And a Good Time was Had by All

By Vicki Delany

As Donis posted a picture of me with her and Ann Parker in Scottsdale on Thursday, let me follow up with my .02.

The Vicki Delany shelf at the Poisoned Pen

I was in Arizona last week for CozyCon at the Poisoned Pen bookstore. It was an afternoon of nine authors, not all of whom are cozy writers, but most were. As usual in a PP appearance we talked books, books and more books, with each other, with our moderator Barbara Peters and with those kind enough people to come out and hear us.

In short, it was great.

Kate Carlisle, Paige Shelton, C.S. Harris, Jenn McKinlay, Vicki Delany

The following day, Donis, Ann Parker and I went to the Tempe Public Library, where we did much the same.

Again, a fun appearance.

I do these sort of things now so I can hang out with my friends.  The day before CozyCon I had lunch with Donis, I shared a hotel room for one night with Kate Carlisle. Kate, Jenn McKinlay, Paige Sheldon, C.S. Harris, Ann, and I hung out at the hotel bar (some hanging for longer than others).  On Sunday Ann, Donis and I had brunch before our library visit.

The only reason I know all these people and I consider them to be my friends is because I did the slog of conferences and book signings earlier in my career.  Now, don’t get me wrong. Generally, I like bookstores and conferences, but they are work.  A lot of work. And you’re paying your own way most of the time.

It’s the networking that counts, in my opinion.

And the networking counts in the long run. Maybe not in book sales, but certainly in fun.

Speaking of book sales: THE SPOOK IN THE STACKS, the 4th Lighthouse Library book by me as Eva Gates comes out on June 12. I am particularly pleased about this, because that series was cancelled by Penguin Random House after the third book. It was then picked up by Crooked Lane Books. YEAH! If you know anything about the book biz, you'll know that it's very unusual for a new publisher to continue an existing series, unless the books are in the mega-bestseller range. Mine are not, but I am thrilled to have it back.  A lot of credit goes to the Facebook group SAVE OUR COZIES. 

Speaking of Facebook, with the new book about to come out, I'll be running more contests for ARCs or earlier books in the series, so pop over and like my page. www.facebook.com/evagatesauthor

Sunset Boulevard

This post will be short because it's end of semester and I'm in the midst of grading. I still have a pile of papers to read between now and Monday evening 11:59 when grades are due to the Registrar's Office. In between, this Saturday and Sunday, I will be joining fellow faculty members as we send our graduates out into the world -- to their joy.

But I want to speak in praise of the TCM project that brings classic films to movie theaters. The movies are in theaters for only two days. This month the movie was Sunset Boulevard.

On Wednesday, knowing the 2 o'clock matinee would be my only chance to see it, I jumped up from my desk and headed for the multiplex in the mall.

I arrived too late to hear the narrator -- face-down in the swimming pool -- identify himself as the person who was about to tell us how he ended up there. What can I say? I was counting on ten minutes of coming attractions, and I stopped for popcorn. But I was there when the flashback began.

The longer I watched, the more I regretted missing the swimming pool scene. Seeing this classic black and white film on the big screen was a revelation. As many times as I had seen the movie, there were some things that simply didn't register until I was completely focused, sitting there in the dark, both watching and listening.

Joe Gillis (William Holden), the narrator and the dead man in the pool, is an unsuccessful writer. I knew that, but somehow I had never really listened closely to what he says about that in the opening scenes of the movie. The conversation he has with his agent before he dumps him. The look on his face as he listens to a studio reader (Nancy Olson) rip the movie script he is pitching apart -- unaware that he is the person who wrote it. The decision that he should give up, admit defeat, and go back to the newspaper in his hometown where he will be greeted by smirks. Maybe the first time I saw the movie, I was not yet writing. Maybe after I became a writer, I simply nodded and stopped listening. But on the big screen, Joe Gillis trying to evade the repo men who are trying to take his car was  a reminder about the benefits of having a "day job".

If he hadn't been broke, Joe Gillis would never have taken a job as a script doctor for Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), the silent movie queen. He wouldn't have become her reluctant live-in lover while escaping in the evening to collaborate with the studio reader (who knows he is capable of much better work than the script he pitched). There is so much in this movie about being a writer that I'm sure I will use a clip the next time I'm asked to speak about the writing life.

There is also a marvelous scene when Gloria Swanson takes her live-in script doctor shopping for new clothes. And the scene when they visit the studio where she once reigned. And the scene that anyone who has seen the movie remembers when Swanson comes down the stairs with newsreel  cameras rolling. What I hadn't noticed on the small screen was the expressions on the faces of the reporters who clear a path for her.

Watching this movie in a theater as it was intended makes me wonder if: (a) I should mortgage my house and build a home theater, and (b) what it would be like to see my own characters come to life on the big screen. Not that I wouldn't be happy with a made-for-television movie. I think. Maybe not. Sunset Boulevard also offers some thought-provoking commentary about movies and movie-making.

Putting Yourself Out There

Staying connected

Very interesting posts this week on the joys of being a writer. John wondered about the effectiveness of social media, Sybil pondered the usefulness of going to conferences. When it comes to promotion, what one writer is willing and able to do may be quite different from another. I enjoy conferences and think they're very useful for making connections. But I don't go to many, one or two a year if family health and finances permit. I'm not a particularly shy person, and I'm not at all bothered about speaking before a group. But I'm slow to warm up in a social situation, at least until I feel I have a handle on whomever I'm talking to. I told a friend once that I think I was born to be an observer in this life. This is a great quality to have if you're a writer, but not as useful if you need to work the room. I actually do make the rounds at every conference I attend and talk to as many people as I can, but I'll never be as effective at it as someone as outgoing and naturally talented as, say, Louise Penny. However, I'm guessing I'm a much better schmoozer than J.D. Salinger, who could buy and sell me. So as effective as that technique is, it must not be the end-all and be-all.

I've been doing this author thing for years, and I keep trying a little of this and a little of that, and attempting to judge what promotional activity works best for me. Other writers have been extraordinarily helpful to me, but I can't afford to go to as many conferences as I'd like in order to make those connections. I'm much less promiscuous with bookstore signings than I was when I started out. After sitting in lonely solitude behind a table a few times, I now choose my bookstores and signing times with great care, and do everything I can to publicize the event beforehand. For every other bookstore I come across, I find it much more effective to talk to the booksellers.

I'm very lucky to live within driving distance of Poisoned Pen Bookstore, which is owned by my editor (whose husband happens to be my publisher). Whether I can travel or not, most mystery authors eventually find their way to Poisoned Pen for an event. This a a wonderful way for me to keep in touch with the many author friends I've made over the years. Witness the above photo of Yours Truly, Ann Parker, and our own Vicki Delany, having lunch after their event in Scottsdale this month. Then we did a library panel together, below, looking much more proper, and as we know, looks can be deceiving.

Ann Parker, Vicki Delany, Donis Casey

I find that the more I speak to groups, the more I'm asked to speak. I get a lot of library business. I was a librarian for 20 years, so I know a lot of library types all over the country. Book clubs are good. If you can find a non-book group to talk to that has some sort of connection to what you write about, that can be fabulous for your sales. History groups are good for me. I know another writer who used to sell her books at an annual zoo event and cleans up. (Makes money. Though I think she does actually volunteer to muck out cages.)

My husband, however, would rather stand on his head in a mud puddle while poking himself in the eye than speak in front of a group. I understand that most people are terrified of public speaking, so my publicity plan, such as it is would be torture for them.

The internet is a godsend, if you know how to work it, though less so for us Luddites. I try to do something on Facebook, author page or personal page, every day. I don't tweet. This may be a big mistake, but the very idea makes me tired. It would be hard for me to host an internet radio program, because I simply don't have the technical skills--or the interest. My webmaster, who is also my brother, told me that my website should be "all Donis, all the time", and not concentrate solely on my books. This gives you leeway to change your focus, if you decide to do something other than what you have been doing. Change genres, for instance, or become a playwright, or an actor. Do working actively on blogs and Facebook and Goodreads and BookBub increase my readership? I don't know, to tell the truth. But I'm a writer, damn it, and more writing is always better than less. On my own site, I've more or less kept a public diary of my experiences as a novelist, and whether it's instructive to others or not, after a dozen years I have written enough material for a book.

This writing game is tough. And when it comes to selling yourself, you just have to put your head down and go. What works for one may not work for you, so you try everything you can manage and do the best you can. The really important thing, though, is to do the best you can without making yourself miserable. Life is too short.

p.s. and aside: This has nothing to do with the price of tea in China, but I tend to write short. Or, more accurately, I write long manuscripts and end up whittling them down to the nub. I want to get to the point.

Loving Babel

Barbara here.  This will be a short, possibly rather incoherent, post because I am on holiday in Portugal, and all thoughts of writing are far away  So is my laptop, which I left at home in favour of my lightweight mini iPad. Portugal has been around as a country since the 12th century and although its language is romance in origin, it has evolved as a unique language distinct from its Spanish neighbour. The rugged mountain range to the east and the country’s affinity to the ocean to the west have also helped to maintain the uniqueness of Portuguese language and culture.

But things have certainly changed since I last visited continental Europe nearly 50 years ago. The European Union, free movement of citizens and commerce, and fifty years of peace have created a wonderful sense of diversity and coexistence. Walking down the streets of Lisbon, sitting in restaurants, and riding the bus, I am surrounded by a sea of languages.  Portuguese, French, German, Italian, Spanish, Swedish, Dutch, and every variety of English. Plus Chinese and Japanese.  Snatches of language, all expressing the same sentiments; awe at a stunning vista or intricate cathedral, delight at a succulent shrimp dish. All sharing the landscape together. And even more importantly, switching back and forth between languages depending on the need.

One sunny afternoon at a sidewalk cafe, we were listening to our waiter switching effortlessly from English (us) to French (next table)to German (table across). We asked him how many languages he spoke. Five, he said matter of factly. Proudly.

Multiple languages abound on signs and menus as well. Being from Quebec and living now in Ottawa, I am used to bilingual signs and chatter (not to mention the many New Canadians and visitors). But this effortless, unselfish-conscious intermingling, this eagerness to embrace whatever word works, is so refreshiing. Stripped of political subtext and social stratification, words help us share our commonalities. They open up our world.

Now off to bed. 

The Long and the Short of It.

Like many of you, I was interested  in my guest Christine Poulson's post about 'long or short' when it comes to book length.

Like her, I think I have a natural length.  I don't decide ahead of time what it's to be and my editor doesn't impose constraints on me one way or another, but my books mostly come in around the 120,00 + mark.  I definitely write long.

I write crime novels rather than thrillers.  I suspect most of us tend to write what we like to read; above all as our plot unfolds we're telling ourselves a story along with the reader.

 I like reading big crime novels that allow time for the characters and their backgrounds fully to emerge; I like descriptions that let me see the characters' surroundings and give space for the setting to develop its status as a character in the novel.  I like slow-burn tension, where the screw is gently tightened and tightened and the pace is inexorable rather that helter-skelter. I like PD James, Sophie Hannah, Louise Penny.  I feel their books are rich and satisfying and time spent with them is time well spent.

Of course, we're not all Jameses and Hannahs and Pennys.  The traps for a long book are wordiness and padding, or the sagging middle when the book seems mired in a slough of detail and not going anywhere.  You have to work harder at persuading the reader to stick with you to the end and you certainly need to have a scalpel handy when you start revising.  

The other big drawback to writing long is  that it takes a long time.  I'm always awed by people who turn out two books a year, though I suppose that's only a little over half the number of words I write.

There are 'short' authors I love too, of course - Andrea Camilleri is a great favourite and there's nothing to beat the old 'gumshoe' stories.

So the long and the short of it is, 'We're all different' - and isn't that a lucky thing!

The Price of Tea in China

When I was a child and people began veering off from the main point of a story they were telling, someone would bring them up short with the phrase "That has nothing to do with the price of tea in China."

It took me a number of years to figure that one out. And I might add that people don't tell stories much anymore. Great storytellers were once prized. They were good for an evenings entertainment. Good storytellers always built to a suspenseful climax. My father and my Uncle Clarence were two of the best. Cousin Frankie came close. In fact, on some occasions, he could top anyone. 

A number of these stories have stayed with me forever. When Frankie became a lawyer he defended a man who insisted his murdered victim was going to turn himself into a snake and bite him. (True, this one) Frankie went to the reservation and asked a medicine man if by any chance his client honestly believed that. "No," the shaman replied solemnly. "Everyone knows it take three days to turn yourself into a snake." 

My father's recitation of the "Biggest Liar in Kincaid" was one of the funniest stories I've ever heard and like most, it was grounded in truth. Sort of. These stories relied on a keen and benign awareness of human nature. 

But woe to the would be storyteller who lacked timing and pacing. Woe be to the person slapped down with "that has nothing to do with the price of tea in China."

The phrase means a segment is absolutely pointless. Not only does it not add to the story, it's aggravating as hell. 

Exhausting passages that have nothing to do with the prince of tea in China are one of the most common mistakes made by beginning novelists. They are usually inserted to beef up an author's credentials, but have more to do with the author's ego, not the story. It's so tempting to show off one's mastery of the history of a period. Especially when the story is shaped by setting and the environment of the everyday world. 

All historical details should be integrated in such a way that they advance the plot. For my historical novel, Come Spring, I read a whole book about fitting horse collars properly. I really, really wanted to show off my knowledge of horse collars, but knew it would bore readers stiff. I ended up with a scene where my hero, Daniel, padded the horse collar with a piece of precious calico, infuriating his wife, Aura Lee, who had planned to use the fabric in a quilt. 

There's extra tension when descriptive details are so crucial to a scene that the elements stick with readers forever. The account of the Count of Monte Cristo's stay in the dungeon would not be the same without the slimy walls, the moldy food, the crushing deprivation. 

Integration into plot is the best way, but if a writer must use narrative passages, I like Jack Bickham's book, Scene and Structure. Bickham offers an excellent explanation about sequels to a scene and how they set the stage for action to come. Of particular interest is the emphasis on a character's reaction--often brooding--to tension generated and his decision to do something.

Sequels are also a very convenient place to slip in critical observations while the mumbling hero is talking to himself: passing beggars, stumbling over the sick, etc. It's a chance to slip in political opinions. All sorts of stuff. 

I could add many examples of passages that have nothing to do with the price of tea in China, but I'm sure every reader could point to books where they abandoned them half way through for this every reason

Word-of-Mouth Sales?

This week, I ran out and got Alex Marwood’s THE DARKEST SECRET. I’ve started reading and am enjoying it. I heard about it via word of mouth.

Well, kind of.

You see, I saw the following tweet by Stephen King: Rereading THE DARKEST SECRET, by Alex Marwood. If there has been a better mystery-suspense story written in this decade, I can’t think of it. Maybe THE PAYING GUESTS, by Sarah Waters. Both transcend the genre.

The book is living up to Mr. King’s praise. All of which has me wondering about the role of social media on book sales. How many times have I bought a book because a friend recommended it? Often times, this comes in the form of an author friend: Reed Farrell Coleman suggested Megan Abbott; SJ Rozan suggested Naomi Hirahara.

Maybe this is all a case of the more things change, the more they stay the same. People have, after all, been swapping and recommending books forever. Goodreads has 65 million members and was born of this long-standing tradition.

Yet Goodreads, even with its seemingly large membership, is designed for –– and serves –– book lovers. But does success on Goodreads (strong reviews, etc) lead to sales? The data indicates this can be hit or miss, while NPR radio mentions and reviews in large-scale mainstream publications will produce noticeable results. One interesting item: 84% of Twitter users say they use the platform to look for deals, especially during the holidays.

So where does Stephen King’s twitter praise rank? Certainly, he’s not your typical word-of-mouth promoter. (I follow him mostly because his Donald Trump tweets make me laugh. And think.) I have no way of knowing how many sales it generated for Alex Marwood, but she was sure to tweet back.

Oh, thanks so much!

So I’m assuming King’s praise didn’t hurt.

Conventions - Are They Worth Attending?

I’m back from Malice Domestic, my last convention of the year. While I’ve enjoyed the conventions I’ve attended, I’m glad to be home with no plans to travel in the near future. The last couple years I’ve done a painting convention in Las Vegas end of February/early March, Left Coast Crime in Hawaii/Reno a couple weeks later, and Malice Domestic end of April. I’m now reassessing my attendance at mystery conventions. Are they worth the expense and time away from home and writing?

Up until last year when LCC was in Hawaii, I only attended once before when it was in Downtown Los Angeles, a 45-minute drive. LCC often coincided with my painting convention, which won out because, well, I have my priorities. But the lure of Hawaii and the timing around my birthday made this a must attend event. I signed up for LCC in Reno for two reasons: we could drive there and one of the guests of honor was a friend. I had some great conversations with fellow authors at both events, but I’m not sure I picked up any new readers.

This was my fifth Malice and my favorite so far. Even though it was held at a different hotel this time around, I still felt like I was coming home, so to speak. I know a lot of people who attend and I feel like I belong there more than at other conventions. Cozy/traditional mystery are the books I enjoy reading most and the kind of stories I enjoy writing. Sometimes, at LCC and Bouchercon (I’ve attended that one once when it was in Long Beach), I almost feel like I have to apologize for writing the lighter side of mystery. Not so at Malice.

I think I also enjoyed it more because I filled my time with a lot of different things. I did the Malice Go Round (aka speed dating with authors), attended the Sisters in Crime breakfast for the first time, was on a panel, did a Facebook Live interview and co-hosted a table at the Agatha Awards banquet.

The banquet is my favorite part of the event. I never thought I would say that. I’m not good at small talk, but I always seem to have a good time there. This time around, I teamed up with Agatha award nominee Kathleen Valenti and co-hosted a table. Turns out I’m much better at small talk when I’m a host. I feel like it’s my responsibility to make sure everyone has a good time so that seems to get me out of my shell.

Giveaways for our table. Missing is a pill bottle filled with M&Ms from Kathleen. Give me M&Ms and I eat them!

Another reason I enjoy Malice is I get to see my Henery Press peeps. While we stay in touch online, it’s nice to see them in person. How many HP authors attend depends on the year. This time around it was 14 or so. We attend each others panels, get together for drinks and compare notes on writing and the publishing world.

Henery Press at Malice. Photo taken by Eleanor Cawood Jones

I also enjoy going to Washington, D.C., and taking some time before the convention starts to go to a museum or two and just walk around. We often visit the pandas at the National Zoo.

But, it’s a long flight across the country and not exactly cheap. Still, if I were to attend only one convention a year, it would be Malice. I feel like I’ve picked up some readers there and I enjoy talking to readers as well as authors. I know many authors who don’t attend any conventions, saying it’s not worth it. They don’t sell enough extra books to warrant the time and money spent. I certainly don’t get my “money back” in sales. For me, right now, it’s more about exposure and about feeling like I’m part of a community.

Still, I’ve pretty much decided I’m cutting down on mystery conventions next year. I won’t be attending LCC, but I’ll most likely do Bouchercon since it’s in Dallas where my publisher is. While I enjoy Malice, I’m still on the fence about attending next year. I have plenty of time to decide.

What about you writers out there? Do you think conventions are worth attending?

More on Novel Length

by Rick Blechta

Following on from our weekend guest blogger Christine Poulson’s excellent piece, I’m going to keep this week’s post from moi short and sweet.

As for book length, my feeling is that it’s up to the writer (and editor) to make the length work. I generally put down novels that feel as if they’re padded, either because the writer did a lot of research and obviously feels it must all be thrown in or because the writer has fallen in love with their deathless prose.

You see this quite often in the later novels of successful writers. Almost invariably the page count goes up and up. The poster child for this is J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter Series. In her case I found the length was due to plot complications and multiple threads, and for the most part, it didn’t bother me. With other writers, longer length often feels like padding. Sometimes I suspect that the poor editors feel they can’t trim out excess if a very successful author’s novels — we’re talking top of the bestseller lists here — are obviously increasing in length without good reason. What do you think would happen if the million-selling author complained to the publisher when the editor wanted to trim huge swathes of prose? The editor at best would be told to back off.

For newbie authors, editors can — and often for good reason — prune brutally.

In the best of all possible worlds, it would all work out for the best. As a reader, though, I will either skip over parts of novels that feel self-indulgent in the prose, or I’ll just give up and toss them across the room.

On the other hand, we’ve all no doubt read novels that feel as if something important has been left on the cutting room floor.

It’s a fine line to walk.

Guest Blogger Christine Poulson

Aline here. Today I'm happy to introduce you to Chrissie Poulson, whose new book, Cold, Cold Heart, has the intriguing setting of a remote Antarctic plateau during the long Antarctic winter from the time the last plane leaves at the end of February to the time the next plane arrives in late October. Sends the shivers down my spine even thinking of it!

The Long and the Short of It

'For Sale. Baby Shoes. Never worn.' This is supposedly what Hemingway came up with when he was challenged to write a six word story. I thought of that recently when I downloaded the audiobook of War and Peace, all sixty hours of it. According to the Guinness Book of Records that is not even the longest novel ever written: the prize goes to A la Recherche du Temps Perdu by Marcel Proust, which contains an estimated 9,609,000 characters.

Hemingway tended to be terse, Proust just the opposite. Do writers have a default length, I wonder? And if so, how does this apply to crime writers? To an extent, book lengths are determined by publishers and perhaps that is particularly the case with genre fiction.

Even so, I feel confident in saying that Simenon wrote short. The Maigret novels are scarcely more than novellas. Agatha Christie didn't waste her words either. You can comfortably read one of her novels in an evening. Dorothy L. Sayers on the other hand tended to write long, especially in her later books. But the Golden Age writers were not usually verbose and there is a good reason for that. If you are writing a traditional fair play detective novel, you don't want your readers to have forgotten the clues at the beginning before they get to the end. The short novel can work well with noir too in sustaining atmosphere and narrative drive: think James Cain's Double Indemnity and The Postman Always Rings Twice.

There have of course been long crime novels that have been bestsellers. Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose springs to mind and so does Ian Pears' An Instance of the Finger Post. Both of these are historical novels and perhaps length is more acceptable there. More recently CJ Sansom's Matthew Shardlake novels, set in Tudor England, are also fairly hefty and the accumulation of details certainly adds to one's sense of being immersed in a period.

Does this tendency to write long or short translate into the actual process of writing a novel? Jane Harper had a well-deserved success last year with her debut novel, The Dry, which at 90,000 words is by no means short. But I was interested to read in an interview with her that she writes a much shorter first draft, preferring to get the plot in place before she fleshes it out in later drafts. There are other writer – Stephen King is one of them – who write long first drafts and then cut back in later drafts, though in King's case he is still one of the longest writers around!

As a reader I do like short, especially with crime fiction. I love to be able to settle down and read a novel in an evening. I feel with long books, as with long films, that the writer has to work a lot harder to justify taking up so much of my time and I am more likely to set the book aside and not get round to picking it up again. On the other hand, if a novel is really good...

As a writer, too, I am definitely on the short side. I usually worry that I am going to be too short, yet strangely, almost magically it seems, my novels invariably come out at almost exactly 75,000 words. True, that is the length required by my publishers, but it is also the perfect length for me.

So, readers – and writers – what do you think? Long or short? Do good things come in little parcels? Or do you prefer more bang for your buck?

Bad Girls, Bad Boys

It's happened again. I've been seduced by my villain. The first time it happened, I was writing Old Murders, the third book in my Lizzie Stuart series. Being a plotter (or, at least a hybrid), I started writing feeling sure I knew whodunit. But during the last fourth of the book, I realized I couldn't do it. My killer had convinced me that someone else should take the fall.

It happened again, that time much earlier, when Lizzie went in search of her mother, Becca. She had never seen her mother, who was 17 when Lizzie was born and got on a bus and left Drucilla, Kentucky five days later. Lizzie was raised by her grandparents, and she wanted to find her mother before accepting her lover's proposal. I knew from the beginning that Becca was not going to be a cookie-baker. As Lizzie followed her mother's trail, Becca took shape. When Lizzie finally came face-to-face with her mother, Becca was smart, beautiful, and cold-blooded. I loved Becca -- and she threatened to walk away with the book.

Now, I'm writing my 1939 historical thriller. I like my characters. But my protagonist -- decent, intelligent, a believer in justice and doing the right thing -- was boring me. When his antagonist was on-stage and I was in my villain's post of view, I was intrigued, not sure what he would do, waiting to see. In desperation, I switched my protagonist's point of view to first person. That helped. He turned out not to be as squeaky-clean as he at first seemed. In fact, he has a secret that is going to walk up and bite him in the middle of the book. He is in turmoil, and that's makes him more interesting to write.

But I will need to dig deeper to make him the equal of my villain. Not that I am dealing with a comic book super-villain. But he is complex, and his downfall will come about because my hero discovers his vulnerabilities.

The thing about villains is that they have few compulsions. They don't feel the need to be good. And, for writers, who spend our real lives trying to be as decent as our heroes, villains are freeing. My closest analogy is that villains are like avatars. To do a villain well, one has to step into his body and walk and talk and think as he would. To play an unfamiliar role.

The good news is that most of us are only temporarily seduced. Being in the head of someone who rejoices in villainy is disturbing. Unsettling. Being in the head of the killer in my last Lizzie Stuart book convinced me that I would never be able to go too far to "the dark side". The villain in my 1939 book may "smile and smile," but he is up to things that I find despicable. He is someone who may carry me along with him -- good for the plot and pace of the novel -- but in the end, he must be stopped.

Beginning a New Series

Tempe Public Library

I, Donis, started my Writer in Residence program on May 1 at the Public Library here in my hometown of Tempe, Arizona. Tempe is a town of about 140,000 people, not counting the students at Arizona State University (another 60,000). And yet Tempe only has one public library. No branches. Still, the one library is quite the establishment. It is incredibly busy and the number of events it sponsors is mind-boggling. The librarian in charge of events, Jill Brenner, is particularly interested in offering writing programs for the city, and judging by participation, these programs have been wildly successful.

I am Writer in Residence for this summer, May through July, when any locals who haven't left town to escape the heat are looking for some kind of indoor activity, because hiking or picnicking when it's 115º is not fun. So I'll be available to consult one-on-one with aspiring writers for a couple of hours on the days I am in house, and I'm contracted to present six classes throughout the summer on some aspect of writing. All very lovely and well and good and charming, and I'm going to enjoy that.

I'm also supposed to write on my own book, and that is a lot more work. Especially considering that I'm working on the first novel in a new series. I've written ten Alafair Tucker novels over the past thirteen years. I know those characters like I know my own family. And now I've set myself the task of getting to know a whole new bunch of folks who are living their lives in a place and time that I have never written about before. I have crossed over a couple of characters from the first series, which is comforting. At least there's one person I know well in this new world! But it's exciting, as well, to move to a new state and start living among a new crowd.

But I'm a little anxious. How successfully am I going to be able to pull you into this new world, Dear Reader, and how willing are you to go along with me. In his book on writing, This Year You Write Your Novel, Walter Mosely said, “a novel is a collusion between the author and the reader.” The reader wants to walk in your character’s shoes, to believe in the world you’ve created, and you don’t want to let him down.

I’m often anxious and unhappy for much of a first draft. Why, I ask myself, isn’t this better? It seemed like such a good idea when it was still in my head.

Why do I put myself through it? I’m never sure I can pull it off, no matter how many times I’ve pulled it off before. But then there are those days, even while you’re struggling with the first draft, when you do hit the perfect note, or compose a passage so beautiful and true that it brings tears to your eyes. Ray Bradbury spoke truth when he said that real success comes when you begin to write from the inside, and not from the outside.

Besides, once the first draft is finished and you’re on to the second and third and however many more, world without end, it all starts to come together and you realize with a start that you’ve got something. Maybe that old mojo is working after all!

By the way, if you'd like to fly over to Tempe on your day off and sign up for a writer consultation with me or attend a class, you can find all the requisite information about the Writer in Residence program here.

The magic of small town literary festivals

Barbara here. This past weekend I was a guest author at the 1000 Islands Writers Festival, set in the picturesque town on Gananoque on the St. Lawrence River, in the heart of the 1000 islands. There are actually more than 1000, but it's too hard to count!

This was a special treat because there were nine invited authors from a range of genres, in addition to the Festival patron author Terry Fallis, who was charming, relaxed, and funny as the MC. There were YA authors, crime authors, non-fiction, and literary. At many literary festivals, crime writers and authors of fantasy, science fiction, etc, are regarded as merely "commercial" as opposed to "real" writers and we are sidelined or left out entirely. But it's always very enriching to meet authors who write different material. We are all writers; we all work hard at our craft and strive to tell the best stories we can, and when we get together, we discover we have a lot to learn from each other. We share, we laugh, we drink...

Terry Fallis MC'ing the opening evening

The 1000 Islands Writers Festival is like the town itself - warm, welcoming, informal, and intimate. The whole town participated, and although most of the events were at the stunning Thousand Island Playhouse overlooking the river, there were also events at the public library, the Heather Haynes Art Gallery, the Boat Museum, and the charming Victorian B&Bs scattered throughout the town. The author dinner was at the Stonewater Pub and final breakfast at Ye Olde English Pub. The wonderful independent bookstore Beggars Banquet Books supplied all the books for sale. All the venues were an easy, energizing stroll away from each other through the downtown or over the Gananoque River (where Maureen Jennings and I both pictured drowning our victim; such is the mind of a crime writer).

Besides offering variety in genres, the festival also offered different types of events, some of them unique. In addition to readings and writing workshops, there were "living room" sessions which were held in the living rooms of the B&Bs and offered a chance to talk with and listen to authors in the intimacy of a small group. My two sessions were at the beautiful Sleepy Hollow B&B where I was staying.



There was also a lunch session where Maureen Jennings and I were given free rein to chat about all things mysterious. And one great bonus, musical interludes which illustrated the connection between art forms.

There is an intimacy to small town festivals that sets them apart from big city ones. In addition to the whole town participating, the audience comes from all over and stays in town for the weekend so that they can attend numerous sessions. There were also a number of gatherings like the opening reception, the readings and music at the boat museum, and the Sunday author breakfast, all of which gave both readers and writers a chance to chat, share a drink, and become friends. I am notoriously bad at estimating numbers but I think there were at least 200 attendees.

I am reading at the opening evening

Anyone who's every been involved in running a festival knows how much hard work goes into it, and when things run as smoothly as they did, it is because every detail has been planned. But there is no replacing the enthusiasm and warmth of the festival organizers in creating the atmosphere that makes the festival a success. A huge congratulations to Alison Dunn, Liz Austin, Pam Hudson, Deidre, and all those involved, and heartfelt thank you for all that you do for book lovers!

Shakespeare still fascinates

by Rick Blechta

I ran across an interesting article several weeks ago and found it absolutely fascinating. You should read it before we continue our discussion. Take your time. I’ll go get a coffee while I’m waiting.

So the Bard, like any other writer, seems to have always had his eye out for good material from which to work. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if he kept a notebook of source ideas. Unfortunately something like this — if it did exist — has been lost in the mists of time. It would certainly be a most interesting read.

Enter the computer tech guys. Software has existed for a number of years now that is used mostly by college professors and teaching assistants to find out whether assignments are being plagiarized or sources not acknowledged properly. This especially became an issue when various online sites began offering services to provide compositions and even theses for a fee.

Using this software, it’s easy to plug in a few key phrases and find out if they were used previously on things that are now posted on the internet and elsewhere. It doesn’t take long to wheedle out the source if a student has “cut a few corners” in completing assignments. The penalties can be severe.

However, “An yll wynde, that blowth no man to good, men sae.” (A dialogue conteinyng the nomber in effect of all the prouerbes in the Englishe tongue; John Heywood, 1546*) So a couple canny literary sleuths plugged in several phrases and connected Shakespeare with a source from which he seems to have “consulted” quite freely in writing his plays.

I’m certain this success is going to inspire more research into how these great plays came into being and who knows, we might find out once and for all if William Shakespeare had help —

No ill wind indeed!
or if he helped others.

___________________
*I always acknowledge sources…

Conference Time

I'm just back from the Crime Writers Association annual conference, when we get together purely as a group of writers with no readers around. We relax and socialise, but we also have speakers who give us insights into the workings of the world of crime that would be hard, or even impossible, to access on our own.

As usual, they were varied, informative and even entertaining. DCI Paul Burrows, a Scene of Crime Officer, took us through his investigation into The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, bringing it of course to a triumphant conclusion.

We were also fascinated by retired DCI Jackie Bailey who was Linda la Plante's inspiration for the character of Jane Tennison in the hugely successful Prime Suspect series. She acted as consultant to that and talked as well about the brutal misogyny she'd encountered as the first woman to join the London Met's Flying Squad. It was hard to believe that it all happened comparatively recently, when you think that the head of the Met is now a woman.

I was interested, too, when she was talking about the relationship between the police and the legal profession, since my son is a criminal defence lawyer. There was a case where the defendant had been accused of carrying a weapon, but the jury found him not guilty, after being convinced that the police had planted it on him.

After the verdict, Jackie saw the top QC who had been running the defence and told him she wanted him to know that the weapon genuinely hadn't been planted. He only smiled gently and said, 'My dear, I don't defend innocent men.' When I told my son he looked a bit sheepish then said, 'Yup, that's the job.' How the law operates in a free society!

The lecture I found most revealing was the one delivered by a psychiatrist. When she was talking about schizophrenia, she got us all to form groups of three, one to be the interviewer, one to be the interviewee and the other to be the demoralizing voice in the interviewee's ear.

The woman who played the demon voice was brilliant, starting with comments like, 'Why did you apply for this job? You know you won't be able to do it,' then moving on to, 'What made you wear those shoes? Did you even brush your hair before you came?' When she said, 'You're looking at her squinty-eyed now,' we all burst out laughing and the interview collapsed in disorder.

But it had become evident already that the interviewee was quite unable to answer the questions properly, having to ask for them to be repeated, starting an answer then losing the thread, just blanking out completely. It was a startling demonstration of what it feels like to suffer from alien voices speaking inside your brain.

As usual we all went away with ideas churning in our heads for the next book. And a few new friends as well.

Till Death Do Us Part

Like many of you, I have my favorite programs to binge-watch. At the top of my list are true-crime shows. I once spent a week dog sitting at my sister's house and when done working on the keyboard for the day, I'd mix up a batch of martini's and kick back to episodes of Inside the American Mob. Besides writing, I also paint, and when busy in my studio I key up Netflix in the background. During an extended flurry to complete a series of new works I cycled through all the seasons of Forensic Files. One consequence is that when I look now at any one painting I'm reminded of whatever homicides were investigated during its creation.

Years ago, the top crime show was COPS, which I didn't like. Police raids through trailer parks and Section 8 housing seemed more exercises in class warfare than searching for the bad guys. Not that the low-life offenders didn't deserve what they got, it's just that the crimes committed by the wealthy and middle-class went unnoticed.

Until Forensic Files. The big draw of the show is of course how advances in forensics allow investigators to solve crimes and bring justice and closure to victims and their survivors. While I appreciate the forensic science, the attraction for me is the human drama, usually someone deciding that the solution to their present dilemma is to murder the spouse/significant other/immediate family member/business partner. Sometimes the show deals with serial killers hunting targets of opportunity but mostly investigators don't stray far beyond an immediate circle of the dead guy's acquaintances. Unlike the trailer-trash perps of COPS, on Forensic Files we witness the well-to-do and privileged committing homicide: bankers, lawyers, doctors, real estate agents, police detectives, and even a bestselling novelist (Michael Peterson). Though these people were uniformly educated, they made a lot of stupid mistakes, for instance stashing the murder weapon and bloody clothes in the basement washing machine. Incriminating evidence left on computers has likewise undone many a "fool-proof" plan. I also notice that in Forensic Files, on occasion the police get timely leads via a "mysterious phone call." Makes me wonder what was the source? An informant? A bugged phone? Evidence obtained through extra-legal means?

When I'd run through all the seasons available on Netflix, I moved on to Murderous Affairs. Here the gimmick is love gone very wrong. On the minus side, they use a lot of dramatizations with actors who appeared to have been yanked from the office temp pool or relatives impressed into service. Needless to say, you won't be wowed by the acting. In one episode, the "dead victim" giggled when the EMTs tried to lift her onto a gurney. It doesn't help that the cheesy uniforms look purchased from the discount costume bin at Walmart. Aside from that, the compelling hook is the drama and the violence it spawned. As in Forensic Files, victims and killers are middle-class or higher in socio-economic standing. And they make a lot of dumb mistakes. Occasionally there's crossover in cases between Forensic Files and Murderous Affairs. Though Forensic Files has better writing and effects, Murderous Affairs often sheds light on Forensic Files' mysterious phone calls--usually ex's or vengeful rivals dropping a dime. Rejected romance equals revenge.

The Blessings of Ignorance

Truth is, I don't know a thing about writing. With four mysteries (soon five) two historical novels and a non-fiction academic book under my belt, I'm amazed at how little I've learned. Looking back, I'm convinced the best thing that ever happened to me was there was no one around to either encourage or discourage me.

My natural calling was reading. I simply read all the time. It didn't bother my parents or anyone else until society came up with the concept that children should be well-rounded. Then my parents worried. Because it didn't seem quite normal for a child to read that much.  

No problem. I learned to hide my reading. I propped up a book in the drain rack when I dried dishes. There was a book in my music when I played the piano. Yes, I could easily read while my fingers practiced the scales, or whatever. To this day, I'm never without a book.

Do not assume that I was a shy retiring child. In fact I liked other children, and adored adults. During my childhood, one of my biggest pleasures was listening to my father and uncles and their friends tell stories.

No one supervised my reading. When my parents played bridge with Aunt Margaret and Uncle Clarence I headed for the living room and Aunt Margaret's collection from the Doubleday Book Club. What luxury! And such a good little nine-year-old. Never any trouble. But what a brouhaha when they discovered that I had already read Annie Jordan, Unconquered, and Forever Amber.

If someone has asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up when I was nine years old, in my secret heart, I knew I wanted to write books. But saying so would have sounded crazy. I didn't know one single soul who was a writer. I didn't know how one became a writer.

My husband and I were both born in Anderson County, Kansas. When we married, we moved to Western Kansas. He was a truck driver and hauled cattle. A bullhauler. My creative side responded to the vastness of the Kansas prairie. I was certainly free from any social constraints. There was no one to tell me I read too much. I could open the back door and holler if I wanted to. Or eat ice cream. Or go fishing.

Or I could write a book. No one to stop me from doing that either.

I began writing for real when I was about twenty-two or twenty-three. Somewhere in there. I taught myself from articles in the Writer's Digest and from books I ordered through Interlibrary Loan. Although I've never had a creative writing course, my self-education was lengthy and very rigorous. I've never been in a writing group.

Because my "method" is rather strange and seems to vary from book to book, I simply cannot imagine reading part of a manuscript to people who might offer suggestions. Praise or criticism would be destructive during the creative stage. I don't even know who will show up for a book until I'm through with the first draft. It's a work in progress.

I remain convinced that everyone should write a book twice before showing it to anyone. If you have any integrity at all, you will know what's wrong with your own book. So fix it. Then let other people read it. If they have good suggestions that you know are right, apply their ideas. The quickest people to offer criticism will come from people who have never published a book themselves.

My first novel was published by Simon & Schuster. If there were anyone at all around to tell me how hard it was to find an agent, get published, learn how to write, I never would have tried. On the other hand, I really needed a mentor. I've made a lot of mistakes. I would love to take them back. But that applies to a number of missteps in my life.

The waiting

Last Friday night, around 11:30, I finished a manuscript and sent it off to my agent. So now I wait.

The book, from day 1 of conceptualizing until last Friday, took nearly two years to complete. That’s by far the longest any book has ever taken me to write. I changed points of view, tenses, and spent about a month this year in the hospital (all is good now, though). I wrote probably 75 pages that ended up being discarded totally. The storyline, from beginning notes until the final revisions, never changed all that much. But the writing got a lot tighter, the prose became more sparse, and the characters grew more fully realized. (At least, that’s what I think. We’ll see what my agent says.)

One thing I know for sure is this is a family of characters I’d like to go the distance with. But that’s beyond my control. I’m in no-man’s land, the purgatory mid-list authors face when they try to launch a new series, a time of waiting.

One thing I learned writing this book came in the editing process. I’m a listener by nature. I use the text-to-speech option to edit anything I write, from important emails to this blog post to novels. I carefully select the speaker’s voice, fine-tune the pace, and stop often to listen as I compose. I did this while I wrote the novel, listening to passages over and over to rework the syntax, adding fluidity and clarity, always editing by ear. And when the novel was done, I listened to the entire 85,000 words, stopping to re-hear, then reword, clarify, tighten and tweak, until, alas, I sent the book off.

I’m dyslexic, and have always been an auditory person. Audiobooks have always been a large part of my life. During my day job –– I’m an English teacher –– I utilize a listening pedagogy, picking up, on a good day, nearly all of what is said by my students, determining where we go next based on what they say and my assessment of what they grasp.

But nowhere in my life is working by ear more important than my revision process when writing a novel. How does the book sound? That’s what I need to know. As writers, we all think we know what we’ve written. However, it’s not until we hear what we’ve written that we really know what we’ve said, actually understand how our words will be experienced by a reader.

It probably took me 15 hours to carefully listen to every word of the manuscript, and those are probably the most important hours I spent on the book. They were, hopefully, worth every second.

Los Angeles Times Festival of Books 2018

Last Sunday, I attended the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books held at the main campus of the University of Southern California. That’s my alma mater so always fun for me to go back on campus. Lots more buildings than when I went to school there eons ago.

I signed at the Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles booth again this year. The weather was warm, but not overly so. Had a nice time talking to people who stopped by. I also met some Sisters from other chapters (San Diego and Colorado) who were also signing at the booth.

 New this year was something called Newstory Zone, Creative Telling Beyond The Book. It included this Vortex Immersion Media 360 Dome. “Newstory is all about telling stories in inspiring ways that move audiences by offering up new and life-altering perspectives.” That’s what I read online, anyway.

I did not enter the dome, but here’s a video I found on YouTube from the experience.

On the more ordinary side, there was the usual giant crossword puzzles and a place where you could write down what book changed your life. I don’t know if I can think of one book that changed my life. Maybe Nancy Drew. The husband suggested I put my first book down because, well, it did change my life.

Plus areas for YA, children, poetry...

We didn’t spend as long there as we have in the past. Lots to do preparing to go to Malice Domestic. That’s where I’m headed next. That pretty much ends my run of conventions and major events for the year. Phew! Then I can get down to writing Aurora #5, Ghosts of Painting Past. I think I’ll kill off a surfer in this one...

On a more sombre note

by Rick Blechta

I find myself very contemplative today after the tragedy that occurred in Toronto yesterday afternoon. Those of us who write crime fiction deal with violence and the aftermath of violence nearly every time we pick up our (literal or virtual) pens. But with us, it’s just “funning’ around.” I doubt if many of us have actually come across the body of a person whose life ended in murder. (I did once, but that’s a story for another day.)

What has hit home with me (as with many others in and around Toronto) is that I’ve walked that stretch of sidewalk many times over the years. We don’t live that far away, there’s a movie theatre we patronize, and in Mel Lastman Square there is an outdoor amphitheatre where I’ve performed several times with various groups over the years. Literally, I’ve stood right where one person was struck and killed yesterday. A fact like that really tends to make one feel very mortal.

Thank the Lord, this doesn’t appear to be a terrorist attack, just the random act of a troubled person. Because of the actions of a very brave and very well-trained police officer, the suspect was apprehended alive. He was obviously itching for “suicide by cop” if you’ve watched the video of his capture, but the cop resisted using deadly force to end the stand-off. As a result, we might get answers as to why this man did such a horrible thing — not that it’s going to change anything, but answers are always good.

I’m at a point right now in my novel-in-progress where a murder needs to occur.

I don’t think I’ll write about that today.

Using Location. Or Not

By Vicki Delany

We’ve been talking a lot about location here at Type M lately.  I suspect that conversation was started when I discussed my recent trip to London to do on-the-spot research for the fifth Sherlock Holmes Bookshop Book (as yet untitled).

My fellow typists talked about the importance of visiting a place to write about it. Which is something I think is important, and very much like to do.

When I travel people always ask me if I’m going to use that place in one of my future books.

I’m just back from three weeks in Malaysia, and I can guarantee you it will never appear in one of my books.  Not only did I not give my writing a single thought while I was there (unlike many writers who insist they are ‘always’ working, I can and do shut the whole thing down for weeks at a time when I’m on the road) I have no interest in setting a book in Malaysia, or many of the other places 

I’ve been recently.  For one thing, I have no contacts in the police, nor any way of getting any. And even a book about a tourist who runs into trouble in xx spot, needs to know something about how the policing works.  Cozy mysteries generally speaking stick mighty close to home.  Even the trip to London in book 5 required some devious plotting on my part to get the cast of regular characters to tag along.

But I had a great time in Malaysia.  It was like three vacations in one. The jungles and wildlife of Borneo, the cities and culture and food of the Peninsula, and then a beach holiday at the end on Langkawi.

Hope you enjoy a few pictures.

Me and a leaf

Into the jungle on Borneo

An Orangutan in the wild

Sometimes the accommodation was rustic

And sometimes it was not

It rained a bit

My order of an iced  coffee

Loved the town of Melaka

Dinner time

Street art in George Town

Working from Strength

Something occurred to me last night as I was trying to work on several projects at the same time with one eye on my calendar and a to-do-list scribbled on a piece of paper. What I realized -- and should have long ago -- is that I do need that calendar that I had once thought of putting up on my office wall. I need an "at-a-glance" way of planning.

That brings me to the title of this post. My strength is visualizing. If I can "see" it, it falls into place. If I can see it, I can get it done. The tasks I get done on time and with minimal stress happen because I'm so concerned that they will go right that I sweat every step, consider every scenario, and take proactive and preventive action. I think of this as "worrying"and usually save it for only the "too big to fail" projects. But what didn't occur to me until last night is that what I was actually doing was making mind pictures. My strength is "creative visualization" (with a nod to how that phrase is usually used).

This means that I need to get the biggest 2018 calendar I can find and put it up on my wall. Then I need to overlay that calendar with my important dates, using colored pens and appropriate images. A calendar version of a "vision board" that I can see at a glance. Then I will put together my own notebook organizing system that allows me to step into each task and walk my way through the steps -- "mind mapping" as I go and get the steps down on paper.

This sounds like a lot of work. A distraction from getting things done. But when I thought about it, I realized that on the days that go really well, this is what I do. The night before or that morning, I think about what I need to get done and map each "stop" during the day and what I'll need to move from place to place and accomplish what I should. Using this method, I remember the check I'm going to need when I get to the bank and the recipe I should look at before going to the grocery store because I see myself in each place. I've also used this method to remember books I want to look for in the library. And I sail through that day, much more efficiently than when I start out with a to-do-list that I haven't rehearsed.

I also realized I need to walk my way through each writing project I'm working on. This is an improvement on my usual outlining process and much more fun. Rather than saving this step for the revising process, I need to do it now. Play through the character's bios, imagining each character going through his life up to that moment, and then watch the entire movie. When I've done that, I'll be ready to go back and outline. In fact, I suspect this will also work with the non-fiction book. I've been bogged down because I had so much material to weave into a discussion of 400 years of dress and appearance in American crime and justice. Get those images up on my wall and write about them.

This morning something else occurred to me. I'm writing this sitting at the desk in my office at my desktop computer. I've been using my laptop a lot because it's mobile. But I need to be at this computer. When I imagine myself as a writer, I don't see myself working on my laptop. I see myself at my desk -- hands free to move over a keyboard that doesn't distract me because I need to think about it.  Sitting at my desk, I can "see" myself in the long line of writers at their desks.

I'm on my way to the office store to buy my giant wall calendar and my big notebook for organizing. I'm going to pick up anything else that might help me to visualize my way through the rest of the year. I've got a lot to get done -- finish a non-fiction book, finish a historical thriller, write two short stories that I promised to do for anthologies, teach a four-week writing class in June and take part in library events related to an award I'm receiving, conferences to attend -- and a lot of life upkeep and home improvements things that need to be done. But I'm feeling calm. I may be stressed out again tomorrow, but I'm pretty sure stopping to see my day and "walk through it" and then mapping out the tasks I need to get done will help.

Does anyone else use visualization to sweat the small stuff?

Keeping Up With the Times

I’ve started a new novel and am slogging along in the jungles of the first draft. When I’m trying to get a first draft to look like something and having a tough time of it (which is always), I often wonder why I put myself through it. But then if I didn’t have a first draft I wouldn’t have anything to revise. I much prefer doing revisions to writing the first draft of a novel. In my metaphorical little world, writing the first draft is a coarse, rough, sweaty process. You slap that gesso on the wall by the bucket load and slather on the background paint. It’s messy and hard and, for me, a daily act of will to accomplish. But rewriting takes skill. It requires a true eye, real delicacy and finesse to shape that big old expanse of plaster into a work of art.

With rewrites, you get to see the story change shape and, if you’re lucky and skilled enough, grow into something beautiful. Of course, there are those horrible moments when you realize that you’re going to have to lose a scene that you really liked, or that word of which you are so enamored because it no longer fits the picture. I think perhaps that’s when you know you’re a real writer, when you can cut good stuff for the greater good of the story.

I must comment about Barbara's post, below, about how a writer faces the end of her book. I totally relate to her fear of not being able to pull it off. It's really horrible to know exactly how you want it to come off and not be sure you have the chops to do it. I never quite achieve the brilliant, knock-your-socks-off triumph that I had envisioned, but I'm usually pleased enough in the end. I often don't know exactly how it's going to end, myself, until it does. Once I do finish a book, I love to go back over it and fiddle with it, changing a word here, a sentence there, like polishing a new-made piece of furniture. Pulling off a great ending requires not only skill, but insight and not a little luck!

And one last word about computers (see Rick’s cautionary entry, April 17, below). I’m about twenty years behind the times when it comes to technology. I wonder if the reason isn't because I have no kids to shame me into keeping up with the times. For those of us who attained majority before the advent of the computer age, it just ain’t fair. We aren’t stupid. But we grew up in a world that required a whole other set of skills.

I hate to sound like an old curmudgeon who goes on about how she used to live in a shoebox in the middle of the road and eat mud for supper when she was a child, but that’s not going to stop me. I write a historical series, but I don’t think the past was better than the present.  Far from it.  I’m not nostalgic for the past. I don’t rue the fact that the world is changing. That’s the way it is. But it does seem that I hardly recognize the planet I grew up on any more. I don’t value the things that most of society seems to value.

I expect this happens to everyone, and has since the beginning of time. I wonder sometimes about those souls who manage to live to be 100 or 110. How must they feel about the fact that everyone else who understood their world has entered the choir eternal? How must they feel when the very world they knew how to live in is gone, when they find themselves on what amounts to a different planet, and they are the only ones of their species left in existence?

Hmm, there’s a plot in there somewhere. And now I beg to be excused so that I can go back up all my work.