surprised by what was going on in my own head. I might not be 14 again, but I feel more "me." I have reclaimed a piece of myself. And that's the point of this story. Sometimes we need to let our inner "rebel" out to play.
When we free ourselves to be more of who we are as individuals, we also free ourselves to bring that same quirkiness and creativity to our writing.
Letting my hair do its thing won't transform me into a best-selling author. But it does seem to have made me more productive. Writer's block? Sitting in front of my computer, hands buried in my hair, I remember that I have a voice.
And now, my challenge to you: "Go for it!" Do one wonderful, crazy, liberating thing that speaks to who you are inside. And let us know how it affects your life and your writing.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Stories surround us everywhere
First of all, let me start by saying how thrilled I am to be an official member of Type M for Murder. It's a real honor to join such a wonderful and diverse group of writers. I hope I don't lower the bar.
For the hoards of people who are unfamiliar with who I am and what I write, I'm a British transplant who moved to Los Angeles to pursue a screenwriting career but discovered a passion for writing mysteries instead - which was fortunate given the fact that my screenwriting career wasn't exactly going anywhere.
The Vicky Hill Mysteries are published by Berkley Prime Crime (Penguin USA) and follow the adventures of an obituary writer desperate for a front-page scoop. Set in the wilds of Devon in Southwest England, they are based on my own experience as - yes, you've guessed - an obituary writer.
Working for the now defunct Tiverton Gazette was the most boring job I'd ever had. I'd sit for hours in the newsroom waiting for someone to die (I'm sorry, but I did). How strange that this would form the basis for a series. Although my younger and more optimistic self shares many similarities with Vicky Hill, I can safely assure you that my parents have never been silver thieves nor wanted by Interpol.
One thing I was unprepared for was my editor's fascination for quirky British hobbies that I use as backdrops to my plots. I thought everyone knew about country pursuits such as hedge jumping or snail racing. It just goes to show that stories are everywhere around us. What may appear normal and mundane to me, might be utterly gripping to someone else. Even my manic day job working for a West Coast advertising agency, is filled with enough juicy gossip to write a whole new series. Now, there's a tantalizing thought.
One of the great things about being a writer is discovering that all those ghastly jobs and broken romances really come in useful. My old journals are filled with what now seem hilarious tales of angst and pain to say nothing of a list of jobs ranging from summer chicken "sexer" to spending a full five days in Her Majesty's Royal Navy. No doubt they too, will one day find their way into a book.
I'm intrigued to hear of personal experiences or awful jobs that you've turned into fiction and want to share. But be warned. We writers are always on the hunt for new ideas.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Back Among Friends
I’m ba-aa-ck! I couldn’t stay away, so after a couple of years’ hiatus from this blog, I am back among my Type M friends. But I have to warn you… Having grown up with Monroe calculators, manual typewriters, rabbit ears, and “princess” phones with 25-ft cords that you could drag into your bedroom, I don’t feel truly at home in this virtual world. It’s not that I can’t navigate it. I’ve analyzed research data using complex statistics software, I’ve written eight novels and more than two dozen short stories on the computer, I’ve been prowling around the web for fifteen years. I have a Facebook page with a couple of hundred friends. Indeed, even Inspector Green has a Facebook fan page, although I confess my editor, a thirty-something, set it up.
But it still feels surreal. I will set this blog adrift in cyberspace without ever knowing who reads it. Who laughs and who rolls their eyes. It’s like shouting into the wind. I miss the face-to-face contact. The quick smile and the knowing nudge, the rush of pleasure and intimacy that comes from having an actual conversation. I know this is a tired lament often muttered by us pre-computerites to the texting, twittering generation below us, but we lose with one hand when we gain with the other. Depth. Texture. Belonging.Writers have to build connections. We can’t sit in our garrets pounding out exquisite prose, and expect to soar to the top of the bestseller lists. Or even to pay the next month’s rent. My favourite way to meet fellow booklovers is the old-fashioned way, through book clubs, readings, signings and mystery conferences, where we can sit face to face and talk. I still do that as much as I can, but California and CapeTown are rarely within my reach. Cyberspace is the meeting ground where all readers can find us. Somehow through the blogging, facebooking, listserve postings and twittering, our voices can get heard. Cyberspace can be fun, too, digging up old boyfriends you haven’t thought about in four decades or connecting with obscure cousins in Australia.
So a big thanks to my blogger family for inviting me back. I join with optimism and humour, hoping to share some thoughts and experiences, to contribute to the noisy chatter of the mystery-loving world, and maybe to hear from people who read it. What do you think about our brave new world?
Friday, March 05, 2010
Bonjour
I stepped across the cobbled concourse, and felt a chill in my bones as I passed the threshold beneath a grey granite arch and heard the clang of steel gates closing behind me.
I was in prison. Condemned to give a series of talks to the inmates of French penitentiaries on the subject of writing. And now, here I was, a writer of crime books face to face with real criminals.
It had all begun eight months earlier. I had been in southern California, in the midst of a book tour of the US to promote one of my China Thrillers. I received an email from my French publisher (I live in France), to say that I had been nominated for an unusual award at the Cognac festival of “polars”, which is the French word for mysteries.
But acceptance of the nomination went with certain obligations - I had to visit a number of French penitentiaries to talk to the prisoners about books and writing. Why? Because this particular award - the Prix Intramuros (literally, the prize between the walls) - was going to be decided by panels of prisoners.
A long list had been reduced to a short list of seven, and these were the books sent out to the prisons. The inmates would read and cast their votes. My book was “Snakehead”, the fourth in my six-book China series, and I was the only non-French writer to have been nominated.
So eight months later I was being ferried from a base in Cognac to prisons in the north-west of France. My first group of prisoners were all men, on remand awaiting trial, mostly young. I had declined to wear my kilt (which, as a good Scot, I often do for promotional purposes). For, after all, what man in his right mind would wear a skirt into an all-male prison?
To my surprise, they were interested, articulate, full of questions about writing, plot, character, research. And once I had tuned into the French prison slang which was somewhat different from the Parisian French I had been taught at school, I enjoyed a lively debate.
Another group, in a different wing of the same prison, was all female. They each stood outside their cell doors as I was led along the corridor, and one by one they fell in step behind me. In a recreation room at the end of the corridor we all sat around a table and they stared at me with dead eyes, listening in sullen silence as I talked. These were poor souls. Drug addicts and alcoholics, prostitutes and petty thieves. Wasted lives. I felt as if I were talking to a brick wall, until I happened to mention some of the awful things I’d been forced to eat during my research trips to China - deep fried whole scorpions, ants, sea slugs. And suddenly they became animated and the discussion came to life.
Then my departure. They filed out ahead of me. Standing once more outside their cells, to be locked in again after I had passed. This time, when the metal gates of this cold, 19th century place of incarceration clanged behind me, I was out. A free man, breathing fresh, clean air. And thanking God that fate had not led me to be locked up like the lost creatures I had left behind.
I went on to other prisons, spoke to other prisoners, and met a group of older men who had created their own prison library, and who talked with great enthusiasm and intelligence about the books they had read - what else is there to do during all those long, lonely hours?
I got back to Cognac in time for that evening’s award ceremony in the vaulted cellars of the mediaeval Château Otard, where that most famous of French kings, François Premier, had been born. To my astonishment, when the prizes were announced, I had won. This crime writer had been awarded the prize by the criminals he wrote about. Quite a plaudit, I thought. But then pride was tempered by a more sobering reflection.
When we write, perhaps there is a tendency to think of our readers in the abstract. But here, I had been confronted by readers I had never imagined. People for whom my words and thoughts, and plots, had provided an escape from lost lives lived behind bars. And that felt like quite a weight of responsibility.
One thing is for sure. I no longer think of readers in the abstract.
A footnote: I am delighted and honoured to be joining the very distinguished Type M for Murder team. During the coming weeks and months I will write about my life as a writer here in France, where writers and writing are revered and respected. I will describe the ways in which publishing and promotion differ from the English-speaking world. From the end of this month, I begin a two-month book tour of the States, so I will relay the experiences of a writer on the road direct to your screens. And when the moment comes, I will tell you, too, about the book which was rejected by every major publisher in the UK, only to be snapped up all across Europe and published first in French to the best reviews of my career.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Breathing Life into a Dead-end Scene
This is about showing vs. telling, about making bad writing better, and about turning nothing into something.
You and I both know we should write every day, and hopefully we do our best to accomplish that. Writer’s block is nothing more than, as poet William Stafford said, writers who can’t “lower their expectations.” If you’re going to write every day, which is a necessity for most who write novel-length fiction, you’ll face many days when you don’t have your “A game.” So how can you work through those days and those drafts that seem to go nowhere? Below, I have written 103 words of fresh copy, a would-be opening paragraph that in its current state poses few if any interesting questions, grabs the reader with all the power of a dead-fish handshake, and makes no one, including the author, want to read on. But I will work with this scene and see if I can shape it into a potentially successful opening. I invite you to go along for the ride and take whatever you feel is useful from it.
She looked out the window, and saw the boy crossing the street alone. He was too young to cross that street by himself, she thought. His mother should be there. The sun was setting at 5:25 that Thursday afternoon. The boy was no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which was broken, the right sleeve torn. She sipped her tea and continued rocking, wondering if the sleeve had been torn by bullies and thinking, again, his mother should be walking him home as she once did with Jane, before the diagnosis, and long Jane was laid to rest.
Brutal. There is only one direction this scene can go. One sure-fire way to add tension is to change the tense.
She looks out the window, and sees the boy cross the street alone. He is too young to cross that street by himself, she thinks. His mother should be there. The sun is setting at 5:25 on Thursday afternoon. The boy is no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which is broken, the right sleeve torn. She sips her tea and continues rocking, wondering if the sleeve has been torn by bullies and thinking, again, his mother should be walking him home as she once did with Jane, before the diagnosis, and long Jane was laid to rest.
The opening sentences now pose several questions—always a goal I have when starting a story or novel. But the last lines are still flat. I’ll try playing with the syntax, shortening the sentences, and adding more tension by taking liberties with fragments.
The boy is crossing the street. Alone. Head down. Tiny sneakers shuffling through the snow. From where she sits, Maggie can see his breath coming in small puffs in the cold air. Too young to cross that street by himself. Where is his mother? It is nearly dark at 5:25 Thursday afternoon. She thinks of Jane, before her diagnosis, much before all that followed. The boy is no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which is broken, the right sleeve torn. She sips her tea. Rocks slowly. Thinking. Jane? Jane? Did bullies tear the boy’s sleeve? Where is his mother? She’d been there for Jane, although it didn’t matter. The disease was the ultimate bully. Rocking slowly, the teacup begins to tremble. The realization made her stop: This boy’s mother doesn’t deserve him. The next realization was the one that made her set her teacup on the windowsill and stand. There is an empty bedroom downstairs. The rag. The ether. She will save this boy. She knows she must.
Still rough around the edges, but I can work with this. Most importantly, I want to work with this now. The old lady has come alive. She’s creepy now, and she offers me lots of questions to examine during the writing process. What was her relationship with Jane? Does she feel guilty about Jane’s death? What will she do when she gets the boy? Are the bullies only imagined? Did you notice that I never explicitly offered Maggie’s age, but rather, I gave details (including a name) that I hoped would resonate?
How far will this story go? No way to know until I really delve into it, but now the story is there. I have a character ready and able to lead me someplace interesting. Most importantly, I’ve turned nothing into something, which is the goal of every writing session.
You and I both know we should write every day, and hopefully we do our best to accomplish that. Writer’s block is nothing more than, as poet William Stafford said, writers who can’t “lower their expectations.” If you’re going to write every day, which is a necessity for most who write novel-length fiction, you’ll face many days when you don’t have your “A game.” So how can you work through those days and those drafts that seem to go nowhere? Below, I have written 103 words of fresh copy, a would-be opening paragraph that in its current state poses few if any interesting questions, grabs the reader with all the power of a dead-fish handshake, and makes no one, including the author, want to read on. But I will work with this scene and see if I can shape it into a potentially successful opening. I invite you to go along for the ride and take whatever you feel is useful from it.
She looked out the window, and saw the boy crossing the street alone. He was too young to cross that street by himself, she thought. His mother should be there. The sun was setting at 5:25 that Thursday afternoon. The boy was no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which was broken, the right sleeve torn. She sipped her tea and continued rocking, wondering if the sleeve had been torn by bullies and thinking, again, his mother should be walking him home as she once did with Jane, before the diagnosis, and long Jane was laid to rest.
Brutal. There is only one direction this scene can go. One sure-fire way to add tension is to change the tense.
She looks out the window, and sees the boy cross the street alone. He is too young to cross that street by himself, she thinks. His mother should be there. The sun is setting at 5:25 on Thursday afternoon. The boy is no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which is broken, the right sleeve torn. She sips her tea and continues rocking, wondering if the sleeve has been torn by bullies and thinking, again, his mother should be walking him home as she once did with Jane, before the diagnosis, and long Jane was laid to rest.
The opening sentences now pose several questions—always a goal I have when starting a story or novel. But the last lines are still flat. I’ll try playing with the syntax, shortening the sentences, and adding more tension by taking liberties with fragments.
The boy is crossing the street. Alone. Head down. Tiny sneakers shuffling through the snow. From where she sits, Maggie can see his breath coming in small puffs in the cold air. Too young to cross that street by himself. Where is his mother? It is nearly dark at 5:25 Thursday afternoon. She thinks of Jane, before her diagnosis, much before all that followed. The boy is no older than seven, wearing a worn winter coat, the zipper of which is broken, the right sleeve torn. She sips her tea. Rocks slowly. Thinking. Jane? Jane? Did bullies tear the boy’s sleeve? Where is his mother? She’d been there for Jane, although it didn’t matter. The disease was the ultimate bully. Rocking slowly, the teacup begins to tremble. The realization made her stop: This boy’s mother doesn’t deserve him. The next realization was the one that made her set her teacup on the windowsill and stand. There is an empty bedroom downstairs. The rag. The ether. She will save this boy. She knows she must.
Still rough around the edges, but I can work with this. Most importantly, I want to work with this now. The old lady has come alive. She’s creepy now, and she offers me lots of questions to examine during the writing process. What was her relationship with Jane? Does she feel guilty about Jane’s death? What will she do when she gets the boy? Are the bullies only imagined? Did you notice that I never explicitly offered Maggie’s age, but rather, I gave details (including a name) that I hoped would resonate?
How far will this story go? No way to know until I really delve into it, but now the story is there. I have a character ready and able to lead me someplace interesting. Most importantly, I’ve turned nothing into something, which is the goal of every writing session.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Sunday's Guest Blogger: Lyn Hamilton
Lyn Hamilton is the author of eleven novels of “archeological mysteries”, featuring antique dealer (and sleuth) Lara McClintoch. The are clever, engrossing and, well, if you haven’t read any of them, you should! A link to her website is provided at the bottom. Thanks, Lyn!
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I have been musing lately on the ability of fiction to illuminate social issues, to get to the heart of human experience through the telling of stories that are not, well, real. I am not sure why I’ve been thinking about this, other than that it has already been a long, hard winter here in Toronto even if it’s only January, and the gloom perhaps lends itself to thoughts of some of the ills of our society and how they are best documented and explored.
It is also because of my interest in the case of Herman Rosenblat. Rosenblat wrote a Holocaust memoir called Angel at the Fence, and it was to be published by Penguin’s Berkley Publishing, which just happens to be the publisher of my archaeological mystery series. Rosenblat wrote that he met his wife Roma at a sub-camp of Buchenwald where she is supposed to have sneaked him food. Trouble is, that isn’t true: apparently, they met on a blind date in New York. With that revelation, and Berkley’s decision not to publish the memoir, Rosenblat joins the likes of James Frey who also made up a memoir. Unlike Rosenblat, Frey’s book got published before the subterfuge was revealed, and he is perhaps best known for annoying Oprah no end.
Rosenblat’s excuse, I suppose you could call it, for making this all up, was that he wanted to better spread his message. (Comments on the other side of this argument are to the effect that a heart-warming false memoir like this just demonstrates our culture’s unwillingness to confront terrible events like the Holocaust.)
So why pretend it’s true? If the story is as compelling as those who read it, unaware of the subterfuge, have said, would this same book labelled a novel not have spread the message just as well? Do we ignore the messages of fiction, because they’re not populated by real people? True, biographies and memoirs sell better than fiction, by and large. Is that the reason for doing this? They sell better?
I am a judge in the Arthur Ellis awards for the best crime writing in Canada this year. That means I am working my way through a lot of crime fiction these days. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve learned a great deal about human trafficking, about abuse of children, about war, about the human toll of great natural disasters – all through the medium of mystery fiction. Does that make what I have learned any less relevant? I don’t think so. I’ve always been proud to be a part of the mystery community, because I believe that popular fiction can illuminate social evils – in fact has led in the exposure of ills in some cases – through the compelling telling of stories that may not be absolutely real, but which represent the world in which we live vividly and accurately. In fact, one of the reasons I began my archaeological series was to talk about issues of patrimony and heritage, and the loss of same by people all over the world, by the action of greedy smugglers and art dealers, to say nothing of museum curators. I wanted to do that in a way that people would find engaging, but at the end of the day, if someone thought twice about buying a pre-Columbian object on their trip to Peru and sneaking past customs in Canada, I’d be pretty happy. Of course, I wanted readers to stay up way too late to find out who dunnit, but I had other reasons for writing as well, and fiction, based on my knowledge of some of the less than acceptable goings-on in the heritage community, seemed as good a way as any of getting at those issues. By and large, mystery writers work hard to make sure that their fictional depictions mirror real life issues. Readers of mystery fiction want to be entertained, but they also want to be informed, and mystery fiction is a valid way of doing that.
Regards, Lyn Hamilton
PS – There’s a free mystery up on my website (www.lynhamilton.com) for a limited time. It’s in manuscript form, but you’re welcome to download it. I only ask that if you do so, you consider making a donation, however small, to a women’s shelter in your community. Speaking of social issues!!
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
I have been musing lately on the ability of fiction to illuminate social issues, to get to the heart of human experience through the telling of stories that are not, well, real. I am not sure why I’ve been thinking about this, other than that it has already been a long, hard winter here in Toronto even if it’s only January, and the gloom perhaps lends itself to thoughts of some of the ills of our society and how they are best documented and explored.
It is also because of my interest in the case of Herman Rosenblat. Rosenblat wrote a Holocaust memoir called Angel at the Fence, and it was to be published by Penguin’s Berkley Publishing, which just happens to be the publisher of my archaeological mystery series. Rosenblat wrote that he met his wife Roma at a sub-camp of Buchenwald where she is supposed to have sneaked him food. Trouble is, that isn’t true: apparently, they met on a blind date in New York. With that revelation, and Berkley’s decision not to publish the memoir, Rosenblat joins the likes of James Frey who also made up a memoir. Unlike Rosenblat, Frey’s book got published before the subterfuge was revealed, and he is perhaps best known for annoying Oprah no end.
Rosenblat’s excuse, I suppose you could call it, for making this all up, was that he wanted to better spread his message. (Comments on the other side of this argument are to the effect that a heart-warming false memoir like this just demonstrates our culture’s unwillingness to confront terrible events like the Holocaust.)
So why pretend it’s true? If the story is as compelling as those who read it, unaware of the subterfuge, have said, would this same book labelled a novel not have spread the message just as well? Do we ignore the messages of fiction, because they’re not populated by real people? True, biographies and memoirs sell better than fiction, by and large. Is that the reason for doing this? They sell better?
I am a judge in the Arthur Ellis awards for the best crime writing in Canada this year. That means I am working my way through a lot of crime fiction these days. In the last few weeks alone, I’ve learned a great deal about human trafficking, about abuse of children, about war, about the human toll of great natural disasters – all through the medium of mystery fiction. Does that make what I have learned any less relevant? I don’t think so. I’ve always been proud to be a part of the mystery community, because I believe that popular fiction can illuminate social evils – in fact has led in the exposure of ills in some cases – through the compelling telling of stories that may not be absolutely real, but which represent the world in which we live vividly and accurately. In fact, one of the reasons I began my archaeological series was to talk about issues of patrimony and heritage, and the loss of same by people all over the world, by the action of greedy smugglers and art dealers, to say nothing of museum curators. I wanted to do that in a way that people would find engaging, but at the end of the day, if someone thought twice about buying a pre-Columbian object on their trip to Peru and sneaking past customs in Canada, I’d be pretty happy. Of course, I wanted readers to stay up way too late to find out who dunnit, but I had other reasons for writing as well, and fiction, based on my knowledge of some of the less than acceptable goings-on in the heritage community, seemed as good a way as any of getting at those issues. By and large, mystery writers work hard to make sure that their fictional depictions mirror real life issues. Readers of mystery fiction want to be entertained, but they also want to be informed, and mystery fiction is a valid way of doing that.
Regards, Lyn Hamilton
PS – There’s a free mystery up on my website (www.lynhamilton.com) for a limited time. It’s in manuscript form, but you’re welcome to download it. I only ask that if you do so, you consider making a donation, however small, to a women’s shelter in your community. Speaking of social issues!!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
It's Been a Hell of a Week
In keeping with Dana Denburg’s advice, I’ll keep this short.
Some of my compadres are attending Bouchercon in Baltimore. Some have just returned from Europe or Africa. I’ve just brought my husband home from the hospital.
Everything is under control, let me assure you of that up front, Dear Readers, but we had a touchy moment or two, there, including a trip to the emergency room followed by two days in the hospital watching my him suck up blood transfusions. They topped him off with five pints, and we got home this afternoon. Sounds like he had an accident, doesn’t it? But he didn’t, so where did all his blood go? Is our house infested with vampires, or giant invisible mosquitos? No one is sure, therefore many tests to follow.
I was very unhappy that I couldn’t manage to go to Bouchercon this year, because I really planned to, but if I had, this might not have had a happy ending. I’ve made all the arrangements to attend Women Writing the West in San Antonio in two weeks, but it looks like I’ll be defaulting on that one, too, and I’ve already paid for it.
This morning at 10:00, I’ll be conducting a mystery writing workshop at Tempe Public Library for 15 or 20 people. I’ve done this so many times that I joke that I could do it in my sleep, and now I’m going to get to find out if that’s really true.
Funny how none of the above bothers me very much. Remember how 2008 was supposed to be the happiest year of my life? I think it just might turn out to be.
Chapter Two- Later that same day...
Don is fine. He got to watch the Oklahoma-Texas game on tv, which made him very happy.
Apparently you can teach a workshop in your sleep because it went very well.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Being there....Or Not
I am still working on a scene in a place I’ve never been and a situation I’ll never be in. I'd like to visit one day, but I'm a middle-aged mom with teenagers; if I enlisted in the military, someone at home would want to shoot me first. Fellow blogger and author Charles Benoit, who has been not only been in the place where I’m putting my opening (I think) scene and was also in the army, has been incredibly helpful. And it’s been loads of fun exchanging emails and imagining his experiences. So much fun that I had to call him and have a real-time conversation, which was a riot. I could hardly write ideas down fast enough.
A couple of things come to mind as I look at my scramble to describe a place I can’t visit. First and foremost, this endeavor, on paper and off, has to be fun. I love doing research, and this is the best kind. Chatting with Charles about his wild experiences reminded me of twenty-some years ago when my brother and I would sit on the lanai and drink beer and cook up thriller plots. For years, we just had fun—we never wrote them down. Finally, we both began to put them on paper.
Then the fun began in earnest, and I’ve had to branch out in terms of how I do research, which not only makes my writing better, but enriches me as a person. I’ve taken the eleven-week Citizen’s Police Academy class, I have the Medical Examiner’s direct phone number—and he talks to me in vivid detail (how lucky and fun is that?!). We (a group of writers and fellow crime fiction enthusiasts) started a Sisters in Crime chapter and we have authors, firearms experts, forensic entomologists, K-9 corps, and other experts speak to us on a regular basis.
So when I get a bit down about the publishing industry, book sales, how to publicize my next novel, travel expenses, and whatever other obstacles pop up, I think about how fortunate I am. How my world has expanded because of the active, intelligent people I’ve met in my work. How my TBR pile on the bedside table teeters even higher with gripping books. The rest of my family has begun to “borrow” from the stack—I have to make sure I get them back!
And I thank my lucky stars for being able to sit in my little office and visit Kuwait, where I’ve left my protagonist and six members of his platoon on night maneuvers near the Iraqi border, where something bad is about to happen. So please excuse me. I’d better go, they need my help.
A couple of things come to mind as I look at my scramble to describe a place I can’t visit. First and foremost, this endeavor, on paper and off, has to be fun. I love doing research, and this is the best kind. Chatting with Charles about his wild experiences reminded me of twenty-some years ago when my brother and I would sit on the lanai and drink beer and cook up thriller plots. For years, we just had fun—we never wrote them down. Finally, we both began to put them on paper.
Then the fun began in earnest, and I’ve had to branch out in terms of how I do research, which not only makes my writing better, but enriches me as a person. I’ve taken the eleven-week Citizen’s Police Academy class, I have the Medical Examiner’s direct phone number—and he talks to me in vivid detail (how lucky and fun is that?!). We (a group of writers and fellow crime fiction enthusiasts) started a Sisters in Crime chapter and we have authors, firearms experts, forensic entomologists, K-9 corps, and other experts speak to us on a regular basis.
So when I get a bit down about the publishing industry, book sales, how to publicize my next novel, travel expenses, and whatever other obstacles pop up, I think about how fortunate I am. How my world has expanded because of the active, intelligent people I’ve met in my work. How my TBR pile on the bedside table teeters even higher with gripping books. The rest of my family has begun to “borrow” from the stack—I have to make sure I get them back!
And I thank my lucky stars for being able to sit in my little office and visit Kuwait, where I’ve left my protagonist and six members of his platoon on night maneuvers near the Iraqi border, where something bad is about to happen. So please excuse me. I’d better go, they need my help.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Now it's Blechta's turn!
I guess I’m the last one in the pool, but I would like to take this opportunity (as everyone else has) to welcome you to Type M for Murder.
Alex brought up interesting points in her inaugural entry. Yes, our Members of Parliament have awful reading habits as far as Canadian crime writing goes (Charles, there may still be hope for you since you're published south of the border, although you might want to consider changing your last name to Brown), but these worthy souls are no worse than most of the Canadian population.
I'm often heard to say that there are literally millions of Canadians who have yet to enjoy my novels, and for all of us in this crew, this is sadly true. That's not to say that all of us (or any of us) deserve to be household names and sell millions of copies.
I think that we'd all like the chance, though!
So MPs don't read us, most “normal” Canadians don't read us (hopefully, you will!). Why is that?
It's because of lack of promotion. You've heard of Dan Brown. That's because hundreds of gallons of ink have been spilled talking about him. A lot of it (initially) was paid for by his publisher, then public opinion took over. His book became a phenomenon. To my mind that's great. I'm thrilled that so many people are reading and talking about a book. It's a good thing.
Where I do have issues is the fact that I'm willing to bet that very little of that promotional money was spent in Canada. It didn't need to be because our border is so porous to American advertising that it's almost non-existent. Sadly, because our book industry is one tenth the size of the one below the 49th parallel, it just cannot muster the weight of our competitors, and with the media blitz pouring through from the south, what money they do spend generally amounts to no more than a cry in the wilderness.
Many of you have heard of Peter Robinson, a terrific writer and a Canadian to boot. How the heck did Peter get to where he is in the pecking order? Well, first of all, he writes damn good books, but also, while he's published in Canada by ‘Canada’s Publisher’, McClelland & Stewart, he's also published in the States. THOSE are the people who promote the hell out of him, and it certainly spills over into Canada – and makes M&S’s job that much easier financially. The more you hear about Peter, the more books he sells.
Okay, I've whined enough about what's wrong. How do we make it right?
Type M for Murder is a good start. All of us get out and do signings, speak to book clubs and library groups, attend fan-based conventions. Heck, we'll even talk on the radio or TV – if they ask – but that doesn't go far enough. I wish I had the money to hire the best publicists and do a huge blitz across the country, but moths flutter out of my wallet every time I open it.
But you can help. Visit our websites. Ask questions on this blog. If we give you answers that you like, tempt you with our writing samples on our websites, then go out and buy a book. We'll even tell you where!
If you enjoy it, tell us (it's always nice when someone likes your work), but if you don't like it, tell us. I for one welcome criticism. It makes me a better writer. It will also make this blog more interesting.
I think all five of us have good things to say, worthwhile things, ENTERTAINING things. I'd like to invite you to sample our wares.
And if you enjoy them, do us a favour and tell your MP!*
*Or if you're not from the True North, then tell your friends, local librarian, family, the guy next to you on the bus, people you meet in...
Alex brought up interesting points in her inaugural entry. Yes, our Members of Parliament have awful reading habits as far as Canadian crime writing goes (Charles, there may still be hope for you since you're published south of the border, although you might want to consider changing your last name to Brown), but these worthy souls are no worse than most of the Canadian population.
I'm often heard to say that there are literally millions of Canadians who have yet to enjoy my novels, and for all of us in this crew, this is sadly true. That's not to say that all of us (or any of us) deserve to be household names and sell millions of copies.
I think that we'd all like the chance, though!
So MPs don't read us, most “normal” Canadians don't read us (hopefully, you will!). Why is that?
It's because of lack of promotion. You've heard of Dan Brown. That's because hundreds of gallons of ink have been spilled talking about him. A lot of it (initially) was paid for by his publisher, then public opinion took over. His book became a phenomenon. To my mind that's great. I'm thrilled that so many people are reading and talking about a book. It's a good thing.
Where I do have issues is the fact that I'm willing to bet that very little of that promotional money was spent in Canada. It didn't need to be because our border is so porous to American advertising that it's almost non-existent. Sadly, because our book industry is one tenth the size of the one below the 49th parallel, it just cannot muster the weight of our competitors, and with the media blitz pouring through from the south, what money they do spend generally amounts to no more than a cry in the wilderness.
Many of you have heard of Peter Robinson, a terrific writer and a Canadian to boot. How the heck did Peter get to where he is in the pecking order? Well, first of all, he writes damn good books, but also, while he's published in Canada by ‘Canada’s Publisher’, McClelland & Stewart, he's also published in the States. THOSE are the people who promote the hell out of him, and it certainly spills over into Canada – and makes M&S’s job that much easier financially. The more you hear about Peter, the more books he sells.
Okay, I've whined enough about what's wrong. How do we make it right?
Type M for Murder is a good start. All of us get out and do signings, speak to book clubs and library groups, attend fan-based conventions. Heck, we'll even talk on the radio or TV – if they ask – but that doesn't go far enough. I wish I had the money to hire the best publicists and do a huge blitz across the country, but moths flutter out of my wallet every time I open it.
But you can help. Visit our websites. Ask questions on this blog. If we give you answers that you like, tempt you with our writing samples on our websites, then go out and buy a book. We'll even tell you where!
If you enjoy it, tell us (it's always nice when someone likes your work), but if you don't like it, tell us. I for one welcome criticism. It makes me a better writer. It will also make this blog more interesting.
I think all five of us have good things to say, worthwhile things, ENTERTAINING things. I'd like to invite you to sample our wares.
And if you enjoy them, do us a favour and tell your MP!*
*Or if you're not from the True North, then tell your friends, local librarian, family, the guy next to you on the bus, people you meet in...
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Type M for Murder
Type M for Murder
Is there Murder on Parliament Hill?
As a mystery author based in Ottawa, Canada’s capital, I thought I’d take my first blog-op to look at the reading habits of our federal politicians – MPs or members of Parliament as we refer to them here in maple-leaf land. So, what exactly do our MPs chose for their cottage reading? And what does it say about the future of crime writing north of the 49th?
On Saturday June 24th Ottawa Citizen journalist Deirdre McMurdy revealed the secrets of our MPs dockside reading in her column titled Summer Reading Outside the House, and according to McMurdy, crime is alive and well on Parliament Hill (as if we didn’t know that already). But a further analysis leaves me concerned.
Let’s start with Conservative MP Bev Oda, the Minister of All-that-is-dear-to-our-hearts (that would be Culture and Heritage) and ‘she-that-holds-the-purse-strings-to-our-future’. Oda tells McMurdy that her cottage fiction reading includes Madame Perfecta by Antoine Maillet as well as A Complicated Kindness, the award-winning novel by Miriam Toews, both wonderful examples of Canadian literary fiction. Our Minister of Culture, though, doesn’t seem to be into crime, and that’s a shame. As Canadian crime writers, we could certainly give her a few pointers on how to even-up the odds in that pesky House of Commons. Taking too much flak from the Opposition? We have ways. [Note to Ms. Toews: Since Ms. Oda will undoubtedly be a fan after reading your wonderful book, please consider including more dead bodies in your next novel. Exhuming a corpse from beneath the chicken factory would work for me.]
Sticking with Conservatives, what about Jay Hill, the Conservative Party Whip? With a job title like that it already sounds promising, but when asked to name names, the only title he would admit to, for his summer reading, was Unquiet Diplomacy by Paul Celucci, a non-fiction account of Celucci’s time as US ambassador to Canada. He did confess, though, (in hushed tones?) to a penchant for thriller and spy novels. We can only hope that he chooses a few with a little Canadian content. Given our history with various super-powers, it’s not like we’re lacking in subject matter for spy and conspiracy novels.
And what about the Liberals, for example Belinda Stronach? She’s the critic for competitiveness and the new economy, issues that weigh heavily on Canada’s writing and publishing sector. According to McMurdy, Stronach’s Muskoka reading consists of several weighty non-fiction titles by US authors (I hope she doesn’t fall off that dock. Jettison the books if you do, Ms. Stronach.) No Canadian authors are listed and no fiction whatsoever. Canadian writers, however, will be happy to know that Ms. Stronach plans to read Jeffery Sachs, The End of Poverty. Let’s hope it has an impact. “Somehow the lighter stuff falls to the bottom of the pile,” Stronach is quoted as saying. [Memo to self: Add more intellectual weight to next novel. Astrophysics and Cold War history just don’t cut it.]
As Speaker of the House, Peter Milliken could probably use a few good police procedurals, what with having to keep all those delinquent MPs in line. While he doesn’t score well on Canadian content, at least he’s not afraid to admit he actually reads mysteries and thrillers. On his summer TBR (To-Be-Read) list? The Da Vinci Code and The Constant Gardener. Way to go, Mr. Milliken. Next year check out your local mystery bookstore. There’s a great one right there in downtown Kingston, and you’ve got several excellent mystery writers right in your own constituency. Please, support your local authors. I hear that both Le Carré and Brown are already doing quite well.
So how does the NDP (New Democratic Party) come off on Canadian crime? MP Peggy Nash gives McMurdy several non-fiction titles on her vacation TBR list, all Canadian. Way to go, girl. I particularly like the title Our Culture: What’s Left of It. If you like it, Ms. Nash, please recommend it to all those folks on Parliament Hill. But, sadly, while Nash is good on theory, her practice needs work. According to McMurdy, Ms. Nash plans to “indulge in some murder mysteries as well.” Indulge? So that makes us, what? The Cheesios of CanLit? But maybe we in Canada we don’t need to worry. According to the article, Nash only indulges in foreign junk foods: P.D. James and Sara Paretsky. Boy, do I ever feel relieved.
Another NDP MP, northerner Charlie Angus, tells McMurdy that his reading tastes have gone “more down market” over the past years, with Elmore Leonard at the top of the list. Ouch! And just like his NDP colleague he plans to “indulge”, but like Ms. Nash, no Timbits or Beaver Tails for this boy. With a name like Angus, he goes for the crisps and pickled eggs, with Ian Rankin at the top of his list. [Memo to self: Change name to McBrett for the next book.]
Finally, McMurdy interviews Ethics Commissioner Bernard Shapiro. Now, I figure if anyone on the Hill should have an interest in Canadian crime it would be this guy. I mean, really, that’s what he deals with day-in, day-out. The difference is, in crime fiction we usually see a resolution. Justice is served. You’d think that would be relief for someone who deals with the real world of politics and crime.
So how is he on Canadian crime? Like so many of his colleagues, dismal. Although he reads detective novels while traveling, McMurty says he tends to Ruth Rendell and P.D. James. [Memo to self: Take out British citizenship for next book.]
So what’s the final word? McMurdy says that she’s unsettled by the preponderance of murder mysteries amongst MPs summer reading. Personally, I don’t think she needs to worry. With not a single Canadian crime novel on our MPs summer reading list, our federal politicians obviously prefer out-of-country crime. As long as we stay in Canada, we should be okay. Unless, of course, you’re a Canadian fiction writer writing about Canadian crime.
Is there Murder on Parliament Hill?
As a mystery author based in Ottawa, Canada’s capital, I thought I’d take my first blog-op to look at the reading habits of our federal politicians – MPs or members of Parliament as we refer to them here in maple-leaf land. So, what exactly do our MPs chose for their cottage reading? And what does it say about the future of crime writing north of the 49th?
On Saturday June 24th Ottawa Citizen journalist Deirdre McMurdy revealed the secrets of our MPs dockside reading in her column titled Summer Reading Outside the House, and according to McMurdy, crime is alive and well on Parliament Hill (as if we didn’t know that already). But a further analysis leaves me concerned.
Let’s start with Conservative MP Bev Oda, the Minister of All-that-is-dear-to-our-hearts (that would be Culture and Heritage) and ‘she-that-holds-the-purse-strings-to-our-future’. Oda tells McMurdy that her cottage fiction reading includes Madame Perfecta by Antoine Maillet as well as A Complicated Kindness, the award-winning novel by Miriam Toews, both wonderful examples of Canadian literary fiction. Our Minister of Culture, though, doesn’t seem to be into crime, and that’s a shame. As Canadian crime writers, we could certainly give her a few pointers on how to even-up the odds in that pesky House of Commons. Taking too much flak from the Opposition? We have ways. [Note to Ms. Toews: Since Ms. Oda will undoubtedly be a fan after reading your wonderful book, please consider including more dead bodies in your next novel. Exhuming a corpse from beneath the chicken factory would work for me.]
Sticking with Conservatives, what about Jay Hill, the Conservative Party Whip? With a job title like that it already sounds promising, but when asked to name names, the only title he would admit to, for his summer reading, was Unquiet Diplomacy by Paul Celucci, a non-fiction account of Celucci’s time as US ambassador to Canada. He did confess, though, (in hushed tones?) to a penchant for thriller and spy novels. We can only hope that he chooses a few with a little Canadian content. Given our history with various super-powers, it’s not like we’re lacking in subject matter for spy and conspiracy novels.
And what about the Liberals, for example Belinda Stronach? She’s the critic for competitiveness and the new economy, issues that weigh heavily on Canada’s writing and publishing sector. According to McMurdy, Stronach’s Muskoka reading consists of several weighty non-fiction titles by US authors (I hope she doesn’t fall off that dock. Jettison the books if you do, Ms. Stronach.) No Canadian authors are listed and no fiction whatsoever. Canadian writers, however, will be happy to know that Ms. Stronach plans to read Jeffery Sachs, The End of Poverty. Let’s hope it has an impact. “Somehow the lighter stuff falls to the bottom of the pile,” Stronach is quoted as saying. [Memo to self: Add more intellectual weight to next novel. Astrophysics and Cold War history just don’t cut it.]
As Speaker of the House, Peter Milliken could probably use a few good police procedurals, what with having to keep all those delinquent MPs in line. While he doesn’t score well on Canadian content, at least he’s not afraid to admit he actually reads mysteries and thrillers. On his summer TBR (To-Be-Read) list? The Da Vinci Code and The Constant Gardener. Way to go, Mr. Milliken. Next year check out your local mystery bookstore. There’s a great one right there in downtown Kingston, and you’ve got several excellent mystery writers right in your own constituency. Please, support your local authors. I hear that both Le Carré and Brown are already doing quite well.
So how does the NDP (New Democratic Party) come off on Canadian crime? MP Peggy Nash gives McMurdy several non-fiction titles on her vacation TBR list, all Canadian. Way to go, girl. I particularly like the title Our Culture: What’s Left of It. If you like it, Ms. Nash, please recommend it to all those folks on Parliament Hill. But, sadly, while Nash is good on theory, her practice needs work. According to McMurdy, Ms. Nash plans to “indulge in some murder mysteries as well.” Indulge? So that makes us, what? The Cheesios of CanLit? But maybe we in Canada we don’t need to worry. According to the article, Nash only indulges in foreign junk foods: P.D. James and Sara Paretsky. Boy, do I ever feel relieved.
Another NDP MP, northerner Charlie Angus, tells McMurdy that his reading tastes have gone “more down market” over the past years, with Elmore Leonard at the top of the list. Ouch! And just like his NDP colleague he plans to “indulge”, but like Ms. Nash, no Timbits or Beaver Tails for this boy. With a name like Angus, he goes for the crisps and pickled eggs, with Ian Rankin at the top of his list. [Memo to self: Change name to McBrett for the next book.]
Finally, McMurdy interviews Ethics Commissioner Bernard Shapiro. Now, I figure if anyone on the Hill should have an interest in Canadian crime it would be this guy. I mean, really, that’s what he deals with day-in, day-out. The difference is, in crime fiction we usually see a resolution. Justice is served. You’d think that would be relief for someone who deals with the real world of politics and crime.
So how is he on Canadian crime? Like so many of his colleagues, dismal. Although he reads detective novels while traveling, McMurty says he tends to Ruth Rendell and P.D. James. [Memo to self: Take out British citizenship for next book.]
So what’s the final word? McMurdy says that she’s unsettled by the preponderance of murder mysteries amongst MPs summer reading. Personally, I don’t think she needs to worry. With not a single Canadian crime novel on our MPs summer reading list, our federal politicians obviously prefer out-of-country crime. As long as we stay in Canada, we should be okay. Unless, of course, you’re a Canadian fiction writer writing about Canadian crime.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
My First Blog
When Vicki asked me if I wanted to join Type M for Murder, my first impulse was to say, “Thanks anyway.” Coincidentally, my publisher had recently suggested that maybe I could put a little something together for AmazonConnect, which is a blog-type space for authors of books listed by Amazon.com. My first impulse was to say, “Thanks anyway.” I was even less enthusiastic when AmazonConnect rather brusquely informed me that my Internet browser (the latest version of Safari for the Macintosh) wasn’t compatible. Screw this, I thought. Like readers really want to know my favourite single malt. (It’s Lagavulin, BTW, just in case you want to buy me a drink at the next Bloody Words).
Remember the Famous Writers School of Westport, Connecticut? Yes, the same outfit that ran the Famous Artists School, the Famous Photographers School, and the Famous Private Detectives School. The idea was that a bunch of “famous writers” taught you via correspondence the secrets of, well, becoming a famous writer. In 1968, around the time I got kicked out of the Royal Canadian Air Force, I decided I wanted to be a writer. My mother, despairing that I would ever amount to anything, enrolled me in the Famous Writers School. I learned how to format a manuscript properly (knowledge that many aspiring writers evidently lack, according to my editor), plus a few other useful things.
But I also learned the two Big Lies of writing. I was young and stupid and didn’t know they were lies, of course, but they were. The first one was that it’s not really you who does the writing. Some muse perched over your shoulder actually dictates the stories to you, you just type. The implication, of course, is that writing isn’t really work. Hah! Anyone who’s written anything longer than a letter to grandma knows writing is hard work. Maybe not real work, as defined by my mother, but hard work nonetheless. And when was the last time a muse wrote a technical manual about how to jack up rail cars?
The second Big Lie perpetrated by the Famous Writers School was that once your book is published, you just sit back and the royalties roll in. Hah! For the royalties to even trickle in, someone has to buy your book. For that, they have to know about it. And counting on your publisher to put a lot of effort - i.e., money - into getting the word out is, to put it politely, unrealistic.
What the Famous Writers School didn’t tell its vic - uh - students was that writing and publishing were just the beginning of the process of becoming even a moderately well-known writer (hell, even a virtually unknown writer). You also have to be your own publicist. You’ve got the promote the hell out of you books, get out and get in people’s faces and shout, “Buy this book!” Hence, my participation in this blog. It’s a way to get in your face and shout, “Buy my books,” without spitting on you.
That’s it for today. For more info about my books, check out my little website. I think there's a link from the main page.
Montreal, Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Happy Independence Day to our American cousins.
Remember the Famous Writers School of Westport, Connecticut? Yes, the same outfit that ran the Famous Artists School, the Famous Photographers School, and the Famous Private Detectives School. The idea was that a bunch of “famous writers” taught you via correspondence the secrets of, well, becoming a famous writer. In 1968, around the time I got kicked out of the Royal Canadian Air Force, I decided I wanted to be a writer. My mother, despairing that I would ever amount to anything, enrolled me in the Famous Writers School. I learned how to format a manuscript properly (knowledge that many aspiring writers evidently lack, according to my editor), plus a few other useful things.
But I also learned the two Big Lies of writing. I was young and stupid and didn’t know they were lies, of course, but they were. The first one was that it’s not really you who does the writing. Some muse perched over your shoulder actually dictates the stories to you, you just type. The implication, of course, is that writing isn’t really work. Hah! Anyone who’s written anything longer than a letter to grandma knows writing is hard work. Maybe not real work, as defined by my mother, but hard work nonetheless. And when was the last time a muse wrote a technical manual about how to jack up rail cars?
The second Big Lie perpetrated by the Famous Writers School was that once your book is published, you just sit back and the royalties roll in. Hah! For the royalties to even trickle in, someone has to buy your book. For that, they have to know about it. And counting on your publisher to put a lot of effort - i.e., money - into getting the word out is, to put it politely, unrealistic.
What the Famous Writers School didn’t tell its vic - uh - students was that writing and publishing were just the beginning of the process of becoming even a moderately well-known writer (hell, even a virtually unknown writer). You also have to be your own publicist. You’ve got the promote the hell out of you books, get out and get in people’s faces and shout, “Buy this book!” Hence, my participation in this blog. It’s a way to get in your face and shout, “Buy my books,” without spitting on you.
That’s it for today. For more info about my books, check out my little website. I think there's a link from the main page.
Montreal, Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Happy Independence Day to our American cousins.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
On Watching The Maltese Falcon - OR - Why do I bother?
So I just got back from seeing The Maltese Falcon at the George Eastman House here in lovely Rochester, NY. A Sunday night screening of a 50-year-old film, six bucks a pop, and the place was packed. I know the script by heart and watch it every time it comes on TCM and at least once a year I pull out the DVD, but there's no way you pass up the chance to see it on the Big Screen. And I know I'm not supposed to do this, that I should just let go and enjoy the film, but the entire time I watching it I couldn't help but thinking that there was no way I'm ever going to write anything that great. Which is a stupid thing to admit on a blog that I hope leads people to buy my books (several copies each, please) but come on, let's be honest here. Now if you know the movie, you know that the script is almost word for word from the book. So sitting there, listening to lines that resonate like lines from The Odyssey must have resonated with Greek mystery writes a couple of millennia ago, I wonder why the hell I bother.
And then Sam Spade spoke to me.
It’s the great end line of the film – not written by Dashiell Hammett but suggested on the set by Bogart himself.
“It’s the stuff that dreams are made of.”
Okay, it’s corny. But sometimes corny’s true.
Cheers,
Charles
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Type M for Murder
Type M for Murder
Happy Canada Day to everyone! In honour of our nation's birthday, I suggest that everyone read a Canadian mystery novel today. I, however, will be falling down on the job, as I'm currently reading a book sent to my by my cousin Sheila in South Africa. It's called the Native Commissioner by Shaun Johnson and is the story of a man who worked for the S.A. government in the apartheid years - his job was a "native commissioner" and how the conflict between what he wanted to do in relation to the black people he oversaw, vs what he was told to do by his bosses brought about disaster to him and his family. It's very good, and reminding me of those days in South Africa. I lived there from 1973 - 1984. As I read, I'm smiling at seeing all those words that I haven't thought of in years. Bottle store = a liquor store, the bioscope - believe it or not a movie theatre. The character's wife has just bought him a safari suit. But you can be sure that once I've finished the Native Commissioner I'll be back to mysteries - and Canadian mysteries at that.
Happy Canada Day, whether you celebrate it or not,
Vicki
Happy Canada Day to everyone! In honour of our nation's birthday, I suggest that everyone read a Canadian mystery novel today. I, however, will be falling down on the job, as I'm currently reading a book sent to my by my cousin Sheila in South Africa. It's called the Native Commissioner by Shaun Johnson and is the story of a man who worked for the S.A. government in the apartheid years - his job was a "native commissioner" and how the conflict between what he wanted to do in relation to the black people he oversaw, vs what he was told to do by his bosses brought about disaster to him and his family. It's very good, and reminding me of those days in South Africa. I lived there from 1973 - 1984. As I read, I'm smiling at seeing all those words that I haven't thought of in years. Bottle store = a liquor store, the bioscope - believe it or not a movie theatre. The character's wife has just bought him a safari suit. But you can be sure that once I've finished the Native Commissioner I'll be back to mysteries - and Canadian mysteries at that.
Happy Canada Day, whether you celebrate it or not,
Vicki
Monday, June 26, 2006
Welcome to Type M for Murder
Launching
The first entry for our new blog – wow, this is exciting. Welcome.
We are a varied group, with only one thing in common – we love mysteries. We love to read them and we love to write them. We are all members of Crime Writers of Canada; mostly Canadians (including a brand-new Canadian) with one American, who kindly places Canadian characters in all his books. I'll let the others introduce themselves.
I’m Vicki Delany, and as well as being the launch of this blog, it's also release month for my second novel, Burden of Memory. Release month is pretty exciting – seeing the real book for the first time, admiring the beautiful cover art, reading the reviews on the back (there is a review of Scare the Light Away from Drood Reviews that I hadn't even seen before). Having lunch with the lovely and talented Charles Benoit and his wife Rose in Rochester. (My publisher is American, so it is easier if I drive down to Rochester to sign books to be returned to Poisoned Pen than to have the books cross the border twice). Setting up the launch party, doing interviews, arranging some booksignings,
A friend of mine at work bought a copy of Burden of Memory for her son to give his teacher as an end-of-the-year present. He had me write, "This is to Mrs. X, from my very good friend, Sheldon." Sweet.
I've had two interviews recently – one for Mystery Women n the UK with Julian Maynard-Smith, who I enjoyed meeting at Goldsboro Books in London in March. Keep an eye out for the interview at http://www.mysterywomen.co.uk/). I also had a really fun interview for Spinetingler magazine (due out July 20th at http://www.spinetinglermag.com/). What made that interview fun was that Lou Allin (author of the Belle Palmer series) and I interviewed each other. So I got to ask questions as well as write them. It was interesting just how similar our questions were.
If you're in the neighbourhood (and even if you're not) consider yourself invited to my launch. The party will be at Scene of the Crime bookstore (address below) on Saturday July 8th from 2 - 5. There will be lots of good food, plenty of great conversation, and the opportunity to see what other books Don has for sale. I'm hoping to persuade my mom to make the fabulous punch that was such a hit last year. The launch party for Scare the Light Away was the biggest event at Scene of the Crime all year, and I am sure that this year's party will be just as much fun. Sadly, Don and Jen are closing the bricks-and-mortar version of Scene of the Crime in August, so my party will probably be the biggest one this year, as well. It's always sad to see a bookstore go out of business. But Don will be keeping his online store open. He specializes in first editions and collectors' items. (http://www.murdermysteriesandmore.com/)
So: Welcome to our blog. We hope you drop by regularly and see what we have to say. Comments are more than welcome, and if you're surfing the 'net, why not follow the links to our web pages.
Scene of the Crime
2464 Lakeshore Road,
(southwest corner of Lakeshore Rd and Bronte Rd)
Oakville, Ontario
Contact Don Longmuir: 905-469-6731
The first entry for our new blog – wow, this is exciting. Welcome.
We are a varied group, with only one thing in common – we love mysteries. We love to read them and we love to write them. We are all members of Crime Writers of Canada; mostly Canadians (including a brand-new Canadian) with one American, who kindly places Canadian characters in all his books. I'll let the others introduce themselves.
I’m Vicki Delany, and as well as being the launch of this blog, it's also release month for my second novel, Burden of Memory. Release month is pretty exciting – seeing the real book for the first time, admiring the beautiful cover art, reading the reviews on the back (there is a review of Scare the Light Away from Drood Reviews that I hadn't even seen before). Having lunch with the lovely and talented Charles Benoit and his wife Rose in Rochester. (My publisher is American, so it is easier if I drive down to Rochester to sign books to be returned to Poisoned Pen than to have the books cross the border twice). Setting up the launch party, doing interviews, arranging some booksignings,
A friend of mine at work bought a copy of Burden of Memory for her son to give his teacher as an end-of-the-year present. He had me write, "This is to Mrs. X, from my very good friend, Sheldon." Sweet.
I've had two interviews recently – one for Mystery Women n the UK with Julian Maynard-Smith, who I enjoyed meeting at Goldsboro Books in London in March. Keep an eye out for the interview at http://www.mysterywomen.co.uk/). I also had a really fun interview for Spinetingler magazine (due out July 20th at http://www.spinetinglermag.com/). What made that interview fun was that Lou Allin (author of the Belle Palmer series) and I interviewed each other. So I got to ask questions as well as write them. It was interesting just how similar our questions were.
If you're in the neighbourhood (and even if you're not) consider yourself invited to my launch. The party will be at Scene of the Crime bookstore (address below) on Saturday July 8th from 2 - 5. There will be lots of good food, plenty of great conversation, and the opportunity to see what other books Don has for sale. I'm hoping to persuade my mom to make the fabulous punch that was such a hit last year. The launch party for Scare the Light Away was the biggest event at Scene of the Crime all year, and I am sure that this year's party will be just as much fun. Sadly, Don and Jen are closing the bricks-and-mortar version of Scene of the Crime in August, so my party will probably be the biggest one this year, as well. It's always sad to see a bookstore go out of business. But Don will be keeping his online store open. He specializes in first editions and collectors' items. (http://www.murdermysteriesandmore.com/)
So: Welcome to our blog. We hope you drop by regularly and see what we have to say. Comments are more than welcome, and if you're surfing the 'net, why not follow the links to our web pages.
Scene of the Crime
2464 Lakeshore Road,
(southwest corner of Lakeshore Rd and Bronte Rd)
Oakville, Ontario
Contact Don Longmuir: 905-469-6731
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