Books to Get You Through Hard Times

Last Saturday here on Type M, Vicki wrote about finding good books to read on a long airplane flight. This put me in mind of all the books that have gotten me through hours of waiting to hear the outcome of some operation or another that my husband was undergoing. Therefore, Dear Reader, allow me to offer my own list of Books to Take Your Mind off of Your Troubles for A Little While.

One of the books I suggested for Vicki's plane trip was Rhys Bowen's The Victory Garden, which I had just finished reading in a surgery center waiting room while my husband was having his eye operated upon.* The Victory Garden is a stand-alone set in Britain during World War I and featuring a young woman who volunteers to become a “land girl”, one of the women who worked on the farms while the men were fighting. She ends up tending a traditional herb garden on a large Devonshire estate and nursing the local villagers through the influenza pandemic of 1918. One of my own novels, The Return of the Raven Mocker, set in rural Oklahoma during the pandemic, also dealt with traditional healing and the way women supported one another through tragedy. It was a lovely, uplifting tale to read, especially needed at the time.

I don't remember every book I've read to get me through waiting/recovery/long days and nights beside a hospital bed, but there are a few that stand out: Deborah Atkinson's Fire Prayer, her third Storm Kayama novel, set on the Hawaiian island of Moloka’i, got me through the first of Don's bowel resections in 2012. Vicki Delany's More Than Sorrow, a beautifully written tale about the wounds of war, past and present, got me through the second bowel resection in 2013.


Long, involved historical series like Colleen McCullough’s five book series on the end of the Roman Republic, the first of which was The Grass Crown, and Laura Jo Rowland’s series set in 17th Century Japan (The Perfumed Sleeve is one of the titles), and her Samuri detective/chancellor/family man Ichiro Sano, have lightened my life during heart surgeries, kidney procedures, blood transfusions, wound infections, broken bones, and long periods of recovery.

One of my favorite discoveries happened during the worst of the health crises, back in 2009, when all this folderol started with a near-death and long long hospitalization. A friend of mine visited us in the hospital and brought me a honking fat book that she said she loved. I had never heard of it. It was a fantasy novel called A Song of Ice and Fire, better known as Game of Thrones, Book One. Not my usual kind of thing at all, but I took it and thanked her. After she left I started reading it in a rather desultory fashion, but I was hooked in about three pages and ended up reading the entire 800 page book in a matter of days. It just goes to show you that you should never limit yourself to any one genre or theme when it comes to reading, beause good story telling transcends all that jazz.

So tell me, Dear Reader. What books have saved your sanity and gotten you through hard times? Your suggestion may help someone through a crisis!
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*The eyeball stitches come out today (Thursday), thanks for asking.

City vs. country

Aline's post on setting really resonated with me, as did Rick's ode to Notre Dame. I too spend weeks driving around the areas I am writing about, taking photos, dictating observations into my iPhone, and jotting notes at night. Stories take place in time and place, and the vibrancy of the story is directly related to the power of the setting. Settings are not mere backdrops; they evoke feelings - the fear of a dark forest, the excitement of a rushing river, the joy of a sunlit meadow, and the peace of loons on a lake. They can inspire awe. As Rick says, no one walks out of Notre Dame untouched by a sense of overwhelming awe.

Good writers use these feelings as a film director uses music - to wrap the reader in the full experience of the story. The setting can complement or contradict the mood of the story, but it always contributes an effect.

Granite islands in Georgian Bay

Aline makes an interesting point that rural settings may be more powerful in this regard because they are so closely linked to ever-changing nature. A concrete jungle is a concrete jungle, but meadows and forests change with the seasons, the time of day, and the weather. Having written a series set in the city (my Inspector Green series) and another mostly in the country (Amanda Doucette), I do find I am much more immersed in the rural settings. I think about the weather because it affects what the characters will be doing out on the land, how they will feel, and what trouble they might get into. I think about the specific terrain they are travelling through. The rocks they will trip over, the mud they will step in... I think about what the characters see, hear, and smell as they are moving through a scene. If I want the reader to be immersed in the story, I have to describe it for them.

Besides drawing the reader into the story, another interesting job of setting is to reveal character. Different characters notice different things, and what they notice tells a lot about them. For instance, Inspector Green grew up in the dusty back alleys of the inner city with little knowledge or appreciation of nature. He notices the drug deal going down on the corner and the homeless guy who's missing from his spot, but he wouldn't know the name of a bird or flower if his life depended on it. He would never stop to drink in the beauty of a sunset.

Cities have their own power to evoke feelings and atmosphere. Unraked leaves, razor trimmed hedges, peeling paint, gaping potholes, and spectacular peonies or azaleas are all details that evoke vivid impressions. Streets and neighbourhoods have their own smells and sounds too, from the balcony barbecue to the roaring dump truck, and characters react to them differently. Green would barely notice the belching exhaust of a passing bus, but he'd notice the smell of bagels freshly baked.

Each detail draws the reader in, enriches the story, and reveals character. But endless description stops a story dead, especially when the reader is racing toward the climax. The key is to capture a few unique, vivid details that will stand for the whole, much as a painter does when they confront a complex landscape. Choosing those details and cutting out the less powerful are crucial skills of good writing. Or usually re-writing. I often put down a bunch of possible details during the first draft and then pare them down to the most powerful during the second pass.

The hoodoos in the Alberta badlands

So city or country? Which is more complex? I think in the hands of a good writer, the possibilities of both are as endless as the details to be captured. Perhaps we have to work a little harder when writing rural settings because readers may be less familiar with them and have fewer memories of their own to help them become immersed in the scene. In that way, a high-rise is a high-rise and a belching bus is a belching bus, but if you've never been to the islands of Georgian Bay or the badlands of Alberta, you're going to need some help.

What was lost

by Rick Blechta

Yesterday was a sad day for the world.

The tragedy of losing a building like Notre Dame cathedral — and even though they will rebuild it, the structure will not be the same so I consider it lost — reaches far beyond Paris, France, Roman Catholicism, Europe. Seeing that massive structure, so beautiful in its way, 900 years old, is like a body blow to probably most of us.

I’m certain many of us have personal memories of visiting Notre Dame. After all, it is the most visited building in all of France. I’d like to share mine with you, if I may.

I visited Paris (with my intrepid wife/translator) in September 2008 in order to do final research for my novel, The Fallen One, and of course took time out to visit Notre Dame — since I had to be nearby checking locations around that area anyway. Without having a lot of time, we didn’t go up into the bell towers — something I regret even more now — but something magical happened anyway when we stepped inside the cathedral.

Sitting on a pew at the back of the nave, I was just soaking in the everything there was to see. Being a Gothic cathedral, it just goes up and up. The feeling of being insignificant in such a massive space was overwhelming.

Then an organ recital, of which we had no advance warning, began.

I’ve heard many pipe organs in my time, from small to very large, but the echoing acoustics inside Notre Dame’s vast space added something absolutely unbelievable to the experience. My wife, who doesn’t appreciate organs the way I do, sat there transfixed as was I. Even though we’d only given ourselves a half hour to walk around the church, we listened to the entire performance. It remains one of the most inspiring musical experiences of my life, and was such a gift as it was so unexpected. I was so mesmerized the experience, I neglected to take a photograph of the organ — and believe me, I take photos of everything when I’m doing research. Now I can’t because it’s gone. That glorious instrument was surely destroyed yesterday when the ceiling of the nave collapsed.

Another organ will be built, but it just can’t be the same. Every one is different, and even if they had the exact plans, manufacturing of organ parts has changed even though it was only 150 years old. The mighty instrument we heard that day in 2008 has been lost along with so much else.

And that’s a very sad thing.

Here’s a link to a fine article in The Washington Post on the Notre Dame pipe organ.

The photo above is one I took of the east end of Notre Dame from the Pont Sully which figures in the opening of The Fallen One. It was taken about an hour after that memorable recital. To my mind, the building is far more interesting from the back end. Now much of what you see is no more.

Rural Problems

When I'm writing a book, I always work hard at choosing the right setting for the story. It's a cliche to say that the landscape becomes a character in the novel, but since my books have a rural background to a large extent it does dictate the atmosphere.

That's fine.  I do a lot of research first to get the feel of the place, staying there and having my long-suffering husband drive me round while I scribble down copious notes, most of which I won't actually use but from which I can pick out salient features.  The notes are always there, though, when I want to check something out and indeed the place itself is always there and I can go back to it for a refresher visit when I need to.

A much more complicated aspect of the setting is time of year.   If I set a book in spring, it will be summer/autumn/winter during the time I'm writing it and that poses all sorts of questions.  What time did it get dark in the evening?  When did the sun rise?  Have the crocuses come out?  Are there lambs in the fields at that time? And can I think myself into a spring-like mindset when it's freezing cold and sleet is driving past the window?

Weather matters are very important too.  Having lived my adult life mostly cities where weather was a 'Do I take an umbrella or not bother?' business,  it was quite a shock when we moved to rural Perthshire.  It is a wonderful county, known as the Gateway to the Highlands, and I appreciated its beauty but living among the hills, particularly in winter, had me constantly checking the forecasts.  Snow could even mean a couple of days when you couldn't get out and severe frost meant cars ending up in the ditch.

The trouble with describing weather is that rain isn't just rain, whatever the time of year.  April showers aren't the same as winter downpours.   Cloud formations are different at different times of the year.  Wind has seasonal patterns.

I can't hold back the book until that season returns to check all that stuff out so I have to spend quite a lot of time on finicky research or rely partly on memory or, if I'm honest, on the likelihood that readers won't be absolutely sure of the details either.

There is, of course, an obvious solution.  I could set my books in a concrete jungle where the only bit of nature that you see is the thin slot of sky between the canyons of buildings.  But I grew up in a little town, next door to a farm and with fields and woods to ramble in and I suspect what I'm writing is my childhood.  Perhaps a subject for another blog!

Flight Reading

by Vicki Delany

I have some ultra-long flights in my future: 13 hours; 5.5 hours; 5.5 hours; 16 hours.

That’s a lot of time to be trapped in a cigar box with several hundred other people. And so I take my flight reading very seriously indeed. 

I find that long airplane flights are almost the only time any more I can get really stuck into a good book.  I find I can’t descend into a book the way I used to and get totally immersed in that world. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, but I blame the Internet and all the distractions in our lives.  But in a plane I’m able to sink into other words.  No in-flight wi-fi for me.  I rarely even watch the movies, and I don’t sleep well on a plane.

I read.

I’m looking for suggestions for what to take with me. Generally, I’m wanting pretty intense books that I can get deep into.  For my trip to Vancouver for Left Coast Crime I had The Lost Man by Jane Harper (loved it! Even better than The Dry).  On my Christmas trip I was engrossed by The Wytch Elm by Tana French and The Clockmaker’s Daughter by Kate Morton.  Because I was going to Africa, I wanted something to get me in the mood so White Highlands by John McGhie served that purpose.

(A few years ago I happily passed the time floating above planet Earth with The Fallen One by Rick Blechta, another great read.)

As well as great thoughtful fiction, I like to have at least one good non-fiction read. At Christmas it was Sapiens by Yuval Noah Harari and for last year’s trip to Malaysia, The Taste of Empire: How Britain's Quest for Food Shaped the Modern World by Lizzie Collingham.  

And then, for a change of pace if needed, I like something light as well. Kate Carlisle’s Fixer Upper mysteries hit the spot for that, as do the Cajun County mysteries by Ellen Byron. 

So, over to you Type M’ers. Have you read anything recently you think would be perfect to accompany me sailing above the clouds? I’m open to suggestions. 

Joys of outlining

I equate being a literary agent –– and dealing with writers’ eccentricities (daily!) –– to herding cats. So I appreciate the work of my champion Ginger Curwen, who keeps me on the straight and narrow.

At a time when many agents no longer want to be frontline editors, Ginger reads (and rereads) my drafts and is always available when I need to bounce an idea off someone. That’s what I was doing last week, when Ginger and I exchanged a series of emails. In the final line of our exchange, she wrote, “Remember, when you start the Ellie POV book, outline, outline, outline!”

A page from my outline

I said I would try.

I have talked (and posted) about outlining and my reluctance to do so. When I was in grad school, it wasn’t considered “artistic” (I’ve come to realize that’s a useless word) to plan what you would write. Statements like, The characters just came to me, and I felt like I was just taking dictation when I wrote this permeated academic buildings. I recall a Robert B. Parker Publisher’s Weekly interview in which he described his reaction to that train of thought: he quipped something to the effect that if his characters started telling him what to write, he’d find immediate psychological help.

Similarly, at Left Coast Crime, many moons ago, Jeffrey Deaver, in his keynote, said he had created one-hundred-page outlines for three-hundred-page books. I was stunned. Eight months, he said, to create the outline. Three months to write the book. That didn’t seem to mesh with the No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader mentality I had adopted.

Still, on the heels of finishing a novel that required me to rewrite it –– cutting out a character to simplify the plot –– Ginger’s words seemed wise. So two weeks ago, I began in earnest.

I must say I’m not going to be anywhere near Mr. Deaver’s one hundred pages, but I do have something resembling screenplay scene descriptions for twenty-odd chapters, and counting. And this has given me space to think through and re-think-through plot points and characters’ roles as I go.

Perhaps most importantly, this work –– outlining the story before I write it –– feels safe. The canvas on which I’m working is wide, and changes can be made fluidly without wasting weeks and countless pages that someone who needs to perfect one page before moving on to the next great would, will, and does waste.

In short, I am enjoying the process of envisioning and re-envisioning the novel. Hell, I might be an outliner, after all.

National Library Week 2019

This week (April 7-13) is National Library Week in the U.S. I noted the occasion in a blog post last year as well. If you’re interested you can read that here.

This year’s theme is “Libraries=Strong Communities”. Melinda Gates is the honorary chair. According to a USA Today article I read “In the last 20 years, Gates’ Global Libraries initiative has invested more than $1 billion in enhancing libraries and empowering communities.” A billion! Whew! That’s a lot of money.

Here are a couple other tidbits I got from the article:

- There are more public libraries in the U.S. than Starbucks. That’s quite a feat since it feels like there’s a Starbucks or two around every corner.

- The Library of Congress is the largest library in the world with more than 167 million items. And it’s a beautiful place. We visited it on one of our trips to Malice Domestic.

You can read the full article here.

I’m celebrating the week by catching up on my duties as We Love Libraries Coordinator for Sisters in Crime. This week I got to notify the Cudahy Family Library in Cudahy, WI that they were the winner of the March 2019 Doris Ann Norris We Love Libraries grant of $1000 to be used to buy content for the library. It’s always fun to give money away, particularly to libraries. Libraries can apply for the grant by going to https://www.sistersincrime.org/page/WeLoveLibraries and following the instructions

Cudahy Family Library Submission Photo

I’ll leave you with a video to watch from 2013 where the Seattle Public Library set a record with a book domino chain. Apparently, this record was broken in 2016 at the Frankfurt Book Fair. I still like this video better.

The sad (but nonetheless engrossing) truth…

by Rick Blechta

Sorry for missing last week’s post, everyone. I was laid low by an incredibly virulent 24-hour stomach flu. Not wanting to risk being ill on my computer keyboard, I curled up in bed, listened to music, and waited for the damn thing to end. The next day, it was thankfully gone but I did feel as if I’d been hit repeatedly in the face with a shovel.

While not feeling up to snuff later in the week, I did a bit of reading (still enjoying Cammileri) and ran across an engrossing article in The Washington Post. Here’s the link: “The Keeper of the Secret.”

I won’t flog the political and moral aspects of this story except to say that while I understand why this particular story has such “carrying power”, in that it’s still very relevant to the people involved, I grow frantic at the thought that this may never come to a satisfactory resolution. I have the lasting impression of this man walking down a road to nowhere. To my mind he’s a hero.

What I would like to see is John Johnson’s story made into a book, a cautionary tale as it were because what he’s doing could in actual fact be very dangerous. The people of Wythe County have a shameful secret and because of their shame, or still-held beliefs, or their unwillingness to confront the past or whatever, they don’t want the full story of what was done to get out to the world. But it should.

Perhaps it was my mood when I read it, but this bit of journalism has stuck with me. Like many other non-fiction crime stories, it has all the elements of a mystery novel. The fact that what it relates is actually true, gives it huge impact.

Someone else I know who read it told me he thought it would make a great documentary or mini-series. I don’t think so. This story deserves the space only a book can give it.

What do you think?

Never Hurt a Dog

In the last two John Rebus mysteries written by Ian Rankin, a new recurring character was introduced by the name of Brillo.  A homeless bit of scruff, the curmudgeonly retired detective reluctantly brings the dog into his home.  The book where Brillo makes his first appearance is appropriately named Even Dogs in the Wild. 

In all three of my mysteries, Geneva Chase, my lead character, has a dog named Tucker.  “My Yorkshire terrier, was little more than two bright, shiny eyes tucked into a ball of brown and gray fur.”   For Genie, Tucker is family.  In the beginning, it was the only family Genie had.  Tucker is friendly, loving, playful, and his tail is always wagging.

Tucker is based on a real dog we had for about eleven years until he passed away about four years ago.

The real life Tucker didn't cotton to me much.  He was my wife’s dog and he was extremely protective. Thinking back on it, Tucker didn’t like any men at all.  I don’t know why, I’m not a pet psychologist. Don't get me wrong, I loved the little guy. He just didn’t always make it easy.

Dogs and cats can be instrumental in showing what kind of person a character is.  Geneva Chase drinks too much, makes bad life decisions, and is a hot mess, but she loves her dog and it’s obvious that Tucker loves her back. Deep down, Genie is a sweet lady.

In the very first episode of House of Cards, Congressman Frank Underwood leaves his Washington D.C. flat and observes his neighbor’s dog as it’s struck by a car.  He comforts the dog while addressing the audience.  And then he calmly strangles the animal.  From the outset, you know that this is not a nice guy.

A pet can help set a scene.  In Random Road, Genie lives in an apartment close to the waterfront.  “Tucker likes it because we’re a short walk to the docks. We can be on the waterfront in about seven minutes. Pleasure boats are tied alongside oyster trawlers and the ferry.  There’s the sound of the waves gently slapping against their bows and there’s the smell of the sea in the air and saltwater.  When I let him off his leash during the day, Tucker likes running back and forth on the wooden docks, terrorizing the gulls, who rise up reluctantly into the air and scream shrill epithets at the little dog while wheeling in slow circles, a few yards above his head.”

A pet can help describe a person’s state of mind.  Also in Random Road, a sad Genie Chase has just returned home.  “The depressing weather was lifting and pockets of sunshine struggled to find their way around the dark clouds.  I drove home in a fog, numb and exhausted.  When I got to my apartment, I picked up Tucker and held him so tight he must have thought I meant to crush him. He needed to be walked so I took him down to the waterfront where Kevin and I had been the first night we were together.  That was so long ago and it felt so lonely.”

Circling back around to Ian Rankin, at a recent conference, someone asked him if he regretted anything that he’d ever written.  His answer, “In one of my books, I killed a cat.”  He shook his head.  “I’ve never heard the end of it.”

My long suffering wife has read the drafts of my books where I’ve killed off countless numbers of people in the nastiest ways.  She thinks that’s okay.  Her one admonishment to me is, “Never hurt a dog.”

When Tucker passed away, we waited a few months and then reached out to a friend who rescues dogs to help us locate another fur baby.  She brought over a shit-tzu named Lilly.  She’s a little bit older and when she came into our house, while she was quietly claiming some of Tucker’s old toys as her own, I couldn’t help but notice she was already a little gray.

My heart melted. I’m a little gray. Ah, hell, I’m a lot gray.

We don’t know how old Lilly is but we’ve had her about four years now and she’s family.  She’s a sweetie who has earned a place in a book I have yet to write.

A Pause for a Plot Twist

It has been a busy week. I've spent more time thinking about my historical thriller than actually writing because I have nonfiction projects that I need to finish and deadlines looming. 

But sometimes a pause is exactly what's needed.

I was invited to take part in this year's Woodstock Bookfest. Yes, that Woodstock, a small town with a big legend. I live only an hour away and somehow never made the drive from Albany until I was invited to participate in the festival.

My panel on Saturday afternoon was "Write Like a Girl," about women writing crime fiction. I arrived early to have lunch at the pub with Alison Gaylin and Marlene Adelstein. We had a great time getting to know each other over lunch and discussing what we wanted to talk about during the panel.That conversation paid off. We were able to turn the panel into a three-way conversation. After signing some books and chatting with the people who came up, we headed across the street for the authors' dinner. Then I spent the night enjoying the big, cozy room the Bookfest organizers had booked for me at Twin Gables.

I had a wonderful time, loved meeting Alison and Marlene, and Martha Frankel. Hat off to The Golden Notebook, the local indie bookstore, The Pub, and Oriole 9. Great author's goodie bag -- cheerful yellow pouch with cherries filled with chocolate, jelly beans, tea, and other fun treats.

But -- aside from enjoying Woodstock and the Bookfest, I had a wonderful bit of serendipity on my drive down. I told Alison and Marlene about it during our lunch together. I mentioned it again during the panel when someone in the audience asked about getting ideas. I've been toying with the idea of having a parallel subplot in my 1939 -- a mystery set in the present that would dovetail with the events in the past. The only problem was I couldn't decide who the protagonist in the present should be. Then two things happened. A couple of weeks ago, someone showed me a unique feature in a Victorian house. Then as I was on my way to Woodstock, I was listening to the radio and heard a discussion about a Batman comic book from 1939. That reminded me of the research I'd done on pop culture in 1939. And it all suddenly came together. I had my subplot -- linked to "The Singapore Sling Affair," (EQMM, Nov/Dec 2017), my short story set in postwar upstate New York.

In fact, this book -- in one way or another -- pulls all three of my protagonists into the plot in one way or another. There in reference if not in person.

Thank you Woodstock Bookfest for getting me away from my desk.

Priorities

I've spent the past few days looking at the photos so many of my author friends have been posting on Facebook from Left Coast Crime, one of the major conferences for mystery writers, which this year was held in gorgeous Vancouver, BC.

I did not go. I am eaten up with envy, and maybe a little grief. I did not sign up to go this year because I'm afraid to travel, especially to such a distant location, because of my husband's iffy health. He has suffered a host of problems over the last decade, and I've had to cancel out of so many things at the last minute that I've become gun-shy. I keep thinking I shouldn't anticipate trouble, but just go ahead and sign up for everything I want to do and let the chips fall where they may. However, once you've had to abort a couple of non-refundable several-hundred-dollar conferences you tend to lose confidence in the future.

As it turned out, if I had made arrangements to go to Vancouver this year, I would indeed have had to cancel at the last minute. Don's eyes are going bad. On March 21, his one good eye went all fuzzy and a trip to the eye doctor resulted in emergency eye surgery the next day. Since the surgery, he has not been able to see clearly out of the operated-upon eye, which means he can't drive or read. Things were getting worse instead of better, and of course the surgeon is on vacation. So we called his office and they referred us to another glaucoma specialist who did some voodoo and told us that if things don't improve soon he'll have to have another operation. He had an appointment with the surgeon today (Wednesday), and we did indeed have to drive up to Phoenix for another emergency surgery. Finally got home about suppertime and we're now sitting in the living room staring at the walls, one of us sore and the other tired out. Thursday morning we'll be having a post op exam, and Friday the first surgeon will be back from vacation and we get to see him.

I can't think beyond that. I hope his eye problems will be over, and I expect they will at least be improved. But it's hard not to worry about the worst-case scenario. What if he loses his independence? The very idea kills my heart. Not to mention any idea of a writing career.

Don and I have only one another out here in the wilds of Arizona. We have friends, of course, but no relatives we'd feel comfortable taking advantage of. Don needs me, and I'd do anything for him. So my priority is always him, which means that any thoughts of doing what is necessary to promote my writing tend to go by the wayside. Time to learn effective ways of online promotion. Any suggestions?

Left Coast Crime

I have just returned home from Left Coast Crime in Vancouver, where I had a "whale of a time". The weather is the perfect metaphor for my adventure. I left frigid, snowbound Ottawa, which has broken all sorts of records for snow, cold, and just plain dreariness this winter, and arrived in Vancouver to five straight days of cloudless blue sky, glorious sun, and temperatures of 13 - 17C. Everywhere I looked, fruit trees and daffodils were in bloom. I listened to writers I have long admired, like Guest of Honour Maureen Jennings and Local Legend Bill Deverell, and learned from their insight into character, their dedication to research, and their continued passion for their craft. I met old friends, made new ones, talked about all things writerly, and was uplifted and inspired by the warmth and enthusiasm all around me.

Talking to mystery fans at the author speed dating

I also took long walks along the sea wall past the downtown glass spires and the towering forests in Stanley Park. Sometimes I was with fellow writers, talking lazily about books and publishing and new hopes, and sometimes I walked by myself, escaping from the crush and hype of the conference to be with my own thoughts. I listened to the sea, watched the hordes of migrating birds, and breathed in the salt air.

A beautiful wood duck paddling in Lost Lagoon

What a balm to the spirit!

Writers work in isolation, often for years, with little encouragement or guidance and a very uncertain goal at the end of the journey. We have to maintain a belief in ourselves in the face of rejection letters, dismal earnings, and nasty reviews. To sustain us, we cherish the companionship, advice, and affirmation of other writers who share what often feels like an aimless trek through the wilderness. Crime writers are a peculiar subset of this wandering clan. Not only do we wrestle with mushy middles and characters gone awry, but we also think about the best places to bury bodies and the least detectable way to kill people. We get inspired by a steep staircase and a dark motive. It's a great thrill and relief to meet kindred souls who share these twisted interests. We inspire and excite one another. We make each other laugh when the rest of the world, including our families, look at us askance.

A walk along the sea wall with Brenda Chapman

Now I am back in Ottawa, where the temperature is 15C colder and the snow in my front yard is still 18 inches deep. Back to my taxes and to my neglected first draft. But I am filled with new energy, some fresh ideas, and renewed hope that spring, as it always does, will come.

Brexited Out

I'm sorry, but as you can imagine, watching the dis-United Kingdom tear itself to pieces makes it really difficult to think about anything else.  So by way of an apology, I'm sharing this with you instead of a blog.  Her Majesty, as always, has the right idea.

Weekend Guest Thomas Burns

 We're delighted to welcome Thomas to Type M for Murder.

Thomas A. Burns, Jr. was born and grew up in New Jersey, currently lives and writes in Wendell, North Carolina, and is the author of the Natalie McMasters Mysteries. Tom started reading mysteries with the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant, and graduated to the classic stories by authors such as A. Conan Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to name a few. Now that he's truly on his own as a novelist, he's excited to publish his own mystery series, as well as to contribute stories about his second most favorite detective, Sherlock Holmes, to the MX anthology of New Sherlock Holmes Stories.

 The Evolution of the PI Novel

I want to thank Donis Casey and Frankie Bailey for allowing me to do this guest post. Since my heroine, Natalie McMasters, is a private detective (trainee, to be precise), I’d like to briefly discuss the evolution of the PI novel in American crime fiction.

The private investigator can be distinguished from the amateur sleuth because investigation for hire is the PI’s profession, not avocation. I think the PI most responsible for the popularity of this genre was, of course, the master, Sherlock Holmes.

 It is arguable that Holmes, both in Doyle’s seminal works and in countless pastiches, is even more popular today than he was when the original stories were published. Evidence for this is provided by the MX Books of New Sherlock Holmes Stories, which have gone to 15 volumes since their first publication in 2015.

 After Holmes, the PI became much more popular in America than in England where police officers and amateur sleuths seem to predominate, with the notable exception of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot. The popularity of noir in the early decades of the 20th century led to the development of the hardboiled PI in American crime fiction, typified by Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade, Raymond Chandler’s Phillip Marlowe, Ross Macdonald’s Lew Archer, and Mickey Spillane’s epitomical Mike Hammer. All of these men were flawed, struggled to follow a rigorous code and meted out justice to wrongdoers despite their flaws—these characteristics doubtless accounted for their popularity. Notable exceptions to this archetype were Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin, who were much more in the mold of Sherlock Holmes—eccentric to be sure, but neither struggled with ethical choices as much as the typical hardboiled PIs did. Stout also introduced one of the first woman PIs – the redoubtable Dol Bonner. Younger readers were lured into the genre by the boy detectives in the Stratemeyer syndicate’s series books featuring the Hardy Boys.

After WWII, a lighter, more happy-go-lucky type of PI became popular. Robert B. Parker’s Spenser is a good example, as are Jim Rockford and Thomas Magnum, who had their origins on TV. These guys had the same fierce independence as their progenitors, which made them attractive to an American audience, but seemed less tortured by personal demons. The first women PIs arose shortly thereafter, the most famous being Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone, but Marcia Muller’s Sharon McCone and Sara Paretsky’s V.I. Warshawski must also be mentioned.

I would like my Natalie McMasters to follow in these formidable footsteps, and it’s a daunting responsibility. When my series opens, Nattie is a pre-law student who’s moonlighting for her uncle’s 3M Detective Agency, surveilling insurance claimants to be sure they’re hurt as severely as they claim. It’s not long before she’s confronted by the ugly reality of a horrific crime, which results in a loss of innocence and ignites her innate sense of justice.

Nattie changes as the series progresses, and not always for the better, reinventing her career and discovering her sexual orientation is not what she first thought it was. Like many of today’s young people, she has a strong moral code, but she’s unsure of the basis for it and must constantly struggle to make the right choices as she encounters the evil in the world. For this reason, the stories are dark and gritty, definitely not cozies! Trafficked will be available on Amazon April 1.

I think the private investigator has always been an archetype of the American psyche—strong, independent and at war with traditional ideas while simultaneously embracing them, and driven to right the wrongs in the world, often to his or her own detriment. I deliberately chose a young American woman as the heroine of my new series, because I hope to bring a new generation of readers to this wonderful genre.

Not Again!

I was amused by the flurry of true confessions by my fellow Type M'ers. Donis Casey's contribution really struck home. She mentioned grammatical errors that were a source of deep embarrassment because she was an English teacher and dithering over lay, lie, laid, and lain. For some reason, I can't send a letter ending with "yours truly" without checking on line to see if truly needs an "e."

For the life of me I can't understand how proofing errors can slip by when I've read a manuscript a jillion times. My most frequent manuscript error is leaving out words. I could swear little articles (a, an, the, etc.) are there. Until someone points out they are not.

My most embarrassing error of that nature was a FB post lauding one of my dearest friends and explaining why I was unable to attend her birthday party. As luck would have it, FB turned on me that day and the post didn't go through. I hastily rewrote the darn thing and wouldn't you know, it flew right through this time. As "my dead friend" not "my dear friend." I had a lot of explaining to do. Especially to those who were alarmed by her demise so close to the party.

For some reason historical errors really bother me even though in a novel I'm supposed to be able to invent stuff. I make a heroic effort to keep everything in historical novels and mysteries accurate. But with my first mystery, Deadly Descent, I mentioned that people had stolen Matt Dillon's papers from the Dodge City court house. It's true that some of Wyatt Earp's documents went missing. But a former chairman of the Department of History at Fort Hays State University emailed to ask that I surely knew Matt Dillon was a fictional character?

Actually, I didn't. I was mortified! Gunsmoke was one of my favorite series. Naturally that meant Miss Kitty was also fictitious. I was grief-stricken.

Another error was in Hidden Heritage. I thought Laura Ingalls Wilder's father was John J. Ingalls and he wasn't. It didn't take long for fans to correct me.

I got my first taste of the perils of historical reference when I wrote my first historical novel, Come Spring. I mentioned the legal description of a land location. Made it up, of course. A man wrote to tell me that was his property and he didn't appreciate my using it. Who would have thought?

Historical and grammatical errors don't weigh on my soul forever. I'm over them, painful though they were at the time. But how about it, my darling Type M'ers? What was your most embarrassing moment as a writer?

I have to go down the list a ways. I'm willing to share my fourth most embarrassing moment.

 

Thoughts on Being a Visiting Writer

This past week, I had the good fortune –– and great honor –– of being invited to a college where I once taught and in a town where I once lived to kick off the college’s visiting writer series. It was great to see old friends, meet new ones, and reconnect with the public side of my work as a writer.

I gave two readings and book talks, signed a few books, and spent a lot of time with the college’s creative writers. The group of writers is dynamic and thoroughly engaged in the craft. They meet weekly, share their works, talk about the craft, and help motivate each other. Members of the group are at all stages –– from college students first realizing that they love the literary arts, to writers with a novel in the editing stages preparing for agent submissions. And, as with other beneficial writers’ groups I know, there is zero pretenses or ego. Mutual support is borne of the realization that not only is the art difficult, but the road to publication is littered with potholes.

Northern Maine Community College is about eight hours north of my home in western Massachusetts, but the writers I spent time with seemed much closer to me than the 400 miles that separate us. I was the one invited to sign books and speak, but I still stare at the same blank page they do. In fact, the blank page always remains blank until you put your butt in the seat, and take the risk of writing from the heart. And that never gets easier, regardless of how many books you’ve published.

It’s why the writers' community, writ large, is one of the most compassionate and supportive artists’ groups I know of. Need an agent? Here’s my agent’s name. Tell her I recommended you to her. Want a blurb? Send me your book.

And this is especially true if you’re just starting out.

Spending time with this group of talented, fearless, hopeful artists reminded me not only of where I am but of where I’m from, in more ways than one.