My Weblog

Celebrating with friends

by Donna

Three of the Femmes Fatales got good news this week.  Toni Kelner and Dana Cameron were both nominated for Agatha Awards for best short story, and I was nominated for best novel.  (Full list of nominations here.)

Ironically, Dana's story, "The Night Things Changed," appeared in Wolfsbane and Mistletoe, edited by Toni and Charlaine Harris, so Toni the author is competing not just against her fellow Femme Fatale but also against Toni the editor.  Also nominated for best short story are Carla Coupe, who's in a writing group with me and whose story appeared in Chesapeake Crimes 3, which I co-edited. And Jane Cleland and Nancy Pickard, also friends, as are my fellow best novel nominees.  I'm hoping for a five-way tie in the short story and best novel categories.  And did I mention that two of the best first novels--G.M. Malliet's and Joanna Campbell Slan's--are books I read and liked enough to blurb?  In every category, I can see names of friends for whom I'm very happy--competing against other friends for whom I'm equally happy.

Sometimes the mystery world is rather like a small town.  A small town where, to my astonishment, I have now been living for over a decade. Last month I was too busy finishing my latest book to celebrate it, but Murder with Peacocks came out in 1999.  it seems like just yesterday that I was a newbie with my first book out.  I still remember how amazed I was the first time I was on a panel with an author whose books I'd been reading for ten years or so.  And now I've turned into the ten-year veteran myself.

I still remember very vividly something that happened at Bouchercon 1998 in Philadelphia, just before I was published.  Margaret Maron moderated a session in which anyone whose first book would be out in the coming year could stand up and say a few sentences about it.  And after we'd all taken our turns, Margaret spoke.  I'm quoting this from memory, so apologies to Margaret if that memory has warped in the intervening decade.  But what I remember her saying: "Look around you.  These are the authors who are entering the mystery field the same year you are. This is your tribe." 

Chills went up my spine as she said that, and I wasn't the only one.

Remember the old cliche that it's an honor just to be nominated?  That's exactly how so many of us feel when we hear the news that we've been nominated--which is why it has become a cliche.

So congratulations to all the members of the tribe who have been nominated.  I am honored and delighted to be among you.

Will Neatness Hurt My Writing?

by Kris

Forget about Hamlet’s “To be, or not to be,” the question that dominates my life is “To clutter, or not to clutter.” I don’t mean in some philosophical sense, but literally. Taking my cue from Donna’s recent post ("A Writer’s Space," January 30, 2009), I’d like to share my own frustrations.

Though the listing has just expired, we’ve had our house for sale. The housing market being what it is today, it didn’t sell. But it sure wasn’t because of my lack of preparedness. I felt that prep most strongly in the writing and reading areas of my home and my life.

Naturally, I spiffed and polished. Mostly, though, I took expert advice. I must confess to an addiction to HGTV shows. My husband regards the station’s programs as shills for the home remodeling industry, but I buy into it. Sure, there are times when I prefer the “before” rooms, and their designers often contradict each other (“Buyers want colors” vs “Buyers want neutral.”), but I’m in denial about that.

First de-cluttering step: books. The stagers say books are heavy, and not just to pick up. They make a room look heavy, so they should just be accents on shelves. I’ve only allowed one full shelf — overflowing, actually — and that’s my publication shelf. Like Toni (“My Shelf is Full,” November 21, 2008), I take pride in my shelf. I have boxed up all my magazine publications, but I can’t remove any books. I did try to make the overflow pretty, though.

I attacked every other shelf ruthlessly, filling boxes of visually heavy reading material, which I stacked to the ceiling in the garage. Too bad we’re incapable of leaving shelves empty. We kept adding new titles. My husband even bought new copies of some of the books I packed away, so he could see his favorites there. Like he was suffering withdrawal or something. And now, as we’re considering listing the house again, I’m going to have to pack away even more books. How many of those will we replace?

The last thing we need right now is to add more shelving. But while driving past a yard sale, I saw a little wooden cube that matched my desk. I couldn’t let my desk’s little cousin go to a stranger. Even de-cluttered, there’s only enough room in my study for a tiny end table next to my side chair. But this little cube fit perfectly, and it’s so efficient. How often do you get to store books under an end table, unless you’re stacking them on the floor? Isn't it cute? Is it too heavy looking?

And desk toys! I seem to need things to occupy my hands while my mind searches for just the right word, and I figure they might as well be fun. But the stagers insist you should pack away anything too personal, so the strangers wandering through your house can imagine themselves living with your furniture, but not your smaller possessions. (Does that make sense?) As soon as I packed away the collection of doo-dads I use to fritter away time, I got an Edgar Allen Poe action figure. Please tell me he doesn’t need to join the rest of the gang in the “Desk Toys” box.

Somewhere in this house — I can’t lay my hands on it right now — there’s a tattered bookmark with a quote by A.A. Milne that I love: “One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.” That’s always been true for me. I won't even try to describe my desk except to say that covering it with so much paper, so many stacks that I can't see the surface, works for me. I can always find what I need in those stacks. Almost always. Well, sometimes I can.

Modifying your house to make it more potential-buyer-friendly requires a little inconvenience in a fast-moving up-market. In a down market, it demands a life-style change that you’ll suffer with for a long time.

Soon, I know, I’ll have to neaten my desk and study once more. I could challenge the house stagers and hope for a buyer just like me. But given the shrunken buyer pool, how many voracious-reading, toy-playing, stack-making, messy writer-types are roaming around out there, in desperate need of my house? Besides, if I challenged the experts, would I have to stop watching my favorite shows?

For now, I’m not going to share any more photos than these carefully cropped ones. But I am going to enjoy my clutter for a little longer. 

Chances Are

by Hank Phillippi Ryan

 

I've been thinking about coincidence. Synchronicity. Whatever you want to call the thing that makes something happen that's remarkably connected to something else, but that, logically, just can't be connected.

 

My husband and I went to the grocery the other night. As we were walking towards the sushi bar, we saw a father and his son walk up to us, open arms . It was an old pal of Jonathan's. Wow, the father said, I haven't seen you for a year, and then I saw you right here last Thursday. And then again, this Thursday! 

 

 "Synchronicity,"  I said. (Which of course, it wasn't.  It was just a coincidence. Or the result of having somehow similar Thursday schedules.)

 

But  then we got home, and Nancy Pickard's blog sent me to a brand new blog called: Synchronicity. 

 

And I thought--I just said that word.  When I mentioned it to my  husband, he said: So? And I said, yeah, but that's weird.

 

So we're talking, and the TV is on, and I say "How about the name Lissa Lawrence for a character?" We change the channel, and instantly someone on TV says,   "Oh, Lissa! You should do that!"  So I thought, okay, Lissa it is. The universe agrees.

 

I mean, what are the chances?

 

How often does it happen? You say a word or think about, I don't  know, robins.  Pink scarves. And then there's a robin. Or someone in a pink scarf.  Or the song you haven't heard for years  that you were thinking about comes on the radio.  Sure, it's coincidence. And fine. But why, then, does  the "coincidence"  so often provide exactly what we need? (Are we just--listening for it?)

 

I needed to know about car repair for my next book. And poof--a story assignment at work (TV reporter) took me right to a mechanic's garage. I had to know what happened off-limits at the airport. Poof. Story assignment and I'm suddenly in the secret TSA only area. I didn't plan it, I promise. 

 

A million years ago, I read Arthur Koestler's book,  Roots of Coincidence. I remember a chapter which included info on seemingly random stuff. The number of  New York City police officers who were kicked by a horse and died each year. The number of people each year who were bitten by a dog seriously enough to be taken to a hospital. And it was astonishing that every year, it was almost exactly the same number.  So, why? How? If in say, November, only 13 police officers had been fatally kicked by a horse, what suddenly happened to boost the annual number to 27?  (Or whatever. I forget the real numbers,  but you get the point.)

 

Maybe it's like when you're in a hurry and get all the red lights. Its actually the same number of red lights you always get, but you notice it because it matters. But  that only leads me to wonder how often there are things we don't notice. That we should. Because maybe it always matters? 

 

And screeching around the corner to writing... Now that we agree how often coincidence or synchronicity is part of our life, why is it  that when you try to put coincidence in a book, it sticks out like bad shoes ? And you have to change it immediately?

 

I have seen the future...

by Toni L.P. Kelner

Last week, I spoke about "Taking the Mystery out of Mysteries" in the Young Authors and Illustrators Conference held at the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor in Belton, TX. I was invited by my neice, Kristi Brecheisen, who is a teacher and a member of the Central Texas Reading Council. I didn't count heads, but we had over 20 kids pre-registered for my fifty-minute session, and I'm sure we got more than that. The kids were attentive, and asked intelligent questions, and according to Kristi, they really enjoyed it. 

So what does this have to do with the future?

For one, any time you talk to kids, it's a chance to affect the future--I'm firmly convinced that meeting a "real life" writer encourages them to read and to write. But I've spoken to kids before. What made this talk particularly futuristic was this:

I never left Massachusetts.

The talk was given via video conference.

A week or so ahead of time, I installed the program Skype, and my niece did the same on her work laptop. We were then able to make a video phone call using the built-in mikes and web cams on our computers. For the actual conference, Kristi sent my signal to a projection screen. On my end, I had real-time video of the room. On their end, they had a big picture of my head.  

Photo by Kristi Brecheisen

I know this isn't cutting-edge technology, and that there are far more sophisticated systems available for video conferences. But this was free and didn't take an expert to set up. Now there were some technical issues--we lost signal a couple of times, and I had to choose between looking directly at the camera to make it look as if I were looking at the students or actually looking at the video of the student on my screen even if it made it look as if I were looking at their chins. But all in all, it was a successful talk.

Now I don't think this will replace an old-fashioned face-to-face talk or panel discussion, but I'm extremely tickled that I was able to appear at a conference without leaving my office. The possibilities for making use of this technology for book promotion intrigue me. And best of all, it's right out of the science fiction I read when I was the age of the kids at the conference.

I have seen the future. And it has a big head.

Because I said so

by Dana

When I started writing novels, one of my goals was to bring a real taste of what it’s like to be an archaeologist working on a dig to my readers.  I learned early on (luckily for me) that I needed to add more detail, because I was skipping all the daily business.  An easy mistake:  Everyone I knew was either an archaeologist or related to one, and they sure didn’t need to be reminded what it’s like to wash 10,000 pottery sherds and then write a series of numbers and letters on them in print too small for most folk to read. 

But everyone else did.  I needed to bring all the gritty detail of my world, to the table.  The book wouldn’t work unless I went into all the little stuff that made day different from someone else’s.

Lesson learned.  And that was comfortable for me, focusing on the facts.  I’d spent my first professional career working from the facts I knew to theorize about less tangible cultural elements.

Lately I’ve had to put that comfortable habit aside.  I’ve been finishing my first Fangborn novel, which I’m calling Pandora’s Orphans, and—you’ll giggle when you read this—I’m suddenly realizing that in a world populated with werewolves and vampires, I don’t have a lot of facts to work from.  I have the short story I wrote for Wolfsbane and Mistletoe (edited by our own Charlaine and Toni), and I work from what I established there.  But now that I have a chance to flesh out the history and mythology of the Fangborn, I found I was getting hung up, not being able to write details I couldn’t corroborate. 

Okay, you really need to stop laughing now.  Old habits are hard to break.

While it’s a kind of anthropology I’m doing, creating the world of the Fangborn, it sure doesn’t need to be a formal paper on Fangborn ethnography, biology, history, or ethics.  It had better not be.  That would be, to mangle the words of Tennessee Williams, an ass-aching bore.  It’s an adventure story, urban fantasy, and it’s my world.  I can do what I want, whatever best serves the story. 

I’m off the leash of sticking to just the facts, ma’am.  I’ve lost my restraining bolt.

Of course, I’ll never completely separate reality from my writing.  You don’t get good characters without being honest about how they think and act, whether they’re werewolves or archaeologists.  I’ll use settings I know and love, and even if I change minor details or add whole new towns to make the story better, my descriptions will be true to the spirit of the place.  No writer gets off that easy, even in a completely imaginary world.  Your world had better have its own internal consistency…or else.

I’m learning to say “Fangborn can do that…because I wish it to be so.”  I’m finding power in a phrase that is echoing back from decades ago:  “I’m doing that because.  That’s just how it is.”  I’m having fun making up reasons—based in our history—why things can be the way I want.  I’m running amok, toying—toying, I say!—with laws of physics.  And I’m getting a rather naughty thrill from it all. 

So, writers:  what did you have to learn or unlearn in your writing?  Readers, what’s the fictitious reality you’d like to escape to? 

Dogs Rule!

by Mary Saums

It's Westminster time!

Not too many TV shows interest me enough to stop what I'm doing and sit for hours. The Westminster Dog Show is an exception. What could be better than watching the most  wonderful animals in the world? It's a sure cure for whatever ails you.

Dogs play a big part in what I write. I didn't set out to do this. Somehow, they have managed to sneak into to just about every doggone story I've published anyway. What's up with that? I've never even had a dog of my own.

 Even with zero personal dog experience though, I do know one thing - they make good heroes. That's why I especially like them in mysteries. I love it when they upstage the macho dudes and dudesses.

We readers have no problem accepting a dog as a hero. We understand that it's not a stretch to give a dog super powers, like unwavering loyalty or courage in the face of danger. We hear stories all the time of real life situations, with police dogs and everyday mutts, in which the dog saves the day.                                                        

Or at least makes the day a whole lot more fun.                         

One of my favorite mystery hounds is Carstairs, the Great Dane in Norbert Davis' series written in the '40s, starting with The Mouse In The Mountain. Carstairs reminds me a little of Jeeves, P.G. Wodehouse's famous butler, because both are a little ahead of their 'superiors'.

Another favorite is Spike, the not-so-cuddly canine in Donna's Meg Langslow series.

Spike can be a little ornery but you gotta love him. He is his own dog. We've all known a Spike or two in real life. 

Who are your favorite dogs in fiction?  

THE BUSINESS

    The business of it all. That's what seems to shock some readers and (sadly) some  wannabe writers. If I hadn't gotten into publishing by a shortcut, the facts of publishing would have shocked me, too. It's nice to read about the days when editors only had a few writers, so your editor could spend lots and lots of time working on your book. You and your editor would develop a close relationship in this hazy long, long, ago, and enchange lengthy letters about the nuances of your prose. You would save these letters for publication. Your editor would become a legend, and you would name your firstborn for him/her.

    I guess some writers had relationships with their editors like this, at some point in time; maybe that was in the time when there was no income tax, another disillusioning fact of life.

    These days, your editor has scads of writers, some of them far more important than you, and she has to scurry through your manuscript rather than spending long days on its improvement. That's not to say you can't have a great editor, and a close relationship with that editor, but editors are very, very busy -- especially now that the publishing industry is feeling the crunch, as most other industries are.

    And let me tell you about "inspiration." I know my mouth gets a cynical quirk when I'm asked how I get my inspiration, where I go for inspiration, what I do on days I'm not "inspired" to write. On my bad days, I'm tempted to snap that I buy my inspiration at the Inspiration Shop (where else?), that I go to my office for my inspiration because that's where I saw it last, and that on days when I can't find any there, I watch soap operas and do petit point.

    I seldom actually give these answers, but I do point out that writing -- though the best job in the world -- is still a JOB, with the editor representing your boss and your contract representing a time clock which you are obliged to punch. Furthermore, it's a job with an unpredictable paycheck. And too, when you deliver your product at the agreed time, sometimes it's rejected!

    So why do I do this? Am I driven to write (another question I'm often asked)? Well, yes and no. I love to write, and I look forward to going to work every day. But if I didn't get paid eventually, I'm not sure I'd put myself through the obstacle course of writing a book.

    The fact is, I'm lousy at anything else. I was a terrible offset darkroom worker, I was a mediocre typesetter, I was an awful teacher's aide, and I sucked at answering phones. So, though the job may have its down points, I guess I'll stick with writing. Until I'm inspired to do something else.

ALREADY THE MODEL OF A MODERN MAJOR AUTHOR--AND SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE

by Hank Phillippi Ryan

 

Hallie Ephron is having a great time. Oh, you know she wrote those great Peter Zak mysteries--AMNESIA, GUILT and the rest-—with a writing partner and published under the name GH Ephron.

 

She taught us all how to write mysteries with her writers-necessity how-to called WRITING AND SELLING YOUR MYSTERY NOVEL. (She was my teacher in the only writing class I’ve ever taken. And I can truly say much that has happened to me in writing-world stemmed from that.)

 

She offered us nostalgia and community and a reading list for the future in 1001 Novels for our Every Mood.

 

 

She's the crime fiction reviewer for The Boston Globe.

 

Now: she’s written a thriller. Her solo debut. And it’s a knock out. Everyone says so. (Laura Lippman calls it “Unputdownable.”) And then--it seems like just hours ago--we got the word NEVER TELL A LIE is optioned by Hollywood!

 

So, Hallie,before you run out to buy something to wear on the red carpet--first, congratulations.  Second, you're proof overnight successes do not happen overnight.

 

Tell us more..!

HALLIE:

Sometimes, you store an idea away for decades before you can use it in a novel. I tucked away a house—one my husband and I fell hopelessly in love with a few, ahem, decades ago. It’s front and center, practically a character in my new book just out, NEVER TELL A LIE.

 

The house was a fabulous Victorian with six bedrooms, three baths, and zero closets. Its pristine interior walls were covered with the original leather wallpaper. Seven fireplaces were bordered with hand-painted tiles.  Opulent stained glass glinted in downstairs windows, and a bronze statuette of a beautiful woman, mounted in an elaborately carved newel post at the foot of a winding stairway beckoned with her siren’s song, distracting me from an exterior that hadn’t been painted for so long that the shingles looked sandblasted. From the disintegrating balustrades out front.  From seven leaning chimneys.

 

Who knew what it would cost to heat the house because the elderly man who owned the place had been living in the kitchen for years, sleeping on a cot and making do with a single light bulb and a wood-burning stove. Four of his black wool great coats flapped like enormous bat wings from a clothesline out back. (“Is he going to take his box of earth with him,” my husband asked.)

 

Fortunately for us, we were overbid, because our home repair skills were even more meager than our income.  Plus, I was eight-months pregnant with our first child and had not a clue what I had gotten myself into on that front, either.

 

I've never gotten that house out of my head and finally I've put it to good use. It’s David and Ivy Rose’s house in NEVER TELL A LIE. A woman from their past goes into it, and she never comes out.

 

HANK: Wait. Goes in and never comes out?

HALLIE: Vanishes completely. The police arrive a few days later asking questions
and snooping around...sorry, you'll have to read it to find out more than
that!

HANK:  You've won awards for your book reviews. As you were writing, was
Hallie-the-reviewer looking over your shoulder? You've won awards for your
how to write a mystery book. Was Hallie-the-how-to also in the room?

 

HALLIE:  I wish Hallie-the-reviewer were just looking over my shoulder.
Unfortunately she's take up residence in my head. Remember Anne Lamott's
great advice for writers, something like "hold your nose and write a shitty
first draft"? I find that really hard to do, and it makes the first draft
very slow going. Fortunately Hallie-the-how-to is a lot less present--mostly
she learns from my mistakes.

 

Hallie's website has the rest of the scoop--but she's here now to answer questions, give advice, and generally hang out with the friends of the Femmes.

Congratulations, Hallie! Is there another thriller in the works? Or is that secret?