Having a Plan

The news this week -- that my laptop insists on delivering to me as breaking news -- has been distracting. Particularly because I'm racing to finish the draft of my nonfiction book while outlining my 1939 thriller. But I realized something important this week. Rather than going along and trying to ignore the news, I need to "go there." I don't do well when I practice positive thinking. Over the years, I've learned that doesn't work because I'm not prepared when, for example, the low tire pressure light comes on as I'm on the interstate on my way to a library event, or when the equipment malfunctions when I'm about to do a Power Point, or when I dribble salad dressing on my blouse right before I'm supposed to speak. So, now I imagine all the things that can go wrong on my way to an event. I print out a copy of my Power Point for myself and a handout of anything I want the audience to be able to see. I have a packet of stain remover if I know I won't have time to change. I feel much more in control when I anticipate and have a plan.

So yesterday when I was trying to write while ignoring the breaking news headline that had popped up on my computer, it occurred to me that I should just stop and do something. On cue my cat Harry strolled into the room. And I acknowledged my "not Boomer" problem. Those of you who have seen Independence Day will recall that Vivica Fox's dog Boomer jumped right out of that car and into the tunnel utility closet when she called to him. He obeyed when he should.

However, Harry is not Boomer. He's a cat, not a dog. He has incredible hearing, but ignores me as if he's deaf. He does not like riding in a car, and will hide under the bed when he sees me bringing in his metal dog crate (big cat). If we need to leave quickly, he is not going to morph into the cat version of Boomer. So yesterday I decided to tackle the problem by running through the Harry scenarios. That inspired me to get out the airline travel carrier I'd ordered for him and put it together. He was curious and spent five minutes inside enjoying the nice, thick cushion. Then I got out the clicker that I bought. The clerk at the pet store assured me that I can train him to come when called. I wanted to try training him, now it's more important. I'm also going to get out the harness that I bought ages ago and have another go at teaching him to walk on leash.

Other items on my list: Buy disposable litter pans. Make a note to put his vaccination papers and medical record into an envelope. Check my own emergency tote that I bought after 9-11. Get out my Army survival manual. . .

And, yes, I am feeling better. I always feel better when I face an issue and do what I can to prepare. Doing something also apparently freed up some brain cells. As I was working at the office at school with Shadow of a Doubt playing in the background (the movie premiered in 1943), it occurred to me that I should be channeling Alfred Hitchcock with my 1939 historical. I can't and don't want to write The Da Vinci Code. I'm more interested in suspense than breakneck speed. And when I began to imagine my book as a Hitchcock thriller, I could see the scenes that had been blurry. The conversation that my villain has with a lovely couple he encounters at the New York World's Fair. His charming manner as he chats with them while watching someone across the room that he suspects is  following him. . .

Of course the outline for the book may be coming together because I've also contemplated writing disaster. I was in a serious panic last week about whether I could actually write a book with a complicated plot, multiple settings, a historical, a thriller. I considered the worst case scenario -- never finishing a book I want so much to write. Now, I'm much calmer, and I have a plan. I'm going full Hitchcock -- reading about and applying his techniques. Whether it works or not, I'm feeling much more in control.
 

A Trip to the Homeland

Donis here. I would love to write about regional idioms till the cows come home, but I'll spare you, Dear Reader, and share several pieces of news instead.

First of all, I've been invited to speak at nine libraries in the Eastern Oklahoma Library District, so I'll be touring the homeland on the Backroads of Eastern Oklahoma. From Sept. 12 through Sept 16, I'll be visiting libraries in Sallisaw, Muldrow, Checotah, Jay, Kansas, Tahlequah, Eufaula, Hulbert, and Muskogee, Oklahoma. At the final event in Muskogee, I'll be joined after my spiel by fellow mystery authors Mary Anna Evans, Will Thomas, and Julia Thomas for a mystery writers' roundtable. All the towns on this tour are fairly small, except for middle-sized Muskogee, which boasts about 40,000 citizens. The library district asked me to come, I expect, because I'm the only person in history to set a series in Muskogee County. A friend of mine said I should use this list of towns as pronunciation test in order to determine who is a native Oklahoman. Good luck. This will be my first trip to Oklahoma in years. To see the full schedule with dates and times, go to my website at www.doniscasey.com. Hope to see you there!

In other news, I'm currently copy editing the advance readers copy of my next Alafair Tucker novel, Forty Dead Men. I received a .jpg of the cover a couple of days ago, along with the editor's blurb. The book is scheduled to appear in February. Here's what it is about: Some people who have experienced a shocking, dangerous, or terrifying event develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is recognized today as a debilitating but potentially treatable mental health condition. Military veterans are a vulnerable group. But PTSD can deliver a knockout blow to anyone.

World War I is over. Alafair is overjoyed that her elder son, George Washington Tucker, has finally returned home from the battlefields of France. Yet she is the only one in the family who senses that he has somehow changed.

Gee Dub moves back into his old bunkhouse quarters, but he’s restless and spends his days roaming. One rainy day while out riding he spies a woman trudging along the country road. She’s thoroughly skittish and rejects his help. So Gee Dub cannily rides for home to enlist his mother in offering the exhausted traveler shelter.

Once made comfortable at the Tucker Farm, Holly Johnson reveals she’s forged her way from Maine to Oklahoma in hopes of finding the soldier she married before he shipped to France. At the war’s end, Daniel Johnson disappeared without a trace. It’s been months. Is he alive? Is she a widow?

Holly is following her only lead—that Dan has connected with his parents who live yonder in Okmulgee. Gee Dub, desperate for some kind of mission, resolves to shepherd Holly through her quest although the prickly young woman spurns any aid. Meanwhile, Alafair has discovered that Gee Dub sleeps with two cartridge boxes under his pillow—boxes containing 20 “Dead Men” each. The boxes are empty, save for one bullet. She recognizes in Gee Dub and Holly that not all war wounds are physical.

Then Holly’s missing husband turns up, shot dead. Gee Dub is arrested on suspicion of murder, and the entire extended Tucker family rallies to his defense. He says he had no reason to do it, but the solitary bullet under Gee Dub’s pillow is gone. Regardless, be he guilty or innocent, his mother will travel any distance and go to any lengths to keep him out of prison.

'Ow's she cuttin', me cocky?

The ongoing posts about dialect, accent, and unique sayings have made me smile, and also made me think about the challenge writers face when creating dialogue in a region or among a group of people with a special lingo. It doesn't have to be an ethnic or geographical group; cops, for example, have their own shorthand for talking among themselves, often referring to the number of the criminal code offence being investigated or the outcome of a call. Outsiders rarely know what the sayings mean, and a discussion among two cops might be incomprehensible to anyone else. Medical personnel, and many other professional groups, have a similar insider language. The writer faces the challenge of how much of this insider language to use, in order to make the scene sound authentic, and how much overwhelms, districts, or confuses the reader.

One of the most unique and colourful, as well as incomprehensible, dialects in the English language is Newfoundlandese. Newfoundland was largely settled two to four hundred years ago by the Irish and West Country English, who brought their own rhythm and dialect with them, and because it's an isolated island, there was little influence from outside until recently. A lively, colourful language evolved, much of it tied to the sea upon which they depended. Some of the unique vocabulary is disappearing now but lingers in the smaller villages and outports. The title phrase in this post means "How are you, my friend?"

My father was a Newfoundlander who, although he moved away as a young man and lived his life as a philosophy professor in Montreal, never lost his love of his homeland and often used phrases unique to there. "Say n'ar word" was one of his favourite, meaning "don't say a word". Another was "knee high to a grasshopper" when referring to something very small. Most Newfoundlanders today can switch back and forth between dialect and standard English, and increasingly the quirky language of the countryside is disappearing, but on my visits there, I found people turned it off and on at will, depending on who they were talking to. Get two Newfoundlanders together, possibly trying to tease a "come from away" like me, and their conversation became incomprehensible.

When I was writing FIRE IN THE STARS, set on the Great Northern Peninsula in western Newfoundland, I wanted to give a hint of the local village language without distracting or confusing the reader. Trying to write "Newfoundlandese" necessitates many apostrophes, as they tend to drop their H's and the G's on the end of ing. The resulting string of written dialogue looks like a mess that the reader struggles to decipher. I opted to sprinkle the examples lightly, to give just a hint of the flavour.

Reaction to my efforts was mixed. Many readers thought I had captured the sound of the language perfectly and they felt as if they were back in that village. A few Newfoundland readers thought I had overdone it and fallen for stereotypes. As a come-from-away, I was very concerned about this possibility, and in fact I had downplayed the dialect in order to avoid it (and for the reason noted above). The language I put in the book was very much what I had heard in the little villages in remote northern Newfoundland.

But any outsider writing about a world that is not their own runs the risk of failing to capture the authentic flavour of a culture. I think we need to do the best we can, research, visit, read, talk to insiders, but then go for it. Venturing into the unknown and exploring new vistas is what writing is all about. If I only wrote about white, middle-aged, urban female psychologists like myself, I would soon run out of ideas.

Not to mention bore myself to death.

You could be doing something iconic and not realize it -or- why pirates speak the way they do

by Rick Blechta

The two posts by Sybil and Aline about British sayings we’ve had recently here on Type M have been very entertaining. I had originally thought today that I would add my thoughts, but then another “left turn idea” (a saying of my mother’s) jumped into my brain and I’d like to discuss that. Don’t ask me how I got to this point, because I honestly couldn’t tell you.

I’m sure most of you are familiar with pirate movies, the most famous of those being Treasure Island which was made for the Walt Disney studios in 1950. British actor Robert Newton created the iconic rolê of Long John Silver and it really is an amazing performance to watch. He completely dominated every scene he was in and made the rolê his alone.

He went on to play Blackbeard and Long John Silver again in subsequent movies, but the die by that time had already been cast. To almost everyone now, pirates speak with Newton’s West Country accent because, well, that’s the way all pirates spoke.

Truth is, they didn’t. Newton was born in Dorset and spent his formative years almost complete in England’s West Country (generally considered the counties of Dorset, Devon, Cornwall and Somerset). When he was cast as Long John, Newton decided to give the character’s speech an amalgam of the regional accents, most heavily drawing on Devon to my ear. When I first visited Devon in 1990, I was charmed that lifelong residents of this beautiful place talked just like pirates. I didn’t hear things like “Avast, me hearties”, or anything, but the accent sounded right out of the Treasure Island I loved so much as a child.

It took a British friend to explain it all to me how the pirate thing came about. True, the West Country provided an awful lot of seafaring men over the years, and some of them did wind up being “bad-uns”, but the truth was that Robert Newton had unintentionally single-handedly given pirates their modern voice. (My friend, Martin Smith, also does a side-splitting imitation of Newton complete with the sideways squint.)

Sidebar: If you’re not aware, September 19th is International Talk Like a Pirate Day and on that date, you’re supposed to speak just like a pirate would. Guess who the “patron saint” of that event is?

Now, the question is did Newton set out to set the mark for how we think of pirates speaking? I’m sure it was just another job for him, but in crafting his performance, he did accomplish exactly that. His performance took over our perceptions of what a right and proper pirate is supposed to sound like. Part of the credit must certainly also go to Robert Louis Stevenson’s original strong characterization of Long John who also dominates the original story. But anyone reading his novel today will certainly have Newton in their ear whenever Long John speaks.

Because that’s the way all pirates talk, innit?

____________________
(The book photo above is from an early 20th Century copy of Treasure Island illustrated by N.C. Wyeth of which I happily inherited a copy from my mother. It is a gorgeous thing with tissue paper covering the fabulous illustrations inside.)

It's Not What You Say It's The Way That You Say It

I enjoyed Sybil's post about popular sayings on both sides of the Atlantic, and I thought it might amuse you to hear a few Scots ones.  The Scots have a rich vein of humor and vocabulary and I've chosen a few of my favorites - with translations where necessary!

Who stole your scone? What's the matter with you?  Said to someone looking annoyed. (A scone - to rhyme with 'gone' - is something between a biscuit and a muffin, recipe on request!)

You make a better door than a window  You're blocking my view

She's up to high doh  She's wound up to the top of the scale.

You look like something the cat's dragged in  A bad hair day plus.

You never died a winter yet  Even if things are bad, you'll come through it as you always have

He got his head in his hands and his lugs to play with  He got into serious trouble.

You're a long time dead  Or as the Romans put it, rather more elegantly, Carpe diem.

What's for you will not go by you  Don't worry, what's meant to happen will happen.

Your head's full of mince and not a tattie in sight  You're talking complete rubbish.  (Mince - hamburger - and tatties - potatoes - is a basic Scottish dish)

It's no aye the loudest bummer's the best bee  My favorite, this one!  The Scots word for bees buzzing is 'bumming' and this means it's not always that the person who makes the most noise is the best.

And now the American idioms I fell in love with when I first came to the States at the age of twenty, spoken by my Californian hostess:  'Well, I'll be a son of a gun!'; 'If that was a snake, it would have bitten me' ; 'This town is for the birds.'

How rich we all are in colorful language!

Making the Deadline … or Not

Several years ago, I asked SJ Rozan to recommend a new series featuring a female police officer. SJ looked up from her lunch and said unequivocally, "Naomi Hirahara's bike cop, Ellie Rush." I ran out, bought, MURDER ON BAMBOO LANE, loved it, taught it, and my students fell in love with Naomi, albeit vicariously (she eventually led a Skype class for me). She has been a dear friend -- and a writer I admire -- since.

Aside from the Ellie Rush series, this week's guest, Naomi Hirahara, is the Edgar Award-winning author of the Mas Arai mystery series, which features a Japanese American gardener and atomic-bomb survivor who solves crimes. Books in this series have been translated into Japanese, Korean and French. She has written a YA novel, 1001 CRANES, which was chosen as an Honor Book for the Youth Literature of the Asian/Pacific American Award for Literature in 2009. She has worked as a journalist, editing the largest Japanese American newspaper in the U.S., and has published numerous nonfiction works. Her short stories have been included in various anthologies.

By Naomi Hirahara


I pride myself in meeting deadlines. I cut my teeth in journalism, and the consequences of not making my deadline were very immediate, visible and audible. We had our own press at our newspaper, so experiencing unhappy pressmen was not my idea of having a good time. It was beneficial, however, to see how our tardiness on the editorial side would set off a domino effect on other parts of the operation -- in particular, production and distribution. One of my late predecessors, in fact, even had a column with the proud title, “Making the Deadline.”

That experience has carried me through writing novels. I know not making the deadline is going to affect my editor and everyone involved in polishing and editing the manuscript, sales, etc. So I don't consider asking for a writing extension a minor request.

But with my last mystery manuscript I needed to see I could get one. As I was balancing a nonfiction book-length project with this mystery one, I carefully timed my writing schedule, I knew that I somehow could get produce the volume of pages. On one crucial day, I wasn't feeling well, not necessarily healthwise but in my head. I had labored with this manuscript and its very big and personal themes and all that was taking a toll on me. I knew that some of middle sections were rushed and the action sequences needed more rewriting. I had to finally take a breath and slow the writing machine down to address these issues. So what did I do? Immediately e-mail my editor/publisher.

One thing I've learned over the years is when I need to deliver unwanted news is take care of it as soon as possible. Whether I'm late to an appointment or need to have a difficult conversation, I don't postpone. That helps no one. So when I feel I'm having problems with my manuscript, I don't wait to the very last minute to contact my editor, I do it as soon as I sense a problem. It's always good, however, to devise a compromise.

In this most recent case, I knew that I could easily complete the whole manuscript aside from the final chapter by the deadline. I promised to turn in the last chapter a week later. So while I know that's a very important to meet deadlines, I also know that it's possible to renegotiate them, too. Just make sure that you keep the lines of communication open. It seems so obvious, but for some, that's the hardest thing to do.

(A version of this essay was first posted on Naomi Hirahara’s Facebook Author Page as part of her Writing Wednesday series. https://www.facebook.com/NaomiHiraharaBooks/

For more information, go to her website, www.naomihirahara.com.

And yes, she did meet her negotiated deadline! The seventh and final Mas Arai mystery will be released in March 2018 in conjunction with Left Coast Crime Reno, in which she will be an honored guest with William Kent Krueger.)

The Friend I Never Met



RULA QUAWAS

Yesterday the New York Times announced the death of Rula Quawas,  a Jordanian woman, who died at the age of 57. She was a prominent academic and champion of women's rights.

She was my friend.

It came about in a strange way. When she was studying in the United States she did a paper on my first novel, Come Spring. As I recall, she identified with the emotions of a woman coming to a strange land. The feelings common to outsiders is nearly universal, whether they are felt by a student going off to college, a young bride moving to a different state, or even professionals beginning a new job.

Rula specialized in feminism in American literature and founded the Women's Studies Center at the University of Jordan. I was humbled that she included my book on her required reading list.

When I read this article in the Times, I unwrapped the six needlepoint coasters she made for me. I want to display them in my office in a special shadow box. We exchanged Christmas cards and a number of letters.

Her biography is lengthy and a litany of prestigious awards. She received a doctorate in American literature and feminist theory from the University of Texas. In 2013 she was named a Fulbright scholar in residence to the University of Vermont. In 2009 Princes Basma Bint Talai presented her with a Meritorious Honor Award for Leadership and Dedication for her efforts to empower women.

Several times she invited me to come to Jordan and visit. I day-dreamed about the trip but never did. It sounded like an overwhelmingly exotic thing to do.

Novels touch in people in unexpected ways. Who would have thought that the loneliness of a woman on the plains of Western Kansas would strike a common chord with a Jordanian intellectual?

I was very sorry to read about the death of this courageous and inspirational woman.

Where are we all headed?

By “we” I mean writers. And by “headed” I mean, What will the future of professional writing look like?

This is a topic I’ve found myself discussing often recently. I mentor writing teachers often, and when we talk about how to best prepare student writers for the future, I keep coming back to NetFlix.

Crazy for a book lover to say that? Maybe. But maybe not.

I live in a house connected to a dorm that is home to 180 teenagers, and I teach and work with these students eight to 12 hours a day. I know their interests and have a pretty good handle on what makes this group of next-generation professional writers tick. And as a writing instructor and literature teacher, I need to meet students where they are as I create curricula (for students) and design workshops (for writing instructors).

This is where it gets interesting: where are student writers learning the art of narrative?

When teaching Dickens or Conan Doyle, we talk about serial publications and discuss how readers eagerly awaited the next – weekly – installment of the story. Recently, I found myself in conversations where I said, Kids are learning narrative structure and the uses of narrative tension from shows they watch (or “binge watch”) on Netflix. (Admittedly, as someone trying hopelessly to catch up to the upcoming season of House of Cards, I know where they’re coming from.)

Would I rather students actually read Dickens’s novels or all of Conan Doyle’s work (or even the Harry Potter books instead of viewing the films)? No doubt. But I have reason to be hopeful. This spring, I offered my Crime Literature students an alternative to our term paper: Create an NPR-style podcast. S-Town is popular among them. Not all, but maybe a third of the class took me up on it. They produced detailed scripts (complete with background music, street sounds, etc), researched widely and deeply (the paper topic is Discuss the symbiotic relationship between crime and society, so it’s wide open), and produced 8-minute podcasts. And these were terrific, impressing peer students, my English department colleagues, and blowing me away.

The assignment didn’t introduce them to television writing per se, but it did expose them to the digital form – and just maybe to the place where narrative and technology will intersect in their futures.

Happy as Larry

I watch a lot of British TV, especially in the summer when the TV networks in the U.S. are largely on hiatus. My latest viewing: Broadchurch, Doc Martin, The Tunnel and The Great British Baking Show. I talked about my obsession with GBBS awhile back on Type M. You can read about that here.

I find the differences between American and British English endlessly fascinating so, as I watch, I collect words and phrases that aren’t normally used here in the U.S. Or at least I’ve never heard them. I can generally figure out what they mean from context, but not always. Here are a few I found particularly interesting:

Happy as Larry – I’ve heard ‘happy as a lark’ and ‘happy as a clam’, but never anything to do with someone named Larry. Just who is this Larry and why is he so happy?

Most comments on this expression reference the Australian boxer Larry Foley (1847-1917) who never lost a fight. When he retired at 32, he collected a purse of 1,000 pounds for his final fight and professed to being happy with his lot. This is about the time the phrase is first cited. There’s another suggestion that it comes from an Australian and New Zealand term larrikin, a name for a street rowdy or young urban hooligan from the 1860s or so. I prefer the boxer reference so that’s what I’m going with.

Keep your hair on – I heard this one on the second season of the The Tunnel. In the U.S., I hear “keep your shirt on”, but I’ve never heard anything about keeping hair on. They both mean remain calm and stop being so angry about something. I have to admit, I prefer “don’t get your knickers in a twist”, which I gather is another Britishism. I don’t remember where I heard or read this one, but it’s something I’ve used for a long time.

Drive a coach and horses through... Apparently, this means to completely destroy something, a plan, a rule, a life. The early uses seem to be regarding legislation where someone has found a hole so large you could figuratively drive a coach and horses through it, thus rendering it useless. Someone in The Tunnel said he felt like someone had “driven a coach and horses through his life”.

Sleep for England – From the context, I assumed this meant slept a long time or very soundly. From what I’ve read online it means that if there were an English national sleeping team, the person would be on it. I gather there are other variants such as “drink for England”

Another one I heard was “what it says on the 10”. I couldn’t find out anything about this one and I couldn’t really figure it out from the context. Did I hear it wrong? Anybody have any idea what it means?

My favorite expression of all time, though, comes from the American south: “Madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory.” One of these days I’ll figure out how to get that one in a story

Type M readers, do you have any favorite expressions?

Exigency

by Rick Blechta

noun: exigency; plural noun: exigencies
an urgent need or demand.
“Women worked long hours when the exigencies of the family economy demanded it.”
synonyms: need, demand, requirement, necessity

This has become a big word around the Blechta household. My wife Vicki, the French linguist, likes to use it (exigence) when talking about the way she approaches music and teaching, and it’s rubbed off on me. To sum up a whole lot of thoughts, the meaning for us is to make sure you’re doing a task correctly — and doing it until it’s completely done.

It’s never good to fake things or take unnecessary shortcuts in life, even when driven by contingencies, and if you are not forced onto that path, you should never fall victim to that siren song. At least that’s what my parents tried to drive into my head. It took me a long time and many unnecessary hard knocks before I realized they weren’t just being “annoying parents”.

It is tough to be that kind of demanding on yourself. The writer’s craft is one place positively brimming with reasons to be particularly exigent. Has everything been a researched as it should be? Is every word correct and the best choice? How about grammatical construction, spelling, correct word usage? The list goes on and on. Handing in a manuscript full of (usually avoidable) errors shows lack of professionalism and craftsmanship. If pressed, every writer would swear that they don’t cut corners. I definitely would. But truth be told, I have been guilty of it at times, even though there’s a certain self-loathing involved.

Right now, I’m faced with it every day while doing my Last Great Graphic Design Job, the Bouchercon 2017 Programme Book. I spent uncounted (but not unfelt) hours logging in over 700 author photos, all of which needed to be cropped and adjusted to fit the design with which I’d come up. All ads needed to be check thoroughly so I could be sure they’d print properly. And now as I’m laying out the pages, I have to check, re-check, and re-check again that I haven’t made any errors in executing my page designs.

It is a pain for sure, but in the end, the heart of the meaning of exigency is the search for perfection. And the only way to attempt to achieve perfection is through the use of extreme exigence.

I’ll let you know if ever do reach that exalted summit in a project.

KILLER WOMEN IN PRINCE EDWARD COUNTY

This weekend I'm pleased to welcome my good friend Janet Kellough as our special Type M guest.  Janet is the author of The Thaddeus Lewis Mystery Series. The fifth book in the series, Wishful Seeing was short-listed for the Crime Writers of Canada Arthur Ellis Best Novel Award. The sixth “Thaddeus” book, The Heart Balm Tort was released in July. To learn more about her books, check out her website.

She's a native-born daughter of Prince Edward County, Ontario, where the Thaddeus Lewis books are set, and she's here now to tell us about an exciting new venture she and Vicki Delany are spearheading. 

If you’re a female writer, you’ve probably read the articles and participated in the discussions – about how women’s books aren’t taken as seriously or reviewed as often as male-authored books; about how women are more often published in paperback than in hardcover, which impacts their incomes; about how less frequently they are featured at literary festivals; and how so many female authors have tried to get around the barriers by disguising their pennames that now any author who uses initials is automatically assumed to be female.

I’m a female writer. I get as ticked off by this stuff as anybody else. But anyone who knows me knows that I’m always looking for solutions. What if, I thought, we just go ahead and do our own thing? What if we start a festival that showcases Canadian women crime writers? There’s a niche available – both the Bloody Words Conference and the Scene of the Crime Festival have disappeared, leaving a void that is felt by all crime writers. I could do this. After all, I have a background in small concert production, and writers have got to be easier to herd than fiddlers, don’t they? (We’ll see.) I could do it on my home turf – Prince Edward County Ontario., the country’s newest tourist mecca.

Wisely or not, fellow author Vicki Delany agreed with me, as did the owner of The County’s independent bookstore Books & Co., graphic designer Christine Renaud and foodie Theresa Durning. Macaulay Heritage Park and Picton Library offered their cooperation. And two local wineries, The Grange and Black Prince came aboard as sponsors. The Women Killing It Crime Writers’ Festival was experiencing a remarkably easy birth.

And the writers we contacted were unbelievably enthusiastic and supportive. New York Times bestseller Susanna Kearsley said yes. So did Maureen Jennings of Murdoch Mystery fame. Canadian bestselling authors Barbara Fradkin and R.J. Harlick are coming. Bony Blithe winner Elizabeth J. Duncan will be on hand, as will Melodie Campbell and Nazneen Sheikh. Local author Robin Timmerman is featured. And Mary Jane Maffini, aka Victoria Abbott, agreed not only to participate, but to hold a Saturday morning (Sept. 2) workshop at the library.

And this won’t be some stodgy old literary festival. We’re talking women here. There will be refreshments – of both the sticky and liquid variety. And fun, starting with Friday night (Sept. 1) at The Mysterious Affair “table-hopping” event, where each author has five minutes to tell a table of readers all about her book; Saturday afternoon’s Murder at the Vicarage, an elegant Victorian tea in an historic home featuring the writers of lighter fare (hats and gloves optional); and Saturday evening’s Appointment with Death (and Dessert) with the authors of grittier stories, who will discuss life and death and sex and other fun stuff. We aim to raise the roof.

Will the festival be successful? I’m pretty confident that it will. Will male readers come? Because we need their support too. I hope so. Will it turn into an annual event? Chances are good. Because we’re women. And we know how to kill it.

The Women Killing It Crime Writers’ Festival in Prince Edward County runs September 1^st & 2^nd in Picton, Ontario. For schedule and ticket info visit our Facebook page or go straight to the WKI page at Eventbrite.ca

Flying Time

I'm late posting today because I forgot to check the calendar. These days if I don't check my calendar when I get up in the morning, I'm likely not to be where I should be or to forget something I need to do. That happens in the summer.

During the summer, I'm likely to be so deep into writing that I forget what day of the week it is. Today, I knew it was Friday but what I was thinking about is that I have only another month left before school begins. I was wishing I had more time because I'd had a brilliant idea – about a book that I haven't started yet, about third in the queue.

But now I have the plot. An idea that came to me when I woke up early and started thinking about a situation I needed to deal with because it was distracting me. I make a telephone call, got someone else to take care of it, and then realized thinking about the worst case scenario had given me the method of death and a bunch of suspects for that book I don't have time to start now.

What I need to do today is get into my office at school and take care of some emails I need to return. I would like to be more efficient – deal with each email as it comes in. But I've been trying to do similar tasks all at the same time. The only problem with that is that I can't forget what I haven't done, and more items get added to the list. And something unexpected pops up. And the game plan gets shot to whatever.

I admit it. I am in a continuing state of frustration because I am never as efficient as I'd like to be. I have so many ideas and so little time to get it all done. It shouldn't be a choice between speed and quality. On the other hand, if I didn't have one eye on the clock and the other on the calendar, I would spend the next five years doing research and tinkering. I have two books – one nonfiction, the other my historical thriller – that I just need to get down on paper. Finish the first drafts. Then revise. And then I can start the next book in the queue.

Anyone have any tips on making peace with time?

Summaries: How to be Brief but Brilliant

Last Friday, Charlotte wrote about the agony of having to write a one-page synopsis of the great and glorious piece of literature that you have worked and slaved over for a year or two. How can it be done? How do you reduce your brilliant tome to its barest essence in such a way that readers will be whipped into a frenzy of anticipation and beat down the doors of their local bookstore in their desire to get their hands on your book the minute it comes out? In my humble opinion the one of the hardest things to do well is a compelling summary.

Yet being able to summarize your book in a few words and make it interesting is an incredibly important skill for an author to have. Every time one of their authors finishes a book, my publisher asks for a 250-300 word summary they can use to create advertising material—blurbs, letters to reviews, that sort of thing. In fact, I just had to go through this rather painful exercise this very week for my upcoming release, Forty Dead Men, which is due to drop in February 2018. I sent two, because in 250 words, you really have to decide what to reveal and what not to reveal. So I put the emphasis on a particular plot point in one summary and on another plot point in the second. Let the publisher decide, that was how I justified myself. In the end, they combined the two!

Here’s the summary technique I’ve developed over my dozen years of novel-writing: I start by writing a summary of the story that is as long, wordy, flowery, poetic, and descriptive as I think it needs to be, and word-count take the hindmost. Then I go back and cut out the flowers and the poetry. Then out comes the descriptive. I don’t need to say who this character is. This plot point or side story which I mentioned is not a crucial element of the story. In the fifth draft, I realize I don’t need this sentence. In the sixth draft, I don’t need this clause. This word. By the the tenth draft, the summary is as distilled and to the point as Scotch whiskey.

Teasing loose the logjams

Barbara here. These are the lazy, hazy days of summer, when I can be found lounging on the dock at the lake, sipping that evening drink, and waiting for the barbecue to work its magic without dirtying a single pot or bowl. The light lingers, the final rays of sun stay warm...

The TV is rarely turned on. The news is followed but at a distance. In Canada at least, it seems like a sacrilege to waste time indoors in front of the babble box when the all-too-precious days of summer are calling.

It would be nice to take a break from all work, to do nothing but read, eat, sleep, and hang out with friends. But writing is a full-time, 24/7 job. Deadlines beckon, and in the writing business, there is no one but ourselves to snap the whip. My novels usually take about a year to complete, and during that year the publisher and editor sit quietly, trusting that the completed work will land in their inbox by the contracted deadline. So it's up to me to set the mini-deadlines. It's easy to let a day slip by without writing, saying "oh, I'll make it up tomorrow". Easier still to let the second day go by, and pretty soon, I've forgotten where I was going in the book, I've lost the momentum, and the whole project feels like one giant millstone. I don't know how many times in the past few weeks I have said "I hate this book, I don't know where it's going but I'm afraid it's nowhere."

People often ask me if I write every day. I say yes, I write in some fashion. It's the only way the book will get written. But sometimes the "writing" is really thinking. Pondering the next step, untangling a mess, trying to figure out where it should go next. This thinking is essential, because in my modified "pantser" style of writing, I often don't know what ought to come next. So even though I may barely put pen to paper, by thinking, I may dislodge an entire logjam of ideas to move the story forward another few chapters.

For me, one of the worst logjams occurs when I am nearing the end of a book, before I have figured out how it will end. Before I have figured out how the main character will solve the mess or who the villain will prove to be. I am at that point in my current WIP, the third Amanda Doucette mystery, Prisoners of Hope. I have half a dozen story threads on the go, a few suspects, and a bubbling cauldron of problems. Amanda is on the move, chasing down one of the suspects. But will that suspect be THE one? Or will there be more twists?

One of the elements I love and hate most about writing mysteries is this climax, where everything has to come together simultaneously. The main character must figure it out at the last minute, just ahead of the reader, and the whole solution must be revealed in a dramatic, exciting finish. Drawing room discussions of guilt or innocence, a la Hercule Poirot, or courtroom accusations like Perry Mason are now a cliche, and todays' readers expect more. Moreover, twenty-page epilogues to tie up all the loose ends are an anti-climax. As much as possible, loose ends should be explained in the main climax.

All this – the big reveal, the dramatic finish, the maintenance of suspense, and the tying up of loose ends – is no easy feat. No wonder I get exhausted just thinking about it, and am currently circling around and around the ending. I poke away at the logjam as I drive the car, walk the dogs, wash the dishes, and even as I sit on the dock with my glass of wine, letting the evening haze settle over me. I know the answer will probably not come in a single stroke of brilliance but in a series of small "what ifs" that nudge the logjam from the edges, teasing possibilities free until something shifts and the way forward is revealed.

I know it will happen. I have learned, after fourteen books, to trust that I will eventually figure it out. But it always feels as if this time, I may crash and burn.

Hopefully not.

Going back in time

by Rick Blechta

The two most recent posts on Type M by Mario this weekend and Aline yesterday have put a new thought in my head for this week’s post.

Both these posts look to the future or at least the present and how it relates to the future. The post I’ve been unsuccessfully trying to finish for the past two weeks also dealt with looking into the future a bit. I’ve decided that it couldn’t be finished for a good reason, and I also don’t want to beat a dead horse since both Mario and Aline spoke eloquently on some of the points that I was going to make.

Instead, I’ll look back…sort of.

I grew up in a very historic part of the US: the New York area. Back in 1961, my hometown of Mamaroneck celebrated 300 years of existence. Now that isn’t very much time if you compare Mamaroneck with Europe and other places, but in the US, 300 years is “old”.

A great deal of the early Revolutionary War was fought in and around New York and the area is positively littered with historical plaques keeping the past in constant view if you’re paying attention.

Now, my next statement is purely subjective, but to me, where I grew up feels old.

Mamaroneck is located on the Long Island Sound, but my favourite place in the area is the majestic Hudson River Valley. It just resonates with me. Its physical beauty, its history, too, just speak to me. That perhaps explains the psychological reason I decided to set the “headquarters” of my protagonists for this series in this picturesque place.

I was down there for nine days this July, and it really hit me strongly how much the history of the Hudson Valley is affecting the writing of my novel-in-progress. Certainly my main character has been shaped by it. A non-repentant Luddite, his personality is one that tends to look back rather than forward. My other protagonist is completely the opposite which is why they find each other — or I might say need each other — and why they are seeming to work so well as characters since they each jostle the other’s sensibilities.

The interesting thing is I didn’t set out to write my novel in this way. I was going to have a hardened former cop taking a young but very smart amateur under his wing in order to solve the problem to which I’d set them. It wasn’t until I began doing background research onsite in the Hudson Valley that all these historical ideas began to present themselves as background to why one of the characters behaves as he does. My recent trip down there only served to reinforce that idea.

Now I find myself drawn into doing more historical research going right back to the roots of European settlement of the area (if that isn’t too politically incorrect), and who knows, perhaps even further.

So, as usual, Blechta is going the opposite direction of everyone else.

Too Much Information

I can still remember the utter thrill I felt when I held my first book. It was a bit like when I held my first baby but without the rush of pure terror at the thought that if I got it just a little bit wrong he could just, well, die.

But first book? Pure, uncomplicated joy. Before the internet, our words were writ on water until they appeared in solid print to be our legacy. That word sounds a bit pompous but I guess most of us are happy to think that even after we're no longer here, someone could still read our books and share our thoughts and ideas.

In our post-internet world, we have a different legacy problem. There's too much information about us out there. Every word we write – every email, every tweet – is recorded somewhere. It was Oliver Cromwell who, when he was having his portrait painted, insisted it should be done with 'warts and all'. (And it was. You can view them at the National Portrait Gallery in London.) All our 'warts' – the ill-considered comment, the rushed article sloppily written, the book we felt just didn't quite work – are there on display in merciless perpetuity. It is like Omar Khayyam's Moving Finger; 'Not all Thy Piety or Wit/ Shall lure it back to cancel half a line/ Nor all Thy Tears wash out a word of it.'

I remember a popular commercial promoting gas cookers that showed a flame leaping up as a woman snapped her fingers, with the slogan,'Don't you just love being in control?' When it comes to our legacy we don't have control any more.

Don't get me wrong – I'm devoutly grateful that ebooks have given my backlist a flourishing new existence. And all my books are out there – except one, that precious first one I mentioned. I've never given permission for it to be digitised.

It wasn't such a bad book. I promise you that there are plenty of much worse books still being published. But when I wrote it I was still, so to speak, a work in progress and there was a gulf between that one and the second, where I had found my voice. I would hate a new reader to judge me on the first one, so it's not available.

Unless, of course, you go to amazon.co.uk where, for a mere £105 you can find a second-hand large print copy. Yes, well... But I'd hate you to be disappointed. Why not get The Third Sin, the latest DI Marjory Fleming novel, instead for a paltry £4.31 on Kindle?

Our future jobs

First off, my newest book, University of Doom, is out. I blogged about it last month so you can read about it there.

Lately, what's really gotten me wound up is talk about a Universal Basic Income. What drives this idea is that advances in Artificial Intelligence and automation are going to push a lot of people out of a job with no work to turn to. The most popular guess is that by 2030, robots will have replaced fifty percent of all jobs. Self-driving cars are about five years away, and the first two industries to be hit hard by them are taxis (to include Uber and Lyft) and commercial trucking. In the US, we have around 3.5 million commercial truck drivers, and there's plenty of speculation about how many of them will lose their jobs to automation. In the Wolverine movie, Logan, there's a scene where robotic trucks make a cameo appearance. It's a quick look, but telling in how no one in the movie remarks about them. Plus, we have to account for the ripple affect as the elimination of those drivers will impact truck stops, diners, repair facilities, and the industry's administrative overhead.

Elon Musk is among those giving the most dire of warnings. The problem is, without jobs, what will people do for money? Representative Chris Lee of Hawaii has proposed discussing the state issuing a Universal Basic Income, but as the idea is still in its infancy, the details are yet to be sorted out. As in who gets it? How much will it be? Where does the money come from?

Which got me thinking about the world of the future as we see in it in science fiction. We seldom see people in regular jobs. We have cops, guards, soldiers, the IT geeks, assorted pilots and crew, scientists, and those people at the top calling the shots. Once in a while we might see a clerk (though according to the futurists, those jobs will be among the first to go). And what about us writers? Will we be replaced by robots? The publishing industry would love that. (I call dibs on that story idea.)

This is obviously a huge topic and one I'll return to in the future. What I'm most curious about is crime in the future. Because of technology, fraud and theft have become more widespread. Our dependence on evermore prevalent narcotics is a major factor in violent crime, and the sex-slavery trade is as prolific as ever. So it seems, we crime writers will not lack for inspiration.

@#%$*** Synopsis

I did it. I finally finished a synopsis for a l-o-n-g historical novel that actually fits on one page. The whole undertaking made me totally miserable. In fact, there are a lot of writing chores that I find disagreeable.

That's the way it is with any job. We only love about 55% percent of the work and the rest is tedious, boring, or unbelievably difficult. Many teachers hate grading papers but love the interaction of the classroom. Truck drivers love to drive but hate the paperwork involved with the job. Policemen don't like writing reports. Waitresses don't like the cleanup work after the place closes for the night.

A good deal of the writing life is spent on non-creative activities. I just sent all the requested data for an upcoming event so the organizer can do a good job with promotion. Sadly, I probably get an email a week wondering when I'm going to write a sequel to Come Spring. I explain once more that my original editor was fired and I didn't have a contract for the other two books. But really, since I own all the rights I should have it up on Kindle. I simply haven't taken the time.

And then there is social media. Boy howdy. It's like navigating a maze. I know I don't do as much as I should. But I have good intentions.

 I emailed my agency to see if royalty statements had been sent for my non-fiction book. I redid a bio for an upcoming event. I contacted my Poisoned Pen buddies to see if it was a good idea to switch my domain registration to my new site.

The newest edition of Author's Guild's magazine arrived and I immediately read a terrific interview of Dennis Palumbo, who also publishes with Poisoned Pen. Although I'm registered for Bouchercon which will be in Canada this year, I haven't booked my flight. Plus I'm worried that I didn't give myself enough downtime before I go to Kansas for a signing at the Garnett Public Library.

I didn't get any writing done on my new mystery today. That's fatal. I must put that first before I become entangled by writing chores.

Instead of putting my shoulder to the wheel, I'll join my knitting group! Tomorrow is another day.

Summer Musings (and Excursions)

This summer, I’ve traveled to Tampa, Fla., Bozeman, Mt., Millinocket, Me., and Old Orchard Beach, Me.; and soon I'll be in Richmond, Va., and then Fitchburg, Mass.

Summer is a time to recharge and move forward. I usually work on a new book –– jotting notes, outlining, and getting the project off the ground. But this year, I’m trying to finish a book, writing and rewriting. A lot. I began the book a year ago. It’s taken much longer than anticipated (and much longer than it typically takes me). I had a hard time finding the voice. I wrote the opening 50 pages three times, changed point of view and tense each time until I got those right. Now I’m 250 pages in. Jogs and long walks are helping me plot (“I’m going writing,” I tell my wife). I started with an eight (or so)-page outline, which I’ve followed somewhat. But the story usually knows where it wants to go, and I learned a long time ago to get out of its way and try to solve the mystery –– in a logical manner –– with my sleuth. If the book stalls, I missed a clue, and I go back and reread what I’ve written. This will keep me busy until the school year starts up again –– and well into the fall.

I hadn’t planned on all the travel, but some educational consulting opportunities arose –– and I enjoy working with teachers who take their craft seriously enough to give up a week in the summer –– so I’ve mixed work and play. The result has been a lot of time in the car or on a plane with books (both audio and print). My reading list to date is The Sympathizer (2015), by Viet Thanh Nguyen; Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption (2014), by Bryan Stevenson; Passing (1929), by Nella Larsen; and Here First (2000), a collection of biographical essays by Native American writers. All are highly recommended. But if you’re reading this blog, you probably know that The Sympathizer won the Pulitzer and the Edgar, so I’m not going to plug that book –– you’ll read it anyway.

And, if you’re reading this post, you probably know of Bryan Stevenson’s incredible humanitarian work on behalf of the oppressed in the criminal justice system, so I’ll leave that one alone, too. I will, however, plug Nella Larsen’s hundred-page gem that speaks of race as a currency, and of Here First –– you know of Sherman Alexie’s work; reading this will allow you a chance to meet a variety of other native American writers. The collection is both fascinating and compelling.

Right now, I’ll be in Richmond, Va., watching my daughter play lacrosse and listened to Passing (more than once) on our 10-hour drive from Maine.

I hope you’re getting as much reading and writing done as I am this summer.

Musings On the Open Road

I recently drove from Southern California to Seattle to visit my mother for her 95th birthday. (Yay, Mom! Happy Birthday!) Okay I didn't actually do the driving. My husband prefers that honor while I’d rather be the navigator/passenger. That's 24 hours or so of driving if you go the I-5 route, which we did on the way up. On the way back, we drove down the Oregon and California coasts until we got to around San Francisco where we cut inland and did the rest of the trip on I-5. (Side note here. It’s very odd for me to refer to I-5 as I-5. When I’m here in So. Cal., I refer to it as “the 5” as everyone else does down here. That’s a whole other, and interesting, story. You can read the origins of this here: https://www.kcet.org/shows/lost-la/the-5-the-101-the-405-why-southern-californians-love-saying-the-before-freeway-numbers)

As you might guess, there's lots of time to muse over things on that long a drive. Yes, we did talk and listen to a couple of the Cat Who books on tape (really, tape, our car is old enough to have a tape deck). Sometimes, though, it was just nice to watch the scenery go by and muse over random things. Here are my musings:

Until I became a writer, I didn’t really think that much about sand on beaches. How there’s a lot of different colors and textures around the world. Yes, I’ve been to all sorts of beaches, in the South Pacific (Tahiti, Moorea, Bora Bora), the Caribbean, East Coast of the U.S., up and down the West Coast of the U.S., Hawaii, Mexico and the Gulf Coast of Florida. I remember there being differences, but it wasn’t until I started writing my mystery series set in the fictional Los Angeles County beach city of Vista Beach, did I think about how to describe the sand. Now when I visit areas, I notice things more.

Somewhere along the coast of Oregon

Like how the sand on the beach here, where I live, is a light brown color and can get very hot when the air temperature is hot and is very hard to walk on. But the sand on the Gulf Coast of Florida is coarser and lighter in color and, even when the temperature was in the 90s, it was still fairly cool and easier to walk on. On this trip, I noticed the sand along the Oregon coast, which is very fine, but more of a gray color than brown. These are important differences for a writer. If you write a story that features a beach and you get the details wrong, someone’s going to notice.

The next thing I thought about on this trip was how something is phrased can affect behavior. Think about it. Doesn’t “I need to talk WITH you” sound better than “I need to talk TO you”? Don’t you dread a little bit more the “to” phrasing?

In California and Oregon I noticed a difference between signs along U.S. 101. In Oregon, it’s “Keep Right Except to Pass”. You know what, that’s what everyone did. Kept right as a default and only got into the left lane when passing. But, as soon as we crossed into California, it became “Slower Traffic Keep Right”. Same thing really, but now more cars stayed in the left lane as a default. I mean, really, does anyone want to admit that their vehicle is “slower” than others? Okay, maybe this is a little silly, but I really did see a behavior difference. And I have no doubt that how something is phrased can produce behavior differences in people.

So that’s what this writer thought about on a long driving trip. What do you all ponder on the open road?

A Thought About Research

I was in awe when I read Barbara's post on Wednesday about her working vacation. Reading about the time she spent on Georgian Bay doing research for her book reminded me of what I am never likely to do in the name of research. I love water, and I would happily have gone to Georgian Bay. But I would not have camped out. The only time I have ever slept in a tent was during basic training in the Army. I did not enjoy it. And the idea that I might wake up in a tent during a thunderstorm is an additional reason why my idea of "roughing it" is staying in a cabin. I don't like bugs. I don't like rattlesnakes. I worry about ticks.

Being reminded that I am not the outdoor type is depressing. I would love to plunge into research that takes me into the wilderness. In fact, I do field research. I go to my settings. I take photos and make notes. But since I write books and stories set in the past or the near-future, I am looking backward or imagining forward. I read other people's accounts of living through a flood or a hurricane. I watch news videos. I read geographic reports. I try to get as close as I can to the actual experience.

I have done experiments such as being locked in a car truck while tied up. I've visited a virtual reality lab.

What would happen if I challenged myself to more outdoor adventures?. Would that affect what I write about and how I write? I did go to Alaska on a cruise, and I allowed my traveling companion to talk me into white-water rafting and a helicopter ride to a glacier. . .but what I really need for the book I'm working on is to be aboard a train in a Pullman coach in 1939.

Three Degrees of Separation

I finally finished the rewrites for Forty Dead Men a few minutes ago. I have a book review to write, and another book to read for review. Tomorrow my husband Don goes in for an outpatient biopsy, which the doc tells us is just a precaution. (which doesn't mean either of us is looking forward to it). What I really do look forward to is Wolf Hall.

Louis Jenkins (l) and Don Koozer (r) @1965

Don and I don't watch much on television except for the occasional movie or the rare series binge-watch. (All right, I love Game of Thrones, books and series) When I find something that we both really like to watch, it is a nice bonding experience. We talk it over afterwards, and a good movie will take my mind off my troubles for a few hours. For the past few evenings we’ve enjoyed binge-watching the PBS series Wolf Hall, based on Hilary Mantel’s two wonderful novels about Henry VIII’s court and Thomas Cromwell, Wolf Hall and Bringing Up the Bodies. No matter what your opinion of Mantel’s take on Cromwell, the PBS production is gorgeous and the acting is spectacular. Claire Foy makes an excellent Anne Boleyn, and Damian Lewis is compelling as Henry. Of course, I’d watch Lewis read the phone book and enjoy it, but several professional critics agree with my assessment.

Yet as wonderful as the entire cast is, Mark Rylance as Cromwell is eye-poppingly good, if that’s a word. How is it that a person can convey the entire gamut of human thought and emotion without ever saying a word? I had only seen Mark Rylance in one other major production before Wolf Hall, (The Other Boleyn Girl) but I have known of him for years. That is because he and I only have three degrees of separation.

My darling husband, Don Koozer, grew up in Enid, Oklahoma. Don is a literate person who has been interested in writing, especially poetry, since he was a very young man. When he was an undergraduate at Phillips University, he was one of a posse of four young men who liked to gather and talk literature (Among other things. They were four idiot college guys, after all.) One of the crew was Louis Jenkins, who for some years was Don’s best friend. Eventually, Louis moved to Minnesota and Don moved to Arizona, and though they still keep in touch, they have both lived long lives apart.

Don never lost his interest in poetry, and since his retirement he has had dozens of poems published as well as two books of collected works. But Louis became a professional poet.

Can you support yourself as a professional poet? What do you think? However, between working in libraries and driving UPS trucks, Louis actually became famous. He has published many many books of collected works, has read his work several times on Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion, and had a play based on his work produced and performed by—you guessed it—Mark Rylance.

Mark Rylance was the director of the Globe Theatre in London for years. He has won a British BAFTA award, two Olivier Awards, and three Tonys. And for two of those Tony acceptance speeches, he recited poems by Louis Jenkins. I can quite understand why Rylance likes Jenkins and Jenkins likes Koozer. They’re all…let us say…quirky. Jenkins’ prose poems are weird, hilarious, and deep all at the same time. If you didn’t see the Tony presentations, here is a link to the 2011 ceremony and Rylance’s fabulous recitation of Louis’ poem “Walking Through Walls.”

I like historical fiction and historical drama, so I was disposed to enjoy Wolf Hall in any event, but Rylance’s Cromwell is such a wonder that I’m proud to claim my three-degree separation, however dubious.

I wonder if Mark Rylance knows Kevin Bacon?
________
Disclaimer: This is a reworking of a similar entry I did for another blog several years ago, after I watched Wolf Hall the first time.