My Weblog

The Enduring Appeal of the Small Town Mystery.

By guest blogger Vicki Delany

Today the Femmes welcome the highly-prolific Canadian author Vicki Delany. Vicki’s newest novel is Negative Image, the fourth in the Constable Molly Smith books, a traditional village/police procedural series set in the village of Trafalgar, deep in the mountains of British Columbia.  Vicki also writes a light-hearted historical series, Gold Digger  and Gold Fever, set in the raucous heyday of the Klondike Gold Rush, and standalone novels of psychological suspense. She lives in rural Prince Edward County, Ontario where she rarely wears a watch. 

A small community has always been a popular place to set a mystery novel.

Small towns and villages work particularly well for the sort of story or series where people are connected and relationships are complicated, where day-to-day associations between the protagonists and their families and friends (and enemies) are important. Having a small town setting allows for situations where people know each other well and relationships can be highly interconnected.

Which in real life is not always a good thing if you have a secret you’re trying to keep. And secrets are the life blood of the mystery novel.

The type of novel that is as much about the personal and family life of the protagonists as their jobs, that is more about human relationships and love and loss than international terrorism or guns-for-hire, thrives in the small town environment.

As a reader, I don’t like too much coincidence in a book. I can usually let the author get away with one coincidence in the name of moving the plot forward, but more than that and I start to lose the suspension of disbelief. From there it’s often a downward spiral into putting the book aside, unfinished. But coincidences do happen in a small town that wouldn’t be believable in a large city. Here’s a true-life example: In doing research for the Constable Molly Smith books I spend a lot of time with police officers. One night I was walking the beat in Nelson, British Columbia, pop 9,000 (Nelson is the real-life inspiration for Trafalgar, the town in my novels) and we went into a bar.

My daughter said, “Hi, Mom”

I introduced the officer to my daughter and son-in-law.

The very next day my son-in-law is driving into town without bothering to do up his seatbelt. He gets pulled over.

Same cop he met last night.

In a big city that might be a bit too much of a coincidence to swallow. But it can, and did, happen in a small town.

In addition, I have a very specific reason for setting my books in a small town.  Veracity is important to me, as a reader as well as a writer. Molly Smith is, I believe, unique as the main character in a police procedural series: she is only twenty-six years old, a brand-new police officer. In In the Shadow of the Glacier and Valley of the Lost, the first two books in the series, she’s still on probation. She’s young, green, somewhat naive. In a big city police force she’d spend her time writing traffic tickets. But working in a small police department allows her to become more involved in major crimes, and allows me to make that believable. She’s a local and the detective sergeant’s a newcomer:  he has to rely on her for local knowledge.

I’m often asked why I set my books in a fictional town rather than a real one. Particularly as my town of Trafalgar is a not-at-all-disguised version of Nelson. I do it mainly because it can be tricky dealing with places where prominent people such as the mayor or the chief of police are known as people as well as just their job titles. The mayor of Trafalgar is, well, dead, and the Chief Constable (i.e. the Chief of Police) smokes too much and is in love with the mother of one of his officers. I don’t want anyone thinking I know things about the chief that I don’t. Or about the state of the mayor’s health, come to think of it.

From a purely practical point of view, I don’t want to have to be worried about putting a restaurant where the bank is or misnaming the streets. And last of all, real places can be limiting. In my newest book, Negative Image, it is a major plot point that the room service waiter goes into a hotel room. There isn’t a hotel in all of Nelson that has room service!

Sometimes, of course, real-life has to take a back seat to the interests of a good story.  No one in Nelson can quite remember when the last murder was.  In Trafalgar, there are rather a lot.

 

As always, Sherlock Holmes said it best:

“The lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.” Sherlock Holmes, Adventure of the Copper Beeches.

 

“Do you know what Sherlock Holmes said about the countryside?”

“No.”

“’The lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.’ The Adventure of the Copper Beeches.”

“The great detective never came to Trafalgar, sir. I think he’d find it peaceful here. Most of the time.”

“I’m not interested in what happens here most of the time.” Sergeant Dick Madison and Constable Molly Smith, NEGATIVE IMAGE.

 

The first two chapters of Negative Image are posted on Vicki’s web page at: www.vickidelany.com

A Pocket in Time

by guest blogger Susan Dunlap

Today the Femmes Fatales welcome Susan Dunlap.  Her latest series features stunt double Darcy Lott, who is also the assistant to the abbot of a Zen center in San Francisco.  Power Slide is the fourth book in the series.  Website: susandunlapmysteries.com

A pocket in time!  Don’t you just love the concept?  A pocket to stuff blank pages into, and better yet, to drag written ones out of.  For years I’ve heard about pockets in time.  (I do hang out in Berkeley, after all.)  The magic answer to so many problems.

I’d been away from my manuscript for a couple weeks and the problem I was having was getting back into it, particularly with a big hairy knot of plot issue waiting. So, when I was invited to post here, I decided to see if there really are pockets in time. What secret compartments might be hiding in the cloak of my upcoming week? How would I be tempted to cover them up?  Could there be writing time I’d, well, write off?

In theory a free hour should be a writing hour, right?  A virtual pouch of opportunity. 

Here’s the week:

FRIDAY
1.5 hours free between my outside job and dinner.  Do I write?  Ha!  It’s the month before the election.  My city council candidate needs flyers delivered to many houses atop many, many staircases. How can I refuse? I now have no new pages but thigh muscles Darcy Lott would envy. 

SATURDAY
The whole day free to write. That is, after breakfast with a friend.  (If you don’t make time for friends, you don’t have friends, right?) But now it’s 2:30.  It got to be this late because she suggested shopping—food shopping—which suddenly seemed like a great adventure as opposed to the option of a dip into the pocket and  that insolvable plot problem.  So, no pages, but sunflower seeds, green tiny grapes, Serrano chiles and fresh olive bread.

But there’s still time.  Hours loom, the enormity of them daunting.  I start to write, though, not about Darcy’s problem, but instead on a suddenly appealing article with a pressing deadline.

SUNDAY
A bit over an hour between events.  I write!  Or more to the point, rewrite on the problem part.  Hooray!  But why this victory?  Have I turned over a productive leaf?  Improved self so rapidly?  I wish!  Is it due to yesterday’s effort.  Or is the reason fear of humiliation before . . . you??? 

MONDAY
Go to job expecting to work for an hour or so.  Don’t get home till 3:00 and then have to make breakfast.  Really have to.  And have to wallow till dinner, which, of course, isn’t too far off.
Now it’s 9:08 PM and panic time.
Suddenly, it’s10:53 and I’m closing down, having done an hour and a half’s work.

TUESDAY
Get home at 7:00.  Now it’s 9:40. I want play solitaire.  Okay, I am playing solitaire.  Still, I understand—know--that if I just dip a finger into the pocket, keep it there for only half an hour, just to get back to Darcy and her problem, I’ll be hooked.  I’ll be in the story with Darcy, cutting through that problem that was once impenetrable.  Even after I stop writing it will be on my mind.  Tomorrow my finger will be playing at the edge of the pocket.

10:57.  I’m right! An hour and a quarter in the pocket.

WEDNESDAY AND THURSDAY
Job crisis.  Result for writing’s not so much falling off the wagon as having been launched off it and kicked by the mule on the way down.  Then run over.  And tarred under by the street crew.

And thus ends the week.  Seemingly a mixed bag.

I did not so much as open Word those last two days, but Darcy Lott was  alive again in my mind.  The week’s focus on writing was way more valuable than the number of words to paper. 

Here’s what I’ve discovered: there’s a luxury in limited time. You don’t feel the burden of looming hours of work ahead. Just a quick dip into the pocket.  But once  in there the story takes over and it’s hard to leave.

I conclude there are pockets in time; it’s a matter of believing they’re there. Of course, knowing I was going to have to report this to you helped shoved me into the pocket. (One can never overestimate the power of potential humiliation.)  Thank you for your great, if unintentional, help.

If you think this would work for you, give it a try.  Just for a week.

After the Con Is Over

by Donna Andrews

Last year, when I realized I'd in California twice in 2010, for LCC and Bouchercon, I began hatching big plans.  As long as I was going to be on the west coast anyway, why not add on a little side trip to Hawaii?

Seemed like a good idea at the time. Still seems like a good idea, but not one destined to happen in 2010.  All year it's been one damned thing after another, including a serious health problem with my 88-year-old mother--successfully resolved, and she's now doing fine, but getting her there took a lot of time.  And at the moment I feel like the White Queen, running as fast as I can just to stay where I am.  Thank goodness Bouchercon fell after I turned in the draft of The Real Macaw and before the revisions were due.  Still, I'd resigned myself to a trip just long enough to do the convention.

And then, as I was about to book my plane flight, coming back on Sunday afternoon, I said what the hell.  I booked a Tuesday morning flight instead. Not much of a vacation, a day and a half, but you take what you can get.

So at noon on Sunday I picked up a rental car and pointed it south. I had a hotel reservation in Carmel.  The weather alternated between drizzling and downright raining, and I began to wonder why I'd bothered.  A leisurely dinner, some time reading a book, and early to bed--for this I had to come to California?

But Monday dawned nicely--still a little overcast, but clearing up.   I breakfasted early and by ten I was doing the Seventeen Mile Drive through Pacific Grove and Pebble Beach, stopping at every scenic turnout like a dog at so many hydrants.  Digital camera in hand, of course.  I got some shots of the famous lone cypress, and of the sandpipers skittering at the edge of the waves and then launching themselves into a sudden, luminous flight.  Saw the sea lions and smelled the fishy stench of their dinners.

I thought of stopping in one of the restaurants at Pebble Beach for lunch, but it was early yet, and I had another destination in mind.  I was determined to get to Big Sur, for what one of my favorite memoir writers, Paul Monette (Borrowed Time), called "a dose of raw sublime."

So when I got back to route one, I headed farther south, where Route 1 stops being a freeway and turn into a narrow two-lane highway, twisting in and out of the canyons and up and down the cliffs.  I love the rather stark beauty of this part of the California coast, and even enjoy the slight frisson of anxiety that starts to creep up my spine if I let myself think about how very close I am to the edge of those spectacular cliffs. 

About the time the anxiety started to get to me, I arrived at my destination--a restaurant named Nepenthe that perches on the edge of a cliff, with a spectacular view of hundreds of miles of coast and ocean.  I sat at an outdoor table, ate one of the best burgers I've ever eaten--it can't just be the setting--and watched the fog roll down the canyons, the waves roll toward the cliffs, and the ravens flit about the trees.

And then I headed back north again.  Strange how little the curves and cliffs bothered me once I was a whole lane away from the edge.  I loafed up the coast, stopping to take photos whenever there was a turnout, rolling down the window to let the breeze cool the car off, and sipping an Orangina instead of my usual diet Coke.

Alas!  All too soon I was back at Carmel, where the highway becomes a freeway again, and I knew it was time to make tracks back to San Francisco.  I had a plane to catch in the morning.

Though I did spend the last night of my trip in a favorite spot, the Hotel Kabuki, in San Francisco's Japantown--the rooms feature traditional Japanese deep soaking tubs.  So after a dinner of beef teriyaki and gyouza, I steeped myself like a teabag, until there wasn't a tense muscle in my body.  And then early to bed, because I had to be up at 6 to catch my plane.

Not a long vacation.  Just long enough to remind me that there are favorite places I want to go back to for more than a driveby visit, and new places I want to visit.  But better than no vacation at all.

I should wade into my revisions tomorrow.  So why do I keep thinking about playing hooky? Maybe buying a four-pack of Orangina and sloping off to take a few hundred pictures of the fall foliage?

Bouchercon 2010

by Kris Neri

The Femmes Fatales cut quite a presence through Bouchercon in San Francisco this year. Our proudest moments had to be Hank Phillippi Ryan’s Macavity and Anthony wins in the short story category.

For this round-up, let’s start with Hank’s report:

Even the red eye home could not make me stop smiling! My Bouchercon headlines are life-changing—my short story “On the House” won the Anthony and the Macavity. Hey! Doesn’t get better than that. I am endlessly grateful and honored and happy and still can’t believe it. And since our Dana won last year, it makes it all perfect.

But I must say—Bouchercon was incredible. If not for my room service oatmeal every morning (outrageously expensive, don’t even ask!) I hardly ate during the day, it was so non-stop. I might be the outlier, but I love to go to panels—I always think I learn a few wonderful things at every convention, and it’s such fun to see everyone. And it’s such a treat, like Disneyland for mystery lovers. You get off the elevator—and there’s Val McDermid, or Louise Penny, or Lee Child, or Bryan Gruley (my new fave) or John Connolly. Denise Mina and Val were amazing in interview—I can still her the lilt of their voices and their funny stories.  Had dinner with William Link of Colombo fame and he told some wonderful stories. You know where the name Colombo came from?

I got to interview David Baldacci in front of everyone when Robert Crais had to cancel for a family  emergency. Scary! I felt like one of the chorus girls (a very OLD chorus girl) in Broadway Melody or something, having to learn the part in just a few hours. But it went fine. And he’s such a pro.

Danced with Toni Kelner, chatted with Kris in the elevator, went to Dana’s terrific panel and  was the  auctioneer of the charity auction with Donna! (And Harley Jane Kozak.) Mary—were you there? Can’t believe I missed you somehow…what am I forgetting?

It was really well managed, don’t you think? Everything went smoothly and it all worked so well! Oh, Femmes, I am pretty tired. But I’m eager to see your reports—they’ll probably be more coherent than this one! And see you in St. Louis.

Mary Saums was the first there, and the first to leave:

San Francisco is such a cool place! It's beautiful. My first adventure started before I even got into the  city - riding the BART! I'm not too sharp when it comes to mass transportation. Once I figured out how to get my ticket from the machine though, everything went well, even with carting luggage. At the hotel, the view of the Bay Bridge and the bay from the hotel window was spectacular. After I threw my bags into the room, one of my Sisters In Crime friends, Beth Wasson, and I trekked out to the Haight-Ashbury area where we saw such beautiful homes and unique businesses. We also visited the offices of Code Pink - Women for Peace while we were out. We walked until we couldn't walk anymore, then rode buses around town. Every area is so interesting - I love this place!

From Dana Cameron:

Bouchercon is always a terrific reunion--with the bonus of getting to read more BOOKS, before (to prepare for panels) and after (when you reward yourself with a TBR, by new friends and old).  I had a terrific time with the panels I was on and especially loved seeing "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," which was a hoot.  I was thrilled with my Macavity and Anthony nods, and delighted for Hank's Macavity win!  Best of all was getting to see friends I don't get to spend enough time with (here we see Dan Hale, Margery Flax, me, and Femme Toni).  Off to my last panel and the Anthony brunch!

And from Donna Andrews:

Highlights of Bouchercon: attending the Minotaur party Thursday night at La Mar, a Peruvian seafood restaurant, where I tried a Pisco Sour . . . having a late, post-party dinner with Deborah Crombie, Julia Spencer-Fleming, and Marcia Talley--at 10 p.m., which I figured out later was 1 a.m. East Coast time . . . deciding maybe I will not share with Mom quite ALL the jokes I heard at dinner . . . missing at least half the panels I planned to attend, though at least I caught the panels by friends Ellen Crosby and Meredith Cole and fellow Femmes Hank Phillippi Ryan and Dana Cameron  . . showing up on time for my 8:30 a.m. Saturday panel--"It's 11:30; keep telling yourself that!" . . . joining forces with Hank and Harley Jane Kozak for a short but sweet auction to benefit the San Francisco Public Library and 836 Valencia (an organization that teaches writing to kids).  Not surprisingly, the character name in Lee Child's upcoming book was the biggest draw, but characters by Denise Mina, Eddie Muller, and Laurie King drew high bids as well. And in between the panels and parties, I talked to many old and a few new friends and missed the chance to talk to many more.  How did four days fly by so fast?

Here’s Toni L.P. Kelner’s report:

While in San Francisco, I posted something about the magnificence of the Bcon hotel on Facebook.  A friend of mine who isn't part of the mystery community replied, "A bacon hotel?  I want to go!"  While it's true that bacon makes almost anything better, Bouchercon didn't need a thing to improve it--it was terrific from start to finish.  But I have to say, it's the parties that loom largest in my memory.

 On Thursday we had the opening reception, with amazing food and free books--what more could a mystery fan ask?  Except maybe to have authors signing the books...  No, wait, we had that, too.  Harper Collins had a glory selection of authors with stacks of books to sign and give away.  And maybe something to applaud.  Nope, had that, too, when Femme Hank won a Macavity for Best Short Story.  Actually, it was a double Femme cheer--Femme Dana was up for that award, too.

Friday night was a double-header.  I had cocktails at the Berkley Prime Crime bash.  It's always good to press the flesh with the wonderful, charming, gorgeous, brilliant folks at Berkley.  (Why yes, I am sucking up.)  After that was the Reacher Creature bar bash sponsored by the ever-gracious and ever-generous Lee Child, which came complete with not one, not two, but three buff men competing for the title of "Best Jack Reacher."

Come Saturday, we had the Bouchercon Disco, with both a band and a DJ.  I'm a terrible dancer, but I sure did have a good time.  Except I don't think I'll ever master the Electric Slide--I have no kinetic memory to speak of.  And maybe I should take a proofreader to the next dance--I need help spelling out the letters for "YMCA."

To wrap it all up, there was the Anthony Awards brunch--plenty of good food and plenty to cheer about when Femme Hank got the Anthony for Best Short Story.  And it was her birthday to boot!

I know the song says that people leave their hearts in San Francisco, but for me, it was the parties I left there.

And lastly, let’s hear from me, Kris Neri:

I had a strange mishap on the way to Bouchercon--I didn't navigate the local transit as smoothly as Femme Mary. On one of the many BART escalators I took to get to the platform at the airport, I felt my suitcase pulling back down the up escalator. I tried to hold onto it, but it slipped from my grasp. When it did, it sat me down on the step with one leg twisted oddly over my shoulder. I do remember experiencing a peculiar sensation, when I couldn’t precisely recall how my legs were supposed to go. Amazingly, it all happened in slow motion. I didn’t fall, I was eased to the step. I did figure out the leg mechanics, and a friend on a step above me helped me to stand. A stranger caught my suitcase on the way down, which also moved quite slowly, and she handed it back to me at the top. It could not have gone better if I had planned it, assuming anyone ever plans to go heels-over-head on an escalator. But it did cause me to suffer a few scary moments and a minor loss of dignity. Since I didn’t get hurt, though, I have to assume it must have looked pretty funny. I’ll use it someday in a book

After that, everything went absolutely great. The high point of any convention is always connecting with the many old friends I find there. Seeing the many familiar faces, catching up with their lives. I’d go that alone.

My panel was fun. I was on the Room With a View: Off-Beat Protagonists panel with, Rebecca M. Hale, Ann Littlewood, Sasscer Hill, and which was brilliantly moderated by Avery Ames. As the first panel on Thursday, we weren’t sure many people would show up, or even be in attendance at the convention. But our panel room was full of enthusiastic folks who cheered us on and asked great questions.

I also crashed the Guppies luncheon at a nearby Rubios. I’m not a member of the Guppies, but I’ve taught some classes for them, so I really enjoyed finally meet some of them face-to-face.

Especially fun for me was revisiting San Francisco. I lived there for seven years when I was younger — don’t even ask how many years ago because I can’t count that high! I’ve been back on occasion, though not recently, and I never stayed in the Embarcadero, one of my favorite neighborhoods. Especially gratifying was touching base with the places I once loved, walking the same paths, not to mention catching up with San Francisco’s many great watering holes and its fabulous restaurants. It was good to discover that while we both grew up since then, we didn’t grow apart, as I feared we might.

 

 

 

 

 

Plug it in, Plug it in?

 HANK: Hi, all! I'm winging my way to Bouchercon, earphones courtesy of Jet Blue, a bag full of almonds and my Kindle powered up. 

But the fact that Laura Alden is guest blogging today, and what she's thinking about, just proves there are more coincidences in life than there are in mystery novels.

My pal and colleague Laura Alden--you may know her as--well, do you recognize her?--is out with her hilarious debut Murder at the PTA. (Anyone who's been to one of those "meetings" may wonder why there aren't more.)

Laura is not talking about principals, though, today. She's more about principle. 

by Laura Alden

Every day we have to make a raftload of decisions. Get up on the first alarm, or whack the snooze button and grab another 8 minutes of sleep. (Snooze.) Take the time to style your hair or put it in a ponytail and call it good. (Style on Monday, ponytail by Friday.) Banana or peach for a morning snack. (Banana.) Take the shortest route home or the longer, scenic way. (Scenic.) Etc., etc., etc.

 Most of these questions are so easily answered that we aren’t fully conscious of making a choice. But there’s one particular question that’s had me stymied for months; is it time to get a digital reader? To buy or not to buy, that is the question.

 There are reasons to say yes, and reasons to say no. I love books. I love to read. I love the heft and solidity of a hardcover. I love the portability of a paperback. I love bookmarks and the scent of paper and the rustle of turning pages.

 None of that love would happen with a digital reader.

 And there’s the technology thing. I have an affinity for certain electronic items, but some products are just not a part of my life. I don’t own a cell phone, don’t have any sort of PDA, don’t have a clock/radio in the bedroom, and I don’t trust the electronic thermometer my husband uses when grilling.

 The idea of reading on a technological device makes me feel a little creepy crawly, but on the flip side, an ability to enlarge print when my middle-aged eyes get tired would be a huge plus. And the thought of having a zillion books in one small package makes my heart go pitty-pat.

 Also, for various reasons, it’s difficult for me to get to bookstores and I’ve never gotten into the habit of ordering books online. If I bought a digital reader….click click click and presto change-o, there would be a brand new book for me to read. Instant gratification at its finest.

 Pluses and minuses at this point were about even up in my decision-making process. Then one thing tipped the scales in the digital reader direction. It was a comment made by a fellow Sister in Crime member (who I’d gladly acknowledge but, sadly, I don’t remember who it was) and it made up my mind completely and irrevocably.

 Here’s the straw that made the camel’s decision:  You can read via a digital reader and still eat with two hands. No matter how big the sub sandwich you’re holding, there’s always a pinky available to turn the page.

 Sold!

 Yep, I’m going to buy a digital reader. But now comes an even harder question: which one should I buy?

And hey--do you have one? What do you think?

 **********************************************

Laura Alden lives in northern Michigan with her husband and two very strange cats. When she’s not writing her next book, she’s working at her day job, taking pictures for the local newspaper, reading, or doing some variety of skiing. She’s fond of long soaks in the tub, red raspberries, and blue skies. Her first mystery, MURDER AT THE PTA, was released in October and is the first in a new series.

 

Castles in the Air

by Toni L.P. Kelner

We’re big fans of the show Castle in our house, and not just because star Nathan Fillion is amazingly easy on the eyes. In case you haven’t seen the show, the premise is that multi-best-selling mystery author Rick Castle—played by the aforementioned Nathan Fillion—managed to wrangle a deal in which he follows around homicide detective Kate Beckett to research his mysteries. And of course, he helps her solve murders.

From that description, it’s obvious that realism is not high on the producer's list. I don’t care. The mystery plots are wonderfully twisty and the characters are charming. It’s fun, and seeing a mystery author become that rich is awfully satisfying. I’m talking blow-$100,000-in-an-effort-to-catch-a-dastardly-assassin kind of rich. So of course, it's serious wish fulfillment.

Which brings me to my topic for this blog:  castles in the air. Do you ever dream of being so obscenely rich that you could do something that is both expensive and whimsical? Not something you might actually accomplish some day, like endowing a scholarship in your mother-in-law’s honor or hosting a dinner party in a really elegant location. I mean something you’d probably never do even if you had the money, but which you daydream about just the same.

Here’s mine.

First you have to know that I love carousels, or merry-go-rounds if you prefer. I have hundreds of photos I’ve taken myself, and a stack of books about them. I ride them whenever I’m sure they’re strong enough to take my weight, whether or not I have a child around to disguise my interest, and I don’t even worry about looking ridiculous. Much. (Okay, maybe that one time when my foot got stuck on a sea horse’s wing, and I had to have help getting on and off. But I digress…)

The second thing you probably already know if you’re reading this blog:  I love mysteries.

So this is my castle in the air. I want to commission a carousel with each animal somehow decorated in a mystery theme. Horses in fedoras and deerstalker caps, horses with magnifying glasses and revolvers coming out of their saddlebags, horses with police caps and handcuffs. Since I particularly love the animals other than horses, why not a black cat, a raven, a hound of the Baskervilles, a mouse from Peter Wimsey’s coat of arms, a werewolf and a vampire rabbit from Charlaine’s books? I never run out of ideas for this thing.

Once I had it, I’d buy a piece of land here in my town and open it to the public for a small fee, and even put in a couple of party rooms. I’d give out free rides to kindergarten kids and rent it out for birthdays and family picnics. And I’d ride it myself whenever I wanted.

Now this isn’t my only castle in the air. In fact, just today my husband Steve and I were daydreaming about having enough money to open really silly restaurants. Our first would be the Catapult Grille, where food would be slung through the air to your plate. But the idea of commissioning a themed carousel is a fantasy I return to now and then, and it always makes me smile.

What about you?  Isn’t there something entirely whimsical you’d like to do if you had as much money Rick Castle?

 

Give Me the Money, Honey

Give Me the Money, Honey     

I’ve spent a lot of time in hotel rooms, going into some 20 different rooms a day.

Of course, I was working.

Pull your mind out of the trash, please. I was a pro in those hotel rooms, but a clean one. I worked as a hotel housekeeper to research my sixth Dead-End Jobs mystery, "Murder with Reservations."

I made 38 beds, scrubbed 17 toilets, changed the sheets and cleaned the dresser drawers inside and out. Our hotel rooms did not have bedbugs. My biggest tip was $2.38 and a can of peach nectar someone left in the mini-fridge.

When the new Armani Jeans ads came out, I took a professional interest in them. After all, they’re set in hotel rooms. It didn’t hurt that the once called "Housekeeping" featured Cristiano Ronaldo, a football star. (That’s soccer for us Yanks.)

I am too high-minded to get my kicks watching Ronaldo roam the room in black underwear and tight Armani jeans, but I did notice the man is ripped and stripped.

The second ad stars Megan Fox. She was also nearly nude, but watching her wasn’t any treat. The male readers of this blog may disagree.

Take a look yourself. Here’s the link for both videos. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xZlecPBzPt4

Despite the Cristiano eye candy, I had problems with both ads. I can live with women dancing with their floor mops and men snorting laundry.

But Armani has stretched credulity worse than my granny’s old gray bra.

"Housekeeping" shows the hunky Ronaldo wandering around in his skivvies. The price tag was probably bigger than that underwear. The blonde housekeeper cleaning the room is so entranced by his abs, she hides his shirt under the couch cushion.

She’s dressed in a black-and-white maid’s uniform with a white apron and a cute hair thingie that would last about a minute if she used any elbow grease cleaning that room.

I was willing to let that go.

But I never saw any hotel guest built like Ronaldo. That man has abs like cobblestones. At my hotel, the guests often had six-packs, but theirs were in grocery bags.

The Holiday Inn Express that I cleaned was not as posh as Ronaldo’s hotel. And trust me on this – no housekeeper wanted to see partially clad – or worse, naked – men. One hotel colleague used to pound on the room doors and bellow "Housekeeping!" so that never happened to her again.

"I don’t run to any of the men here naked," she said. "Trust me, it’s always the guys with the small weinies who like to show them."

Besides, it took two housekeepers seventeen minutes to clean each room, but only if we worked hard. We didn’t have time to stare at men, dressed or undressed.

"The Tip," the Megan Fox video, is even more ridiculous. Megan opens her door for the room service waiter. Her robe is open, too, revealing skimpy underwear. It also reveals her astounding stupidity.

The room service waiter is so stunned by the sight of Megan in her bra and panties, he turns down a tip. He even gets down on the floor to watch her put on her jeans.

Fat chance. Room service waiters make lousy pay. They can’t afford to feed their fantasies by refusing tips. Besides, they have to hustle those trays upstairs to those rooms in thirty minutes.

Here’s a tip for the next time you stay at a hotel.

Give the staff the money, honey – and keep your clothes on.

Stretch Your Creative Muscles

by Mary Saums

 

I'm not much of an exerciser. There's a stationary bike and a treadmill in the basement. I have hand weights I pick up every now and then. They're right next to the medicine ball, some elastic bands, this hoop thing you squeeze that I never got the hang of, and the latest addition, a kettlebell. I like the kettlebell. Occasionally.

What I really like are yoga DVDs. Back when I had a gym membership, I went to a couple of yoga classes but that didn't work out. Age. My wrists couldn't take it. My knees killed me. Doing a routine at home, where I can choose a no-pain section or modify poses, or run to the kitchen for a Dove dark chocolate, is much better.

Doing yoga takes the kinks out of my day. Give it a try if you haven't already done so. Whether you do it alone, like me ...

... or in a small group ...

 

...or maybe with one very special friend ...

 

...I think you'll like it. 

During a recent bookshelf purge to make room for new incoming, I excavated a book about yoga and writing, The Journey From The Center To The Page by Jeff Davis. 

 
 

Mr Davis believes yoga complements and improves his writing. I flipped through and found this on a dog-eared page, "My yoga practice of vinyasa has helped me not so much to manage time but to stretch it."

Stretch time? Gimme some of that. I never have enough. Seems like I always have more things to cram into my schedule than it will hold. If only I could make it more flexible.

 

 

Here are a few points from Mr Davis on getting started with your writing and stretching the clock:

Make writing appointments  -  We tend to keep our appointments with others. Keep those you make for yourself to write too. Try to make them at the same time every day. Your body and mind will learn to automatically switch to writing mode and your productivity will increase.

Be Aware  -  Savor all you do, with attention to the transitions between your activities as well. Framing these with mindful beginnings and endings, like enjoying preparation of a meal and, after eating, taking time to stop and give thanks, makes everything more meaningful. It allows us to enjoy what we do and, strangely, by slowing down with awareness, we accomplish more than when we rush mindlessly from one task to another and another.

Create a small ritual  -  The previous Femmes blog from Donna mentioned writer rituals. Elements of ritual are in both of the earlier points - an appointment to write at the same time of day and mindfulness before beginning. I make a cup of tea before I start, if that counts. Also, my cat has to be settled on top of a bookcase. She likes to supervise.

Make A Two-Fold Intention  -  Before beginning, close your eyes and ask yourself, "Why am I writing?" After a few moments, ask yourself a more specific question about that day's session, what you hope to accomplish or which scene you'll write. These help focus your thoughts and, according to some writers, put you more at ease.

Journey From The Center To The Page is a great book. I need it. I'm the type who tends to rush and worry too much about what I can't get done. Writing work bogs down. I forget how my Ana Brett and Ravi Singh DVDs straighten me out. I devolve until it's only me and a tumbler of Alka-Seltzer and I look like this -

But when I ease up, make time for a little yoga and make an effort to be more aware, the world is a beautiful place. My writing sessions not only go well but they are fun and I'm on top of the world and I feel like this -

 

Big difference.

When I'm writing from the center, I am a mighty queen warrior and nobody can stop me. It's the trick for all of us, staying centered so that our best inner self comes out on the page.