Wayward Words

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

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

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

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

The out-and-out plagiarism Rick referred to is in a class by itself. It's criminal. But I've noticed the "legitimate" books built on another author's foundation don't stand very well. Because the original creative spark isn't there they flounder in the marketplace.

Creative energy is unique to an individual. The source can't be duplicated.

Nevertheless there is a great deal of craftsmanship involved with creating good books and much to be learned by studying the techniques of the masters. Especially when one begins to write.

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

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

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

Looking to the Master for Solutions

I'm 50 pages into a novel due in August (I know, don't say it), and to make matters worse, I hit a roadblock this week.

I don't usually consider this a bad thing, but the book is going where I thought it would go. The story seems to be moving too fast. Maybe that's because I outlined before I began. I'm not sure why, but the plot is playing out quickly.

So this past weekend I backed off, stepped back, and did what I do whenever I get stuck — I read a crime novel I thought would inspire me. When things are going well, I look for new authors, new voices (I just finished Bangkok 8 by John Burdett). But Saturday I reached for Raymond Chandler's The High Window.

Why Chandler? Why now? Here's Chandler on stalled plots: "Whenever I get bored a man enters the room carrying a gun," he once said.

So I read The High Window, and then — and please don't read too much into this — I went to church Sunday morning and, when I should've been listening to the sermon, thought of a necessary plot twist. I'm sure this says more about the kind of Episcopalian I am than either the quality of the sermon or the quality of my plots (I can assure you that God did not intervene).

But maybe Raymond Chandler did.

Saturday, I read one line in The High Window, about halfway through the book, and discovered where, perhaps, the master might have gotten "bored." The perfectly-timed, logically-positioned plot twist adds a secondary storyline and a layer of depth to the novel. I was truly inspired by The High Window but didn't realize it until I went back to my own novel.

Hopefully, I learned something.

LA Times Festival of Books

Last weekend I attended the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books held on the campus of my alma mater, the University of Southern California. According to the Times, over 150,000 people attended the two day event. I’m not sure where they got their figures since no ticket is required to enter the festival grounds. I assume there’s some sort of estimating going on.

Tommy Trojan

The event is free. Tickets are required for the indoor panels, or conversations as I heard them called, but there’s no charge. You can get tickets on campus, but I recommend reserving your space ahead of time since some panels sell out fast. If you reserve online, there’s a nominal $1 per ticket processing fee. Quite a bargain IMO.

You never know what the weather’s going to be like. Last year it was in the 90s and sunny. As you can tell by these pictures, this year it was rainy with the threat of lightning. Unusual for this time of year. Still, I think everyone had a good time.

There are all kinds of things to do for all ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of books you like, the festival has it all. Booths and stages are sprinkled throughout campus. There are areas for children’s books, mystery, poetry, cook books. Pretty much everything you can think of. When I was going by one stage, Padma Lakshmi was talking about her book, “Love, Loss and What We Ate: A Memoir”. Even though I'm not that into poetry, one of my favorite things to do is watch the poetry slams.

The Times also posts crossword puzzles throughout the area that people can contribute to. The white boards this year got a little wet, which was a bit of a challenge to write on, but people still had fun.

I’ve been attending for quite a few years. This is my second as a published author. Scores of authors sign at booths from the famous to others, like me, the not so famous. It’s a good opportunity to let people know you have a book out. Here I am signing at the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles booth.

You never know who you’re going to see at the festival. Henry Winkler was talking about his children’s books one day. T Jefferson Parker, Patt Morrison, Michael Connelly...the list goes on and on. I couldn’t resist getting my picture taken with the LMU mascot, ’cause that’s how I roll.

That’s my report on LATFOB. Hope you enjoyed it. If you’re in the LA area next April 22-23, check out the festival. It’s a lot of fun even when it’s raining.

Dialogue or description?

by Rick Blechta

My turn — and there’s not a lot of time for me to write anything today due to work, so this will have to be brief. (Blechta being brief? Who’d a thunk it?)

I don’t know if I’m different from other writers in this — and I don’t remember ever having discussed this with any other of my colleagues, but it dawned on me recently that I have far less trouble writing dialogue than description. I can waste hours trying to describe what a person or a room or, well, anything looks like, whereas I can fire off an extended bit of dialogue almost as fast as I can type it. The interesting addition to this is that my dialogue needs far less editing than my description, both by me in the “refining” stages and by editors.

So I have a question for all you writer-types. Which is easier for you: dialogue or description? For all the non-writers out there, which of the two do you prefer reading? (And I’m not talking about description that is self-indulgent and goes on far too long in too much detail.)

And that’s all, folks, for this week. I’ll be back with much more of substance next Tuesday. Feel free to drop by!

Write What You Know? Not so fast

By Vicki Delany (Eva Gates)

In her post of last week, Barbara writes about the need for the author to put themselves in another’s shoes.  Essentially, isn’t that what most writing, except for memoirs and biographies, is? You are telling someone else’s story. I suppose you can fictionalize your life story, (and it’s said that most first novels are largely auto-biographical) but anyone who writes more than one book has to start moving out of what they know.

We all have heard the adage “Write what you know.” I’ve never been a big fan of that idea.

What do I know? I know how to write computer code for 20^th century computers; I am highly computer-literate; I do a mean jig-saw puzzle; I can paddle a canoe

, and I am a very good baker.

All of which, let’s face it, is pretty dull.  Writing about my life as a computer programmer would make a mighty boring book.

So, instead I go by the adage, “Write what you want to know.” 

I have no background in law enforcement whatsoever, so when I decided I wanted to write a police procedurals series set in Canada,  I set about learning what I needed (and wanted) to know.

When I was asked to write the Lighthouse Library series set in the Outer Banks, I didn’t proclaim, "But I’ve never been to the Outer Banks,” instead I said, “Sure.”  I then read up on the Outer Banks and on lighthouses, and I went down there for a visit.

Not only did I learn many things I wanted to know, I got the chance to visit a wonderful place, and to learn a lot about the fascinating history of lighthouses.

As eating is important to any good cozy mystery, I immersed myself in North Carolina cooking (It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it).  Fried green tomatoes, shrimp po’boy, shrimp and grits, hush puppies. Yum. 

Here’s a bit from the third book in the series, Reading Up A Storm:

I practically know Jake’s menu by heart. I didn’t have to think hard about what to order. “Shrimp and grits please.”

“You’re becoming a true Southern woman,” Connor said.

“If Southern means shrimp and grits, then I’m in.  And a couple of hush puppies too, please.”

These days you can do a lot of research on the Internet, but I maintain that particularly when it comes to setting nothing can replace actually being there.  Google Earth can show you the layout of the streets compared to the ocean or lakes and rivers, and Streetview can give you a snap shot of streets and buildings at a moment in time, but nothing replaces actually seeing the light at dusk, or the sky when storm clouds move in. Even the best computer program can’t give you the scent of salt on the air, or the feel of the hot sun on your arms.

And only by being there, can you experience those unexpected moments that add real color and texture to your book.

Case in point, on my last visit to the Outer Banks, I went to the Bodie Island Lighthouse at dusk to see the light when it’s on.  Coming back I saw a deer at the side of the road.  Coming from heavily wooded Ontario, I wouldn’t have expected to see deer where the vegetation so space and poor. 

So, now Lucy Richardson, my protagonist, watches out for deer when she drives back to the lighthouse at night.

There really is nothing like being there.

Brenda Chapman on keeping it all straight!

Please welcome this weekend's guest blogger, my good friend and fellow Ottawa mystery author, Brenda Chapman. A prolific author equally at home with young adult, stand-alone adult thrillers, and two mystery series, Brenda is best known as the author of the Stonechild and Rouleau police procedurals published by Dundurn. Cold Mourning, first in the series was shortlisted for an Arthur Ellis award in 2015 for best  novel.Tumbled Graves, third in the series, was released in February 2016. Brenda also writes the Anna Sweet novellas for Grass Roots Press. 

Learn more about Brenda at brendachapman.ca 

Thank you to Barbara Fradkin for inviting me to share a blog post with you today. I thought I’d take this opportunity to raise an affliction common to many authors…

A dutiful parent does not forget the names of their children, or the moment their child took their first step, graduated high school or backed the family car into a tree. Books are often compared to an author’s children, but remembering the plot, the characters and even the specifics of a crime can tax any writer’s memory cells. Case in point: An author (whose name escapes me) recounted the time he appeared on a radio program and forgot the plot of his newly released book. The interviewer asked questions but the author drew blanks. Some might see this as an unbelievable memory lapse, since who better to know the content of a book than its originator…especially a book hot on the shelves?

Tumbled Graves is the third in my Stonechild and Rouleau police procedural series. I have several main characters who are getting into all kinds of scrapes and suffering through unexpected turmoil — trying to lead happy lives while solving crimes. Half the time, I can’t remember who did what in which book. I have to look up the characters’ names, search their physical descriptions and reread passages to find out where they left off.

Yet something readers might not understand is that by the time a book reaches the shelves, often close to two years have passed since the writer submitted the final manuscript to the publisher. In my case, when Tumbled Graves was released at the end of February, I had already submitted the manuscript to Dundurn for book four and gotten a start on book five. To make life even more complicated, I completed an Anna Sweet novella for a separate mystery series with Grass Roots Press in between books four and five, and a few weeks ago, I set aside my latest Stonechild writing project to work on the edits. Not to mention my full-time communications job….

Taking a cue from the author who forgot the plot of his book, I’ve learned to skim through my notes about a book before an event. I run the names of characters and the crime through my mind before an interview. I make notes on scraps of paper. I head off brain freezes through careful preparation — much like studying for an exam at school.Of course, this cannot save me from out-of-the-blue questions from readers I meet in my travels, so I ask in advance for understanding as I stare back blankly while fumbling for a response. I really did write the book you are asking about. Those really are my children. It’s just that I’ve given birth to fourteen at last count with a couple more in gestation. It goes without saying that I love them all equally…once I can recall the details of their birth.

Painful Distractions

I'm writing this in pain. Yesterday I wore heels with a pointed toe. Today (Thursday) I switched to heavy, laced shoes. Somewhere between yesterday and today, I irritated a toe that I had stumped a while ago. It was hurting while I was working this afternoon, and foolishly I kept flexing my foot in the heavy shoe and pushing my toe downward against the floor. I think I might have sprained my arch -- if that is possible. I'm back at the computer after trying an Epsom salt soak. I'm hoping for the best because I've got a busy day tomorrow and being able to walk without limping would be helpful.

But no injured foot should go wasted. To distract myself, I've been thinking about how a low-grade nagging pain can be incredibly distracting. And irritating.Maybe I'll give one of my characters in the book I'm working on a toothache with no time to visit a dentist. But if the pain gets bad enough he'll have to deal with it. The book is set in 1939, so I'm going to have to do some research on dental surgery.

Or maybe the distraction is an allergy attack. The kind that leaves one with watery eyes and a runny nose. And makes it impossible to look composed or attractive. I could give this one to my female character as she is trying to prove to the male protagonist that she is up to the challenge. Wiping away tears when you're arguing your case doesn't work well.

 Anyway, it's late, and I have an early morning. Tomorrow I'll think some more about how to make creative use of my pain. Tonight, it just hurts. Maybe an injured foot is the way to go. That would certainly slow my protagonist down. But it is a bit of a cliche. Better a toothache. I think definitely a toothache.

And maybe it's my bad guy who should have the toothache. That would humanize him.

Off to take some aspirin and get to bed.

A Delightful Turn of Phrase

I (Donis) can't stay too long today, Dear Reader. I have set the day aside for my Work In Progress and I must get back to it, for I'm on a roll. Well, not really a roll. More like an ooze. I'm on an ooze, but that is better than nothing, and if I stop, it's very hard to get started again.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote an entry for my publisher's blog about the physical perils of writing (check it out here), in which I talked about how an author risks eyestrain and carpal tunnel and numb-butt by sitting too long at the computer. I try very hard to moderate my sitting by getting up and doing some exercise every hour or so, but when you're in the zone sometimes that gets past you. I'm sure you have read the latest research that states that "sitting is the new smoking", which means that sitting too long is very very bad for your health. Therefore, I try to work standing up as much as possible. The only problem is that standing for long periods hurts my back and my feet. I try hard to maintain good posture, but there is only so much I can take even then. The only solution I can think of is to trade off sitting and standing, interspersed with periods of walking, yoga, jumping jacks. Otherwise, the only other remedy is to sit in a chair like Mork from Ork. I have tried it, and it's really rather nice, as long as you can keep from smothering yourself.

On another note, I loved my blogmates' entries below on colorful phrases and expressions. I love a good turn of phrase. In fact, I try to use colorful Southern/Western American phrases for the titles of my books, which can cause me some consternation when I can't think of anything good. I usually wait for one of the characters to say something appropriate. For my W-I-P, (working title: Book Nine) I'm still waiting.

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.

My grandparents—and parents— had the most wonderful way of putting things. One grandparent 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”.

I, of course, was desperate to get rid of my Oklahoma accent when I was young and speak completely standard American English. My accent is not as strong nor my vocabulary as eccentric as my parents’, nor was theirs as strong and colorful as their parents'. My nieces and nephews in their thirties sound more standard yet. But after years living away from my native place, I saw on a news program an interview with two teenaged girls 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 husband, also a native Oklahoman, has an accent that is different from mine. (Mine is more Appalachian, his is more Plains) 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.

Knowing your mosquitoes and other things

Sybil's and Aline's posts about colourful phrases and expressions that reflect the culture that created them got me thinking. We writers often venture very far into alien territory as far as culture goes. If we only wrote about our own backyards, we might soon run out of things to say. It's the rare author that can write original and compelling stories about the same small corner of the universe. Most of us lead fairly safe, mundane lives, notwithstanding the subtle, secret intrigues that seethe beneath the surface of the most ordinary neighbourhoods. First novels often mine our own experiences and are set in our familiar world, but by the time we get to novel number ten, we are casting our net far wider. How many stories are set during war, revolution, or other catastrophe? How many deal with turmoil and pain far beyond what we ourselves have lived? Crime writers in particular can only rely on personal experience so much (one hopes).

Yet writing about locales and people other than our own presents a challenge, unless one is content with cardboard characters, cliched settings, and a formulaic plot where anybody can be plugged in with equal plausibility. As an outsider, a writer could spend years before truly capturing the essence of a people and a place, but few of us have that luxury. Yet when we try to write from the point of view of someone with an entirely different life experience from us, we risk being superficial at best or fraudulent at worst. This is true when a man tries to write a woman't point of view, a middle-aged writer tries to capture a teenager's view, or a white person tries to write as an indigenous person. In extreme cases, this is labelled "appropriation of voice" and can be offensive.

As sensitive souls, we writers all have our lines in the sand. How far we venture outside our comfort zone depends on our skill, the type of story we are telling and how real and profound the characters have to be. Some of us are bolder than others, willing to put on the cloak of a serial killer or a Hitler, whereas others are reluctant to stretch our imagination and empathy beyond the narrow confines of our past. In addition, some of us restrict our reach out of respect for the authenticity of others' suffering.

Yet this challenge of stepping into another's shoes and getting it right confronts us when we write about anyone other than ourselves. How does a Canadian get inside the head of an American? A New Yorker inside the head of a Vancouverite? How does a Montreal-born Ottawa girl like me write about Newfoundland, as I did in my upcoming book FIRE IN THE STARS, and create real characters who don't sound as if they've stepped out of an episode of Republic of Doyle?

One solution is to stick as close as possible to what you do know or can find out. If you have Newfoundland friends or family, pick their brains and summon their presence while you are writing. Imagine their voices and reactions.  Shamelessly base your characters on them; steal their anecdotes and life story. Read books about Newfoundland, hunt down stories on the internet, check the Dictionary of Newfoundlandese. And once you've written the book, ask your friendly Newfoundlander to read it for realism. Luckily Newfoundlanders will give it to you straight.

Another solution is to visit the place you are writing about. The amount of detail and authenticity you will acquire cannot be matched by your imagination or all the books in the world. The smell of the place, the daily sounds and sights, the way every clerk and cashier calls you "m' dear" or "darlin'". The more time you spend in the place, not doing the touristy things but wandering and listening, the more you can capture its flavour. And the essence of the people. You will still be an outsider, but your characters may do a passable imitation of the real thing.

Dialect and sayings are especially tricky. They reflect not just the geographical origin but the age, class, and sex of the speaker. Thanks to their long history of isolation, Newfoundlanders have a wealth of colourful sayings and words, many of which reflect the hard-scrabble, no-nonsense, fishing life they led. But a outport old-timer is much more likely to use phrases like "Long may yer big jib draw" and "Was ya born on a raff?" than a young "townie" from St. Johns. Aside from the risk of getting it wrong, putting too much dialect or strange words into your book makes it tough going for the reader, and if they have to work too hard, they will lose the enchantment of the story. No writer wants that! As with many things, a little dialect goes a long way.

True dat! Old trout.

More thoughts on book piracy

by Rick Blechta

The story I featured in last Tuesday’s post (Plagiarism in the 21st Century) seems to have really resonated with a lot of people. For one thing, it’s all over Facebook at the moment, mostly on timelines of authors (with surprisingly few publishers picking it up). I also heard privately from several people.

The article also really resonated with me (not that I’m expecting people to be snapping up my deathless works of art left, right and centre). The thing that sticks in my craw is the sheer audacity of these pirates.

I wish I had time to research this more completely, but I’m sure it’s all hidden in a carefully-crafted labyrinth of internet befuddlement. The person posing as Joanne Clancy is really rather accomplished. Think about it. She was giving interviews, albeit with questions sent to her. It would have been interesting to see how she would have handled a spot on TV.

It’s so easy to be anonymous on the internet. You can quickly create multiple people, in much the same way that a writer creates characters. I’m still willing to bet that “Joanne Clancy” also has other names under which she operates. If she didn’t when this whole thing blew up in her face, she does now. Why not? Like any scammer, you just fold your tent, disappear to another place, and set up shop again. Hell, she could even be peddling the same books again under different titles.

The thing to remember is that Eilis O’Hanlon only found out about Joanne Clancy by accident. Her whole series could have been plundered and she might have never found out. The other revealing thing is that she obviously has a very kind heart. How else can you explain someone being so understanding to a person (an anonymous one, at that) who is ripping them off for a substantial bit of money? While that says much about the quality of Eilis’ character, the fact is this Joanne Clancy person probably had that sob story she told Eilis well-rehearsed and ready to go. Sadly, it was swallowed and Ms O’Hanlon allowed herself to get scammed further.

But the really big idea to take away from this is that there is little an author (or publisher) can do. Find a good novel with mid-range type sales, rewrite a bit of it (easy to do if the scammer uses the global search function in a word processor, and you’re good to go. A company as big as Amazon can’t possibly be expected to uncover something like this and that size works in the scammer’s favour.

If they’re really smart, they’ll translate the novel into another language and further obfuscate the trail — especially if the language in which they market the book didn’t have a translation of the stolen book. Clancy big error was placing her versions of the O’Hanlon novel’s in the same country (Ireland). If she’d set them in Canada or the US, even England, she might have escaped detection for a long time.

The fact that the story is getting such wide coverage makes it almost certain other people will jump on this particular scam and the problem will spread. Everyone of us here on Type M has to be wondering if we’re being ripped off and don’t even know it — especially in foreign countries in other languages

That’s a pretty scary thing — especially since none of us are making pots of money writing crime fiction. Every dollar earned is precious.

But I ask: what can you do?

Sybil's Unhappy Mosquito

I read Sybil's post about turns of phrase with great delight and I shall definitely adopt the mosquito in a mannequin factory as a replacement for 'madder than a wet hen' which tends to be my standard simile.

There are lots of good Scots sayings: Folly's a bonnie dog, but a bad one (it's tempting to do silly things but you pay for it later): He draws in his horns like a snail at a child's finger:He can't hold (oat) meal in his mouth and whistle (someone trying to do two things that are inimical): Fools and bairns (children) should never see work half-done: I kent his faither ( I knew his father - a put-down, along the lines of 'a prophet is not without honour except in his own country'). This last is very typically Scots; 'Don't get above yourself,' is the first Scottish commandment.

One of the things that always interests me is how a phrase like that becomes an established saying – though perhaps this is an example, with Sybil posting it, me reading it and picking it up, then quoting it to others.  But in the days before the Internet (yes, there was actually a time like that) how did sayings gain currency?

Some, I suspect, appear in every language – the ones that simply state an obvious truth, like 'You can't have the penny and the bun.'  There are endless variants of that and if you have a good one, do share it!

Some catch on because they're colourful, like 'You can't take the breeks (pants) off a Highlander' (traditionally you don't wear anything under a kilt); 'I wouldn't call the Queen my cousin' (said when you're very proud of yourself).

But who said them first? And I'd love to know how in the old days they then managed to become part of the language.

My own two favourites are ones my grandmother used to use. They're not in common use now, sadly, and given that  she, as they say, 'had the Gaelic' I suspect that may be the derivation of the first one at least.  'Never said, "Collie, will you lick?"' is said mournfully when someone has eaten a tasty treat without sharing; 'Fine ham and haddie (haddock)' would be accompanied by an elegant sniff of disapproval when my grandmother felt that someone was telling an unlikely story.

It's good to know, though, that people like Sybil's judge are making sure that even as the old sayings die out, there are new and vivid ones to take their place.

Point of View

 

When our daughter, Michele, was a little girl she brought home a sheet of paper from school with her name written in perfect mirror image. She had beautiful handwriting.

I freaked. I immediately suspected all kinds of complicated learning problems. However, with this child I had already learned to ask for explanations. The world--from her point of view--was delightfully unpredictable.

Her explanation was that when the teacher handed out notepaper for them to practice cursive writing they were to begin at the red line and write to the edge. Sometimes the red line was on the right and sometimes it was on the left. It didn't matter to her. She wrote equally well in either direction.

Understanding point of view is an essential part of the craft of fiction writing. Originally I began the last sentence with "mastering point of view" but I don't think any writer ever does. Although there doesn't seem to be any connection between viewpoint in fiction and a school girl's acceptance of a teacher's whimsies, in a way there is.

In addition to the complexity of understanding first person, second person, third person, etc. when writing in third person or an omniscient viewpoint the story is greatly enriched by reaching into the soul of the character and using words and descriptions that reflect his or her view of the world.

The world outside can be "promising Spring. The tips of crocus bulbs are trying to break through the soil. A robin is spotted on a bare branch. And yes, there are geese overhead returning North. Splotches of color are everywhere."

Or a sour person might view the same scene as "winter still dragging down the streets like that homeless person shoving his foul-smelling carts through the crowded sidewalks. Old geezers hawking phlegm like they were competing with the honks of the hapless flight of geese flapping sluggishly through the grey sky."

Every word paints a picture of how one's characters sees the world.

I love to read books narrated in unreliable first person. Done well, they are immediately arresting. I think one of the greatest first lines ever is "Call me Ishmael." It's terrific! We are put on guard from the get go. Why would he want us to "call" him something instead of stating his name. Clearly, he's not to be trusted.

In other posts I'll discuss what is usually meant by viewpoint in writing. But for now, give some thought to how other people view the world. It's fun to write a paragraph or two from the viewpoint of a friend or family member who sees the world entirely differently than you do.

Madder Than a Mosquito...

I’m a sucker for colorful turns of phrase, especially the ones that evoke an unexpected image in the mind. The southern part of the United States has quite a few of those, far more interesting than any saying I’ve heard here on the west coast. Maybe that’s because I’ve lived somewhere on the west coast my entire life and I’m used to them.

One of the contestants on the most recent season of Holiday Baking Championship was from Georgia and had several interesting expressions. She referred to something she baked as having “fallen right out of the ugly tree.” My favorite was “madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory”. Can’t you picture a mosquito flitting from plastic arm to plastic arm, getting angrier and angrier as it realizes none of them are real and its expectation of a feast to end all feasts has turned into famine.

I’d never heard this expression before so I was curious to see if this was a common one. In my five minutes of googling, I discovered that Larry the Cable Guy has used it and a judge used it in a court order in 2011.

The judge’s court order was a fun read. Here are some of the other expressions he used in the legal document:

• happier than a tick on a fat dog
• more confused than a baby in a topless bar
• he would rather have jumped off a twelve foot stepladder into a five gallon bucket of porcupines than...

I also found Hickapedia where redneck sayings are cataloged. I think I’ve been guilty of this one myself: "Ask her what time it is and she’ll tell you how to build a clock." And then there’s “Nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” I feel sorry for that cat.

How about you all? Are there any expressions you particularly like? What about expressions that confuse you?

Plagiarism in the 21st Century

by Rick Blechta

Always on the look out for topics for my weekly Type M posts, I ran across this yesterday: The girl who stole my book

It will take you a bit of time to get through Eilis O’Hanlon’s account, but believe me, whether you’re an author or not, it is gripping reading about the changing nature of plagiarism.

Okay, I’m assuming you read the article. Pretty awful, isn’t it? I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to believe that this person posing as Joanne Clancy wrote any of the books that she self-published on Amazon. As a matter of fact, we can’t even be sure “Joanne” is a she. If you do the math, you can see that a pretty healthy living could be made by taking other people’s work, switching things up a bit and selling it in the most anonymous way possible — by formatting it as an e-book. Multiply that by a few dozen offerings and you’ve suddenly given yourself a pretty healthy income — and one that will keep on paying.

The ploy is really quite clever. Find an author who writes well but doesn’t have a lot of success even though his/her books are pretty good. Change a few things, and voila! You have a “new” book. Publishing e-books on Amazon is relatively easy and because of the volume published, it would be very difficult for Amazon to police. I’ll revise that first comment in this paragraph: the ploy is bloody brilliant. “Joanne” even had the audacity to do interviews. This person is a pro.

Several other things leapt out at me, though, in cogitating later on the article’s contents.

First of all O’Hanlon and her partner were far too kind. “In a way we feel sorry for her. Just because she plagiarized our work, doesn't mean that she's a bad person.”

Is she kidding? This person was a thief. Full stop. You can bet that sob story “Joanne” fed O’Hanlon about being a writer with severe writer’s block and that this scam being the thief’s sole source of income is complete BS from start to finish. These flim-flammers know what they’re doing. They know how to prey on their marks, and “Joanne”, I suspect, did it with aplomb. She was caught out lying in the middle of her sob story saying that she’d only made “a few hundred euros” when she’d made far in excess of that. Still O’Hanlon felt bad for her. Why does she think the sob story was created? To keep her from going to the cops is why — and she fell for it. Joanne Clancy survived to plagiarize another day under another name.

Somewhat off the track but relevant to this writer is the ridiculous amount of money kept by Amazon after the “author” was paid off. Come on, what did Amazon do that required them to get such a large portion of the publishing pie? I’m not familiar with the terms of Amazon’s publishing agreement with e-book authors who self-publish but sales of 15,000 euros only generating a payment of 1,761.80 euros is unbelievable. I hope that part of the article is wrong, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it were correct. A 12% royalty payment for an ebook where the authors done all the prep work and all Amazon has to do is upload it and track the sales is absolute highway robbery.

All in all, this article is a wake-up call to authors to protect their work as best they can. O’Hanlon only found out about this by chance. How many more authors are getting ripped off? You can be sure others are working the same scam. How can a poor author possibly track this sort of thing? It is also very possible that “Joanne Clancy” is one of a number of pseudonyms this crook may be using.

As if the book publishing game wasn’t bad enough, it just got a lot more depressing. There be sharks in these waters…

A Non-Book Holiday

By Vicki Delany

Vicki at Ha Long Bay

I am just back from 18 days in Vietnam. It was a wonderful holiday.  I loved every minute of it. I loved the people, the scenery, the food. I even loved the traffic in Hanoi and Saigon (aka Ho Chi Minh City), but that is only because I didn’t have to drive in it.  Although you take your life in your hands just crossing the road. 

What made the trip particularly special, is that it was a completely non-book related holiday.   I travel a lot, to mystery conferences, promoting the books, doing research, but this time I let all that go and just enjoyed myself.  I had a vague idea of maybe setting the next Sgt Ray Robertson novella in Vietnam, but quickly gave up that idea as I have no police contacts in the country. 

I love the writer’s life (to mis-quote Jeffry Singer, “writing is a poor way to make a living, but a great way to make a life”) but it can be all encompassing.  I write every day of the week, every week of the year, and when I am not writing books I am blogging, or thinking up blog posts, or Facebooking or Tweeting about my newest book, or trying to arrange trips and promotion.

So the break was just great.   The weather in the North (Hanoi and Ha Long Bay) was cool, but it got extremely hot as we went south.  In Ho Chi Minh City and on the Mekong Delta it was around 35 – 37 C, and very humid.  We were extremely fortunately in that we had no rain at all.

Here are some pictures of my trip.

Buddha at Marble Mountain outside of DaNang

Traffic in Saigon

Mekong Delta

Marble Mountain

A Temple

Old books

Writing Groups

I joined my first writing group when I was learning to write mysteries. The experience left me with a clear sense of why I was not an ideal writing group member. I revise as I write. I revise every day before beginning to write. What this meant for my friends in the writing group was that I would give them a chapter and before they could respond, I would have revised that chapter. Sometimes I would have revised the chapter by changing the plot. This meant that when we met once a month in the Barnes and Noble Cafe, they were providing feedback that might no longer be relevant.

Actually, our writing group was not deeply devoted to critiques. We were composed of unpublished writers and mystery readers who had met at our local mystery bookstore, Haven't Got a Clue. When the bookstore closed, we ended up as "the Wolf Road Irregulars" (the name referring to the location of the Barnes and Noble). The cafe worked well because we were a small group and who could be there for the regular Sunday evening meeting varied. Those of who were, caught up, talked mysteries, and occasionally exchanged sections of our manuscript to be read before the next monthly meeting.

I worked my way through multiple drafts of my first Lizzie Stuart novel. With nothing remaining the same except my protagonist and why she had come to a small town in Virginia. In the end, even that changed. The book that I had intended to be the first in the series became the second. I was invited by a friend to join her and her young son for a week's vacation in England. As a writing exercise, I decided to try my hand at an updated classic detective novel set in a private hotel in Cornwall (much like the hotel my friend and I were staying in). That was the book that I researched, outlined, and wrote in transit. That was the book that I ended up selling because it was actually finished when I had an opportunity to submit a manuscript. The vacation I'd taken Lizzie Stuart, crime historian, and John Quinn, American police detective, on required that I rewrite the book I had been working on with my writing group to take that meeting into account.

But being part of a writing group had been crucial to my goal of becoming a published mystery writer. The members of the writing group were the first people I had told that I intended to write a mystery. This was what had been missing years earlier when I wrote two romantic suspense novels and tucked them away in a drawer. No one except me knew that I was writing. The members of the writing group also had been able to see aspects of my book that I could not -- that I was too close to see. For example, I had not intended John Quinn to be a continuing character. But even as I was writing the first book (that became the second), one of my writing group friends observed that there seemed to be a bit of chemistry going on there. (This observation came from one of the male members of our group, who did not read romance novels but had a keen ear for dialogue). I denied that I intended to put the two characters together. But, by the time, they arrived in Cornwall, even I had noticed what was happening. Still, I resisted. Until the friend I had been on the vacation with read the finished manuscript and objected to the fact that there was no "payoff" at the end. Lizzie and Quinn said good-bye and went their separate ways. So I added a kiss. And proved my writing group friends right.

The Wolf Road Irregulars disbanded after several years because we were losing members to life changes and moves out of the area. One of our members became the founder of the upstate New York chapter of Sisters in Crime (SinC) Most of the remaining members of the writing group joined the chapter. And I found that it worked much better to wait until the first draft of my manuscript was done and send it to two or three trusted readers for feedback. In that interval between first draft and beginning revisions, I could take a break and give them time to respond. That worked well. Even if they responded after I had started to revise, they were responding to a manuscript that was not going to undergo major changes. They could comment on characters and continuity and where the plot bogged down or wandered off.

But here I am in another writing group. One of the members of our SinC chapter suggested we add an after-meeting writing group. The group would be open to anyone who wanted to stay. I went into the group knowing my flaws as a writing group member. But the first meeting was fun. We helped a group member brainstorm possible titles for the debut book in her new series. I decided to ask for time in the second meeting to brainstorm the structure of my historical thriller. I have the plot, but the challenge of moving three groups of characters over eight months to a climatic encounter was giving me serious heartburn. Whose perspective? How many voices? The hero and the villain? Six possible perspectives. Good grief.

That was what I took to my new writing group in our second meeting. I had cheated. I had sent them two versions of the synopsis and changed character names and events. I had added an important character. I had given them too much backstory (that would never appear in the book). But even though I was not making their task easy, the ideas about structure flowed. They looked at my choices, asked questions until they understood what I wanted to do. And after more than an hour, one group member threw out an idea. Others picked it up. And suddenly I had the solution to my problem. It was an idea that might have occurred to me but that I would have discarded -- even expressed doubts about when they were discussing. I pointed out that it wasn't usually done in crime fiction. They asked what difference that made. It worked for my book.

They were right. It does. I finally have structure. I also have a way of telling the story that I love and that my writing group friends assured me readers would enjoy as well. I think they're right about that, too. I would read the book they are urging me to write.

So I come to this post today to speak in praise of writing groups. Sometimes nothing beats a good brainstorming session with a group of people who are focused on your problem.

Anyone else belong to a writing group?

Happy Easter, or No Event in Your Life is Wasted When You're a Writer

Eggs dyed with onion skin and pansies

Happy Easter, for all those who celebrate it. I've been thinking lately about how much of my own life, both incidents and feelings past and present, I use in one form or another when I write. For most of my growing-up life, my family traveled to Boynton, OK, and had Easter dinner with my grandmother.  When she decided it was too much trouble, my mother began hosting the family gathering, which became the new tradition throughout my young womanhood. The old folks are gone, now, and my immediate family is scattered across the country and the world. But even though my Easters are much smaller these days, members of my family still adhere to the old Easter dinner menu we knew as kid.

We always had a ham. When I was small, in Days of Yore, the ham wasn’t vacuum packed and spiral cut, it was a big old bone-in hunk of meat, marbled with fat.  It wasn’t bought at the store, either.  It was raised from a piglet, butchered and smoked by one of the family members still on the farm.  By the time we were going to Mama’s, the sty-to-table ham was no more, but she made up for it by tenting and slow cooking the thing with brown sugar and mustard glaze, and clove buds stuck all over the top.

My parents never bought chocolate bunnies and eggs and colored jelly beans for us, but we did have to have our Easter eggs. My sisters and I pestered our mother to let us dye the eggs for weeks before the day, and finally she couldn’t stand it any more and let us make a mess of the kitchen several days ahead of time. We used those commercial dyes that come in little pills, but recently, largely because of my old-time housewife research, I've been dying eggs with onion skins and flowers. Which is kind of a mess, but beautiful and certainly cheap.

My husband’s very large family had their Easter egg traditions, as well. Don is the seventh of seven children, only two of whom were boys. His only brother, whom I will call “Mac”, was nine years older than Don, so Don remembers their relationship as being one of his tagging along behind Mac and allowing himself to be talked into whatever mischief the elder came up with. One year, Mac and Don loaded up several hard-boiled eggs, snuck out to a nearby field, and spent a happy half hour throwing the eggs at a telephone pole. I loved the image so much that I used it as the inspiration for an incident in my second novel, Hornswoggled.

In fact, one entire chapter in Hornswoggled is about a giant family Easter dinner like the ones I remember from my girlhood, with all the mamas, aunts, sisters and cousins bustling around grandma’s kitchen, readying a massive dinner for sixty-five.

The kitchen was literally a hotbed of action. The spring day was cool, but the heat of the wood-fired, cast iron stove, combined with the harried activity of nearly a score of women, served the make Grandma’s big kitchen uncomfortably hot.  Grandma Sally herself stood in the center of the floor at the hear of the kitchen table, directing the action like a trail boss.

So, happy Easter, all.  Now, go forth and make some memories that the kids will think of fifty years from now with such fondness that one of them may write about them in a novel.
_________
p.s. I loved Rick's entry on titles, below. Titles are a constant source of bother and worry for me. Perhaps I shall muse upon the problem when next I blog.

Writing as chess

Barbara here. I was entertained by Aline's post about the French award for Page 112.  In truth, I think all of us should receive an award for getting to, and past, Page 112. There is a point in the saggy middle of every book when all the brilliant plot ideas that propelled us into the story have been used up, but the end looms nowhere in sight. We still need to dream up material to fill at least 100 more pages before we can bring the wretched thing to its much deserved end. And I don't mean just flabby, meandering prose that limps down one blind alley after another, nor an endless series of contrived crises that pass for tension and suspense in some circles. When I read "action-packed" books like that, I think "Oh for Pete's sake, not another explosion!"

I've often heard story telling, especially mystery story telling, being described as throwing a bunch of balls up in the air, juggling them, and then miraculously catching them all and bringing them safely back to earth by the end. There is a certain truth to this analogy, especially when you are at the page 200 mark, with dozens of balls in the air, and you're terrified of forgetting some ball that will drop on your head at the end, or remain suspended in the ether until some astute reader points it out, long after the book's release.

However, I actually think the closer analogy, at least for my writing style, is more like a peculiar chess game in which the pieces are introduced one at a time until there is a full board, and then they move strategically, each move being dependent on the one made before, until the final checkmate. I use a variant of the "pantster" method of writing with some "plotter" mixed in. I don't outline or plot ahead of time; rather, the next scene grows out of the one that came before. Thus I can't anticipate the end, nor even very far ahead. In the beginning, perhaps the first 112 pages, I am introducing elements of the story, developing the complexity of the situation and unfolding the conflicts of the characters. This is pure fun and creativity. After that, in the saggy middle, the challenge of working with those elements begins. Characters make moves and counter-moves. Each character's moves are determined by what they would do next. I am always asking myself "At this point, with this development, what would be this character's next step?"

I'm actually a very poor chess player, so perhaps this analogy is quite wrong for the master chess player who envisages his whole sequence of moves ahead of time and knows exactly how he will win. But the analogy works for me. When I play chess, I try to think several moves ahead, or at least line up my possible moves in my head. But I can't see how the game will end until it's very nearly upon me. So I am with advancing the plot, by seeing only a few scenes ahead at any time.

I am aware of two storytelling devices as I move my story forward. First, that each step has to move the story forward towards uncovering the solution, even if I don't know what that is. The second is that things must never get boring. Plod work is skipped over, back-to-back scenes of similar content–such as inner monologues, interviews, phone conversations, etc.–are avoided. And every now and then, I ask myself what would really shake things up? What would be the most unexpected thing to happen to a character? I like surprises that slam the character, and the reader, off course.

In practice, what this style means is that I write for awhile, hit a wall, brainstorm the next few scenes, write them, hit another wall, etc. In this fashion, I inch towards that magical checkmate. Often the brainstorming occurs on long drives or walks, when I have lots of uninterrupted thinking time and no distractions. Yesterday I was driving home from a research trip and used to time to brainstorm my way through the next section of my current novel. The problem with brainstorming while going 120 kph is that I can't write down the brilliant ideas as they come to me, but have to rely on my sometimes capricious memory instead. Fearing the ideas might completely vanish by the time I arrive home, I have on occasion pulled off the road (once into a liquor store parking lot) and jotted the whole sequence down on the back of whatever paper was at hand. Yesterday I pulled off the highway and sat at the stop sign to record my ideas on my iPhone. Hurray for technology!

Now I am all set to write the next small section of the book. I am curious to know what other writers do to get from Page 112 to the end of the book. What tricks do you have up your sleeve?

The trouble with titles

by Rick Blechta

One of the most difficult tasks for every writer is coming up with a great title for their stories, whether they are novels, novellas or short stories, fiction or non-fiction. Names are important, not only from a marketing standpoint. They are how we introduce our story to the world, and our “children” deserve the best, don’t they?

The reason I’m going on about this is that I ran across an interesting piece on theliteracysite.com this morning. It’s about first cracks at titles for famous novels, and they provide an interesting insight into the thought processes of writers as they struggle with finding the perfect title for what are famous novels. Would they have been famous if the first title had stood? I wonder...

(The blog post was written by someone named Will S. I wish I knew more about him, so I could get in contact with him to ask if I could quote him. I haven’t been successful as of yet, but I want to share this, so Will, thanks in advance. If you don’t wish this, just let me know and I’ll remove the quoted material.)

So here goes: bad titles for famous books!

Here are the titles. See if you can guess what the book is. Descriptions will follow. They are all iconic works of the 20th Century.

1. The Kingdom by the Sea
2. Among Ash-Heaps and Millionaires
3. The Last Man in Europe
4. Fiesta
5. Something that Happened

Any ideas? Come on! Try to guess.

And now the answers:

1. Vladimir Nabokov nearly titled his 1955 novel, Lolita, with this more imagistic title. Had he done so, who knows how reception of his controversial classic would have gone!
2. Believe it or not, F. Scott Fitzgerald went through several titles for his American classic, The Great Gatsby. Sometimes it’s the simpler titles that say the most. Instead of choosing this more abstract title, he chose the epithet of its most exciting character, Jay Gatsby.
3. Although this original title makes sense for content of the book, doesn’t 1984 have a nice ring to it? George Orwell couldn’t have known the lasting effect of his now-famous dystopia when he originally wrote it, but dating its plot shows readers of every decade how close we still are to Big Brother.
4. This is an example of how sometimes a successful title can come from a source that is external to the book. The Sun Also Rises is a quote that Hemingway adapted from Ecclesiastes to title his famous novel about the running of the bulls in Pamplona, applying the quote to the “lost generation” of which he was a part of. Although most of the book takes place at a fiesta, Hemingway was wise to choose a more elegant title for his novel of failed romances.
5. John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men was a commercial success in the U.S. with his Robert Burns-inspired title. How would his audience have reacted in 1937, to such a vague title for such an intense story? Something did happen, but it’s the mice and men that still haunt audiences today.

I don’t feel so bad now with some of my poor ideas for titles for my own works when I was coming to grips with what to call them. Most of these are pretty bad – especially the last one. It would be interesting to know who came up with the works’ final titles. Was it the author after more consideration? Or did the publisher say, “No way are we releasing this with your title.” Or possibly a loved one who gently chided, “Honey, just what the heck are you thinking? This title is awful!”

The really interesting question, though, is: would these books have been successful if the original title had stood?

The importance of Page 112

I'm an avowed francophile. I love everything about France; I love their countryside, what they call 'La France Profonde' with the pretty villages that don't seem to have changed much in the last few hundred years. I love their food, and their wine, of course. I love the people, who have an unjustified reputation for rudeness. How can you say they're rude when the shopkeeper says he is 'désolée' if he happens to be out of whatever it is you want?

But more than anything I love the elegant quirkiness of their minds. Is there any other country that has an a book award like Le Prix de la Page 112?

Yes, this is quite literally a prize awarded for the best page 112.  Just that page, not the whole book.

The idea behind this is, I understand, that page 112 is held to be the point at which the initial enthusiasm that drove you in starting the book in the first place has waned and all the brilliant ideas and aperçus you thought would carry you right through to the concluding chapter have been used up. This is where the book starts to sag.

Presumably the temptation will be to cheat. Once you knew which page in the book would be 112 you'd want to revise it to a high state of polish. However, since you never know until you get the page proofs, this presumably has copy-editors up and down France tearing their hair out as they have their work to do all over again in a blizzard of corrections.

I kept wondering whether having read 112, the judges then couldn't resist checking out 111 and 113, to see whether it toned in with the rest of the story. Perhaps they judged on the basis of which page 112 was so interesting that they rushed off to read the rest of the book, or more likely, being French, they would award the prize to the most elegant and 'literary' page.

I looked back through a few of my own books to check on page 112 and I have to say I don't think I'd have been on the shortlist. The one that began, 'Yes, she was his mother. But yes, he had reason to hate her. She had used him when he was too young to understand, had condemned him to the sort of half-life he was leading now,' was probably the best of them in that it was reflection rather than just dialogue and events, but I have to say I couldn't dig out anything elegant or literary. I'm down and dirty with the plot at that stage of the books.

So what about a prize for the best first page, or even the best last page? First impressions are so important and the last page is the impression of you as a writer that the reader takes away with them so these are definitely the pages I spend most time on and I suspect some of you would say the same.

Or – here's a radical thought – not the first page, the last page, or page 112, but a prize for the best page chosen at random? It might make authors keen to compete take that sort of trouble over every page. It could make writing the book a very slow process – but think how good it would be.