The Final Stretch and Freebies

 I've posted before about my role as the jefe editor for Ramas y Raices: The Best of CALMA, an anthology from the Colorado Alliance of Latino Mentors and Authors. The project started in early 2022, and now, at last, we're in the final stretch to the finish line. However, it's not a time to coast as plenty remains so that the book launch goes off without any problems. Approaching this completion, I fidgeted for many nights, tormenting myself with disaster scenarios.

Final manuscript. Check. And rechecked. Checked again.

Cover: Ready for Amazon and IngramSpark. Check.

Advanced Reading Copies ordered and reviewed. Check.

Press releases sent out. Check.

And on and on.

Fortunately, I wasn't alone as my editorial staff and the CALMA Executive Board all helped with the heavy lifting. This is the third anthology I've honchoed and the last, I promise.

The Freebies.

HarperCollins, the first publisher of my Felix Gomez detective-vampire series, is offering books 1-3 for free as eBooks on Kindle Unlimited (through June 30, 2024). Get yours here:

 

Book 1

 

 

 

 

Book 2

 

 

 

 

 

Book 3

When is enough enough?

 How does a writer know when to quit? How many books are enough? How long a series is too long? These are questions I've been grappling recently, especially since my recent illness reminded me I will not have boundless energy and perfect health indefinitely. I have passed the three-quarter century mark and although I always had the energy and health of someone ten years younger, I am now aware anything can happen.

Coming rather late to the game, I published my first Inspector Green novel in 2000, and my twelfth will come out in 2025. In between I've written five Amanda Doucette novels and four Cedric I'Toole, for a grand total of twenty-one books. That averages close to one book a year, which sounds impressive until one compares it to other highly productive writers, who  average at least a book or two a year thirty or forty years. I'm in awe and can't imagine coming up with that many powerful, interesting stories.

Yet I've written all my life just because, and now that my latest book is in the production phase, I find myself twiddling my thumbs and wondering what to do with myself during those long hours that would have been devoted to writing the next book. A writer writes, the urge never dies. The stories don't stop spinning in our heads just because we don't have a contract deadline hanging over our heads. 

But there are some cautions. No writer wants to read a review saying they should have quit while they were still at the top of their game.  Or that this latest effort is not up to their previous standards, or that it is just a rehashing of old story lines. How many original plots can we think up? How can we ensure the stories remain fresh and compelling. This gets harder and harder the more books we write. Furthermore, writing a novel requires a lot of cognitive acuity, to find the perfect word and phrase, to juggle plot ideas and keep track of all the character and details in the book. I'm sure it's extremely good for staving off demential. But as we age, the words comes more reluctantly, the perfect phrase eludes us, and the memory for what we've written and what should come next becomes more fickle. The memory does return, the words do fall into place, but it takes more time and effort and more jotted notes to keep us on track. How will we know if the final product measures up or reveals our failings?

Several of my writer friends of similar age have already stopped writing, but others are still carrying on well into their eighties. We're all different, and for some the passion to write was no longer stronger than the urge to travel, to spend time with grandchildren, and to explore new interests. I already feel the urge to spend more time doing other fun things, because life is short to spend it all chained to a laptop. 

I love series, and when I find one I like, I tend to read all the books in it. I've worked my way through a number of British crime series that I missed in my earlier explorations, and am catching up on series which have grown since I last read the author. Currently I am devouring Val McDermid. Val has an astonishing number of books in several series and has produced one a year since the 1990s. Some of her series are long and some (so far) relatively short. There are various reasons for ending a series, some due to publisher choice and others the author's wish to try something new, which was why I started the Amanda Doucette series. Fresh characters, setting, and style of story all lead to new ideas and new directions. I did return to Inspector Green recently but I couldn't imagine writing twenty-one Green books in a row. Besides getting bored, I would be afraid I was telling the same story over again.

At some point, before that happens, and before my mind is no longer agile enough to produce top-quality work, I hope I know when to quit.  

 

What Happened Was...

 by Charlotte Hinger

A couple of week ago I started a semi-witty post about chickens. I wrote it at night which is always a mistake and intended to publish it the next morning. Then life intervened and I was swamped with the consequences of running off to North Carolina and ignoring my slush pile. 

I went to Merlefest, a fabulous bluegrass festival in honor of the late Doc Watson, a legendary guitarist, who tragically lost his son, Merle over 30 years ago. This was an anniversary visit for me. I attended the third festival which at that time was on a hill side and very low key as concerts go. My daughter, Michele, was pregnant with my granddaughter, Audrey. It rained constantly. I thought we all were going to drown. 

The concert is huge now and definitely a money maker for all the vendors and performers. There are many stages and it lasted four days.

But what stood out the most to me at the first concert I attended in 1991 was the presence of Doc Watson himself and his eerie hearing. The participants were in awe of that man. They should have been. The man won seven Grammy's and he was absolutely one of the best flat guitar pickers in the whole universe. 

He was blind from the time he was two. I don't know if his extraordinary hearing developed from being deprived from losing his sight. The memorial concert honoring his son, Merle, began in 1988. But I do remember Doc stopping a performance a couple of times to say to the sound technician, "that's just a little too bright there, son." 

This experience inspired my short story, "The Family Rose," first published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. It was subsequently republished in two anthologies, Murder to Music and Death on the Veranduh. It's about a broken-down country western singer who tries to manipulate Doc Watson's hearing. 

My beloved niece, Linda Northey, and her husband, Kevin, joined the rest of the family at the concert and the following day I went to Beauport and stayed at my daughter's coast house. I intended to work like a demon and do everything I could online to publicize my upcoming novel, Mary's Place, but I fizzled out. 

Actually, I don't know what happens when I'm away from my home setting. The muse just takes a seat in her rocking chair on the front porch and watches the ships sail by. 

How Insulting! And Loving It!

 Have you ever been in a heated conversation and, when it was over and you had a chance to think about it, wished you could go back and throw out a piercing verbal barb?  Something that would draw imaginary blood and dazzle your argumentative opponent at the same time?

Me too.  I just never think that fast. Thank heavens, when we write dialogue, we can always go back and amend what we’ve written to make it sound sharper and more intelligent.

If only real life was like that.  In the meantime, I offer some of the best insults ever uttered.  If only I’d thought of them.

-"He had delusions of adequacy.” Walter Kerr

-"He has all the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire.”- Winston Churchill

-"I have never killed a man, but I have read many obituaries with great pleasure. - Clarence Darrow

-"He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.”-William Faulkner (about Ernest Hemingway)

-"Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?"- Ernest Hemingway (about William Faulkner)

-"Thank you for sending me a copy of your book; I'll waste no time reading it.” - Moses Hadas

-"I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it.” - Mark Twain

-"I am enclosing two tickets to the first night of my new play; bring a friend, if you have one.” -George Bernard Shaw to Winston Churchill

-"Cannot possibly attend first night, will attend second... if there is one.” - Winston Churchill, in response

-"I've just learned about his illness. Let's hope it's nothing trivial.” - Irvin S. Cobb

-"He is simply a shiver looking for a spine to run up. - Paul Keating

-"He loves nature in spite of what it did to him.” - Forrest Tucker

-"His mother should have thrown him away and kept the stork.” - Mae West

-"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go.” - Oscar Wilde 

-"He has Van Gogh's ear for music.” - Billy Wilder

-"I've had a perfectly wonderful evening. But I'm afraid this wasn't it.” - Groucho Marx

-The exchange between Winston Churchill & Lady Astor: She said, "If you were my husband I'd give you poison." He said, "If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

-"He can compress the most words into the smallest idea of any man I know." - Abraham Lincoln

Let me know if you have any favorites that I don’t know about.  Happy writing!!

The Never Ending WIP

I have been incredibly crabby over the past couple of weeks. I don’t know quite what to blame it on. Sometimes these moods just come and go like the tide. Part of it may be the fact that our air quality here in the Phoenix area has been horrible, and high ozone has always done a number on my head. Two solid weeks of low grade headache would make anybody crabby. I also might blame the mood on my never-ending WIP. I made a bet with my friend Hannah Dennison that we'd finish our new books by this coming August, and every day I think, this is the day I’m going to finish. And every day, the damn ending keeps getting farther and farther away. Every minute I spend doing something other than writing causes me great anxiety.

But those bills have to be paid and meals made and doctor appointments kept and meetings attended. The state of my house is beginning to depress me. I manage to keep things clean and tidy enough to forestall the Department of Health, but that’s about it. My long-suffering husband bought me a Hurricane Power Scrubber a couple of days ago (at my request. It wasn’t a clueless anniversary present or anything like that). I thought that having a power scrubber would make short work of cleaning the shower, so I was all excited to give it a try. The instructions say that you have to charge the scrubber for 24 hours before the first use, which I did. Then I rushed into the bathroom, I clicked on the appropriate scrubber head, gave it a couple of test whirls, lowered it to the shower floor, and…nothing. It seems our power scrubber is a dud.

I was immediately plunged into unreasonable despair. Sometimes it feels like nothing is easy. Why oh why couldn’t I at least be able to clean my shower without it being an ordeal? Don will return it tomorrow (he has one of those pesky doctor appointments in a couple of hours, which always makes me a bit nervous), and I hope he’ll be able to exchange it for one that works.

I’m sure that once I finish this book and get it off my hands, I’ll feel better. When I re-read parts of the manuscript, I’m pleased with the way the book is shaping up. When I next write to you, Dear Reader, I anticipate that the air will have cleared, Don will have gotten a good report from the cardiologist, the book will be done or nearly so, and my shower will be sparkly clean. I live in eternal hope. There is always light at the end of the tunnel. Isn't there?

Malice Domestic 2024 Recap

 by Sybil Johnson

In my last post, I talked about the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. A few days after that event, I headed to Maryland for Malice Domestic.

I usually arrive late in the day on Wednesday. This gives me Thursday to adjust to the 3 hour time change and do a little sightseeing. This year we went to the zoo and the National Postal Museum, which is across the street from Union Station. The Postal Museum is part of the Smithsonian so it’s free. This one didn’t require a timed ticket like some of the museums so we just walked in. We took a 1-hour guided tour, which was very good. Our guide was a retired history teacher. He described the museum as history through stamps, an apt description. I highly recommend it.

Friday it was time for Malice! As usual, it was great fun. I saw people I hadn’t seen in a while, learned about new books, met new people. I was on a panel titled “Love and Murder: ‘Rom-Cozies’”. Besides me, panelists were Barbara Barrett (moderator), Misty Simon, Sally Handley and Jackie Layton. As you can tell from this picture, we had a great time. Probably the most fun I’ve had on a panel so far.

 

I didn’t get in the Go Round this year, but I sat and listened to the authors who did. Even though this is tiring, even from a listener’s standpoint, I do enjoy it. It’s interesting to see how people describe their books in 2 minutes. One author wrote a poem about the book, which was quite fun to listen to. Several of them did flashcards so people could see their names and other relevant information since it’s sometimes hard to hear in the room. Another author had everyone at the table sign their copy of the book so she’d have a memento of the event.

I attended the Agatha Awards banquet. Not everyone does. For me, it’s less about seeing who wins and more about the conversation at the table I’m seated at. I’ve met a lot of interesting people and enjoyed great conversations that I wouldn’t have if I’d skipped the banquet. It’s one of my favorite parts of Malice, which is odd since I’m not the most outgoing person.

Agatha Award winners: 

Best Contemporary Novel: The Weekend Retreat by Tara Laskowski (for the first time I know every person who was nominated) 

Best Historical Novel: The Mistress of Bhatia House by Sujata Massey 

Best First Novel: Crime and Parchment by Daphne Silver 

Best Short Story: “Ticket to Ride”, Dru Ann Love and Kristopher Zgorski, Happiness is a Warm Gun 

Best Children’s/YA Mystery: The Sasquatch of Hawthorne Elementary by K.B. Jackson 

Best Non-Fiction: Finders: Justice, Faith and Identity in Irish Crime Fiction by Anjiili Babbar 

Next year LATFOB and Malice are going to be on the same weekend so I will have to decide which to attend. I’ll probably go to Malice since I enjoy it so much. Also, Lucy Worsley will be there getting the Poirot Award. I love her! And my friend, Gigi Pandian, will be Toastmaster.

The blurb industry

 How time flies! How can I already be late for my Type M post? Today I want to comment on what I see is an increasing trend in publishing. Review space in credible, respected publications such as  newspapers has been declining for years along with the number and size of those publications. Many have closed their review columns or disappeared altogether. They are being replaced by a plethora of "common man" reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, and other websites and blogs, usually written by regular readers but often with no training of skill in the art of reviewing. Amazon in particular uses an algorithm that increases the visibility of a book based on how many reviews it has, so authors are flooding social media begging people to leave reviews, however brief and ill-informed. Numbers fuel sales, not quality. 

Publishers are also trying to hype their new releases and in the "good old days" used to print short, punchy  quotes from respected reviewers on the book jacket. In the absence of those, publishers are now leaning on fellow authors to create pithy quotes to put on the book jacket. If Stephen King likes the book, after all, it must be good.

In my experience, the publisher doesn't find these willing blurbers themselves, but asks the author to find authors willing to provide a blurb for their book. This practice has been going on since I published my first Inspector Green novel nearly twenty-five years ago. I was asked by my publisher to get a quote or two from fellow writers. The challenge is that the blurb should be by a well-known and respected writer (at least better known than you), writing in a similar genre as you.  Feeling foolish and presumptuous, I chose a couple of writers who knew my work. Luckily they agreed and provided great blurbs, both of which appeared on the cover. For my next books, the publisher pulled blurbs from reviews, and it was not until quite recently that I was again asked to procure blurbs from writers. Sometimes I complied and other times I ignored the request. I only wanted to approach writers who are not only well known but also personal friends writing in a similar style. I never approached the same writer twice, and I always felt it was an imposition. I also only approached one writer for each book.

As my career progressed, I began to get more and more requests for blurbs myself. Sometimes the request was by a personal friend in the writing community, but as this trend continued, I found the connections more and more tenuous. For example, a social media friend whom I had never met at any event and with whom I'd never had a conversation. I take these requests seriously. I want to support my fellow authors and I know the uncomfortable position they have been put in by their publisher, who is essentially downloading their publicity job onto the backs of their authors, much as they do all the social media promotion. But some of these requests come from authors who write very different genres than me, such as speculative or historical crime fiction. Some authors don't say why they chose me or even mention that they read my books. No personal connection.

When I accept a request, it's with the caveat that I will only write the blurb if I feel I can comment on it positively, which is awkward but necessary. It's my integrity on the line. I can't say wonderful things about a book I thought was poorly written. Then I read the entire book, which takes time from my own writing commitments, and I take the time to craft an original, catchy blurb that captures some of the book's strength. Writing a good blurb is a skill and it takes time.

What do I get out of it in return for the work put in? Beyond helping a fellow writer, nothing except my name underneath a couple of lines of text on the cover. Once again, the author is "donating" their time in exchange for exposure. Increasingly doing the job that the publisher has kicked down the food chain. 

But what is happening more and more often now is that authors in search of blurbs are using a scattershot approach rather than a carefully thought out choice of who to approach. They are requesting multiple blurbs, some from authors they may barely know, and presumably the publisher is picking only the ones they like best. Rather than appearing on the cover, the multiple blurbs are showing up on social media posts, websites, and promotional material, or on a whole page of blurbs inside the book. Free advertising copy at the expense of the author.

I'm not sure how other authors feel about doing blurbs, so I can't speak for them, but things have reached the point where I do feel that authors are being used. No one in this industry is making a lot of money, from publishers on down, but authors eager to get their book published and keep their publisher happy are being asked to do jobs that rightly belong to the in-house publicists, who are probably poorly paid and spread far too thin. It's a model that we need to rethink? Do blurbs really accomplish anything? Do quotes from reviews, even amateur ones, work just as well? What are others' experiences with this practice? In the meantime, I must learn to say no.

Never Shoot the Dog

When all the brouhaha first arose concerning a most unfortunate incident perpetrated by a certain Governor of South Dakota, one of my first thoughts (aside from horror) was that this woman has never heard one of the first rules a fiction writer learns: If you don't want to lose your readers' good opinion of you and your characters, never kill a dog in your novel.

There are exceptions, as long as the death of said canine is the catalyst for a revenge quest by the protagonist. I offer as an example Keanu Reeves' reaction to the demise of his dog in the movie John Wick. I used a somewhat similar device in one of my own novels, The Sky Took Him. In that book, an explosion killed two people and a dog, and it was the death of the dog that drove the survivor to a frenzy. I was a little afraid to kill the poor animal for fear of readers' reactions, more so than the two grown men, but I suppose I got away with it because the perpetrator got his in the end.

Said incident also made me think about my grandparents, who were subsistence farmers in Oklahoma from the 1910s until the mid '60s. Besides crops, my grandfather raised hogs and cattle, and my grandmother had a large chicken yard. They butchered, dressed, preserved, and ate animals all the time.  Wild dogs often ran in packs out in the country and raided farmers' coops and killed calves, and I do know for certain farmers would shoot at least the pack leader if they could.

HOWEVER, my grandpa always had a dog of his own, and often two, and loved them like children. In fact, he loved all animals and would not stand to see any suffer. Even the ones who were being raised for meat. Believe me, they lived good lives with him until butchering time. And even then, he was adamant that the animal be killed quickly and without fear. He once beat up a man he saw mistreating a horse. 

I only know of one incident where Grandpa shot a dog. I was there when it happened. The dog was my grandfather's beloved old mutt Butch, who had been Grandpa's companion for as long as I could remember. Old Butch finally went blind and deaf, but Grandpa took good care of him just the same, until the dog wandered off into the woods and was lost for over a week. My family happened to be visiting when Old Butch found his way home, tottering into the yard half starved and barely able to stand. Grandpa sat on the porch steps for a long time hugging that dog. He gave him food and water, and while the dog was eating, he went into the house and came out with a pistol. He waited until Butch was full and satisfied, then picked him up and carried him off into the woods. He was gone for a long time.

He came back alone.

Now, if you have to shoot a dog, that's a reason I can live with.

Los Angeles Times Festival of Books 2024

 by Sybil Johnson

The Los Angeles Times Festival of Books was held April 20-21 on the main campus of the University of Southern California. I attended on Saturday where I wandered around a bit before signing at the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles booth. I met a lot of great people including current students and people who were working on writing a mystery. Also saw friends I hadn’t seen in a while. And I sold a few books, which is always a plus.

I went to USC eons ago so it’s always fun for me to do a little wandering around campus, reliving my student days. A lot of it has changed, but some of it is the same. I noticed that this time some of the elevator buttons, when lit up, show an intertwined S and C. We didn’t have anything so fancy when I went to school there!

We took the light rail to the event this year. On our way back, one of the lines (the K line) had police activity on the track ahead of us so we had to get off the train and take a bus around the activity, then get back on the train. Kudos to the Metro system for sending someone to guide us to the appropriate bus and stops. I did a bit of googling, but couldn’t find out what the issue is. We were told it involved 15 police cars, but no other details.

Here are a few pics:

One of the many crossword puzzles throughout the campus.

The fancy schmancy elevator button

Even the flowers are cardinal and gold (school colors)

 

Writers Gotta' Write

 By Thomas Kies

In a recent blog that’s gone viral written by Elle Griffin for the website www.Elysianpress.com, she refers to the time when Penguin Random House tried to buy Simon and Schuster in 2022.  The government brought a case against the merger saying that it would create a publishing monopoly and a judge ruled that the $2.2 billion acquisition could not take place. 

During the trial, a number of publishing houses and literary agencies testified, and some interesting numbers came to light. 

Ms. Griffin, in an essay that she wrote in 2020, stated, “only 268 titles sold more than 100,000 copies, and 96 percent of books sold less than 1,000 copies.”

Madeline Mcintosh, CEO of Penguin Random House US, when asked how many authors over a four-year period sold 500,000 units…she answered 50.  

The upshot of Ms. Giffin’s blog is that publishing houses gamble by buying books and paying low advances in the hopes that one of them will be that lightning in a bottle and hit it big.  The big advances are paid to celebrities like Brittney Spears and Prince Harry who have recognizable names, and the publishers feel are a comfortable bet. 

Now, admittedly, the numbers from Penguin Random House/Simon Schuster trial were meant to be depressing.  The reality is that more books are selling now than ever before.  Numbers that were tossed around in the trail were based on calendar years and not necessarily during the lifetime of the book.  It was a trial.  Isn’t everything about a trial depressing?

Books don’t go bad like vegetables or fruit.  My first book, RANDOM ROAD, continues to sell in bookstores to this day and it’s been around for seven years. Will any of my books make me rich?  Nah…not in money.  

Don’t kid yourself, getting published the traditional way is still hard.  Finding an agent, then finding a publisher, then getting bookshelf space and a place in libraries, getting the marketing message out…it’s all a slog. And even when you do, there’s no guarantee about anything.

Bottomline, publishing is a business.  They’re not in it to lose money, although, don’t kid yourself, many books do. 

But there are many publishing platforms and I know many writers who are happy using those publishing avenues.

There’s a joy when you hold one of your own books in your hands. There’s nothing quite like the feeling you get when someone tells you how much they enjoyed what you’ve written.  There’s an indescribably elation when you see one of your books on the bookshelf of library or in a bookstore. 

Before I was published, I had dreams of flying to New York, being picked up at the airport in a limo, being treated to lunch, then hustled off to a standing room only book signing.  Well...that doesn't happen.  At least to most of us.   

I recall that early in my writing career, I did a book signing and one person showed up.  That keeps you humble.  But to keep perspective, Don Winslow (if you don't know him, read him...he's terrific) in one of his first book signings, had one person buy his first book.  That person happened to be the owner of the bookstore, Barbara Peters who owns the Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Arizona (and was my first publisher). 

I advise the students who take my creative writing class that writers gotta write.  We do it because we love it.  We do it because we want to tell stories.  We do it because we’ve got something to say.

To paraphrase a friend of mine, a wonderful writer by the name of Jeffrey Siger, “Writing is a hard way to make a living.  But it’s a great way to make a life.”

Never Take Our time Together For Granted

Here's a blog I was hoping I'd never have to write. Last December, Travis Heermann was in a very serious motorcycle accident, which left him in a coma. In that month's post I was going to share some thoughts about him but it sounded like I was writing a eulogy so I didn't. Now here we are.

I'm not sure when I first met Travis, ten years ago perhaps, when he showed up in our critique group. He was an exceptional writer, and like many with such talent and potential, didn't get the recognition he deserved. He was incredibly disciplined and always thoughtfully planned out his next big thing. Travis' favorite genre was high fantasy, heavy on the action and adventure. He enjoyed steampunk and most of his stories had a strong Japanese influence, reflecting his admiration of the people and the culture. In fact, he lived in Japan for a while and was conversant in the language. He also liked horror and the last major project he was working on was finding distribution for his award-winning, horror-comedy short film, Demon For Hire.

As we men get older, we find it more difficult to make friends. I considered Travis my friend. We didn't hang out that much but when we got together, our conversations were relaxed and understanding. There were topics we avoided--politics and religion, big surprise. We discussed the many facets of writing, the challenges of specific genres, and the business aspects of making a living as professional scribes. He and I worked as ghost writers for the same company. Since he liked writing action, he had an appreciation for weaponry and would on occasion, accompany me to the shooting range where we would spend a few hours blasting ammo.

He was good company, had a keen though restrained sense of humor, loved scotch and cooking--brisket and BBQ among his choice items to grill. He was an accomplished gear head and responsible for cinching tight the technical details for a podcast my critique group hosted for a while. The last time we hung out was at a Christmas party where he spent a good while showing off his new Ford 150 hybrid pickup truck. He and his wife Chanel (recently retired) had made plans to sell their home and vagabond in an Airstream trailer, in which he could work remotely and keep writing.

The following Thursday I was at a men's group in a local church. At the end of the meeting, the pastor asked us to pray for help in something in our lives. At the time, I felt blessed in that I couldn't think of anything in my life that needed prayer. Then when I got home, my girlfriend told me what had just happened to Travis. Now after four months of care, Travis has passed on.

I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil. 

JRR Tolkien

Drumroll...

 Barbara here, finally. I have been AWOL from this blog for a month due to unexpected medical challenges but I am back!Albeit late and with a short post. In my last post I revealed the official title of my next Inspector Green novel (number 12: SHIPWRECKED SOULS. The book is due out in January 2025 and is currently grinding its way through the promotional and editorial phases. At the moment the manuscript is sitting on my computer with edits from the my editor, all done these days electronically with the track changes feature. My first few Inspector Green  books were printed off and mailed to the publisher where the editor crossed out, scribbled in the margins, and stuck various coloured post-it notes that stuck out of the manuscript like the spikes of a stegosaurus. This unwieldy piles of paper was then mailed back to me and I made the adjustments on my computer copy, printed it out, and mailed back again. And so it went.

In 2024, it is all so much simpler, and cheaper. I am slowly working my way through the queries, comments, and suggestions, but it has beeen slow and intermittent because of my health issues and frequent medical appointments. But I'll get there!

Here's the teaser. The death of an elderly woman from Ukraine leads Green on an emotional journey into his own past, where he makes a startling discovery.

And now, without further ado, here is the proposed cover, designed by the talented Laura Boyle and her team at Dundurn Press. I think it looks mysterious, sinister, and perfect.

Now we wait.

Podcasts, Podcasts, Podcasts

 by Sybil Johnson

I’ve written a couple posts before about some of the podcasts I’ve listened to over the last few years. I admit that I haven’t listened to as many lately as I used to, but I’m starting to get back into it. 

Podcasts come and go. The History This Week one has finished its run, unfortunately. I hope it comes back some day since I really enjoyed it. The Behind the Page Eli Marks podcast is still going strong. I like the books by John Gaspard so I’ve been enjoying the interviews he’s done with magicians. Such a different world than the one I inhabit!

Here are some podcasts I’ve run across recently: 

Criminalia – I haven’t sampled this one yet, but I found out about it because I read the book “The League of Lady Poisoners” which mentioned that there was an associated podcast. The episodes related to the book are pretty far back in this podcast’s history, but there are also a lot of other episodes that sound interesting. https://www.iheart.com/podcast/1119-criminalia-69919305/

History On Trial – I heard about this one because the podcast host was a contestant on Jeopardy! not long ago and she mentioned it. I thought it sounded interesting. So far I’ve listened to 2 episodes about trials that shaped the U.S. in some way, but which I was unaware of. https://www.historyontrialpodcast.com/

Writing Criminals – This is a podcast recently started by the Los Angeles chapter of Sisters in Crime. Episodes are recordings of SinC/LA chapter meetings. This is great for me since I often can’t get to the meetings for various reasons. https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/writing-criminals/id1729613001 If you want to see the interviews, instead, you can go to SinC/LA’s YouTube channel. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcusx5p3YzZdqYqzKfSr_eQ 

Chatting Cozies – This is an interview podcast with host Angela Maria Hart of the Cozy Mystery Book Club. Interviews are with cozy authors. https://thecozymysterybookclub.com/chatting-cozies/

Putting together a podcast seems like a difficult thing to me, probably largely because I have no idea what’s involved. I do know that some of it involves writing so I googled “writing a podcast” and came up with this interesting article on doing just that: https://castos.com/podcast-script/

If I did a podcast I have absolutely no idea what topic it would be on. Have any of you ever put together one or thought about it?

More About Curses

 by Charlotte Hinger

Both Thomas and Donis have recent posts about cursing. According to the guidelines for submissions for the Will Rogers Medallion men didn't cuss around ladies before 1962. Is that a fact?

Yes, it's true in a general sense and ladies never used foul language.

Believe it not, the old standards are making a feeble return. 

Gary Goldstein, (the western editor at Forge) recently said that he does a global search for the "f" word and the "s" word because Walmart won't stock the books if such language is contained within. He has three pages of acceptable substitutes to suggest to the authors. 

I was shocked when he said this. Then I noticed that Grisham never uses vulgar language and Baldacci rarely does. And oh, to have their sales!

Yet we are privy to language every day on the screen and in ordinary conversation that our mother's would never have uttered and men only used in the presence of other men. 

I think I only heard my mother say "damn" about ten times when I was growing up. When a gentile person cusses it has an enormous impact. 

Her favorite express was "oh for p-i-t-y sake." She had a way of drawing out "pity" that expressed her contempt for an idea or a person's behavior. Another usage was "Ye gods and little fishes." That conveyed absolute contempt. Beyond contemplation even. Too foolish to even discuss. 

I gave a lot of thought to language when I did the final draft of my upcoming historical novel. One of my characters, my old banker cusses a lot. He takes the Lord's name in vain when he's trying to persuade his best friend, Iron Barrett, to help him save his bank, but he wouldn't use these words in conversation with Iron's wife or his daughter. 

Some prettied-up written substitutes for spoken language sound silly. "You deceitful villain" in place of "you lying bastard" simply doesn't have the same impact. 

But there's workarounds. Iron and Mary's daughter-in-law uses words that Mary knows would "make her mother reach for a bar of soap." 

On the other hand, sometimes we simply have to use words that are realistic. Sales be damned. It's a matter of integrity. 

Believe me, when a very old man is in danger of losing a bank that's been passed down for 100 years, he does not say "Ah, shucks."

Colorful Language

Oh, dear me. I have company coming. I have been cleaning like a madwoman and have fallen so far behind on everything writerly. I missed my last scheduled Type M entry - mainly because I got a Covid booster the day before and as usual wasn't worth shooting the day after. I hope I'm not screwing up the schedule here by posting today, but I felt an irresistible urge to comment on Tom's wonderful entry on Curses, below... because I love curses.

 I love language altogether. I’ve always been fascinated by words and the mind-pictures they paint. I’m sure I come by it honestly. I've written stories since I could hold a pencil in my fist. Perhaps it's because my parents read to me from the cradle, or because I come from such a long line of tale-tellers. One of my grandmothers used to keep us fascinated for hours on end with her stories of life in the Kentucky mountains. Toward the end of my grandmother's life, one of my sisters asked her how much of what she had told us was true and she replied, "Well...some of it." So the truth is I didn't decide to become a writer. I'll quote the Achilles character in the movie "Troy"..."I didn't choose this life. I was born and this is what I am.”

My grandparents—and parents— had the most wonderful way of putting things. One grandma was born and raised in Kentucky and the others in Arkansas at the turn of the Twentieth Century. Their language  and vocabulary was absolutely Elizabethan. When Grandma went to garden over yonder, she put on her gauntlets and hunkered down to tend her “yarbs”.

Now, I of course, was desperate to get rid of my Oklahoma accent when I was young. Especially when I was traveling. My accent is not as strong as my parents’, nor was theirs as strong as their parents. My nieces and nephews sound more "standard" yet. But after years living away from my native place, I saw on a news program an interview with two young women from Tulsa. They sounded like Valley girls. I was shocked. What happened to that beautiful twang? That poetic way with words? ( That delightful Scotch-Irish combination of humor and fatalism? Oklahoma is what linguists call a “Transitional state”. My native Oklahoman husband, who comes from a different part of the state than I, has an accent that is different from mine. One thing I specifically wanted to do with the Alafair Tucker series was preserve something of a way of speaking that seems to be rapidly disappearing.

I've been known to use less than pristine epithets myself and find them extremely useful in times of stress.  In fact, a dear friend of mine who I have known since my salad days at the University of Oklahoma was at the time an extraordinarily innocent boy who on frequent occasions would curl your ears with the most astoundingly filthy curses known to man.  Because of his sweet face and gentle nature, the effect of this language was much less shocking than it was hilarious, and ever since, for good or ill,  I've had quite an affection for dirty words.

I grew up among people whose goal was to curse in the most imaginative language possible, which can really increase your vocabulary if you apply yourself.  My mother was particularly good at coming up with ways to express disapproval using only G-rated words.  One of her scariest curses was "I heap coals of fire upon him."  The words themselves weren't as frightening as her throaty growl and the curl of her lip over her eyetooth.  My father had been a Marine, and knew words that I don't understand to this day, but he had a house full of little daughters and controlled his language heroically.  He often had the pee-waddin' scared out of him and wondered what in the cat-hair was going on. 

So curse on, Tom. It's good for the soul.

Sunny for the Bunny and more

 

by Sybil Johnson 

Today I shall talk about a number of random topics I’ve found of interest lately. Let’s start out with Sunny for the Bunny!

• Sunny for the Bunny – I was in Seattle last week where KOMO news weather was using the phrase “Sunny for the Bunny” to describe how nice it was going to be in the area on Easter. A different news station decided that it was going to be an egg-cellent day, but not quite egg-ceptional. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it. I flew back on Easter Sunday not expecting it to be sunny when I landed in Los Angeles because there had been several days of rainy weather before but, yes, it was Sunny for the Bunny here too! I searched to see if the phrase was trademarked or copyrighted because, well, what else do I have to do after being away from home for a week? Okay, fine, I came back with a cold and didn't feel like doing anything other than laundry and random web searches. Couldn't find anything. In any case, I love the phrase and intend to use it every year if it's applicable. 
• April Fool’s Day – I dislike April Fool’s Day largely because I am and always have been a very gullible person. People loved fooling me when I was a kid so I pretty much wanted to hide out for the entire day. Honestly, I still do. I was watching an episode of the UK version of Ghosts and discovered that across the pond you were only allowed to fool someone until noon! I guess when April Fool’s Day got transported over here, we did the American thing and made it bigger! and better?!
• Usedom island – I’ve been watching The Nordic Murders recently. The stories are set on an island called Usedom. Not being familiar with this particular island, I got confused when the story would move into Poland. As far as I could tell, no one drove over a bridge or got off the island in any way so I looked it up. Usedom is a Baltic island that is part of Germany, but in 1945 the eastern part of the island was assigned to Poland. Thought that was interesting.
•  Overset – I’ve been reading some historical mysteries recently and have run across the word “overset” a number of times. I could tell that it basically means upset. I checked an American English dictionary and, yes, it’s still in there and isn’t even listed as archaic. Do any of you use “overset” in daily speech?
• Pulchritude – I am familiar with the word pulchritude. I’ve seen it in my reading and looked it up a few times. It only dawned on me recently, though, that the word does not fit its definition of “great physical beauty and appeal”. Pulchritude does not sound very attractive to me. 
• Toilet roll over or under? –This seems to be an ongoing debate for households. I’ve done it both ways though I favor the “over”. The patent that was granted in 1891 clearly shows the intended way is “over”. Just look at the picture. Something tells me that most people won’t care about that and the debate will rage on. Check out the patent and picture here: https://patents.google.com/patent/US465588A/en 

That’s it for my random thoughts.

Upcoming events for me: 

On Saturday, April 20, I will be signing at the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles booth at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books held on the main campus of the University of Southern California (my alma mater). My signing time is noon-2pm. The booth is a hop, skip and a jump from Tommy Trojan. If you’re in the Los Angeles area, stop by and say hi. 

I’ll also be attending Malice Domestic this year. I’m on a panel on Friday, April 26 from 2:00-2:50pm with Barbara Barrett (M), Sally Handley, Jackie Layton and Misty Simon. It’s called Love and Murder: “Rom-Cozies”. Should be interesting.

Curses! When To Use Them!

 By Thomas Kies

Swearing, cursing…include it in your dialogue?  Don’t include it?  Does it make what your characters are saying any less authentic?  Will you p*** off readers if you DO include it?

Full disclosure, I have a deep well of vocabulary to draw from when it comes to blue language.  Generally, I reserve it for when I’m driving alone, and another driver does something stupid or dangerous or both.  As long as the windows are up, it’s mostly harmless.  If I forget that my window is down, well, I’ve gotten some interesting responses to my observations.

Swearing, technically referred to as "using intensifiers," can be a potent tool in a writer's arsenal. A well-placed curse can convey a character's emotion more effectively than an entire paragraph of description. However, it's a delicate balance. Get it wrong, and it can sound gratuitous, silly, or just plain stupid. Get it right and it’s a gut punch.

I think the rule of thumb should be to be true to your genre.  If you’re writing war fiction, if you don’t use slang and bad language, it’s not going to sound realistic. You may not swear as much as real soldiers in combat (they swear all the time), but you have to create some semblance of reality.  If you don’t use blue language, you’ll sound like dialogue from a movie from the 1940s.

I specialize in crime fiction.  Working for newspapers and magazines most of my life, I’ve known good guys and I’ve known bad guys and they all swear copiously.  Writing dialogue as realistic as that would be tiresome, but not including it would sound fake. I can’t have a drug dealer shout, “Gosh darn it all to heck!”  Nor can I have a police captain growl, “Golly, get those cuffs on that astronaut.”

Oh, and politicians?  Get them away from the public and they also have a colorful vocabulary.  Surprisingly so. 

Cursing in a love scene?  You’re using a whole different set of words, and we can talk about that at another time.  Use the wrong words and you just sound like a bad porn movie. 

Why can swear words be a beautiful thing?

- They have the ability to shock.

- You can equate them to linguistic violence.

- They can mark extreme emotions, moods, or turning points.

- They can be used for comic effect. 

Now, you don’t always have to use street language, depending on the context.  Shakespeare had the ability to swear without really swearing.  He wrote the mother of all literary cuss-outs (cuss is simply a variant of curse) in King Lear, but interestingly there is no profanity or obscenity as we know it, merely terrifically imaginative vulgarisms, delivered with passion. Here it is, the Earl of Kent preparing to thrash the crap out of Goneril’s loathsome lackey, Oswald:

"Knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-liver’d, action-taking, whoreson, glass-gazing, superserviceable, finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service, and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch, one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.

I don’t think I’ll use any of that the next time I’m in a bar or shooting pool, but it’s worth thinking about.

Now, can you lose readers due to foul language? Of course, but why on earth would they be reading crime fiction if they have a weak constitution?  Have a great f****** week and keep writing.

Stories Not Yet Written

 I recently saw The Godfather Part II and one scene that struck me as painfully relevant to today was when the young Vito Corleone was processed through Ellis Island. The episode was meant to show how chaotic and daunting the experience was at the time, but to me it was a model of efficiency and care compared to what I see going on with the migrant crisis.   

If you live in a sanctuary city, as I do in Denver, you no doubt have seen the migrant crisis up close and personal. Over 38 thousand asylum seekers, mostly from Venezuela, have been processed locally. We had a large tent city outside a hotel close to my house; the encampment caught fire and was then dismantled. These immigrants get shuffled around in a bureaucratic shell game. In the daytime, they turn up in supermarket parking lots, either to beg or sell candy/flowers. Many of the young men drift through neighborhoods offering to do yard work, shovel snow, and have claimed street corners for the return of the infamous "squeegee men." As a Latino, more specifically a Chicano, I can empathize since my family came to this country as "illegal aliens." Back then, we were called mojados, which in English translates to wetbacks. And there is another faction of Chicanos whose families were already here for 500 plus years before the US annexed the southwest from Mexico. "We didn't cross the border, the border crossed us." While we share with the Venezuelans a common language and Christian faith, a Spanish heritage, and mixed ancestry, our experiences as Latinos in the United States are decidedly different. 

This crisis is demoralizing because the scope of the problem is overwhelming. If helping one stranger is a challenge, then how to help thousands? I give money when I can and engage with the immigrants to learn more about them. Despite their desperate situation, I'm impressed by their determination to get ahead. Somehow they've managed to scrape enough money together to purchase bicycles. One fellow arrived at a squeegee corner in a used Jeep Liberty with temporary tags. At the Safeway service desk, the customer ahead of me was an immigrant wiring $260 to his home in Caracas. 

Many of the Venezuelans came here as a family, so it's not unusual to see them pushing strollers or shepherding one or two children. At the street corners, while mom or dad are trying to collect dollars, their kids while away the hours playing on the concrete. I wonder how these children are internalizing their experience? What opinions are they forming about America, its culture, and this new life? As their generation matures and claims its slice of this country, what will be their unique shared history? What will be their stories?

Let Us Begin

When you open a book you've never read before, when did you first go “Hmm! How interesting!” I (Donis) know you've heard many times how important the opening few sentences of a novel are, and, really, that can hardly be overstated.

 If you’re Steven King, people are going to cut you a lot of slack about the beginning of your novel, but if nobody every heard of you, you need to create the most interesting beginning you can.  Grab ‘em right away. In a way, your story is starting in the middle. A lot has happened before we get there. Suck them in with a good first page.

When I open a novel to the first page, I always notice how quickly the author sets the stage, the first moment the author gave the reader a clue about the time period, the setting, the problem, the characters. I've learned a lot about good beginnings from my favorite authors. Below are some openings I admired (and one I used myself), and I ask you, Dear Reader - Would you read this book?

When I found my husband at the bottom of the stairs, I tried to resuscitate him before I ever considered disposing of the body. – Tanya Dubois, The Passenger.

The letter from Tally came on the day Bert Checkov died. – Dick Francis, Forfeit

If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: in love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are. – Kristin Hannah, The Nightingale

When the girl came rushing up the steps, I thought she was wearing far too many clothes.– Lindsey Davis, Silver Pigs

Ginny Scoot was standing on a third-floor ledge, threatening to jump, and it was more or less my fault. – Janet Evanovich, Tricky Twenty-Two

I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening when I poked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster. – Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle

Coming back from the dead isn’t as easy as they make it seem in the movies. – Christa Faust, Money Shot

The last camel collapsed at noon.

It was the five-year-old white bull he had bought in Gialo, the youngest and strongest of the three beasts, and the least ill-tempered: he liked the animal as much as a man could like a camel, which is to say that he hated it only a little. – Ken Follett, The Key to Rebecca.

The traveler stood at the head of the alley and watched the ruckus for a long time, trying to decide whether or not to get involved. He thought not. He had just been passing by on his way from the hotel to the Muskogee train station when he heard the commotion and stopped to take a look. He wished he hadn’t.–  Donis Casey, All Men Fear Me

And an oldie but goody:

Samuel Spade’s jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more flexible v of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller, v. His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The v motif was picked up again by thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his pale brown hair grew down—from high, flat temples—in a point on his forehead. He looked rather pleasantly like a blond satan.

He said to Effie Perine: “Yes, sweetheart?” —Dashiell Hammett, The Maltese Falcon

Is there an opening line/paragraph that knocked you out, Dear Reader? All we authors who have to start somewhere would like to know.

Out And About

 by Sybil Johnson

I recently did a bookstore event hosted by Mystery Ink in Huntington Beach, CA with Jennifer J. Chow, author of four different series including her most recent one, the Magical Fortune Cookie series. She was promoting the first book in her series, Ill-fated Fortune, and I was promoting the most recent book in mine, Brush Up On Murder. (I highly recommend her book, btw.)

This was the first bookstore event I’d done since before the pandemic. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed doing them. We had a nice time discussing our books, writing and other authorly topics in front of a small, but enthusiastic group. The questions were interesting and the conversation fun. Plus, we each sold a few books.

I’ve discovered over time that I don’t like doing bookstore events by myself. It’s much more fun to have one or two other authors with me “in conversation.” Here are a few pictures. I’m happy I actually remembered to take some. I often forget.

 

Jennifer J. Chow and me

Jennifer, Debbie Mitsch from Mystery Ink and me

My next event is signing at the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles booth at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. I’ll be at the booth on Saturday, April 20, noon – 2pm. Then it's off to Malice!

Proofreading!

By Charlotte Hinger

I've received the pages for Mary's Place, my historical novel that will be published by the University of Nebraska Place this July. The next step is for me to scrutinize all the copy to make sure there are no typos and other errors. 

I would have liked a larger type size, but I'm keeping my mouth shut. Fonts affect the number of pages and add to the expense of a book. The price of printing a book has risen so much that it's a huge issue. And all of my historical novels are really long. 

If a book costs too much money, it affects sales. There's a limit to what people will pay for entertainment.

There's an uproar right now over Netflix and Amazon allowing commercials on their shows. I'm taking a pretty hard line. I absolutely refuse to pay exorbitant fees for TV channels, nor will I put up with having shows interrupted by really obnoxious sales pitches (one right after the other) that break into the plot line. 

PBS has become one of my favorite channels. Yes, they have commercials, but they are at the beginning of a show and the pitches make sense. Another channel I may subscribe to again is Acorn. It had some of the best mysteries. 

My local library is a treasure house of DVDs and books. I certainly encourage our Type M readers to check out books by our bloggers and while you're at it--scout for DVDs of your favorite TV shows. If you've never used Interlibrary Loan, please do! Through this wonderful service you can get nearly any book you want. 

 

Drumroll...

In my last blog post, I said I was waiting for the final decision from the publisher on the title for my upcoming Inspector Green novel. It's rare that I don't know exactly the right title for a book by the time I finish it. The perfect title is like the cherry on the top of the sundae, the finishing touch that creates a bit of mystery, captures the essence of the story, and pulls it all together. But this time I faced a conundrum. Two possible titles, both with their drawbacks. One is mysterious, evocative, but slightly obscure; the other more classically thriller-like but less unique.

Only twice in my twenty-one-book career has a publisher not liked the title I came up with, usually for some marketing reason, but this time I decided to let the publisher choose between the two titles. It passed before many eyes, including editorial, marketing, and organizational, but finally we have a title!

The mysterious, evocative one. 

So without further ado, here it is. SHIPWRECKED SOULS.

SHIPWRECKED SOULS is a powerful, poignant story close to my own heart, and I felt it deserved a title that evokes that. The book brings back not only Green, his best mate Brian Sullivan, and some familiar police faces, but also his patrol officer daughter Hannah and her young detective boyfriend Josh Kanner.

 It is slated for release in January 2025, which seems interminably far away for both readers and for me, but it will be here eventually. Editing, copyediting, galley preparation, proofreading, marketing and sales planning, advertising, and on it goes. For me, there are book signings to set up, library readings, launch plans, social media promotion, blogging, website updating, and outreach to readers. 

As a teaser to get that started, I will be putting a link to the first chapter up on my website (once I've updated it!), so keep an eye out for that. And here's a smaller teaser for the book to pique your interest.

The death of an elderly woman from Ukraine leads Green on an emotional journey into his own past, where he makes a startling discovery.

Let Us Talk About Dreams

 I  (Donis) would like to talk about dreams today, Dear Reader.

A while back I was getting ready to conduct a journaling and memoir workshop. I pulled out some of my own old journals and went through them in hopes of finding a couple of creative examples of entries I could share with the class. Here is what I discovered: It’s horrifying to go back in time and see what was on my mind twenty or thirty years ago. Mainly because I really haven’t changed much. I was hoping I’d learned a thing or two.

The journal that interested me most was one that I kept about twenty years ago. I was going through a period of recording my dreams. 

Mar. 5, 2004 — I dreamed that Lois and Beckie and I were sitting around smoking weed…

I have always been a big dreamer. When I was very young, up through my twenties, my dreams were incredibly vivid and sometimes prescient. As the years passed, my dreams became more mundane. Now that I am no longer young, I mostly dream about something I read or just saw on television. 

October 12, 2004 - last night I dreamed I was driving John Kerry to a political rally but I got hopelessly lost. He was very patient. I kept acting like I knew what I was doing.

Like everyone else, I have the occasional weird, archetypal dream of the sort that you can find in any dream interpretation book. 

June 11, 2004 - I dreamed I went to a deli for a sandwich. I realize I’m naked, so I wrap myself in my newspaper, which turns into a gauzy blue scarf and looks very pretty. Finally I order a roast beef sandwich but realize that I can’t sit and read my paper without getting naked again…

I actually believe that many of the dreams of my youth were out-of-body experiences—floating around the house, or over the house, or visiting people in my sleep. Oh, yes, I do believe that dreams can be a portal to something. Early on in our relationship my husband and I had a long discussion about The Dream that sometimes happens when someone you love dies. This is a dream that is different from all others, and I don’t care how many logical people try to explain it away for you, you know you’ve been a party to something extraordinary.

Don said three of his five siblings reported that before they knew their mother had passed, she had come to them in a dream so real that they all swore they were awake. Maybe they were. Who am I do say otherwise?

In 1967, my own mother told me that a few months after my father died unexpectedly, he visited her in a vivid dream and assured her that he was all right.

Almost forty years later, the January that my mother died, I told Don that I had never had The Dream, even though for decades I had really wanted some contact with my father, and now I longed to know that my mother was okay. Wanting does not make it so. But that didn’t keep me from wishing. 

Finally, that same year:

Sept. 20 - I dreamed that my father was leading me through a forest. We found the nest of a tiny hummingbird, with a tiny blue egg in it. I said I wished I had a little egg like that, and my father produced one and told me to hold it in my moth. I put it between my lips and a little bird flew up and took from my lips with its bill, and I realized the egg would eventually hatch into a blue butterfly. I knew I was being given a gift of magic words.

Working Environments

 

by Sybil Johnson

I’ve been hearing a lot lately about how companies are having a hard time getting workers to go back to the office post-pandemic. People seem to have settled in working from home and be reluctant to commute. I suspect some of that reluctance comes from the environment they would be returning to.

I think there’s a lot of value in being in an office environment. It’s easier to interact with fellow employees and you’re not by yourself the whole time. On the other hand, I can understand why people want to stay home given what I’ve seen of today’s working environments that seem to favor open offices and cubicles instead of individual offices with a (gasp!) door.

In my working life as a programmer/software development manager, I was lucky enough to always have an office with a door. Sometimes I shared that office with one other person, but most of the time I was on my own. We all generally kept our office doors open, closing them only when we really didn’t want to be disturbed or, in the case of when I was a manager, I was doing a performance appraisal or having a “sensitive” conversation.

At times when I didn’t want to be disturbed and had to venture out to get a performance appraisal off of the printer (no individual printers for us first level managers, alas), I would tape a piece of paper on my back that said “Do Not Disturb” so no one would bug me when I was walking down the hall. It was remarkably effective. I’m sure people thought I was a little odd, but most of them had worked with me for a long time so they probably shrugged it off. I also did a lot of MBWA, managing by walking around, where I’d pop into people’s offices or the lab and see what was going on. I suppose that would be easier under an open concept plan.

I’m glad I stopped working in the software industry before companies stopped using individual offices. I can’t imagine trying to program in an open office or cubicle environment.

The people who say the open office or cubicle plans are superior (i.e. management) say it encourages interaction with your fellow employees and workers become more efficient. Balderdash, I say! Balderdash! We did plenty of interacting when we had individual offices either in the hallway or the break room or popping into each others offices to talk about problems. Open offices and cubicles are noisy and a lot of people find it hard to concentrate on their work. This is particularly difficult for anyone who works in a creative field. I include programming in this because I consider it an art based on science.

Writers have their favorite environments to work in. Some prefer the local coffee shop, some their homes. I can’t imagine doing any writing in a coffee shop, at least not on a regular basis. The more I write, though, the more I have discovered that I can write in a lot of odd environments like a few minutes in a doctor’s office while I’m waiting or at Disneyland. I’ve got a lot of good scenes written at The Happiest Place On Earth.

With all of the construction happening on our block (remember that 9 1/2 year stretch of continuous construction?), I learned that I could write even when it wasn’t quiet outside. Of course, I prefer quiet, but sometimes you don’t get that. BTW, construction is continuing on the house next door. This is the second bout of construction on that lot. Now, though, I’ve learned how to deal with it much better.

Someone I worked with eons ago wrote an interesting article on this whole office environment thing. You can read it here. https://albertcory50.substack.com/p/bring-back-private-offices

So, what does everyone think about the open office and cubicle concepts? Have you ever worked in that kind of environment? Did you feel you were productive?

Looking at Things in New Ways

By Thomas Kies

On Valentine’s Day, my first cataract surgery took place.  Romantic, huh?

It was my left eye and before the surgery, it had gotten so that I could barely see out of it.  My vision faded so slowly, so subtly, that I didn’t notice it until it got really bad. 

Once that surgery took place, one eye was still nearsighted, as it had been since I was five years old, and the left eye was now farsighted.  My brain was flummoxed. 

Some people say it wasn’t a new scenario.

Then, last Tuesday, my right eye underwent surgery.  Now I’m not wearing glasses, for nearly the first time in my life. 

It’s weird.

However, now I need “readers” for reading, obviously, and writing and working on my laptop.  I won’t get the prescription specs that I need until sometime next week so I’m using glasses I found in Walgreens.  A stopgap measure at best.

What’s this got to do with writing?  I’m now more keenly aware than ever how much we rely upon our eyesight for everything and what it means when it comes to writing.  Not only logistically, but creatively. 

Describing a scene, we usually start with what it looks like.  As I tell my writing class, you should incorporate all the senses—sounds you hear, scents you detect, what things feel like.  You want to bring the reader into the scene. 

As an example, here is an excerpt from my first book, Random Road:

 

I poured a healthy serving of Glenlivet for Kevin and tumbler of Absolut over ice for me. Then I suggested, “How about we go out and sit on the porch?”

We sat in chairs next to each other and breathed in the night air, thick with the sweet scent of roses that my landlady, Mrs. Soldaro, had planted all around the base of the front porch. A history of the universe twinkled down at us in the form of a sky full of stars.  Crickets and cicadas hummed and chirped, giving auditory proof that the earth was a living, breathing entity.

I took a long, hard sip of vodka, the ice tinkling against my teeth, the liquid lighting a fire in my throat and igniting a familiar heat in my stomach.  Almost immediately, the warmth and a sense of well-being stole into my consciousness.   I took a deep breath.  The world was okay.

 

So, I’m getting used to the new vision and editing and tweaking what I hope will be my next Geneva Chase novel.  I’m also marveling over how fresh and new colors look.  I'm enjoying the new experience. 

It’s a unique opportunity, seeing things for the first time through fresh eyes.  I guess that’s what we try to do for our readers. Look at things in new ways.