Court in the Act

Ah, Scotland.

As you know, I'm a Scot, living in Scotland. And because many of you enjoyed the images last time (well, a number of you. Okay, a few. Fine! A couple) here's a taster of the delights:

The aptly-named Rest and Be Thankful

Not all if it looks like that, despite what the tourist board or Outlander may tell you. Yes, vast tracts of our 31k square miles and around 800 islands are picture postcard perfect, there's no denying it. We have mountains and valleys and lochs (one lake!) and green fields and rivers and beaches that can take the breath away. Usually by the weather. 

But there are a lot of misconceptions about my country.

We don't all wear kilts. We don't all look like Sam Heughan (no matter how much we suck in our gut). We don't all eat haggis regularly (they are tricky little rascals to catch). We don't all have the urge to go out and kill an Englishman when we hear the skirl of the pipes (although sometimes we do have the urge to kill the piper).

Not every part of my country looks like that above. There are areas that have absolutely no picturesque qualities at all. We have neighbourhoods that suffer from urban blight. We have crime.

It is our legal system that is arguably the least understood, even by Scots. We have seen and read so many legal dramas from the USA and England that there are many who do not know that, like the past, we do things differently.

For instance - juries. In Scotland they are 15 strong not 12, which means there can be no prospect of a hung jury. However, a judge can allow a trial to proceed with as few as 12 should any drop out due to illness. A majority here can be a straight 8 to 7, which means that if only one person believes guilt - or otherwise - the accused can be jailed. Or otherwise. 

Juries have three verdicts from which to choose - Guilty, Not Guilty and the controversial Not Proven. This is a holdover from the older system where charges were either Proven or Nor Proven. 

Our judges do not bang gavels and demand order. 

There are no opening statements. 

We do not have charges such as manslaughter or arson - they are culpable homicide and wilful fireraising. Other, more arcane, charges include hamesucken - home invasion today - and plagium - child stealing.

It was some of these differences that the Scottish Faculty of Advocates, the court service and forensic scientists wanted to illustrate in a courtroom drama in which I played a part. A real-life case was selected - one from the 1930s - and then adapted to fit a modern setting and names changed to be  presented in an actual courtroom during the Bloody Scotland crime writing festival in 2019 under the title You the Jury. 

Real lawyers played the advocates, a real judge presided, real court staff kept proceedings going, real forensic scientists played themselves and the jury was selected from the audience. I had put together the various witness statements and some of the evidence, the forensic experts handled their own. I also played the accused but did not give evidence. All I did was sit in the dock and look innocent or guilty, depending on your point of view.

Two performances were scheduled but they sold out within a matter of days so a third was slotted in. It sold out too.  

We had intended to take the show on the road but then 2020 happened and that was that. A charity event in Glasgow and almost two weeks at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe went by the board. 

One performance was filmed and the highly professional result, which has been made available for study in schools and colleges, was screened as part of this year's virtual Bloody Scotland Festival. It was again hugely popular.

In two of the three performances I was found Not Proven, which given the evidence presented was the best we could expect. It was, however, interesting to note that the evidence was presented in exactly the same way by the same advocates and witnesses each time and yet one jury was convinced of my guilt by a majority while the other two were not. They were not certain enough to vote Not Guilty, though, so the tricky third verdict proved useful to them. When someone could be sent away for life on the basis of a single vote, the Not Proven verdict is necessary, I believe.

It was a pleasure and an honour to work with the legal professionals and it was an incredible experience to watch it all come together in the single day rehearsal we had.

I am certain, though, if I'd had more to do than merely sit in the dock and look guilty, innocent or somewhere in between, we would have required a LOT more rehearsal time!

A rehearsal shot for You the Jury

Weird, Weirder and Weirdest

 

Thanksgiving is getting beyond strange. Our county (Larimer) is begging people not to gather in person for Thanksgiving. Our county is under a directive to limit gatherings to ten persons and two households. 

I fudged last weekend. I drove to my daughter Michele's house. One household--she and her husband Harry also live in Fort Collins. However much to my delight, my granddaughter, Audrey, and her husband Pete were also there. Two households right off the bat. I stayed anyway. Three households. But what the heck? It was just five people. Not so bad. But I felt sneaky. I'm freakily law-abiding. 

So what to do about Thanksgiving? Everyone was going to come. Michele volunteered (sort of) to hold the annual celebration. Her dispassionate wording (as I recall) went something like "we'll be here. Anyone can come who wants to." The truth is no one in this family really wants anyone to come to their house for Thanksgiving in this county this year. And no one wants to visit relatives either. 

The simple truth is Larimer County's medical facilities are overloaded. We are dangerously close to filling all our ICU beds. 

So being the senior member of this highly dysfunctional family (don't blame me, I tried) I generously decided to stay home and have a Marie Callendar's Turkey Pot Pie for dinner. I would let someone else be the the lucky ducky who got to be the second household at the Crockett's. 

Then Michele had a splendid idea. She called last night and said she and Harry and Audrey and Pete had decided to go on a float trip for Thanksgiving. She magnanimously invited me to tag along. It would not be a dangerous white water adventure. No, no, no. Not the gleeful adventures they were famous for. Also they had plenty of warm sleeping bags. I would be quite comfortable camping out for the first time. Warm, even. They would do all the cooking.  

I considered my rather fragile bones, my precarious sense of balance, my sensible aversion to any sort of discomfort, but disregarded all my liabilities and immediately said yes, I would love to go. Michele did not expect this. 

I hope they are well and truly frightened at the thought of trying to keep an old lady alive on a cold river. 

Got to give the kid credit. While living in Kansas with vast swarms of people descending on our little house on the prairie--usually to hunt pheasants-- it never once occurred to me to suggest they all go on a river trip instead.

Possibly because we had no rivers. 

A mind in knots

My youngest daughter, Keeley, loves to bake and to play the piano. She loves to read and daydream. Monday night, she sat down at the piano and said, “I don’t want to practice. I just want to play.”

She was talking about riffing. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

“Don’t overthink it,” we tell Keeley often. “Don’t over analyze things. Just go do it.”

Keeley with her latest culinary creation

I feel like when my writing isn’t going well, I’m not freeing myself up. My mind is in knots, and my plot soon follows. It happens when I think and overthink. Plot is a result of character; therefore, what happens in the story is what must logically happen, based on the attributes of the characters. I know this to be true.

Yet, when I’m struggling with plot, I’m overthinking. Elmore Leonard said he wrote the first hundred pages before thinking about the plot. Just meeting the characters and seeing where they’re going. I don’t believe in the fifty-page dilemma –– that fifty pages in, the book is either going to work or not. I’m with Leonard. It’s a hundred pages.

When I hit a hundred pages, sometimes, I start to think about where we’re headed. If it’s not going well, I’m trying to steer, rather than following along like a reader. Maybe it’s overthinking. My mind can get tied in knots. Then my focus can turn to wonderful distractions: work emails or student writing (would you really rather grade a paper than figure out your damn plot, John?!) or conference presentations (death or public speaking?) or even U.S. politics (let it go, John. Biden won. You can sleep now).

The first half-mile is fine, but then the woods get dark. This is when I need to freewheel, to let things go. I used to listen to music when I wrote. Heavy stuff. Everclear, Nirvana. I got away from that. Not sure why. I think I felt like I needed to concentrate more. I’m not sure that helps the work.

Overthink it? I wonder where my twelve-year-old gets it.

Bank Robberies and Money Bail

One of my favorite things about being a writer is doing research. I’ve learned so many things that I never would have found out about if I hadn’t been writing a story: raw food, the annual Marilyn Monroe memorial service, temporary tattoos, surfing...and now bank robbery.

I decided one of the crimes in my WIP would be a bank robbery. We have a lot of those here in Southern California, probably because of our extensive freeway system. Pick a bank near a freeway onramp, rob it, then get on the freeway.

Since I know nothing about bank robberies, I did some research. Here’s some of the more interesting things I found out.

Robbing a bank became a federal crime in 1934 so you’d think the FBI would be the one investigating all of them. In practice, however, they focus on those suspects who pose the greatest safety threats to the public. So they leave the investigation of “note jobs”, where the robber hands a note to a teller and no violence is involved, to the local police departments, helping out where needed.

The FBI aggressively responds to violent bank robberies, robberies in which a significant financial loss occurs and serial robbers who cross jurisdictional boundaries. In 2012, the FBI launched the Wanted Bank Robbers website, which is national in scope. It’s there to enlist the public’s help in identifying and locating suspects. In 2016, they added an app. Yep, an app.

They also compile statistics on bank robberies throughout the country. The last report I found was for 2018. Lots of interesting statistics here. In 2018, there were 2, 975 bank robberies in the U.S., including its territories. 568 of those were in the Pacific region which includes the states of Alaska, California, Hawaii, Oregon and Washington. 405 of those were in California.

The crime in my book is a “note job” so I feel fairly comfortable not bringing the FBI in on this one, leaving it to the local police department.

Here in Southern California, there’s an LA Bank Robbers (www.labankrobbers.org) website which focuses on local bank robberies. According to the site, it is “devoted to the identification and apprehension of bank robbers (a.k.a. bank bandits) in the Southern California territory”. It includes actual surveillance photos of robbers taken during the commission of the crime.

All of this helped me out considerably in writing my story. I write cozies, not police procedurals, so I’m happy if my story “kisses the truth”, which I think it will after doing this research.

*** 

Here's an update for you on the bail situation in California. In 2018, I wrote a blog post, "Bye Bye Bail", that talked about the state legislature passing a bill that eliminated money bail in the state, replacing it with a risk-assessment system.

As predicted, the bail bonds industry fought back in a big way. The law was put on hold until the recent election where Proposition 25 was on the ballot. The votes are in. The cash bail system will remain in the state. No risk assessment system. I’m not terribly surprised. The bail bonds industry spent a lot of money on ads for this proposition. It was one of the more confusing ones on the ballot. I had to read it a couple times to figure out what voting yes meant.

Getting a little wind in our blogging sails

by Rick Blechta

Today’s post will be a short one (I still have a balustrade to install on our new front porch. Look it up if you have no idea what I’m talking about.)

Anyway, Tom Kies received an email last week from CamCat Books listing their favourite mystery blogs — and guess who’s second on the list? Click HERE to read the posting on CamCat’s blog.  

Type M for Murder has been around since the summer of 2006 and that’s a hell of a long time for this type of social media. We’ve had a cast of terrific writers involved since the beginning. Authors may come and go from our role, but we’ve always had such a great group here. I remain very proud of my involvement in this enterprise.

But it can be daunting to sit down to write a post for Type M, wondering how many people are actually going to bother reading it. Long-time member Barbara Fradkin has been known to liken this to “shouting into the void,” which is a pretty accurate description of what it feels like.

Then someone gives us a nice shout-out as CamCat did and you realize that people are noticing what we’re doing — and care about it.

And that certainly makes it easier to keep “the mystery little blog that could” chugging down the Information Superhighway.

Thanks CamCat!

Blood on the Page

 By Thomas Kies

Our local college has contracted me to teach another Creative Writing course in January—if our state is still allowing in-person classes by then. I’ve taught three of these in 2020, remarkable because of everything that’s going on. We all have masks on and we’re safely distanced apart in a large classroom. 

It was heartwarming when the college asked if I’d teach an Advanced Creative Writing class in addition after I finish teaching Creative Writing 101 in February. They tell me that they’ve been getting requests by former students asking that I teach an advanced course. 

I’ve noticed that the students, most of them adults, find the class to be kind of therapeutic as well as instructive. I’ve had as many as twelve in my classes (before the pandemic) and as few as four. All of the students start out as strangers, but at the end of six weeks, they’ve bonded and know a lot about each other.  

This is how I teach the class. Initially, I ask them all what they want to get out of the course. Once I have an idea what their goals are, I craft the classes accordingly. So, each Creative Writing course is slightly different, but we still cover the basics.

While the courses may vary, the structure remains the same. After each class, I give the students an assignment. It may be to write a deeply emotional scene. One assignment may be to create a scene with a kick-ass protagonist meeting a villain. The final assignment for all the courses has been to write the first few pages of your book and the last few pages of your book. Whatever that means to you.

In many cases, the beginning of their story and the ending are both deeply personal, even though it’s fictionalized.

We start the two-hour class period with the students reading their work out loud. Now, I know how scary that can be. I remember what it was like for me. It’s freaking terrifying. You’re showing everyone your baby. What if they call your baby ugly?

So, after each reading, we all applaud. Then we go around the room and we talk about the piece’s strengths and then we talk about ways that could potentially make the work stronger. When the course is over, I want the students to walk away feeling good about the craft and with a desire to keep writing. 

I love how the students have bonded at the end of six weeks. They start out as complete strangers, but when the course is finished, they feel close to each other. I think that’s because we put some much of ourselves on the page when we write.  

What was it Hemingway said? “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

When the fledgling writers do one of my assignments, in many cases, they fictionalize an event from their real lives. Some of those events are heartwarming, some of eye opening, and some are tragic. 

But much of what we write comes from our own lives and our own observations. Sure, we make stuff up. We write novels. But it’s all culled from a lifetime of experiences, emotions, feelings, observations, and influence by the people around us. 

I find these courses fulfilling and I’m gratified that the students and the college wants me to take it to the next step, Creative Writing 2.0…an advanced course. Now I’ve just got to figure out what that entails.  

Stay safe and stay healthy.

Lessons to Be Learned

 As I work on my historical thriller set in 1939, I have come to think of the year itself as a character. 1939 is an adolescent. He is torn between his ancestors who want him to carry their banners and beliefs into the future and the voices that are calling to him to march into "the World of Tomorrow." 1939 attends a Nazi rally and sits on the stage with smirking schoolboys in their uniforms. But two months later, he is in the audience when over 75,000 people gather at the Lincoln Memorial to hear Marian Anderson's voice float out over the crowd offering balm on Easter Sunday. That summer he is off to New York City to join the millions attending the World's Fair. He especially enjoys Elektro, the Smoking Robot. Everybody smokes in 1939.

1939 loves movies and he sits in theaters across the country watching. Some of the movies are too sophisticated for an adolescent year, but 1939 is interested in movie-making. He munches on his popcorn and enjoys the masters at their crafts. 1939 is delighted that there are movies for every taste in his year.  Funny movies, romantic movies, western, mysteries -- history and adventure and love and romance. Sometimes all in the same jam-packed movie. Sometimes the history is terribly wrong and the love stories are ill-fated, but 1939 knows that Americans coming out of the darkest days of the Great Depression need to be entertained and distracted -- and sometimes even elevated and reminded of who they are when they are at their best. 

1939 gives America and the world Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Four Feathers, Young Mr. Lincoln, Stagecoach, The Rules of the Game, Wuthering Heights, Love Affair, Gunga Din, The Man in the Iron Mask, Ninotchka, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Beau Geste, Drums Along the Mohawk, Stanley and Livingstone, Dodge City, Destry Rides Again, Goodbye, Mr. Chips, The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex, The Old Maid, The Roaring Twenties, Of Mice and Men, The Hound of the Baskervilles, Son of Frankenstein, The Wizard of Oz, Another Thin Man, Dark Victory, Union Pacific, The Women, Each Dawn I Die, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and The Rains Came.

In December, 1939 takes the movie-watching world to Atlanta, Georgia for the four-day premier of Gone With the Wind -- a sweeping saga of the Old South, a celluloid contribution to a mythology of a golden past now lost. In December, the African American descendants of the survivors of that past are not happy with that celebration in Atlanta. But 1939 is a clear-eyed adolescent who sees what is ahead, and knows that soon another battle will be joined, a battle abroad and at home for democracy.

Getting to know 1939 has helped me to make it through 2020 -- this careless, uncaring, cynical, often cruel year. I've imagined 2020 as the Devil, occasionally taking the shape of politicians and fanatics.  I've imagined 2020 smiling as he watches mourners weeping and protestors being gassed. I've imagined 2020 enjoying the chaos his henchmen (and women) are sowing in his year, knowing that his impact will be felt long after his time on the stage is over. 

I've imagined 2020 as evil, but as a writer I have found 2020 fascinating. He is much more sophisticated in his methods than 1939. Much more devious. Much more intelligent -- allowing us to destroy ourselves as if we were in an episode of Twilight Zone. 

But 2020 also has offered me some unwelcome -- but still valuable -- opportunities to learn. I've learned that if I hold on and keep moving, I can make it through moments that fill me with terror. I've learned to be patient. I've learned to be kinder to myself and other people. I've learned to think before I speak. 

I've learn to admire everyday heroes and the people who do the dirty jobs. I've learned to be grateful for all my privileges and what I have.

I will be glad to see the last of 2020. But as a character he is more nuanced than I at first imagined.

Never Assume.

 I (Donis) don't know about you, Dear Reader, but I am exhausted. I have generally kept my mouth shut about the state of the world, mainly because what do I know? But now that it's all over (but the shouting, of which there is still a depressing amount to come) I do have an observation or two which I'd like to share.

I grew up in one of the most conservative states in the nation and came of age during the roiling era of the 1960s. I graduated college the first time in 1970. I was deeply involved in liberal causes, especially the push for the ERA, and did my share of marching and sitting-in. Lots of young people in Oklahoma did. My immediate family was and still is very tolerant. I am more than happy about the outcome of the election. However, since I don't want to damage my relationship with any of my other relatives I have spent much of my considerably long life keeping my thoughts to myself, especially when I'm back in my home state and around people I don't know well. In some parts of the world, being seen as an "elitist snob" (i.e. an intellectual) could actually be dangerous in the wrong circumstance, so I'm very careful about offering my opinions, quoting Shakespeare, saying I like classical music, using Latin phrases. I'm not kidding. Even though I admit I'm probably paranoid, I have either been made fun of or been angrily railed at for doing all those things. I'm a little bit afraid of died-in-the-wool right-wingers. How sad. 

HOWEVER, HAVING SAID THAT: some of the people I grew up around may be conservative, but the great majority of them are kind, generous, loving, self-sufficient, competent people who would do anything for their neighbors. Many are also a little bit afraid of died-in-the-wool left-wingers. Don't think left-wingers are blameless, either. 

So here is what I've observed about both wings:

It's frightening when others treat you like you're either an idiot or evil. That attitude is likely to make you dig in.

The cancel culture is annoying. I learned years ago that in this country you can never be forgiven for anything you ever did, no matter how much you regret it now, or what you've done since. 

Here's a story I've told a million times, but it seems to fit - when I was a young woman, I flew out of NYC bound for Ireland. As we were over the ocean I got into a pleasant conversation with the older woman next to me, who was so intrigued with my accent that she suddenly asks, "Where are you from?"

"Tulsa, Oklahoma," says I, and she burst out laughing.

"What a place to be from!" she said.

I was surprised and a bit insulted by her tone, but I have to tell you, Dear Reader, that was no fluke. Whenever I visit the East Coast, I'm often teased about my accent. Some East-coasters have made assumptions about my political leanings , and I suspect some have made assumptions about my educational level and even I.Q. based on where I'm from and on my accent, as well.

I don't like to be pigeonholed. Nobody does, so it's best not to go around making snap judgements about people you've just met. You're probably wrong, anyway.

p.s. After she laughed, I responded to the airplane woman by asking where she was from, and she replied, "Teaneck New Jersey." What a place to be from!

p.p.s. Thanks for being our support country, Canadian friends.

Promotion in the Age of Covid

These past two weeks since my last post have been full of drama. First both my dogs got skunked (at 11 pm, pitch dark outside, and I had no makings for skunk shampoo), then one of them ate lawn fertilizer and needed her stomach pumped, and the next night she had a seizure. I pressed "send" on my latest manuscript and sent it on its way to the publisher, exactly on deadline. This year's non-Halloween left me with 80 baby chocolate bars and three pie pumpkins that had to be eaten. I have made four pumpkin breads, two dozen pumpkin muffins, and some soup. I am afraid to climb on the bathroom scale.

Then came the emotional roller coaster of the American election, which we all watched for five days while chewing our nails to the quick and incessantly checking updates online, to the detriment of any intelligent work. And it's not even my country!

In the midst of all this, my publicist informed me it's time to start the promotional gears grinding for my upcoming novel. THE ANCIENT DEAD, the fourth in my Amanda Doucette mystery-thriller series, was originally scheduled for release in October 2020. But factors beyond our control delayed it, namely printers that weren't printing, bookstores that weren't operating, supplies that were backlogged, etc. So the publisher pushed the date back to January 2021. The dead zone. 

And this is the real reason for this post. Promotion in the Age of Covid. Ugh. My book is already available for reviewers on Net Galley, so that reviews can be ready when the book hits the shelves. If you are a blogger or reviewer, feel free to check it out!  It is also available for pre-order, which provides a huge boost in sales ahead of the publication date and increases the number of books ordered. THE ANCIENT DEAD can be pre-ordered on all the usual online platforms, but please consider pre-ordering from your favourite local bookstore. They need our support if bookstores are to survive these difficult times.

But for me, the focal point of a book's release is always my book launch. But this year? It's bad enough my book is coming out in January when bookstores and warehouses are processing returns and trying to pare down their overstock of unsold holiday books, and readers can barely see over their sky-high to-be-read piles and credit card statements. But somehow I have to reach those readers with the news of my exciting new book with nothing but Zoom.

Normally I love launching a new book. I plan a launch party at a local pub, arrange for a bookseller, and invite all my friends and readers to come celebrate with me. It's a festive time. I spend a few minutes talking about the book and doing a brief reading, but otherwise it's a time to connect with old friends and greet new ones. In the weeks and months afterwards, I usually have a number of signings, readings, and book clubs lined up, and perhaps a festival or conference or two. These in-person connections with readers are inspirational for most authors; they nourish our hope and give us a reason to keep at it in our solitary, at times gloomy, doubt-filled world.

Now I will be faced with nothing but thumbnail photos arrayed across the top of my screen as I talk into the void of my living room. I am filled with trepidation and dozens of questions. What if I hold a virtual launch and no one comes? How should people sign up for the event? How will they buy the books? How can I sign the books? How long should the presentation last? An hour of talk and readings is much longer than normal launch talks. Should I get a host/ interviewer, as my publicist advises, and if so, who? I am not a tech wizard, and managing a Zoom call with multiple attendees and Q&A capability terrifies me.

I know there are advantages to the virtual format (besides no food and bar bill). People don't have to be in my own city to attend; friends and readers from all across the continent can tune in. It would be wonderful to see dear friends from as far away as British Columba and California, and to connect with readers from other continents.  

I know writers' festivals and other authors have managed to host virtual events, and I will be watching those in order to get some pointers. I will also talk to my local bookstores to see what their experience has been. If anyone has had experience either as an author or an attendee at a virtual book launch, I'd love to hear from you. Do's and Don'ts, and how to avoid falling on your face. All help gratefully accepted.

The degradation of pronunciation

by Rick Blechta

I’m feeling curmudgeonly today, so you’ve all been warned. My irritation about what I’m going to discuss has been building for weeks now and finally reached a tipping point this morning. Anyway, here we go!

Is is just me or has correctly pronouncing words in English been going downhill more rapidly of late?

Listening to the 7:00 a.m. news on CBC radio this morning, someone was being interviewed and my teeth were immediately set on edge when the interviewee said, “It’s up to the government to pertect Canadians…”

Now this was a reasonably intelligent person (a physician) whom I’m sure would never incorrectly write the word “protect”, but yet in speaking, she obviously didn’t notice how badly she’d mangled the pronounciation of this very common word.

I’ve noticed this trend lately particularly in words beginning with “pro”. They’re far too often spoken as if the word began “per”.

Another word generally butchered when spoken is “immediate.” It’s now usually pernounced as if it begins with a long ‘e’, i.e. “emmediate.” It always makes me grind my teeth.

Years ago I noticed people seldom say February correctly. The ‘u’ is almost universally left out: “Feberary.” It’s so common now, it barely registers — which is in itself a bad sign.

I suppose there are those who would cluck in disapproval and tell me that English is constantly evolving, but damn it all, this is not evolving it’s devolving and just plain sloppiness.

I acknowledge that, among all the other bad things that have occurred in 2020, my complaint is minor and far, far from the worst thing that’s taken place. After all, this year saw “irregardless” being recognized by the Merriam-Webster dictionary as being an acceptable word (although non-standard).

I, for one, won’t go along with this barbarity!

Is there are particularly poor pronunciation of a word that causes you grit your teeth? Please share it with all of us.

Stepping off the soapbox now…

Taking the show on the road

One of the things I love about being a writer is going on the road for book festivals and events.

I didn’t do much of that in my non-fiction days for some reason but when I started making stuff up I rediscovered my performing mojo.

I had lost said mojo for many years. As a teenager, I wanted to be an actor. This followed early ambitions to be an astronaut, a detective and a garbage collector. In pursuit of the world of make believe, I attended drama classes, performed in community theatre and wrote and appeared in comedy shows for hospital radio.

There was even a bit part in an episode of a TV show here in the UK. It was a drama for the BBC called ‘Sutherland’s Law’ and I played a drunken thief. No, it wasn’t typecasting. And yes, I would say that.

It was an exciting time. Filming for my scenes and others was done over a day and night near Oban on the west coast of Scotland. That episode’s guest star was Brian Cox, before he played Hannibal Lecktor (as they spelled it) on ‘Manhunter’ and answered the siren call of Hollywood.

He is a talented and erudite man who proved to be entertaining, funny and great to be around. There are long moments of inactivity on a shoot, unless you are on the crew, and he set himself up as morale officer as we sat in a mini bus waiting to be called.

It was after I saw myself on screen that I decided the likes of Mr Cox had nothing fear from my thespian talents.

I stopped performing altogether. Life took over; making a living, getting married, setting up a home.

Eventually the very thought of public speaking, let alone performing, filled me with horror.

That was, as I say, until I became involved with the fiction racket and had to get over myself.

Now I do a ten-minute bit when the fridge light comes on.

I’ve been all over Scotland for book festivals, events and shows with the two comedy/crime writing teams I work with. I’ve crossed the border to Newcastle and Bristol, both in England. I’ve even been to Spain for a show, which was great fun. I’ll tell you about those comedy/crimewriting teams in a future Type M for Murder.

Many authors love to meet readers, as long as they’re not telling us our books are nonsense. Some of us like to enteratin audiences not only on the page but on stage. We like to make audiences laugh. Off stage, though, I am actually quiet and reserved and not hugely sociable, which even I think is kinda strange given my antics in front of an audience.

All that activity came to a grinding halt this year, thanks to Covid-19, which has has been such a downer I don’t think I’ll binge watch the first 18. There were no festivals, no bookstore events, no comedy performances.

I had a great year lined up but one by one each of the events dropped like extras in a Tarantino movie. Yes, some have gone ahead in a digital format and they have been huge successes but you can't beat the excitement of being in the room with your audience. There's a  connection with live events that the internet just cannot replicate.

As I said, the suckage of 2020 has been immense.

It has also led to a curtailment of my photography.

Wherever I went I took my trusty Nikon camera (other brands are available, just not in my house) and I would click away like a snap happy chappy. It's landscapes mostly and I’ve included a few photographs here mostly from a trip to the isle of Mull last year, but that has been seriously curtailed this year, too, thanks to the C word.

For me, photography - and the editing of them afterwards - is strangely therapeutic. A writer's life is by necessity a solitary one and so is a photographer's. I prefer being on my own when at large with a lens because - frankly - I annoy non-photographers with this urge, no need, to stop every few miles, yards or feet to snatch a shot. And often more than one. 

So I hope festivals will resume when they can. I hope I will be invited and meet new readers. I hope I will grab new photographs! I hope our governments get on top of this crisis. I hope 2021 will see at least a partial return to normality for us all.

Towards the mainland from the Mull ferry

Lismore lighthouse

Oban

Tobermory

Kilchurn Castle on Loch Awe

Clouds gather on the road from Oban

St Conon’s Kirk

A beach on the isle of Arran

Ayr Harbour looking towards Arran

Wetlands around Wigtown

The marina in Javea, Spain

A medieval bridge in Javea

A winter shot near my home

Guest post by Judy Penz Sheluk

I am happy to welcome to Type M our guest this weekend, Judy Penz Sheluk. A former journalist and magazine editor, Judy is the author of two mystery series: the Glass Dolphin Mysteries and the Marketville Mysteries. Her short crime fiction appears in several collections, including The Best Laid Plans and Heartbreaks & Half-truths, which she also edited.

Judy is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and Crime Writers of Canada, where she serves as Chair on the Board of Directors. Find her at www.judypenzsheluk.com.

Take it away, Judy!

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Someday, maybe

It was a cold, wintry day in February 2002. I was training for my first full marathon (Ottawa) and our program called for a 21k (13 mile) run. A saner person would have stayed in bed, put off the run for another day. Instead I covered my face with Vaseline, donned triple layers top and bottom, and ventured down to the Running Room, only to learn that all of my running mates had bailed. Disheartened, but determined, I was just about to head out on my own when a guy named Dan stopped me. “I’ll run with you,” he said.

Now, I didn’t really know Dan, beyond the fact that he did something in construction and ran with the blistering fast group (I ran with the slow plodders group), but he seemed like a nice guy, and the thought of running all those miles alone didn’t hold a lot of appeal. So off we went, and while Dan must have felt as if he were running in chains, he never once made me feel as if my snail-like pace was holding him back. And somewhere along those miles he told me he’d always wanted to be a lawyer, and I said I’d always wanted to write murder mysteries, and we both laughed and said, “someday, maybe.”

Fast forward to 2019. I’m at Chapters Bookstore in Newmarket with a table full of my books and a stack of bookmarks. It’s early, the store is quiet, and I’m preparing myself for a very long day, when who should appear before me but Dan. “I saw your notice on Facebook,” he said. “I’m so proud of you for following your dream.”

It turned out that Dan had also followed his dream, graduating from the prestigious Osgoode Hall School of Law in 2012, and now with a successful practice specializing in estate law. 

“Estate law,” I said, my author brain kicking into high gear. “I might need legal advice for my work-in-progress…” I let the words dangle, hoping he’d say, “Call me.” He did.

And that brings us to the point of this post (whew, you’re saying, that’s a long way to get to the finish line). Anyway, when it came to Where There’s A Will, book three in my Glass Dolphin cozy mystery series, not only did Dan help me with the finer points of estate law, he also shared a story about the will of Cecil George Harris, who, in June 1948, was pinned under his tractor on a farm near Rosetown, Saskatchewan. Fearing he may not survive, Harris used his pocketknife to scratch sixteen words onto the tractor’s fender. “In case I die in this mess I leave all to the wife. Cecil Geo Harris.”

“It would be ten hours before help arrived to take Harris to the hospital,” Dan told me. “He died the next day from his injuries, never mentioning the will, which was later discovered by neighbors. The fender was removed from the tractor and determined by the courts to be a valid holograph will. The fender was kept as evidence until 1996, when it was turned over to the University of Saskatchewan College of Law. It’s still there, on public display.”

Did Cecil’s saga make it into Where There’s A Will? Of course it did. It’s simply too good of a tidbit not to include. But even so, it’s just a tidbit, a fun fact blended into the fiction. What truly changed the course of the story, far beyond anything I could have planned or plotted, was something Dan wrote in response to one of my many questions.

“The dead can’t reach out from the grave.”

Or can they? I leave it for you to read the book to find out.

About the book: Emily Garland is getting married and looking for the perfect forever home. When the old, and some say haunted, Hadley house comes up for sale, she’s convinced it’s “the one.” The house is also perfect for reality TV star Miles Pemberton and his new series, House Haunters. Emily will fight for her dream home, but Pemberton’s pockets are deeper than Emily’s, and he’ll stretch the rules to get what he wants.

While Pemberton racks up enemies all around Lount’s Landing, Arabella Carpenter, Emily’s partner at the Glass Dolphin antiques shop, has been hired to appraise the contents of the estate, along with her ex-husband, Levon. Could the feuding beneficiaries decide there’s a conflict of interest? Could Pemberton?

Things get even more complicated when Arabella and Levon discover another will hidden inside the house, and with it, a decades-old secret. Can the property stay on the market? And if so, who will make the winning offer: Emily or Miles Pemberton?

Purchase Links:

• Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08KFLQ6KH 
• B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/where-theres-a-will-judy-penz-sheluk/1137780682?ean=2940162992455 
• Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/where-there-s-a-will-87 
• Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/where-theres-a-will/id1533844283?ls=1
  

Improve!

Kathleen O'Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear were keynote speakers at the recent Women Writing the West conference. The Gears have over 17 millions copies of their books in print worldwide and translations into 29 languages.

 If that weren't enough to turn you green with envy, Kathleen has a super academic record. She has published over 200 articles in the fields of archaeology, history, and bison conservation. The United States Department of the Interior has twice awarded her a "Special Achievement Award" and she received a "Certificate of Special Congressional Recognition" from the United States Congress in 2015. 

I met the Gears when they first attended a Western Writers Conference in Fort Worth. At that time they were living in a cabin in Colorado. I recall Michael saying they just had a mattress thrown on the floor. It was all they could afford. 

In the late Richard Wheeler's autobiography, An Accidental Novelist,  he reported on meeting the Gears (yet unpublished) at that same convention. He was interviewing wannabes for Walker Publishing and agree to read their stories. After the convention, a UPS truck delivered an enormous box. "I discovered a cache of manuscripts, five hundred pagers, one thousand pagers, one after the other." Wheeler was looking for books of about 60,000 words and could not publish these monsters. 

When they did finally begin selling, Michael told Richard they were down to their last 75 bucks and about to return to contract archeology. Richard points out that they were both willing to integrate editorial suggestions and made swift progress toward becoming best-selling novelists. 

In Michael's talk at WWW he stressed the important of improving one's writing. He emphasized that writing has changed over the years and we must read today's best-selling authors to understand how styles have evolved. 

I read a lot and some of my favorite novels were written during the 60s. It was the era of great social novels which were mini history lessons that captured the spirit of America. I learned more about the Civil Rights movement in a novel, Five Smooth Stones, that I have in any of my African American textbooks. And I own a bunch!

Yet, in re-reading these books, I find that language is stilted, and exposition and explanations are too drawn out. A lot of books that were best sellers during the years they were published would be rejected today. 

People are in a hurry. They don't put up with much. They like short chapters with whiffs of a backstory. I heard someone say that Americans like a lot of white space. Michael encouraged the listeners to read broadly. Read all the genres on the best-sellers list. Think about techniques that might improve our own writing. 

This is not a license for degrading our writing. Think of how much is conveyed in poetic images. It can be a new art form. 

Now don't yell! Once I asked writing students to notice how James Patterson changed a whole plot with a chapter ending with a one word paragraph. I know how disheartening it is to walk into a library and see seventeen copies of Patterson's latest book on the shelf. But there's a reason why he sells. 

It's a challenge to cultivate our own style and voice while keeping all the new rules in mind. When you feel frustrated, remember the Gears and their astonishing determination. They wrote a lot before they discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  

A week in slow motion

I greatly appreciated Rick’s Tuesday post. Tuesday, for me, dragged on and on and on. I’m usually pretty good at keeping myself busy. As I mentioned in my last post, my mother has read four or five books a week since COVID isolation began. (Be nice to my mother. We need readers like her.) I haven’t been that voracious, but I’ve read a few –– I’m enjoying Megan Abbott’s YOU WILL KNOW ME and Adam O’Fallon Price’s HOTEL NEVERSINK –– and I’ve lost 40 pounds since COVID began.

But Tuesday didn’t feel like a productive day. Taught two classes over ZOOM. Met with students. Lots of pacing.

And the more I thought about it, the more I thought that is what most writers do, isn’t it? Pace?

In actuality, the waiting keeps us going.

Wait for the next idea or story to emerge. Wait for the rejection. No, the acceptance. But still waiting. Waiting is part of this game we all long ago decided to enter and to which we have dedicated blood, sweat, bourbon, and tears. And what to do while we wait? Write the one that shows up, even if it’s not the one you hoped for. There really is no other answer.

And for that reason, a frustration I’ve always had about this business is that so much of what happens is out of my hands. An agent pitches your book. A publisher decides whether or not to read it based on the agent’s pitch. It’s a product-based business that only tangentially revolves around the product.

“Your previous sales numbers aren’t good.”
“Okay, but do you like the new book?”
“Your previous sales numbers aren’t good.”

You can’t wait for sales numbers to change. You write the one that shows up. So Tuesday, if nothing else, I wrote a few pages –– and paced long into the night, waiting.

Social Distancing? Quarantini? Faceism?

 

Hard to believe it’s almost the end of the year. Pretty soon it’ll be January and time for various organizations to decide on the word/phrase of the year. The words they choose don’t have to be new words, but ones that reflect what happened during that year.

In a post awhile back, I talked about how the American Dialect Society selects its word. It’s done at their annual conference in January. Sadly, the 2021 conference has been cancelled due to Covid, but they’re looking into remote meetings. We’ll have to see what they come up with.

These are the words that various organizations chose for 2019:

American Dialect Society – “(my) pronouns”. Their Word of the Decade is “they”.

Merriam-Webster – “they”

Oxford – “climate emergency”

Dictionary.com – “existential”

Here are some possibilities I came up with for 2020:

social distancing/physical distancing – I don’t remember hearing either of these phrases before 2020 so I think either/both of them are good candidates.

self-quarantining – Lots of people have been doing this.

quarantini – A drink you drink during lockdown. I’ve also heard it used as a description of a get-together with friends via video-conferencing instead of at a bar.

Covid-19 – One strain of the coronavirus. Yeah, it describes this year all right, but let’s come up with something better.

faceism – When we make quick, unfair judgments about people we don’t even know based on seeing their face. I’ve been hearing this a lot recently.

Covid fatigue/pandemic fatigue – Tired of being cooped up. Tired of being careful. Tired of being scared.

safer at home – At the beginning of all this, we were told we’re not “sheltering in place”, we’re just “safer at home”.

quarrulent logorrhea – I added this one after reading Thomas’ post on Monday.

There’s still a couple months left in the year so who knows what new words/phrases will pop up. Perhaps we’ll have another “pregnant chad” situation and some new election phrase will come into vogue.

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned the election until now. I wrote this before the polls closed in the U.S., before the results were known. Heck, maybe we don’t even know the results yet given the large number of mail-in ballots.

When the various organizations select their words, we’ll have to see if they chose one of these or selected something else. I rather like “social distancing” myself.

What about you? Any other words/phrases that describe 2020? What has your vote?

Today is a special day

by Rick Blechta

I won’t bore you with why it’s so special. If you don’t know, then I won’t ruin your day by reminding you why.

However, I’m finding it rather to focus on much, so I thought I would do something fun.

We all know 2020 has not been kind to everyone. Back on December 31st, I remember being with some dear friends and as we toasted the new year, someone said (probably moi), “Here’s to a brand new year! It’s going to be so much better than 2019. No way it could be worse.” I’m still doing a face plant when I think about how wrong the statement turned out to be.

So let’s laugh about it. Here are some memes I’ve been collecting over the past few weeks. Hope they make you at least smile!

IF 2020 WAS A MATH PROBLEM: If you’re walking on the ice cream at 5 ounces per toaster, and your bicycle loses a sock, how much gravy will you need to repaint your hamster?

ONE DAY 2020 WILL BE THE ONE-WORD CATCHPHRASE FOR EVERYTHING MESSED UP AND BAD; “How’s your day going?” “A total 2020.” “Say no more…”

IN 20 YEARS WHEN KIDS ASK ABOUT THE 2020 TOILET PAPER SHORTAGE, I’m telling them we had to drag our butts across the lawn — in the snow — uphill. Both ways.

Hope I get what I’m wishing for tomorrow morning!

On Elections and Quarrulent Logorrhea

 Seriously.  

Is anyone thinking about writing today, the day before election day?  I know I’m not. 

Since everyone else is talking about the election, let’s jump in ourselves, shall we?

In 1758, a young George Washington was running as a candidate in Virginia for a seat in the House of Burgesses.  Washington spent his entire campaign budget, 50 pounds, on 160 gallons of liquor to 391 voters.  Already a custom in England, it had become a tradition in Virginia to roll barrels of booze into polling places as encouragement to voters. 

While he was president, Andrew Jackson said that he had only two regrets. “That I have not shot Henry Clay or hanged John C. Calhoun.”  Here’s a recap on Jackson’s backstory.  Before he became president in 1829, he’d fought in three wars and is said to have participate in up to 100 duels, including one in which he killed his opponent.  Once president, he passed the Indian Removal Act and was responsible for 4,000 Cherokee deaths on the Trail of Tears. 

In 1844, James Polk ran against Henry Clay and won the presidency.  That was in spite of the fact that Clay, in trying to appeal to the massive Irish population in New York City at the time, claimed that he was an immigrant, and his real name was “Patrick O’Clay.”

In 1876, in an attempt to beat Rutherford B. Hayes, the opposing party spread a malicious rumor.  They claimed that Hayes shot his own mother “in a fit of insanity” after a long night of drinking in Ohio.  His mother was, in fact, already dead so she wasn’t around to help debunk the rumor.  Hayes lost the popular vote to Samuel J. Tilden but won in a wildly disputed electoral college vote.

In 1896, the New York Times endorsed William McKinley for president.  They also ran an article about his opponent, William Jennings Bryan, with the headline, “Is Mr. Bryan Crazy?”  So-called experts were interviewed and concluded that Bryan suffered from megalomania, delusions of grandeur, and quarrulent logorrhea, which means he complained too much.  One of the psychiatric “experts” said, “I should like to examine him as a degenerate.”

Quarrulent logorrhea…oh yeah, I’m using that. 

In 1952, Dwight Eisenhower was expected to have an easy win over Adlai Stevenson.  Making it worse, Stevenson wasn’t helped when a flyer was distributed throughout the American heartland that claimed Stevenson had once killed a young girl “in a jealous rage.”

Also, in 1952, President Harry S. Truman said about General Dwight D. Eisenhower, “The General doesn’t know any more about politics than a pig knows about Sunday.”  Eight years later, when Eisenhower’s vice president, Richard Nixon, ran for president, Truman said that Nixon was a “no-good lying bastard,” and he told a crowd that anyone who votes for him “ought to go to hell.”

President Lyndon B. Johnson was well known for his crude put-downs.  He also wanted people to know where he was superior to President John F. Kennedy, under whom Johnson had served and then succeeded.  Presidential historian Robert Dallek wrote, “When people mentioned Kennedy’s many affairs, Johnson would bang on the table and declare that he had more women by accident than Kennedy had ever had on purpose.”

So, on that classy note, please go out and vote.

Guest Blogger Judith Starkston

Type M is honored to welcome our weekend guest blogger, the inimitable Judith Starkston. Judy has two degrees in Classics from the University of California, Santa Cruz and Cornell. She loves myths and telling stories. This has gradually gotten more and more out of hand. Her solution: to write fantasy set in the exotic worlds of the past. Her first novel, Hand of Fire, set during the Trojan War, was a semi-finalist for the M.M. Bennett’s Award for Historical Fiction. Priestess of Ishana, featuring Bronze Age Hittite priestess Tesha, won the San Diego State University Conference Choice Award. Her latest Tesha novel, Of Kings and Griffins, about a vicious king, vengeful griffins, and a scheming goddess, is available now on Amazon. As Judith says so succinctly, we all need a good escape these days!

Many thanks to Donis Casey for inviting me to visit on Type M for Murder today and tell you about my latest book, Of Kings and Griffins.

Of Kings and Griffins starts with a corpse—adorned with a gold sun disk and lying on an ebony bier—but it isn’t a murder mystery. The question is not who done it, but what happens next. The stakes quickly turn to life and death. Set in a Bronze Age empire that suffers from sometimes modern-feeling crises, the book is about a world upended when the king dies and his heir isn’t really up to the job, no matter what he thinks. The new ruler has insecurities and arrogance that make him unpredictable, but there are few limits on his power, and he’s chafing even at those.

Within this dangerous context, the main character, Tesha, a young woman who is both a priestess and a lesser queen, tries to forge a safe path for her husband, daughter, and sister, as well as her small, fractious kingdom that is part of the great empire this new king reigns over. Her tools to accomplish this goal of safety and happiness are intriguing and sometimes frustrating. Her husband is the most successful military leader of the time, but that draws the new king’s jealousy. She uses her strategic mind along with her diplomatic skills, but those processes are slow and the results ambiguous. She’s always counted on the active support of the goddess of love and war, but Tesha also has her own magic. The old king created a loophole for her to exercise her powers to benefit his empire, but sorcery is forbidden. Now his son views her abilities with intense suspicion and that loophole is turning into a snare. Even her goddess may be laying traps. When her sister disappears into the land of griffins, mythical beasts whom Tesha’s sister has warned her to fear, Tesha believes she has to take extreme action. But the temptation to seize control through her magical powers—justified to keep her family and country safe—may be the biggest danger of all. 

My historical fantasy is based on the life of a Hittite queen who was all but forgotten by history. The rites she practiced as a priestess, which have come down to us on clay tablets, offer tantalizing windows into their religious magic. I have melded this Hittite predilection for psychologically fascinating magic with events from Hittite history, and created a potent mix of politics, fantasy, romance, and intrigue. The griffins, who take a major role in this book, are depicted throughout Hittite artwork, even on the walls of throne rooms. As far as history can tell, they never actually entered into the plots and schemes of men and women, but I can vouch that they are way more fun than dragons.

And we all need a really good escape these days.

Of Kings and Griffins is book 3 in the Tesha series but is easily read as a standalone. Jump right in with this book.

If you would like to learn more about Judith Starkston, this series, or its historical background, go to her website. Sign up for her newsletter to receive book news and giveaways, a short story and Bronze Age cookbook.

When the Veil Between the Worlds Thins...

Appropriately enough, November 2, the day before Election Day in the U.S., is the Day of the Dead, a Spanish/Aztec celebration much beloved down here in southern Arizona. Día de los Muertos is a day for remembering your loved ones who have passed on. It’s like a family reunion, with your dead ancestors as the guests of honor. Day of the Dead is a usually a joyful time, with parades, music, costumes, lots of food, and a candlelit altar to help the dead find their way home for the two days of the year (Nov. 1 and 2), when the living and the dead can commune. I intend to do quite a lot of remembering and communing this year, finding some peace and happy memories in a time of chaos that I'll be happy to put behind me.

On the Day of the Dead, Families Have a Picnic on the Graves of their Deceased Loved Ones

Throughout the 1990s, I ran a little shop and sold imports from  Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. For a decade I was totally immersed in the Celtic culture. Oct. 31 and Nov. 1 are very important days in the Celtic calendar, for at midnight, the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead thins, and we may actually be able to see one another.

All those Celtic peoples who came to the New World early on and settled on the frontiers and the back woods, from whom many, many of us descend, myself included, had a view of existence that is very different from the modern way of looking at things. We wonder how such realistic and practical people could have so readily believed in ghosts and haints and contact with the dead.  It had to be because they were ignorant and uneducated, we think, and obviously not as smart as we are.

But I say, au contraire, my friends. As I travel through this life, I begin to have an intimation that things are not necessarily what they seem. We perceive the world as we have been taught to do. We see what we are looking for.

My great-grandmother, whom I was privileged to know when I was a girl, knew there were spirits abroad just as firmly as she knew the sky was blue. She had seen them, and she believed the evidence of her own eyes. Did she really see them, or was she deluded? I’ve never seen a ghost. Am I realistic, or am I blind? How does a sighted person convince someone who has never seen that there is a color blue?

My husband remembers that every Halloween, his father would dig a pit in back of the house, line it with bricks, fill it with wood, and light what they called a "bonfire", though it was more like a good sized campfire. The family would sit around it and roast wieners and marshmallows on sticks and stretched-out hangars. He has no idea where the family tradition came from, but I'm guessing it was passed down through the family from the misty past, for such traditions are remarkably enduring. So, if you live in the country or don't worry about being fined for building an open fire in your back yard, stretch out those hangars and get yourself a bag of marshmallows, and take a trip into the past with some campfire s’mores. Put a slab of Hershey bar on top of a Graham cracker, put a melty-hot roasted marshmallow on the chocolate, top with another Graham cracker, and enjoy. 

And while you’re at it, be sure to light a candle to guide your loved ones home.

Neither a plotter nor a pantser be

I am fascinated by the many approaches writers use to writing a novel, and the attempts they make to conceptualize and pigeonhole their approach. Plotters and pantsers have been around for a while, and now my fellow Type Mers have introduced me to another – the plantser, aptly described by Sybil as a hybrid version. This 'neither here nor there' approach recognizes that writing is a spectrum, not a dichotomy. In fact, although writers may predominantly favour one style, they may use another if the mood or the task requires it. I am much more likely to be a plantser when writing a short story, mostly because short stories don't allow much room for stumbling around wondering where I'm going.

I also used the plotter style for some of my earlier Rapid Reads novellas because the publisher required a thorough outline before offering a contract. With these novellas, like short stories, there is no room for wandering, and the plots are straightforward, linear, and devoid of subplots. It's easy to write an outline in a straight line. 'This happens, which leads to that, and then that...' Even so, when I actually sat down to write the novella, the outline proved inadequate and both characters and storyline became richer. Luckily, few publishers complain when the end result is better than the plan.

Rapid Reads novella

Sybil also described another intersecting spectrum  -- lawful to neutral to chaotic - which I had not heard before, possibly because I avoid reading "how to" books. I don't like to analyze how I write, where my ideas come from and how my characters emerge. For me, there is a certain magic to the writing experience. Ideas come to me from somewhere in the jumbled cauldron of my subconscious, and I'm afraid if I look too closely, they will disappear. I also don't want to follow someone's plan for how to create the perfect novel, complete with heroes' journeys and three thrill points. These guides can be useful at the self-editing stage when you're trying to figure out why on earth the story isn't working, but as a creative aid, they are killers. Too close to paint by number. 

I read Sybil's link on lawful to chaotic styles with great interest. It breaks the process into more elements, like how you create character, what order you write scenes, how you use outlines. I still don't fit into any box, although there are some I never enter, but I generally jump around between pantser and plantser, and between lawful and neutral. 

Note the change of direction at the end 

I was interested to discover that I am rarely chaotic, even though in my mind my process feels quite chaotic. Chaotic as used in this matrix seems to refer to the order in which you move through a story. Do you write scenes out of order, copy and paste or shuffle them around, and end up with a "Frankendraft"? This is the one approach that would never work for me, because each scene grows out of the scene before, and the character's later actions and thoughts evolve out of what they went through before. I will insert scenes or move a scene around during rewrites once I can see the whole story.

It's a useful look at the writing process and entertaining to see how other writers approach it. I actually met a highly successful chaotic plotter (a combination I would not have thought possible). The important point is that there is no right or wrong way to write, just your way, and that depends on your personality, your experience, and the way that magic muse comes to you. What do other writers think? Where do you fit in?