Flight Reading

by Vicki Delany

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

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

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

I read.

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

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

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

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

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

Joys of outlining

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

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

A page from my outline

I said I would try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

National Library Week 2019

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

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

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

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

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

You can read the full article here.

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

Cudahy Family Library Submission Photo

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

The sad (but nonetheless engrossing) truth…

by Rick Blechta

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you think?

Never Hurt a Dog

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Pause for a Plot Twist

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

But sometimes a pause is exactly what's needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Priorities

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

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

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

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

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

Left Coast Crime

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

Talking to mystery fans at the author speed dating

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

A beautiful wood duck paddling in Lost Lagoon

What a balm to the spirit!

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

A walk along the sea wall with Brenda Chapman

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

Brexited Out

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

Weekend Guest Thomas Burns

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

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

 The Evolution of the PI Novel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not Again!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Thoughts on Being a Visiting Writer

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fond Typing Memories

I’ve been enjoying the recent posts on Type M about learning to type. It’s brought back a lot of fond memories for me.

My first experience with a typewriter was around fourth grade. For some reason, the powers that be decided we students would benefit from short courses on a number of topics outside of our usual curriculum. I don’t remember what the other options were because I pretty much didn’t look at anything else once I saw typing was one of them. So for 3 weeks or so a few of us spent some time with a manual typewriter. I don’t remember what I learned, but I do remember enjoying it and wanting to know more.

Fast forward to tenth grade when I took my first official typing class. I figured it would come in handy in college, but I also just really wanted to learn how to do it. I’m so glad I took all of those typing classes. It’s turned out to be the most useful skill I’ve ever learned. And I still find it very soothing.

In typing class, we started out with manual typewriters, but soon graduated to electric ones. How I loved the IBM Selectric keyboard. What a dream to type on! I’m still picky about keyboards. I find the ones on most laptops to be not to my liking, so I have an auxiliary keyboard I use instead.

Somewhere along the way I joined FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America). Not because I wanted to be a future business leader, but because it was fun. I enjoyed the people and the activities. One of those activities was an annual convention where chapters throughout the state got together and did stuff. What that stuff was I can’t really remember, except for the competitions in various business related subjects.

At my first convention, I entered the Junior Production Typewriting competition and, apparently, I came in second. I say apparently because I knew I did well, but didn’t remember where I placed until I found the certificate. The competition wasn’t only about how fast you could type, but also about typing up different kinds of documents – letters, manuscripts, etc. – in the proper manner. That meant having to center titles, get the margins right, etc. All the kinds of stuff that Word now does for you automatically.

By the end of high school I could type 80 wpm or so. Now it’s probably in the 60s or 70s, depending on the keyboard. I still occasionally check out my speed with a typing test online just for the fun of it. Hey, I’m easily amused.

You can check your typing speed out at https://www.typingtest.com/

My little writing rituals

by Rick Blechta

Again I find myself inspired by my Type M colleagues. This time it’s Tom.

I’m pretty sure that every writer has little rituals or quirks that help them find the place in their imaginations from where ideas and words emanate. Tapping that “happy spot” is important if anything meaningful is going to be the end result.

I know from speaking with writing colleagues that distraction can be a major issue. They have to be surrounded by silence or some sort of very specific sound, like music, or birdsong, or something of that calming nature.

I know that’s where I diverge from most writers. I really can’t put on music, because being a musician, I naturally start listening followed by analyzing what I’m hearing. I learned very early on that having music on is just not something that works for me.

I can certainly work in silence, or with low-level surrounding noise such as birdsong, wind in the trees, stuff like that, but it can’t be too regular or it drives me nuts.

Now here’s where it gets really odd. I don’t mind a lot of noise around me. I’ve done some of my best work in airports, train stations, and waiting rooms. This past weekend, one of the band’s in which I play did a wedding gig. The stage was at one end of the hall, separated from the wedding ceremony set-up by a long black curtain. Our instruments were set up and ready to go, and surrounding the stage were all the tables which were having the service laid.

So here I am, sitting on the stage, journal in hand, madly scribbling away at a scene in my work-in-progress. It was going rather well, too, I thought. On the other side of the curtain was the Jewish wedding ceremony which included singing and a lot of talking. Around me about a dozen servers were moving about. None of it bothered me. I don’t know any other writers who enjoy working that way.

I also find that working in different surroundings can be very stimulating to my muse (in a good way), so sometimes, I’ll go outside, visit a nearby park, go to the library. I’ve even ridden the subway back and forth for a few hours on two occasions. I’ve written here about my love of writing at the Osgoode Hall Law Library in downtown Toronto.

Some of this may be about getting away from distractions like the phone and the Internet, and if I find that I’m too “distractible” on a specific day and I have the mental fortitude to break away, leaving these things behind is a Good Thing.

If there’s a particular ritual in which I indulge it’s that I always begin by reading what I’ve written the day before (or the last time I was working if it’s on the same day). But I believe that’s more to allow me to get back into the same headspace than being an actual ritual.

Anyway, that’s what works for me.

Now for the writers out there in the audience, what do you like to do to stimulate your muse?

Writing Rituals

My blog this week will have been written shortly before I left to attend and speak at the Virginia Festival of the Book on Saturday, March 23. Some of the other authors speaking during the Crime Wave Programs were Don Winslow, Stephen Mack Jones, William Boyle, Kellye Garrett, and Erica Wright, among many others.

By the time you read this, the event will be over and done. However, I’m writing before it happens. So, should I be writing this in the future tense or the past tense? And by the time this blog is posted, I’ll be in Winchester, VA, getting ready for a book signing event at the Winchester Book Gallery. It feels a little like one of those paradoxes that happen in time travel stories.

I’ve been following the other Type M blogs about learning how to type. I was going to follow in their footsteps, except my story is pretty straight forward. I knew from an early age that a typewriter was going to be instrumental in whatever I did in life, so I took a course in high school, learning how to touch type. Thank goodness because the letters have pretty much worn off the beat-up laptop I use to write my books.

Should I get a new one? Probably, but this one is lucky. This is the one that found an agent for me. This is the one that helped get me published.

Writing on it has become a ritual, along with listening to ambient music that’s little more than a low hum.

Is it unusual for a writer to have rituals? I don’t think so.

Ernest Hemingway wrote while standing up. He’d get out of bed at dawn, write furiously while standing at his typewriter, and then wander down to the local tavern to get hammered. His ritual, other than standing while writing was “done my noon, drunk by three”.

On the other hand, Mark Twain, Winston Churchill, Edith Wharton, George Orwell, and Truman Capote all wrote while lying in bed. Capote had a few other quirks as well. He wrote everything in longhand and was superstitious. He avoided hotel rooms and anything having a number that ended in “13”. He also avoided starting or ending a piece of writing on a Friday.

Gertrude Stein did most of her writing in a moving Model T Ford driven by her partner Alice Toklas.

Dr. Suess liked to wear an unusual hat while he wrote. He owned several hundred headpieces that he would try on until he felt creatively charged.

Charles Dickens would only sleep facing north. He carried a compass with him at all times, preferring sleeping with his head pointed toward the north pole.

John Cheever wrote while only wearing his underwear.

Victor Hugo wrote in the nude. It was rumored that Hugo would strip down, hand his clothing to a servant, and lock the door. He wouldn’t have his clothing returned until he was satisfied that he’d written something substantial.

So, the fact that I prefer to write on my beat-up laptop…that’s not so unusual after all. At least I write with my clothes on.

On The Road Again

After a self-imposed hiatus from touring, I'm again loose from my cage. A couple of years back I was part of the WordFire Press road crew hefting books from convention to convention. That was a great experience not only hawking books shoulder-to-shoulder with other writers but it was also an amazing opportunity to meet fans. When I first got published I attended as many writer conventions as I could afford such as Bouchercon, Left Coast Crime, and ThrillerFest. While these cons were a blast--suffice to say a LOT of booze was consumed--I decided they weren't worth the money. Flying out of town, plus hotel and meals, and the con fees would set me back a cool grand. Anything in New York was almost twice that. Truthfully, at these cons, the public was mainly interested in the hardback NYT bestsellers and most times, the vendors wouldn't bother stocking my vampire novels. I'd usually only get one panel, not surprisingly, first thing Sunday morning. We panelists were lucky if we didn't outnumber the audience!

This year I'm traveling with the Bard's Tower, the venture headed by Rabid FanBoy. They took over the operation from WordFire and streamlined the process. As before, our venues are the comic cons, actually known now by several other names, as Comic Con has been trademarked and reserved for use by those within the proper fold. Besides the format, the biggest differences between what we do and traditional writer cons are attendance and the workload. Attendance meaning greeting between fifty thousand and a hundred thousand people who file by our booth. Workload meaning unpacking hundreds of books, setting up the booth and tower, staffing the booth from 10AM to 8PM, then the final tear down. I bought new Dr. Martens with extra cushy soles, however even with them, at the end of each day, my dogs aren't just barking but howling.

Typically, those of us working the booth sell out at least one title. And it brings a big smile when in these distant burgs, a customer remarks, "Aren't you Mario Acevedo? I have your books!" Bless you, kind reader. I only wish I had a thousand more fans for each of you.

If you want to come by and browse the Bard's Tower, check out my 2019 schedule. See you there.

Walking the Line

Frankie here. I've been chuckling through my colleagues posts this week. In empathy, not superiority. I just left a comment apologizing for what was both a typo and a grammatical mistake in a guest post. I typed (on my computer keyboard). I meant to say that my "books are," but instead wrote my "series are." Are commas and periods in the right place in this paragraph? I have admitted to myself that even though I was both a Psychology and an English major, I have trouble remembering the rules. I go back to double-check before reading term papers.

I did learn to type in high school even though I was on the academic track. There was a simple reason for that. My cousin taught at the high school I attended during my senior year. I rode to school with her some days when I missed the bus. I took typing because I knew it was going to be useful. But I'm pretty sure I didn't get an "A" in the class. I was not a whiz on the keyboard. I jumped for joy when I realized that computers allowed one to erase and edit without ripping a hole in the paper. Without a computer, I might still be trying to type a book that could be submitted. My first two efforts are tucked away in my desk awaiting that mythical one day when I have the time to try revising them. The manuscripts can't be scanned because there are so many typos and whiteouts.

But getting to the intended topic of my post today. As I've mentioned, Speaking Volumes is re-issuing the five books in my Lizzie Stuart series. The first two books, Death's Favorite Child and A Dead Man's Honor, are available now in both print and Kindle.Old Murders, is with the publisher. The last two books will be out this year, too. And my publicist, PJ Nunn, is doing a marvelous job of helping me relaunch the series. All good, but this does present a challenge.

If you're writing a series, you know about the delicate balance that a writer faces when it comes to marketing. On one hand, we want to interest prospective readers enough to get them to go to our websites and learn more about us and our books. On the other hand, when talking about our books, there is the danger of saying too much. We can spoil a new book for a loyal reader by giving away an ending. We can spoil an entire series for a reader who have just discovered us and our books by revealing how the series evolves. Who lives, who dies, who gets away with murder. I've been finding this particularly challenging as I am relaunching a series five books in.

For example, I have revealed (although it was mentioned by readers and reviewers when the book was published) that Lizzie's mother, Becca, is a femme fatale. I commented on that in a guest blog that came out today. Again, on one hand, I was talking about a character that I love who has popped up in a series that is not cozy, but certainly not noir. On the other hand, I'm hoping that knowing Becca survives her first appearance won't spoil the book for readers who pick it up -- especially for  readers who prefer to begin with the first in the series and wouldn't have learned Becca's fate until Book 4.

Walking the line during a marketing campaign is a challenge. But it's lovely to work on the plot of a new book as new readers are discovering the series. I need to think before I blurt out any important plot twists and remember to say "the killer" rather than identifying by pronoun. But I'm having fun trying to find creative ways of saying enough and no more.

Typing Joys

Reading the previous entries, below, about how we acquired our typing skills,* made me (Donis) think of all the wonderful times I've had trying to catch all the typing mistakes I've made while proofreading a manuscript that I've already gone over at least a hundred times. Typos are creative and amusing. Years ago I wrote something about a man who saved dozens from a fire and called him a "true herp". Since that day I have a tendency to call anyone who rises to the occasion a "herp".

Typos may be funny, but grammatical errors are humiliating, and yet I still make plenty. I was an English major in college and later an English teacher, to boot. I even taught remedial English to freshmen when I was in graduate school, so I like to think of myself as well-versed in the rules of English grammar and punctuation. But by damn, with every book it seems I've either forgotten what I knew or the rules have changed (I'm looking at you, Oxford comma).

In one particular novel, I became hopelessly confused when trying to differentiate between “lay” and “lie” and all their permutations. In fact, my editor noted that I got it wrong nearly every time! She even wrote “Yay!” above the one time I got it right. I told her that at least I’m consistent. Now, how did this happen? I know that people lie down to sleep and that they lay their watches on the beside table. It was the tenses other than the present that threw me. I got lost in a miasma of “laids” and “lains”. The odd thing is that I never had that much trouble with it before. All I can suggest is that I had suddenly developed a metal block. In any event, no one in that novel either lays or lies. Everyone places, puts, reclines, or reposes. Except for that “Yay!” I left that one.

In another novel, my editor suggested that I refresh myself on the difference between “may” and “might”. Here’s the deal. When it comes to “may’ and “might”, I become ensnared in the net of my own ethnic dialect. Where I come from, “may” is for asking permission and “might” is synonymous with “perhaps”. However, this is not necessarily correct Standard English. I must remember that.

On a third occasion, my editor accused me of using too many commas. Okay, I admit it. But I have an excuse. Punctuation rules have changed since I learned them. (No cracks about runes, hieroglyphs, or cuneiform.) I was taught that in a list of three or more descriptors, there is no comma between the last two if there is an “and” between them. "He was tall, dark and handsome." It seems that the serial comma now reigns. (i.e. "We invited two strippers, a politician, and a minister," rather than "We invited two strippers, a politician and a minister.") Knowing that the preferred rule has changed, I apparently went on a rampage and put commas all over the place, whether the sentence needed them or not. My editor’s rebuke immediately reminded me of my late aunt, who literally put a comma after every other word she wrote. Perhaps I have inherited some genetic punctuation flaw. Whatever the reason, I’ve become hyper-aware of my commas. I must have removed 500 commas during that rewrite. It has occurred to me that I may now have a book full of run-on sentences.

And as for typos -- after a while you just don’t see them. You know how the sentence is supposed to read, and that’s what you see whether it is actually there or not. For example, during the last re-read of an advanced reading copy, I found a place where I had left the “g” out of the word “dog”. "The do began to bark." I had typed that sentence three months earlier and had read over it dozens of times. But I never saw that missing “g”. Neither did my husband Don. Neither did my editor. We all knew what it was supposed to be and that’s what we saw.

I think there may be a life lesson, there.
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*I acquired mine before the union of electricity and typewriters.