My Weblog

Summer flings

by Dana

I was marveling at the pictures from the Phoenix Mars  Lander while I was writing in my personal blog, and, naturally, it brought to mind Ray Bradbury and The Martian Chronicles.  Then I started remembering one of my favorite scenes from Dandelion Wine, about new sneakers and the beginning of summer. 

Perhaps it’s because all of my books are in boxes in the basement, awaiting an exalted return to newly-painted bookcases, but I’m more than usually nostalgic about summer reading today. 

Before college, it was all about finding a new author, and then reading everything by him or her I could find.  Here are a few of the authors I remember obsessing about over summers:  Louisa May Alcott, Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein, Robert Graves, Stephen King, and J.R.R. Tolkien. 

A painfully obvious, nearly universal, list, but much beloved, if only for the memories of the way the books made me feel then.  Some of the them withstood the test of time, and I can enjoy them today; I mourn those that didn’t.  Before college, there was a wantonness to reading, and now there isn’t.  Then, I would cheerfully give points for what the book had accomplished, without minding what it didn’t achieve.  Now, I’m less patient, more demanding about what a writer does with my time, crabbier when it doesn’t work out.

I’m ambivalent about that change.  Part of it, I can attribute to my change in career:  now that I’m writing fiction, I read non-fiction for fun, and that’s a different experience.  And learning discrimination and thoughtful criticism was absolutely necessary, now that I have less time, and it has probably made me a better writer.  But, man, do I miss even the idea of that whole-hearted, joyful wallowing. 

So I have to ask:  what are your favorite summer books?

A few thousand words on Omaha

by Donna

I just got back from Mayhem in the Midlands, the mystery convention held every Memorial Day in Omaha, Nebraska.  If I were a better person, I'd tell you all about the panels, including those featuring my fellow Femmes Fatales, Charlaine Harris and Toni L.P. Kelner. Or about how much fun it was to serve as co-auctioneer with Chris Grabenstein.  Or.... But I'm dog tired and talked out, so instead I'm going to share a few of the pictures I took at the Lauritzen Gardens and the Henry Doorly Zoo.

I'm exactly like my characters, but…

by Kris

Sister Femme, Donna Andrews, recently blogged, "No, I am not my heroine," in which she confessed to being less organized than her series protagonist, Meg Langslow.

I must admit to being at the other extreme — I'm too much like my madcap characters. I write a number of them, including Tracy Eaton and the wacky gang in those mysteries. And making appearances in recently published short stories, there's Lorna Doone, the unemployed actress who delivers dancing cookie-grams and gives graveyard tours, and in other stories, Samantha Brennan, the scattered scam psychic, fake ancient deity, and bogus spiritual advisor to the stars.

I've created a diverse collection of characters. But I must admit it's the off-the-wall ones whose lives most resemble mine.

Offbeat things always happen to me. Wherever I go, if there's a person who merely flirts with the periphery of sanity, he gloms onto me like I'm his long-lost twin. My husband always asks if I send out a homing signal the wackos. I don't know. Do I?

Here in Sedona there's a spot off a hiking trail, where I like to meditate. I close my eyes, let my breathing slow…until someone marches right up to me and just plunges into speech. Once a couple climbed up there and said, "We sure don't have anything like this in Dallas. Where should we go to dinner tonight?" We? Was I invited? How in the #&$% would I know where they should eat?

Then there was the little boy who said, in a most aggrieved voice, "My grandma wants to know how far it is to the car. She's been walking four hours and she's pretty tired." As if I made her walk that long. I must wear a sign that reads, "Tour Guide — Free Advice for Nuts."

I went to a party recently in a gate-guarded community, The road that leads to it is a tough-to-navigate, narrow S-curve that takes a sharp dip where it crosses a creek, which is heavily studded with boulders.

When I stopped beside the gate speaker box, I realized I couldn't remember the code to open the gate. No problem. There were instructions for dialing the houses. Too bad that didn't work. Again, and again. In six tries, I got mostly busy signals, although I also hit the voicemail a couple of times. I didn't feel too helpless babbling, "Uh, I'm here, but…"

Okay, Plan B. I decided to call my husband at home, since he wasn't coming. If he didn't know the code, he could call our friend and get it. Why do we have cell phones if not for emergencies? Oops! No network.

Hmmm. There was no way I could back out of there. I must have played hooky the day they taught reverse in driver's ed, and I've never learned it since. I could barely navigate that entry going in. If I lived there, I'd just park the car in the water and get it over with. And the road was too narrow for a k-turn. Maybe a hundred tiny k-turns would do it, but I'm not too swift on those, either.

Since I arrived late, I wasn't sure when someone else would pass that way. I ended up staying there until a woman walked near the gate and shouted out the code. I was the only partygoer who didn't just breeze in.

Turns out the gate-phone connection stopped working sometime before I showed up. But that kind of thing always happens to me. I can't be the only one who's out-of-synch with virtually everyone else. There must be others marching to the un-syncopated beat of goofball drummers that nobody else can hear.

If I were writing that experience for a character, I'd make it read funny. Tracy's always wrecking her vehicles, so that would be perfect. I'd just send the car off the road, where it would float along, crashing into boulder-after-boulder, like Mother Nature's own bumper car ride.

Only in real life, I make payments on that car, and I pay for insurance. I'd be the idiot whose claim the folks working at the insurance agency would laugh themselves silly over — right before the company cancelled my coverage.

Yup, I'm living my wackiest characters' lives. I'm just not having as much fun as they are.

Title Report

This week's guest blogger, Chris Grabenstein, is a Renaissance guy. He has done improv in Greenwich Village. He's a survivor of twenty years in advertising, writing spots for such clients as Seven Up, Miller Lite, and KFC. (He's also notorious for having created "Trojan Man") And now he's an award-winning writer. Tilt-a-Whirl, the first book in his John Ceepak mystery series, won the Anthony Award for best first mystery. Kirkus called Mad Mouse, the second in the series, one of the ten best mysteries of 2006. Critics also loved Whack a Mole in 2007, and when Carroll & Graf, his original publisher, closed its doors, St. Martins Minotaur snapped up the series, and will be releasing Hell Hole in August, 2008. He also writes the Christopher Miller Holiday Thrillers--to date, that includes Slay Ride (2006) and Hell for the Holidays (2007)--and this month he makes his debut as a middle grades author with the release of The Crossroads (Random House).  (Wait a minute. . . they're letting the guy who invented "Trojan Man" write for the middle grades???)

Um . . . take it away, Chris!

Every once in a while, folks ask, "Do you come up with your own titles or does the publisher decide what to call a book?" In my case, almost all my titles were of my own creation. Almost all. HELL FOR THE HOLIDAYS was originally titled TURKEY SHOOT. It takes place between Halloween and Thanksgiving. I thought TURKEY SHOOT made a nice two-word bookend with my previous Holiday Thriller SLAY RIDE. Sort of punny, sort of punchy. NEW YEAR’S EVIL was to be the third book in the trilogy but then Carroll & Graf went out of business and, sorry world, you’re on your own. Christopher Miller and his FBI pals will not be showing up every winter to save your yuletide bacon anymore. At least not until some other publisher picks up the series.

Anyway, TURKEY SHOOT was deemed too cute for a tale of domestic terrorists running amuck amidst the Macy’s parade. Hence, it became HELL FOR THE HOLIDAYS – you know, from that old holiday song, "Oh, there’s no place like Hell for the holidays…." 

Speaking of HELL, how, you might ask, did Ceepak Mystery #4 get the title HELL HOLE?  I can hear you out there: "We’re with you, Chris. TILT A WHIRL, MAD MOUSE, WHACK A MOLE. Amusement park rides. Boardwalk arcade games. Got it. What’s next? FUN HOUSE? TUMBLE BUG? LOG FLUME?"

No.

HELL HOLE!

You see, when I signed my first Carroll & Graf contract, it was for two books: TILT A WHIRL and MAD MOUSE. When those did okay, the publisher wanted to sign on for two more. I told my agent, "I know I want to call the third book WHACK A MOLE but I have no idea, yet, what to call the fourth book."

The titles are actually quite important to the Ceepak series. I usually start with it then use it as a springboard to find my themes, plot, plot twists, characters – just about everything.  I was expecting to see TBD, the good ol’ To Be Determined, as the title for Book #4 in the contract when it arrived in the mail. Imagine my chagrin when I saw HELL HOLE listed instead.

"What the hell is a Hell Hole?" I asked my agent.

Point of clarification: my agent, when not inking mega million dollar deals (for someone else, not me), is one of these amusement park aficionados. These thrill ride enthusiasts go on organized tours and ride roller coasters all over the country, comparing the relative merits of wood to steel, rickety to not-so-rickety. Don’t believe me?  Check it out here.   

So now I had to find out what a HELL HOLE is.

Time to Google.

Turns out, there was/is a HELL HOLE at world famous Coney Island:

"You stand inside a circular chamber with a dozen other sadomasochists, when suddenly, the chamber starts spinning as the floor drops out. Before you know it, the centrifugal force has you pinned to the wall like a sock during the spin cycle of a washing machine. Dare to throw up and the centrifugal force glues your spew to your body. When the nightmare finally ends, you agree to the ride operator's offer of a second ride at half price."  —Mitch Lemus from Coney Island, Brooklyn's Playland By The Sea

Googling on, I came across this:  "You're from South Jersey if you have a story about the "Hell Hole" ride in Wildwood."

Who knew?

My books take place down the shore in a fictional South Jersey resort town. Looks like they should have a HELL HOLE on the boardwalk in Sea Haven. To see old photographs of the real ride in Wildwood you can visit this page on my website.

The HELL HOLE has since been torn down, although I did go to Wildwood last summer where I rode its very close cousin, the Gravitron, just so I could vividly recreate that nauseating sensation created by centrifugal force similar to that used to train the Mercury astronauts who needed to know what all those G-forces might feel like when they blasted off. John Glenn, hopefully, did not lose his lunch. Or his Tang.

In the Gravitron, once you’re pinned to the wall by all those whirling G-Forces, the floor not only drops away, the wall cushions slide up, too. In my on-going research, I soon discovered that many of these beloved South Jersey "stories" regarding the HELL HOLE involved entering the spinning chamber while a) intoxicated b) stoned or c) both.

But I began to really like the metaphor of the floor dropping out from under my main character, John Ceepak. What if everything he believes in falls away, leaving him spinning, unable to move?

So, I’m starting to think, okay, maybe I can work with HELL HOLE as a title. If not, we can always change it later to THE CORKSCREW or TUNNEL OF LOVE. No. Wait. Save that one for my romance series, if, you know, I ever write one of those.  Besides, I figured, the title HELL HOLE was not set in stone. If I came up with a better one for book #4, nobody would really care what it said in the contract?

Then I went out to lunch with my editor.

"I loooooove the title of the fourth book! HELL HOLE! I can see it on a cover now! HELL HOLE! It’s a helluva good title, HELL HOLE!" Or words to that effect.

So, long story short, the title of the fourth Ceepak book will be HELL HOLE. I did not come up with it. My agent did.

The fifth Ceepak book, I think, will be called MIND SCRAMBLER.  Came up with that title, all by myself.

Twenty-five Mysterious--and Magical--Years

by Toni L.P. Kelner

Friday the 13th has a reputation for being unlucky, but May 13, 1993 turned out to be a magical day for mystery fans. That's the day the Kate Mattes opened Kate's Mystery Books in Cambridge, MA. This past Tuesday, the mystery community showed up to celebrate the store's Silver Anniversary.

There have been lots written about the wonders at Kate's Mystery Books: the tombstone in the front yard, the blood red house with cutouts of Miss Marple and Nancy Drew on the side, the collection of black cat knick-knacks, the portrait of the store by Jane Langton, the secret passage, and the plaque that says Robert B. Parker built the bookcases. But the really important part is the books. Mysteries galore: collector's editions, signed volumes, and books hot off the press. If you don't know what you're looking for, Kate almost certainly will. Her knowledge of the field is almost scary. It is, in short, mystery reader heaven.

I would love it for that alone, but the store--and Kate--mean even more to me as a mystery writer.

The first time I went to Kate's was probably the first author signing I ever attended, and it was totally by accident. I was starting my first mystery novel, and wanted to find out more about the field. So when I heard about Kate's, my husband Steve and I went there the first chance we got. The store was, and is, so charming, and best of all, there was John McAleer signing his book Coign of Vantage. I was so amazed to find a real, live writer just sitting there! It was magic! (By the way, I bought two copies of his book, one for us and one for my father. It turned out to be one of Daddy's favorites.)

Steve and I started shopping at Kate's regularly, and when I heard that the local Sisters in Crime was going to have an organizational meeting there, I couldn't wait to call and ask if I could come. Not only did I get to get to know Kate a little better, but I got to meet local mystery writers Susan Conant, Susan Kelly, and Peg DiCanio. (There were others there, but I can't remember who.) Now I was rubbing elbows with lots of writers, and starting to learn the nuts and bolts of the business from them. More magic!

I spent many evenings at Kate's after that, both with Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, since the two groups used Kate's as a home base. In addition to even more writers, I encountered fingerprint experts and forensic entomologists and an arson dog. If that's not magic, I don't know what is!

Then came the most magical moment of all. I'd sold my mystery Down Home Murder, and came full circle by scheduling my very first book signing at Kate's. I sat in the same chair I'd found John McAleer in, sitting in front of the Jane Langton picture with the secret passage nearby. My friends and family came, and other writers, and even people who looked impressed to be meeting me. That was nearly fifteen years ago, and it is still the best signing I have ever had. Magic...

Sadly, this anniversary may be the last. Kate wants to sell the building and open a store in a new location. So if you want see the Robert Parker bookcases and all the black cats, you should get to Cambridge soon. It'll be a sad day for me when Kate uproots that tombstone, but wherever she goes, I'll follow. As long as there are mystery books and real live mystery authors to talk about them, Kate will be there with her usual grin. And it'll be magic.

Roundtable question #3: what was your favorite moment as a mystery writer?

Writing is a job that is never dull, and we've talked about some of the low moments peculiar to being a writer.  As wretched as those lows are, however, they are matched by equally wonderful highs.  The Femmes Fatales remember some of their favorite best times.

Toni:  This is surprisingly hard--I've had an awful lot of great moments.  Winning the Agatha was in the top two or three, but the best has to be the moment when I found out that Zebra (now Kensington) had made an offer on Down Home Murder and two more books.  I literally could not sit still.  I was waiting for my husband Steve to get home, and dying to tell SOMEBODY.  Anybody.  Everybody!  So I'd grab the phone, thinking to call a friend or relative.  Then I'd remind myself I had to wait for Steve, and put it down again.  Off to the window to see if I saw him coming.  No Steve.  Back to the phone.  Pick it up.  Put it down.  Go to the window.  I don't know how many times I did that before finally I spotted him coming down the sidewalk.

I ran out, chased him down, and started yelling, "Three books!  I sold three books!'

He jumped up and down with me, though in fact, he thought I was saying, "Free books!  Free books!"  Which would have been good news, too, of course.  Finally I got the explanation out, and the celebrating began.  It's been a long time, and honestly, the celebrating has never really ended.

Mary:  At the Malice Domestic convention right after my first book came out, a man pushing a large red canvas bag on wheels passed me in a hallway. The front of the bag had a clear pocket, and in the pocket, standing out beautifully against the red bag, was my book. It was the first time I'd seen someone I'd never met with a copy.

Elaine:  My favorite moment is when the new book arrives. I open it up, examine the cover, open the pages and inhale the new book smell. At that moment, it is perfect. I never have the nerve to reread my books, but just holding them makes all the effort worthwhile.  As a joke, my Aunt Betty made me a book-sized baby carrier -- but she wasn't far off the mark.

Charlaine:  My favorite moment as a mystery writer. It’s hard to pick one out of so many happy moments. But it would have to be when I won the Anthony for Best Paperback Original.

Kris:   My favorite moment as a mystery writer? There are so many. Maybe when I write myself into a corner and a totally unexpected plot escape occurs to me that's absolutely perfect. Or when a character speaks up, in a voice completely her own, to tell me she's taking over this book. Or the times at appearances, or when readers email, and tell me how much enjoyment my writing has given them — those times are pretty special. But typing "the end" is also great, even if it's just after a first draft, because that's always an accomplishment.

Donna:  I've had a lot of favorite moments as a mystery writer, but if I have to pick one: the first time I saw my first book, Murder with Peacocks, in a store.  I was passing by the Borders at Pentagon City, on my way to Linens 'n' Things to get a few things I needed for a massive housecleaning and fixing up project, and even though I didn't have time to stop and go in, I slowed down when I went by the front of the store, because--well, it's a bookstore; how can you not?  And I spotted Peacocks right there on the front table.  When I tell people about this, they usually say, "And of course you went right and offered to sign them, right?"  No!  Remember, I was in the middle of that housecleaning and fixing up--I was dressed in grungy clothes.  I didn't want the store to think a bag lady had written the book.  I went home, took a shower, put on presentable clothes, and went BACK to sign stock. 

Dana:  My favorite moments have to do with feeling welcomed by the mystery community.  The very first was when Site Unseen came out, and I went to one of my first cons.  I'd driven through a terrible storm and was feeling tired and nervous, a newbie.  I showed up late, just in time to register, and was quite wet and bedraggled, but when I gave the person behind the desk my name, Ellen (now my friend) told me she loved my book.  Fatigue and worry vanished.  The latest was winning the Anthony for BPO for Ashes and Bones.  Nearly everyone I wanted to tell was within hugging or shouting distance.  Magic. 

Road Work

I'm not much of a traveller. I like being in new places. It's that part about getting there and back that bugs me. For the last two weeks, I've been on the road with book-related events, so I thought I'd share the good part of road trips, the nice people you get to see.

First stop - Malice Domestic, the convention that celebrates the traditional mystery. Here's a photo of the big highlight of the weekend. Two fellow Femmes had the spotlight when Toni Kelner interviewed the convention's Guest of Honor, Charlaine Harris. Both of them kept the audience laughing with stories about Charlaine's life and her successful career, including news about the upcoming HBO series based on her Sookie books. See previous blog about her trip to a filming when the HBO folks were in Louisiana.

I caught two of my favorite authors in the hospitality room for this picture. Dean James and Frankie Bailey know how to spin a good Southern story. Besides their natural writing talents, they bring depth to their works through keen eyes on important social issues. I also love the way they use history to broaden the scope of their books. In addition to their mystery series, both are award-winning non-fiction writers.

After Malice, I flew west to Austin, Texas. This was for a writing workshop from the Free-Expressions folks. Literary agent Don Maass led a three-and-a-half day seminar called High Tension. What a lot of work! But I enjoyed learning the many new approaches to make my writing stronger.

It was great meeting other writers from all over the country. About 100 attendees brought their works-in-progress to apply what they learned on the spot. The photo on the left is of a couple of my Nashville friends who also attended. Left to right - Nancy Sartor who is working on an emotionally-packed thriller, her husband, the composer David Sartor, and Beth Terrell-Hicks who is writing a terrific series with a male protagonist, a former cop now working as a private eye.

It's nice to be home for a while. My new book, Mighty Old Bones, comes out May 27th, so I'll be on the road again in June. Until then, I'll be trying out the High Tension techniques as I work on the third Thistle & Twigg book. I think I'm going to need more pen refills .....

I Become Famous

At some point last Wednesday, I slipped over the line from being my regular, lived-in self to becoming Famous. I spent the day on the set of "True Blood," the HBO series made from my Sookie Stackhouse books. HBO wanted to shoot an interview with me to be shown as part of their "The Making Of" feature, which they run before each new show debuts. After many to-and-fro emails between me and Alan Ball's assistant, who was mediating between me and HBO, it was all set out: the time I was to arrive, my scheduled events after I arrived, and the clothes I was to wear while I went through them.

Wearing the designated outfit, and accompanied by my own modest entourage (husband, daughter, and close friend Paula) I arrived at the appointed time and was waved through security as though I was Somebody. After a certain amount of standing around, and people trying to figure out what to do with me until the makeup trailer was empty of people who really needed to be made up (like the actors about to film), I was glad to see Alan again; amongst all the strangers, I felt we were practically best friends (we've had lunch together twice in L.A.). With glacial slowness, I proceeded to hair and then makeup, meeting Sam Trammell, Todd Lowe, and Chris Bauer in the process (Sam Merlotte, Terry Bellefleur, and Andy Bellefleur).

After some walking and standing, I was glad to see the chair for the interview. The wind was blowing briskly, which probably didn't do my hair much good, but at that point, I was ready to do something besides wait, so while my entourage and Alan stood patiently by (actually, Alan sat on the grass, and only biting my tongue restrained me from reminding him about chiggers) the HBO interviewer, Brenda, began to ask me questions while the crew filmed. As long as we're talking bugs, Brenda from New Jersey had never seen a dragonfly. I was tempted to tell her they bit, but thought that would hardly be nice of me. The filming took forever, and off in the distance I could see the crew filming a much more interesting scene -- the actors "going fishing."

Eventually Alan and I filmed a joint interview. We have had to tell interviewers repeatedly how wonderful I think he is and how wonderful he thinks I am, and we're still smiling, so good for us!

After that, we went over to the next scene to be filmed, and I got to watch some of the previous footage on a machine I don't know the name of, shown me by a very genial man whose title I can't recall, if I ever heard it. I was all prepared to stand and watch, but the scene about to be shot was a nude one, and the set was closed. Yes, I know, just when it was getting even more interesting.

By that time, we were getting tired and hungry and my daughter announced she had reading to do for class the next day, so we eased our way out of the busy milieu and headed for the nearest restaurant. My friend Paula got her pictures developed, and my husband's getting his developed, and as I see myself standing with Alan, our arms around each other, a feeling of total surrealism swamps me every single time.  Even the most famous writer is completely eclipsed by the lowest film star, a fact most writers realize quite clearly. Maybe some of the Hollywood magic has rubbed off on me now?

Be watching on September 7. We'll see.