A box of issues

 Hi - Douglas Skelton in the hotseat again from cold and damp Scotland.

It's a funny old thing, the English language. I mean, there are words that are spelled the same, are pronounced the same but can mean different things.

Let's look at the word "issue", for instance.

It can mean to leave (issue forth). It can relate to publications (in this week's issue). It can refer to progeny, or the lack thereof (he died without issue). And it can describe personal problems (that Skelton fella has issues).

And it can mean the events of the day.

There's a reason why this etymological conundrum has been on my mind. The word in one of its myriad of meanings has been used in relation to one of my books.

My most recent novel came out in the USA last week. I'm sorry if this seems like shameless marketing (Just to be clear, I'm not really sorry. It's called The Blood is Still and it's out in hardback from Arcade CrimeWise).

Anyway, it's had a couple of fabulous reviews in the home of the brave, one a starred review in Publishers' Weekly, but I don't like to brag. (Just to be clear, yes I do).

The other one, in Library Journal, was also very gratifying but I won't go into detail (just to be clear, they said it was 'an intricately plotted thriller ...  lyrical and thoughtful'.)

It said it was an issue-orientated novel.

I thought, whoa - did I do that?

Here's the thing - turns out I did.

It was written in 2019 and came out in the UK in March 2020. It has its themes and variations, of course, but I didn't set out to write about issues, at least not consciously.

Yes, there is a disturbing, always-in-the-news facet to the plotline as well as an examination of the challenges facing local journalism here in Scotland.

In addition, there is a sub-plot concerning right-wing politics.  Perhaps that, in light of recent events, has given what I simply describe as a thriller a bit more relevance.

There is even a riot when supporters of a neo-fascist go on the rampage.

Pointing no fingers, of course.

Did I have the rise of the far right in mind when I wrote it two years ago? Yes, without a doubt, for it has been seen here too.

Does the growth of extremism - left, right, religious - cause me concern? In other words, do I have an issue with it? You bet I do, but was I setting out to make a point, be controversial, form a polemic? Not consciously. My principal aim is always to simply tell a story, to create characters that hopefully step off the page and walk around the room with the reader.

As Sam Goldwyn said, messages are for Western Union.

But I was setting my story against real-world problems, and extremism is very much a hot topic so perhaps on some level I was tackling that issue. 

Everything seems politicised now - from the wearing of a mask during a global epidemic to whether you prefer Sex and the City over The Sopranos. Yes, there was such a debate on Twitty with some people growing quite heated and personal. It became a male/female argument, which is frankly ridiculous but that's where we are these days. Like one, like the other, like both. It's a matter of personal taste.

But one tweet was all it took for it to become an issue.

Political extremism has been on the bubble for some time.

To be honest, I'm not sure what point I'm trying to make here. I am most certainly not arguing against the review (I have no issue with it at all). I am grateful for it and pleased the reviewer enjoyed the book. I am always gratified when people take the time and effort to review. 

Well, maybe not the bad ones.

It was just that it took me aback slightly because, as I said, I did not set out to write an issue-oriented story though, now that it has been pointed out, I see that to an extent it is. 

I'm also amazed that it took a reviewer to make me realise it and that made me wonder if I had done it before. The only other book of mine I could come up with was book 3 of my Davie McCall series which in part dealt with the treatment of veterans in civvy street. It was one character, but it was there. 

Someone once said something along the lines of that if you want to understand the condition of a society at any given time, read its crime fiction. I think there is some truth in that.

As long as we also tell a good story. 

I'm sure no one will take issue with that.

PS - I was asked last time to publish a shot of Tom, the cat. Or He Who Must Be Obeyed. Here he is giving me the kind of look that tells me I've forgotten to do something, I'm about to forget to do something or there is something I have not done which I didn't know I was supposed to do and therefore could not technically forget to do it but I'm going to be punished all the same.

The Mob and Me

This has been a dreadful week. Doubly so for me as it brought back frightening memories. In 1963 my husband I were at the center of the infamous Garnett Race Riots. Race in this case does not indicate people of color. Race referring to car races as in the Grand Prix.

Don was the Undersheriff in Anderson County Kansas. I was the jail matron. We had a two year old daughter. Our residence was in the center of the town which was built on a square. It was a multi-story brick building. The jail was on the top floor.

Garnett was a small town of about 5,000 people. I don't know when the races started. The peak attendance for this event was estimated at 75,000 people. The 2.8-mile road course at Lake Garnett brought in cars from all of the major automakers including Ferrari, Maserati, Shelby, Chevrolet and Austin-Healey. A Cobra won that year.

That night all hell brought loose. About 3000 young people descended on the town square. The crowd grew rowdy. There was drunken lewd behavior. Scary stuff going on. The chief of police decided to close the beer joints. The group was outraged. There were arrests. The arrests triggered further violence with cries of freedom and a vow to spring the victims. They decided to take the jail.

The jail was my happy home, remember. Luckily our two-year-old daughter was at my parents house that night. The mob was attacked with fire hoses and as much police force as our tiny little burg could muster. Throughout the night law enforcement came from all over the state. The governor called out the national guard.

My shotgun was propped up against my daughters toy chest. There were shotguns and rifles and police in every room of my house. I, and my sister-in-law, made sandwiches and coffee all night long. A policeman died. Over fifty persons were injured. These were mostly hell-raising college students who were intoxicated with both booze and the thrill of the car races. But what sticks in my mind to this day were the cries of "take the jail. Take the jail."

The races were discontinued the next year.

I don't participate in marches, even though I believe in peaceful protests. I believed in the effectiveness of the Black Lives Matter march. Also the Me Too movement. But marches can quickly turn into something else. They grow out of control. You can't tell who you will be marching next to. Marches can turn into mobs.

I was horrified and sickened by last weeks events. This was far from a peaceful protest. I cried all day.

Even as I write this my hands are shaking. My heart ached for those frightened members of congress. There are still those voices in my mind. "Take the jail, take the jail."

A week or a lifetime?

My calendar says I last posted two weeks ago. The newscycle says time is no longer linear (if it ever was).

I sat glued to the TV last week in a way I have not since Sept. 11, 2001. I think I (and every American) was catapulted back in time about two hundred years. I find myself saying (perhaps naively), “We survived 1968” far too often of late. It’s a way for me to speak life into my hope that the sun will come out Jan. 21, and I’ll feel the ship, although still wobbly, straighten and stop taking on water. In short, for me, it’s a way of moving beyond.

All of this leads to the writing topic at the forefront of my mind: Deciding whether or not to discuss contemporary politics in a crime novel. Ezra Pound famously said artists are the antennae of the race. That speaks to a writer’s responsibility. I love reading novels and poems that tackle weighty societal issues. However, this week, I’m reading Megan Abbott’s You Will Know Me and enjoying the absolute escape of the whodunit before falling asleep. I tell students in my Advanced Studies in Rhetoric class on day one that “fiction is universal; non-fiction rarely is.” Can fiction be universal, if it dives deeply but truly into one society’s political issue? Perhaps going deep enough and honestly enough will allow the issue to resonate for readers. And perhaps some readers wish to experience a mystery through a historical or societal lens. I have few answers but many more questions.

The events of this past week –– watching the United States Capital be overrun, seeing a presidency (further) implode; knowing 68 arrests (as of this writing) were made but that had the domestic terrorists been people of color there would have been mass carnage; and worrying about what might play out Jan. 20 –– has me wondering how much my characters should be impacted by (or aware of) the political landscape when they meet on the page. How much social commentary is too much?

I know this: If a decade ago I’d have proposed a political novel with a plot ending with the events taking place last week at the United States Capital, you wouldn’t have bought it.

My Year In Books, 2020

 

It’s time for my annual reading wrap-up. A much more fun topic than everything that’s going on in the world right now.

In 2020 I “consumed” (more on why I used that word in a moment) 117 books, 9 more than last year. The largest category was mystery/thriller at 46%. 15% of the books I read were in the non-fiction category, up 10% from last year.

I used the word “consumed” and not read because I’ve added audiobooks to my list. I listened to 19 of them last year (usually when I’m working on a painting or macramé project). Most of those were the audio versions of the Dark Shadows books by Marilyn Ross, originally published in the 1960s/70s. Enjoyable stories and quite different at times from the storylines in the soap opera.

In my December 16, 2020 post I gave a number of recommendations here for books I read last year. I won’t repeat those. You can see them here: https://typem4murder.blogspot.com/2020/12/book-suggestions-2020.html

I read 4 books about the 1918 pandemic last year. They all have something to recommend them. Some delve deeper into the science and the state of medicine at the time. Others center on what was going on in the world at the time and the social reaction/cost. If you only read one, I’d go for “Very, Very, Very Dreadful: The Influenza Pandemic of 1918” by Albert Marrin. I found that one the most interesting to read.

In the mystery category, the majority of them were cozies. Of those, my favorites were the Postmistress mysteries by Jean Flowers aka Camille Minichino and the Sylvia Stryker mysteries by Diane Vallere, set in space. Yes, I still consider them cozies because they really have a cozy feel in an unusual setting. If you like cats in your cozies, I recommend the Nick and Nora mysteries by T.C. LoTempio. I also re-read several Agatha Christie books. For whatever reason, I find her comforting. Even though she’s often put in the cozy category, I don’t think all of her books belong there.

In the kids category, I particularly enjoyed The Greystone Secrets books by Margaret Peterson Haddix. Two of them are out with the 3rd coming out in April. Looking forward to it. These really need to be read in order.

In the scifi/speculative fiction category, besides the Thursday Next novels mentioned in a previous post, I also enjoyed the Maze Runner series. And, yes, I watched the movies as well. The first movie adhered pretty closely to the novel, but the others veered away from the book story lines quite a bit.

There are so many other good books I read last year, most of which I would recommend. I only gave up on 1 book last year. Pretty unusual for me to stop reading. Even if I think the book is so-so, I’ll generally finish it. You can learn a lot about writing from reading the books you don’t like (and figuring out why you don’t like them) as well as those you do like.

That’s it for my reading wrap-up. Onto another topic next time.

I’m curious, did you find yourself reading more last year than in previous years?

So what do you say after last week?

by Rick Blechta

I have been trying to come up with a topic for this week and it’s as if I’ve my brain is frozen.

Anyone who’s old enough to remember November of 1963 would likely be able to tell you exactly where they were when John Kennedy was assassinated. I was in 7th Grade Latin class and the principal put the CBS broadcast through the school’s PA. We all sat there with our mouths open listening to Walter Cronkite. School was cancelled and we went home and watched the TV the entire weekend. I was sitting there when Lee Harvey Oswald was gunned down live on television. The events of that catastrophic time made a big impression on my 12-year-old psyche.

So you can imagine what I felt watching the congressional speechifying last Wednesday when they suddenly ground to an abrupt halt, Vice President Pence slammed his gavel down, called a recess, and disappeared out a nearby door. Something was obviously very wrong.

I was then glued to my computer screen — we don’t have a TV — until I ran out of gas around 1:00 a.m.

Anyway, my brain right now is foggy and dull, and I’m too emotionally wrung out to come up with much of anything worthwhile for this week’s post.

Maybe by next Tuesday things will have evened out. They can’t get much worse.

Oh geez! Now I’ve probably jinxed the whole damn thing.

Sorry. 

Puppies and Pandemic Road Trips

  By Thomas Kies

I was going to do a sequel to my blog “Recipe for a Thriller No One Would Believe” about the insurrection at the Capitol in Washington DC, but I just couldn’t.  It’s just all too sad and I’m embarrassed for our country over it. 

So, I’ll write about something much more fun.  Lilly, our Shih-tzu and my writing buddy, passed away in September.  No, that’s not the fun part.  That was heartbreaking. 

Starting in December, my wife Cindy began searching for a Shih-tzu rescue to come live with us.

The pandemic has created a remarkable demand for pet company and the results are that there is a shortage of rescue dogs available to adopt.  My wife worked hard at trying to find a rescue. 

Finally, Cindy found an adoption agency that was looking to place a two-year old Shih-tzu named Annie Willow that had been rescued after being abandoned at a kill shelter.  They vetted us and on Thursday they told us we could come meet the girl on Saturday morning in Charlotte, North Carolina.  That’s a five-hour drive from where we live.

We packed our bags and took off on Friday to stay overnight and then meet Annie Willow the next morning.  

Now, this was the first overnight trip we’ve taken since March, when the pandemic began its horrible march throughout the world.  Things have markedly changed.

Starting with choosing the hotel.  It used to be comfort, location, and price that was how we decided on where we’d stay.  Now it was how they disinfected their rooms.

Then it was the drive.  Before, I looked forward to stopping off while on our journey where we’ve never been for a leisurely lunch.  Now we packed our lunch before we left so we could eat in the car. 

We did stop once to get gasoline and use the restroom.  In the convenience store where we were, they weren’t selling coffee.  Another result of the pandemic. 

Once at the hotel, what few people who were guests, as well as employees, wore masks (thank heavens) and discourse was kept at a minimum.  Distance was observed.

Here’s where I want to say something about writing, since Type M is a blog about the process.  In particular, about writing dialogue.  I have always enjoyed listening in on conversations so I could catch both discourse and dialect.  Now, however, there’s little of that to eavesdrop on. And what I do hear sounds like little more than mumbling.  

Back to our trip.

It was no surprise that we discovered that the bar was closed at the hotel and the bistro where you could get breakfast was also shut down.  There would be no hotel waffles for us in the morning.

When it came to getting something for dinner, we called a nice Italian pizza place in the neighborhood and had dinner delivered at the hotel.  

The next morning, we met the representative from the adoption agency and the woman who had been Annie Willow’s foster mom.  Everyone wore masks.  I never saw their faces.  That seemed so sad.  I’m sure we were all smiling from ear to ear.

Although, when I asked how the foster mom was doing, she told me, “I’ll be crying in my car in a few minutes.  I’ll be missing Annie.”  It must be difficult to foster a puppy, loving it, knowing that if you’re successful, you’ll be handing it over to someone you don’t know.  It must be like losing a piece of your heart. 

It was also when we met Annie Willow, who’s a cutie with the energy of an overcaffeinated ferret. She is definitely going to keep Cindy and me on our toes. 

It was a bright spot in an otherwise abysmal week.  Two friends of ours tested positive for Covid-19.  One is in the hospital but recovering nicely and the other has had mild symptoms.  

Unfortunately, thousands of others are dying every single day.  Hospitals are stretched to the limit but vaccinations, while slow and chaotic, are coming.

And then, of course, there was the insurrection at the Capitol on Wednesday at the urging of a sitting President of the United States.  I never thought I’d ever write or say those words.  Never.

The nation is divided, the possibility of a second impeachment is imminent, and I fear for what could happen before the inauguration of a new President on January 20.

It’s no wonder so many of us have looked to the unconditional love of a puppy. 

One of Those Days

Well, it's one of those days after one of those weeks. I had a topic in mind for today's post, but life has intruded. My cat, Harry, has the sniffles -- has been sneezing all week -- and his vet is holding medication for him that I need to pick up before 4:30 today. 

Then I need to swing by (as go in and sit for hours) the hospital emergency room and get an evaluation. My doctor's office says there is no way to be sure on the telephone about whether bumping my head last night might require attention. Stupid accident -- I was trying to catch up on my work emails. It was late and I was sitting on the sofa, leaning forward over my laptop rather than sitting back against the cushions. After two late nights and early mornings, I dozed off. I woke up as I was falling sideways off the sofa, clutching my laptop. The top of my head lightly bumped my old-fashion radiator.

When I got up and after I had mopped up my spilled tea, I didn't have a headache or feel dizzy. I went to bed and to sleep. It's been over 12 hours, and I'm aware that I bumped my head because I'm paying attention. But still no headache or swelling. However, I have freaked myself out thinking of what might be going on in my skull. That was the reason for the conversation with the doctor's office.

That and the splendid idea that I had about using a similar, but fatal, accident in one of my books in progress. 

Never let a good mishap go to waste, right?

Does anyone else have a story about being in the midst of a real-life situation and thinking "This would be great in my book?"

I also have a puppy arriving to join the household on Sunday or Monday. He's coming on a pet delivery van. It should be an interesting few days.

Have a good weekend, everyone. And, please, try not to watch the news unless you're working on a thriller.

A Virtual Book Launch - Yea or Nay?

My plan for this entry is to write about virtual book launches. I am writing this on Jan. 6. I am depressed. I lived through the upheaval of the 60s and 70s. I was hoping I'd never have to go through such things again. There are so many things I could say about what is happening in Washington DC as I type. But I won't. I'll save my outrage for a more appropriate venue and continue on as if nothing is happening. Soooo.... Virtual book launching! 

February 2 is the day that my second Bianca Dangereuse novel, Valentino Will Die, will hit the shelves and the e-universe and the airwaves. The official launch during this pandemic year will be a Facebook Live virtual event hosted by Poisoned Pen Bookstore in Scottsdale Arizona! Which means that you can ALL come without traveling all the way to Arizona! The LIVE event will be on Facebook on January 30 at 4:00 p.m. Mountain Standard Time (That’s 6:00 Eastern, 5:00 Central, 3:00 Pacific. You’re welcome.) Click here to see all the information. If you can’t make the live event, never fear, the video will be available for viewing ever after at the Poisoned Pen site.

The old days - an in-person appearance!

Ten years ago, here on Type M, I (Donis) asked what you Dear Readers like or dislike about the performance when an author talks to an audience - what annoys you, or what makes you eager to read the author's book? I repeated the question on Facebook and on the DorothyL reader's forum, and I received dozens of interesting answers to my informal survey. My question for today is:

1. Do you as a reader attend virtual author appearances? If you do, what do you like about them and what do you not like?

2. Are you an author? If yes, what are your thoughts on virtual book events? Do you fear being nothing more than a talking head?

When I did the original survey about live author events, the top Dislike, mentioned by 25% of responders, was arrogance/pomposity in the speaker, or as K.B. put it, "if the writer comes across as one who is doing us all a favor by being there, but isn't really 'into' it."

(Personally, I don't mind if an author has a big ego. In fact, I think she probably ought to. Just don't push it in my face.)

Coming in at at a close second is panel-hogging. It annoys some folks no end when one panel member seems to become enamored of his own voice and won't let the others speak. (speaking on behalf of authors, here, I think most of us would second that.)

 Other pet peeves mentioned, in no order, were:

 Being unable to hear the speaker, or unable to hear questions directed to the speaker.

 Reading from the work and not interacting with the crowd.

 Salesmanship (I take this to mean hawking like a carnival barker.) P.B. says, "I don't want to be sold; I want to be befriended."

 An author not making eye-contact/being distant with someone who brings her copy of the author's book to be signed.

The number one Like, mentioned by almost half the respondents, is warmth and humor (though one respondent did say humor is fine but she doesn't come to hear a comedy routine)

 Also mentioned several times: Attendees like to hear about the writing process, the writer's life, where the ideas for the story/characters came from, the author's research experiences.

I, Donis, like wit, if it seems natural and not forced. I like it when the author seems to be enjoying herself. She will keep my interest if she has depth and passion about her work.

I've come away from many an author talk with warm feelings and a desire to read everything he ever wrote.

One of the best author events I ever attended years ago when Louise Penny appeared at our local library. She won us over from the first moment she walked in by shaking the hand of and personally introducing herself to everyone who had come out to see her. Her talk was intimate, personal, and joyful. I came away with the impression that this is a woman who is filled with love for her work and her life. Even if her books weren't as good as they are - and they are amazingly good - after seeing her in person I wanted to read everything she ever wrote at least twice.

This is a brave new world for all of us, so tell me, Dear Readers and Writers, what makes a successful virtual author event? Help us virtual book launchers out!

 

Onward into the unknown

 Like my fellow Type M'ers this past week (along with just about everyone on the planet), I am thrilled to boot 2020 out the door. More than boot it. I have set fire to it, sent it off into outer space on a rocket ship, and buried it in the deepest bowels of hell...

Okay Barbara, rein in the hyperboles. 

And like everyone, I tread cautiously into 2021, wary of the surprises it holds and unsure whether it's safe to hope. Don't jinx it, I say to myself, as if I have any power whatsoever to control what the Fates of 2021 have in store for us. As Douglas posted yesterday, we can only control what is within our own power to control. For me, the wheels of the publishing industry grind on and I am proceeding with my part in it. I am researching the next Amanda Doucette book prior to starting the actual writing. As part of that process, I optimistically booked flights and rental car for Vancouver Island for late May. But 2021 is already messing with me; the pandemic is at its worst yet and the vaccine rollout has been way too slow. I may have to postpone that trip for a few months and write much of the book without in-person research. But onward.

In February the edits of my latest Inspector Green novel, THE DEVIL TO PAY, will arrive back from my editor and I will have to switch gear to remember that story. I already know there will be changes because the pandemic hovers over everyone's lives, even in fiction. I had written the book as if the pandemic were over by the release date in October 2021. But maybe not.

Lastly I am hard at work planning the virtual launch of THE ANCIENT DEAD, a book written pre-pandemic and postponed because of it. It is finally being released at the end of January, in paperback, ebook, and audiobook. When I launched my first book in 2000, I remember printing address labels from my database, stuffing postcard invitations into envelopes, and licking stamps. 

How times have changed! I am now in the midst of a huge learning curve on how to use Eventbrite, how to synch it with Zoom (currently Zoom is not cooperating), and how to coordinate myself, my interviewer Rick Mofina, and my host daughter Leslie, all of whom will be in our own little laptop silos. I have no idea how many people will attend, but unlike my usual in-person launches at local pubs, this one can be watched from anywhere in the world. Friends, family, and fans from all over can participate. That's very exciting, and I hope people tune in. I also hope they can figure out how to get the Eventbrite invitation, use the Zoom link, and get into the session. Fingers crossed on that score.

If all goes well, I should start sending out the Eventbrite invitation by early next week, using Facebook, Instagram, and good old-fashioned email. So keep an eye out. The date is January 28 at 7 pm. EST.

I hope to "see" you there!  

Something beyond your grasp

By Rick Blechta

Here’s a thought for my first post of a brand-new year: Regardless of how many things you can do with accomplishment, is there anything you would really like to be able to do but which you know you could not do well? Sorry for the word salad, but I hope you grasp my meaning. 

I have had people tell me that I’m amazing because I can do so many things well. I set very high standards for myself, so I know what they’re saying is not really quite true.

Sure, I know a lot about music, can play a whole assortment of instruments decently, and I’m a good arranger. But I also know people who are way better and I’m always in awe of what they can do.

I write novels. Often they get good reviews. Sometimes they’re nominated for awards. One time I actually won one of those awards. Do I consider myself a good writer? Yes. But not a great one.

I could go on about other accomplishments, but you get the point. I can do a number of things well, however…

There is one thing I’d like to be able to do which I just don’t have the talent to do: paint.

We have a calendar of paintings by the Canadian artist Clarence Gagnon. He was very accomplished and while some of his paintings are very realistic, his smaller works are much more impressionistic — and I love them. The one for January is a view of a Quebec town in the dead of winter.

Looking closely, it is composed of just daubs of paint that mean very little. It’s only when you step back several feet that your breath is taken away. Even though the image remains indistinct, your brain can fill in the missing detail and those daubs become the steeple of a church or a bush in the foreground.

Both my parents were accomplished artists. It’s what defined their relationship when they met. It’s probably why they feel in love. They passed that love of painting down to their middle son, but they left out the ability to do it. My sister and brother both have that ability. I know. I’ve tried and the results ain’t good.

If there’s one thing I’d really like to be able to do, it’s paint. If I could do one painting like those little Gagnon masterpieces painted on plywood or academy board, I would be satisfied. But it would have to be good and I know I just don’t have the ability to accomplish my wish.

Is there something you don’t do that you fervently wish you could? Please share it!

Keeping the faith

 Douglas Skelton calling from a snowy part of Scotland.

OK, it's probably nothing compared to what some parts of the US of A experience but it sure beats the rain!

That's not a standing stone, by the way - it's all that remains of Kyle Castle in Ayrshire. Nothing much of note happened there, although Kyle is derived from Coelus, a king from ancient times who ruled this part of southwest Scotland. He is better known as Old King Cole but I have no idea if he was a merry old soul. Given this was before whisky was widespread and there was no Netflix, he probably wasn't.

The dog is Mickey and he is mine. Or rather, I am his servant. Between him and the cat I do wonder if this opposable thumbs business is all it's cracked up to be.

Anyway, happy 2021, folks! The year that shall not speak its name is now a bad memory and we should look to the future with optimism.

That's where the whisky and Netflix will come in, perhaps.

Seriously, we have a period of tumult ahead but I do believe we will get to better times. As long as people continue to take the virus seriously and follow precautions, give the vaccines time to roll out and for goodness sake don't listen to politicians who downplay its dangers. Naming no names, of course, but you know of whom I speak.

The book world reels from the effects of the year that shall not speak its name. Increased sales were reported - and not just in digital as you might expect but also in hard copies - but titles that were postponed will begin to appear. There remains a domino effect, though, for books that were perhaps due to hit the shelves this spring have been delayed.

I can vouch for this, for my Rebecca Connolly books generally surface in the UK around March but the third one will not see the light of day here until August. Good thing/bad thing, only time will tell.

(The second, by the by, hits US shelves on January 12 in hardback but I will regale you with that when next we are together.)

In the meantime, I am pressing on with something I am writing on spec. I've given myself until the end of January to complete a first draft because then I have to move onto the fourth in my series, which must be with the publisher by July. Failure to do so will result in a severe finger wagging and perhaps punishment, like being forced to read literary fiction. (I joke, don't write in).

So summing up - Happy New Year, everybody. Keep the faith, we can get through this. 

I must leave you now for Lord Mickey is pacing and it must be time for feeding. It's only a matter of time before Tom (the cat) surfaces from whatever warm spot he has found and goes on the demand. He does not like to be kept waiting.

Resolute

It’s the last day of 2020, the end of a trying year. For many it’s been a downright shitty year. Losses, in one form or another, upon more losses. It's time to take inventory, to take stock in what’s happened and what might in the near and distant future. And that’s what I’m doing this week.

For me, Dec. 31 is a day of reflection each year. This year, despite some defeats, I’m very grateful. To date, my family has remained healthy. My sister, my wife, and I all work in education. No one has taken ill. Likewise, my mother, who has 19 heart stents (yes, 19; not a typo), diabetes, and beat lung cancer, has secluded herself at home with her Kindle, reading four or five novels a week to remain healthy. I had a perforated colon in 2017 and spent about a month in the hospital and had two seven-hour surgeries. So I know better than to take my health for granted. I’m grateful to be healthy right now.

But tomorrow marks a new year, and it’s time for resolutions. More than resolutions, it’s a time to be resolute. I’m all about controlling what you can control. I published two academic papers this fall, and that was great, but fiction remains my love and crime my passion. I’m hoping to start a new series. That begins with small achievable goals that lead to something larger.

First, I want to write every day. I can control that. It might not be at everyone’s ideal time –– typically 4 a.m. or 11 p.m. –– but I can write every day (I got an hour in before my 12-year-old awoke on Christmas morning).

Second, I want to finish the novel I’m working on by May 31.

Third, I want to have a new short story completed and submitted by July.

New Year resolutions? I try to control what I can control and let the chips fall where they may. Here’s hoping 2021 is a better year for everyone.

Bye Bye 2020!

 

It's almost time to say good-bye to 2020. Thank goodness!

When I think about how little I’ve done, writing-wise, in 2020, I feel rather ashamed. But I’ve decided to give myself a break. I haven’t completely stopped writing so that’s a big plus. And I have lots of ideas for the future. Another plus.

In the past year, I’ve done more decorative painting projects and taken a few Zoom classes with Chris Haughey, a designer and teacher who I’ve had the pleasure to take classes from in person. I’m also grateful that I was able to attend the Creative Painting convention in Las Vegas in February, the last time I was out of Los Angeles County. I also started relearning the Swedish I sort of/kind of learned at one point in my life via duolingo.com. It’s been fun to spend a few minutes each day relearning the things I’ve long forgotten. And I did a couple macrame projects, which turned out to be quite fun.

Since Covid is raging here in Los Angeles County, I'm not going to be doing much to celebrate the new year. I'm not much for a New Year's Eve party, anyway. I pretty much hang out at home with the husband and hope that I'll stay awake until midnight.

I did find a few interesting things you can watch online. Las Vegas won’t be doing an in person celebration, but they’ll be streaming an event online which they’ve dubbed “Kiss Off 2020”. Starting at 11:45 pm PST on December 31st they’ll be counting down to the new year. At midnight a 2020 sign will be revealed and then blown up. Then a 2021 sign will be lit up, streamers will come down and there will be a 10-15 minute fireworks display. You can view this virtual event on their Facebook page or their YouTube channel. I’m not sure, but I’m hoping that it will be made available to view later for those of us who don’t want to stay up that late.

The Space Needle will also have a New Year’s Eve celebration they’ll be streaming online via spaceneedle.com/newyears Not sure if this one will be available to watch after the event happens.

If you have kids, there are a lot of Noon Year’s Eve events they can participate in. Apparently, this has been going on for a few years at libraries. This year, of course, it’s moved online. They count down to the new year at noon instead of midnight so the little ones can feel like they’ve participated. Check your local library to see if they have one.

My wish for you in this coming year is that you all stay healthy and safe and that the world returns to normal soon.

#

In other news, the American Dialect Society chose its word of the year. Not unexpectedly it is Covid. In the running were Covid, 2020, antiracism, Before Times, BIPC (Black, Indigenous and People of Color), doomscrolling, pandemic, social distancing, and unprecedented.

The digital word of the year was doomscrolling, obsessively scanning social media and websites for bad news. You haven't done that one, right?

The Zoom-related word of the year was “you’re muted”. In the running were Zoombombing, Zoom fatigue and zumping (Zoom+dumping) which is breaking up with someone via Zoom. I guess I shouldn't be that surprised that zumping is a thing now.

The Pandemic-related word of the year was "social distancing". In the running were contact tracing, coronials (the coronavirus generation for the predicted baby boom in the wake of the pandemic), Covid, flattening the curve and moronavirus, foolish behavior or ideas related to the virus.

The Slang/Informal word of the year was “the rona”, a term for the coronavirus. Covidiot was in the running in this category.

You can read the full account here: https://www.americandialect.org/2020-word-of-the-year-is-covid

Last post…of 2020

by Rick Blechta

Starting in 2014, I’ve kept a running file of each year’s blog posts. It’s always sort of exciting to get to the final one of the year. I also enjoy going back and reading how the year shook down blog-wise. There are always a few where in retrospect, they are real downers as far as mood goes.

Guess what I found in 2020’s lot? Reading this set was difficult. So many bad memories.

New Year’s Eve 2019 found my wife and I spending the holiday with some dear friends out in the country. That year had been pretty brutal for us in a number of ways, them too, so we all toasted the arrival of 2020 with “Good riddance! This new year is going to be a great one for all of us!”

Little did we know.

Actually, there’s a good news story here. Our friends have a small business selling pedal-assist electric bikes, pretty high-end ones. They’re also on a trailway, so there is a strong rental program for people who want to bike the trail, but may need a little “help.” 2020 was their best year ever — by a long way. You see, people weren’t going on vacations so they had money to spend on something like an electric bike. Our friends couldn’t get them into their store fast enough. By the end of May, they’d already sold more than the previous year’s total number of bikes! As pandemic restrictions dropped during the summer, their rental program took off too. Then in the fall, they sold off every single rental bike (discounted) which had never happened before.

Closer to home, my wife’s flute studio had to go online. Every single student said, “Sure! No problem.” It was a lot more work for both of us since I am her recording engineer and chief scanner of annotated music, but it all went well. Additionally, during the summer, most of her students wanted to continue, something that has never happened before. So she had a successful year of teaching to say the least.

So there was a bit of good news for some in 2020.

But for the rest of us…bupkis.

Even writers who already live a hermit-like existence had a tough time. We discussed it here on Type M: having trouble concentrating, being distracted by news feeds and social media more than ever, and worst of all, trying to decide whether to write the pandemic into our novels’ plots — something I still haven’t personally decided.

So in two days we will bid farewell to 2020 — a pretty rotten year by any standard.

I have some hope 2021 might be better, but I am always going to carry the memory of last New Year’s Eve when we kicked 2019 to the door, expecting its younger brother to be ever so much better.

It appears now we were dancing on a grave. I won’t make that mistake on Thursday night!

Starting Over

By Thomas Kies

This will be my last blog of 2020. I certainly won’t be sorry to kick this year’s butt out the door and embrace 2021.

2020 had it all. First and foremost was the pandemic. Sitting in my little corner of the world, I felt relatively safe. A horde of tourists felt the same way. Tourist season here on the coast has literally broken records. Travelling by air seemed risky, but driving here, renting a vacation home, and sunning on the beach felt safe.

But now, covid seems to be creeping closer and closer. Our daily number of infections continues to climb, hospitalizations increase, and now people I know have contracted it. One individual, in his fifties and healthy, died from covid complications.

In addition, 2020 saw out of control wildfires devastating parts of the western United States. Fires seemed to completely consume the continent of Australia, wiping out forests, killing billions of animals.

One after another, hurricanes made landfall, battering the Gulf Coast states and Central America in particular.

Unemployment skyrocketed. Food lines continue to grow. The government seems unwilling or is too dysfunctional to help.

Winding things up this year, an RV in downtown Nashville is packed with explosives and detonated outside of an AT&T Data Center. A recording of a woman telling the immediate area to evacuate immediately is blasted over a loudspeaker on the RV before it explodes. An extravagant suicide? An attack against the communication center? As of this writing, it's a mystery.

Somehow an appropriate way to end the year.

An end of 2020 bright spot? For now, there's toilet paper on store shelves.

Strange year.

So, when I say that I’ve thrown out the first hundred pages of my next book and I’m starting over, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal.

Why did I do that? If I’m bored writing it, the reader is going to be bored. That’s literary sacrilege.

I didn’t have to completely trash it all though. The characters are basically the same, only better…or worse, depending on if they’re a good guy or a bad guy.

The plot is basically the same, except better. The pacing is faster, the dialogue snappier, the descriptions of the scenes more vivid. More show, less tell.

So, writing that first hundred pages that ended up in the trash wasn’t a complete waste of time. If only we could throw 2020 in the trash and start over.

Oh, wait. We are.

Christmas Stories

Christmas resonates so deeply within us because of our holiday memories. I thought I'd share three of mine.

The first happened when I was ten. For some reason I decided to do something extra that Christmas morning so I opted to make pancakes. Which I had never done before. My mom stood by to give advice, but not too much as she believed that the best way to learn was from your mistakes. I served a stack, hot and steaming, to my dad and proudly waited for his confirmation of my culinary expertise. As my old man was a real chow hound, I expected him to wolf them all. When he cut into the pancakes, they oozed moist dough. After his initial bite, I asked what he thought of them. "Kinda mushy," he answered diplomatically. In retrospect, the look on his face was that he wanted to spit them out.

The next year, a used car dealer near my house had decided to augment his inventory of wrecks-on-wheels with Fox minibikes. He'd let us kids tool around the lot, hoping to get us so excited that we'd badger our parents into buying us each one. I'd bring home brochures and tell my mom and dad how cool these minibikes were. We didn't have a lot of money, but to my eleven-year-old brain, that mattered little. I never saw a clue that my folks had bought a minibike but that didn't prove a thing. If nothing else, that my parents were going to such lengths to hide the existence of a minibike only meant that they had purchased one. Christmas Eve I went to bed imagining myself the envy of the neighborhood as I puttered about on my brand-new Fox minibike. I'm sure you've guessed the punch line--there was no minibike under the Christmas tree...or anywhere else. My sister keeps the memory alive by reminding me, "Remember that time when you thought you were going to get a minibike for Christmas? You were so disappointed. That was awesome!"

Story three: Christmas 1973. My best friend and I were back home on leave from the army. After months of military restrictions, we rampaged the town like Visigoth vandals. There wasn't a party we didn't crash, a liquor cabinet we didn't raid, an old girlfriend--hell any girl--that we didn't hit on. The soundtrack for our escapades was "Jessica" from the Almond Brothers as we tore about in my friend's used Chevy, one that he had bought with his enlistment bonus for joining the infantry. But I also recall a bit of poignancy in that this was our last hurrah as footloose bachelors. The responsibilities of adulthood awaited within an uncertain future. When you're on furlough, you wait until the last minute to head back to base and as luck would have it, at the moment my friend was to leave on his trek from New Mexico to Georgia, his car wouldn't start. The clock was ticking and Uncle Sam is very unsympathetic if you're late reporting to duty. But my friend couldn't abandon his car, nor could he afford a new starter. So we took turns that frosty afternoon chipping away at the corroded contacts and trying the starter. Finally, late in the evening, he got the engine to turn over. Not wanting to push his luck, he zoomed away without exchanging more that a hasty, "See you later." Months passed and I managed to connect with him over the phone. I asked about the Chevy. He replied, "That lemon broke down on me twice along the way. I ended up donating it to a guy for a demolition derby. After all the trouble that POS caused, it was almost worth those headaches watching it get smashed to pieces."

Merry Christmas, everyone! See you next year!

Looking Backward and Forward

 By next Friday at midnight -- whatever happens between now and then, if the planet is still turning -- 2020 will be in our rear view mirror. We have called this year by many names -- some of them curses that our mothers would not approve of -- even if she is uttering the same curses when no one is listening. 

To say it has been a bad year is an understatement. But it also has been educational. We've learned things we didn't want to know -- like at what point we become numb to the daily death count. Or, think we have, until we lose someone we know and/or love. Or, until the media reminds us with yet another story that makes us understand once more the toll that COVID-19 has taken on individuals. Today, there was a story about a young woman who gave birth to her child and then died. The article was accompanied by a photo of the day when she and her husband celebrated her pregnancy. They are glowing with happiness. And now she is gone, and he has had to break the news to the other children. 

We can imagine one death, one family devastated. That haunts us. We have learned that this year. Learned it over and over again even when we tried not to see or listen. 

But we've also learned that we need to find time to stay connected with the people we care about.  Once upon a time, before email, my best friend from grad school and I used to write each other real letters. With email, oddly enough, the letters became less frequent. Until the past few months, when one email letter has led to another and we are having an on-going conversation about our lives. 

Some of us, those of us with "companion animals," were reminded of how much we value their companionship. I dropped my cat, Harry, off at the vet's last Wednesday evening for a procedure on Thursday morning. The vet and I were anticipating that I would be able to pick him up on Friday morning. Instead, the blizzard blew through depositing 22.5 + inches in our area. I spent the next six nights realizing that even when Harry is napping in a corner somewhere, the house has a different vibration when he is in it. I was as relieved as he was when I could finally pick him up on Tuesday afternoon.

Something else I learned this year -- vanity is a lot of trouble and sometimes unnecessary. For decades, since I was in my 20s, I first plucked out gray strands and then dyed my hair. I could never find a color that felt exactly right, although I did settle on a cool shade that worked with my skin tone. I thought occasionally of saying to heck with it and letting my hair go gray. But I didn't want people to think I had "stopped trying" or that my hair had turned white after a scare (old superstition). I didn't want to look in the mirror and see that I looked ancient. But this fall, while working from home and unable to get to a hair salon, I chopped my hair into a shape that worked on Zoom. Then, although I'd ordered hair color delivered with my groceries, I decided to see how gray my hair actually was. That was when I realized -- as more and more gray appeared -- that I liked the silver. It was great with my favorite shades of gray and blue. The color worked with my skin tone. Still, I was shocked when several people on Zoom said they liked my hair. Who knew?  The only problem now is that I need to update my author photos.

 I've also learned how to order a delicious meal online. I had used Grub Hub before. Now, I know how to "read" an online menu and find what I want. Last night I had a seafood feast -- fried oysters, crab hush puppies, mussel boil, and coleslaw. All this from a restaurant I had just discovered. And I'm doing my part to support local businesses with an order every couple of weeks -- my reward for learning how to do more with veggies and left-overs.  

Although I would rather have made this discovery under happier circumstances, I have finally become a fan of technology. I like what one can do on Zoom. I also like what one can do with a combination of new technology and old. I found an "animal communicator" online. We talked on the telephone, and then she did a session with Harry using a photo that I had sent her. In case you're interested, Harry has never lived with a dog (I wasn't sure), but he knows what they are. He was curious about the puppy (see cute photo) that is likely to join us in the new year. But he is withholding judgment until he encounters him and sees how he behaves. The session was inspired by my research for a book, but it was also fascinating.

I could go on with the list of things I've learned this year -- some good, some bad. You must have your list as well. I've going to see how many of those things -- for example, the need to get outside and get fresh air or at least open windows even in a pandemic -- translate into New Year's resolutions. 

Happy Holidays and Take Care,

Frankie

Christmas Eve and Chocolate to All

LaNell's Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies

Christmas Eve at last, the beginning of the end of the longest and darkest year in decades and (I pray) the beginning of a better time. This has always been a period of new beginnings for me, Donis, since my birthday falls between Christmas and New Years. Those three events put a decisive punctuation mark at the end of every year. I always feel like I shake the old year off like a dog hauling herself out of a pond so she can trot confidently into the woods, going she knows not where, but on her way.

I'll begin 2021 with a new president, new book coming out February 2, and a shot in the arm as soon as my number comes up. And to celebrate the new dawn of hope, pleas allow me to treat you to my late sister-in-law LaNell’s recipe for boiled chocolate oatmeal cookies - no baking! These are oh, so delicious, and very easy. I have this recipe in LaNell’s handwriting, and have lovingly pressed it into my personal cookbook. 

Happy Holidays to all.

LaNell's Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies

1 stick butter

1/2 cup milk

2/3 cup cocoa powder

2 cups sugar

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp vanilla

3 cups uncooked quick oats

1 cup chopped nuts

Combine first five ingredients in a saucepan and boil two minutes. Add 1 tsp vanilla. Remove from the fire and add 3 cups of uncooked one-minute oats. Add one cup of chopped nuts. Mix in well. Drop by teaspoons-full onto wax paper and let set. Yields about 40 cookies.

Winter solstice hope

I have almost no words for this blog. I echo those of Rick and Douglas; the end of 2020 can't come soon enough. After months of lockdowns, isolation, sacrifice, and economic hardship, here we are in the midst of the holiday season and once again confined to our rooms, unable to fully enjoy cherished celebrations with family and friends as we have in the past. 

Just last week we were cheered by the possibility of light at the end of the tunnel. Not just one vaccine, but several, if we can all hang in long enough to get the whole world vaccinated. We had been buoyed by the election of Biden (yes, even Canadians were thrilled and relieved that perhaps the US would return from its four years of darkness), only to be horrified by the calls to arms and the mad attempts to overturn the election, which continue to this day.

But then this week came news of a mutant virus more contagious and fast moving than the original, as if that one weren't bad enough. The UK is locked down and airports are blocking flights from the UK, all in a desperate but surely futile effort to keep this mutant confined to the UK. 

And so back into the dark we go. 

And yet, 2021 is a new year. I hesitate to ask "what more could possibly go wrong?" because, well... But despite the long wait and the chaos, despite the best destructive efforts of conspiracy theorists and anti-maskers, vaccines hold out hope. Throughout history, humans have celebrated the promise of light and hope in this darkest time of the year. 

So as a symbol of that hope for a better future, I post this simple picture. May its light brighten the world.

And may you find some holiday cheer, no matter how strange the celebration this year, and here's to a better year ahead. 

My wish to all of you

by Rick Blechta

To further illustrate just how miserable 2020 has been, we had an opportunity to witness a once-every-600-years conjunction of the two largest planets in our solar system, Jupiter and Saturn. I’ve been looking forward to this rare event all year. It took place last night, and guess what? The weather here in Ontario was cloudy, as in complete cloud cover, no breaks, with a cold rain.

The entire year has gone like this, one thing after another. The province of Ontario will be going into a complete lockdown, starting on Boxing Day. It should start today, and the lockdown should be far more extensive, but to be honest, commenting further would be getting into a political discussion with which I don’t want to burden anyone.

So here’s where I’m going instead…