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Femmes of the Past

As the end of this holiday season approaches, I want to pay tribute to the author of one of the funniest holiday mysteries ever written, Charlotte MacLeod (1922-2005). I had the great good fortune of knowing Charlotte, and she was everything one would expect from reading her witty, literate, and clever mysteries. Though born in Canada, she emigrated with her family to the United States in 1923 and became a naturalized U.S. citizen in 1951. She eventually rose to become vice president of an advertizing firm in Boston before she retired in 1982.

She eventually sold over a million copies of her books, and mystery fans everywhere came to adore her series characters: Peter and Helen Shandy, Sarah Kelling and Max Bittersohn, the Grub-and-Stakers, and Madoc and Janet Rhys.

It has been nearly thirty years since I first read Charlotte MacLeod, and frankly I'm not sure which book I read first. It was either the first Sarah and Max book, The Family Vault, or the first Peter Shandy book, Rest You Merry, though I'm inclined to think it might have been the former. Either way, after one taste of  Charlotte's heady, deliciously, wickedly funny prose, I was hooked.

In 1985 or 1986 Charlotte visited Houston to sign The Curse of the Giant Hogweed at Murder by the Book, and that was my first face-to-face meeting with her, though we had exchanged a few letters -- after my no-doubt-gushing fan letter to her. At the signing she said something I will never forget. One of her fans approached her at the signing table and said, "Miss MacLeod, it's such an honor to meet you." Charlotte took the profferred hand but smilingly shook her head. "You have that the wrong way round," she said. "I am the one who is honored to meet you. Without readers I wouldn't have a job." That's a lesson many writers should learn and remember.

I opened with mentioning the funniest holiday mystery ever written, didn't I? Well, that would be Rest You Merry, the first Peter Shandy book. Peter returns home after a time away to discover that his neighbors have gone way over the top in decorating their homes and their lawns for the holidays. Then he discovers a dead body in his own house, and the fun begins. If you have ever bemoaned the excesses of the season, Rest You Merry will have you chortling right away. 

Charlotte set her two most famous series in Massachusetts, the Kelling-Bittersohn books in Boston, the Shandy books in the western part of the state. She also set two series in her native Canada, the Grub-and-Stakers books and the Madoc and Janet Rhys books. For these she originally used the name "Alisa Craig." Another funny holiday title is the second Madoc and Janet book, Murder Goes Mumming.

Charlotte MacLeod was one of the great ladies of the contemporary traditional/cozy mystery. Treat yourself this holiday season and read one of her charming mysteries.

Photo resolution

I see several of my fellow Femmes are in the same place I am this time of year--looking back at the joys and sorrows of 2012 and ahead to plans and goals for 2013.  (As I have said before, I don't make resolutions--I set goals.  If you break a resolution, it's hard to get over that irrational but all-too-human feeling of "Oh, well; I'll try again next year." But with a goal, if you don't achieve it on schedule, you keep plugging.)

I can tell you one goal I did NOT achieve this year, but am going to be working harder on in 2013: sorting my photos every month or quarter, rather than at the end of the year.

I am an avid amateur photographer.  I take a lot of photos of my family.  And my friends.  And their pets.  And my garden.  And cool or beautiful things I see around me.

I'm finishing up my second 365 project, in which I post one photo for every day of the year.  Some people have tried it and found it impossible or stressful.  I like the fact that it forces me to keep my eyes open every day for beautiful or unusual things in my environment. On days when I know I'm just going to be at home, making my writing quota, the 365 project reminds me that at the very least I need to walk outside long enough to point my camera (or, increasingly, my iPhone) at the sky or at something in my yard. Or if it's approaching bedtime and I haven't yet taken an outdoor photo, to find something to shoot inside.

At the end of each year, I have two big photo projects.  One is what I call the "brag book" for Mom to show her friends pictures of her family--although I also share it with some of the family members.  The other is a calendar that serves as my holiday present to many of my friends and business associates.  For the calendar, I try to pick the thirteen best shots from the year--and yes, taken during the past year--and make sure none of them are too alike, and arrange them so they feel right for the month with which they appear.

The first big job is sorting through all the photos.  I go through all the folders in which I've stored them all year, and copy all the photos that qualify into either the calendar fodder folder or the photobook fodder folder.  At the end of this rough sort I had about 3000 photos in the calendar folder and more than that in the family folder.  I go through and do a second pass, deleting the shots that aren't as sharp, performing experimental crops on some where the composition is less than perfect--and I can do this with impunity, knowing that I'm working with a copy, not the original.  At this stage, my goal for the family book is to get it down to the 500 best, because 500 is the maximum number of photos Shutterfly will let you put in a folder to make a book.  (I ended up using 165 photos.)  For the calendar, I need 13.  Just 13.  Out of 3000.  And they've got to be dynamite.

All this sorting and selecting and inspecting takes time.  And if I wait till November, or worse, December, it takes time at a time of year when we all have the least of it.  So one of my goals for 2012 was to sort my photos at the end of each month.  Pick out the best calendar and family photo shots.  I beamed when I wrote that on my 2012 goals list, knowing how great it would be to have over 90% of the photo sorting done by the time I needed to do my calendar.

Best laid plans.

I was sorting at the last minute.  Beyond the last minute. The calendar did arrive in time to wrap for my family; in fact, in time to send out more than half to the recipients who get them by mail.  The family photo book did not arrive until the day after Christmas.  I wrapped an IOU.

So this year, my goal, once again, is to do the sorting as I go. Should be doable, right?

(I'll keep you posted.)

Meanwhile, my calendar has arrived, and if you'd like to win a copy, just say so by December 30 in a comment, either here on the Femmes Fatales blog or on Facebook.  I will get a calendar packed and ready to mail out December 31. 

The photos festooning this blog, incidentally, are ones I did NOT get to use in the calendar, for various reasons. When I post who won the calendar, I'll include a link so anyone who wants to can see it. And feel free to check out my 365 project any time.

2012 in the rearview mirror

by Kris Neri

My December is as busy as anyone else’s — well, actually, being in retail, my December is totally insane, especially the last few days before Christmas (Shop earlier, people!)! And yet, at some point before the end of the year, I like to take a gander back over the year just ending, noting the high points that deserve an extra measure of gratitude, and some the areas I might want to shore up in the year ahead.

To be honest, I take my December process of looking back more seriously than I do January’s resolutions. Although I do often set some January goals, I’m ambivalent about the whole resolution process, and all the attention we pay it. Mostly, I believe that life should dictate when we made important changes, not the calendar. It is, after all, just another day. Besides, how often do we follow through with them? My own track record of January resolution-change isn’t that great.

In the rearview mirror, 2012 has been a mostly wonderful year for me and mine, and I’d like to share a few of the more notable points with you.

On the career front, I’m absolutely thrilled that my last Samantha Brennan and Annabelle Haggerty magical mystery, MAGICAL ALIENATION, recently became a New Mexico-Arizona Book Award winner in the fantasy category. That I love the Southwest, the part of the country in which I live, and that this award is given on behalf of my home state and another of my absolutely favorite states, makes it an extra special milestone for me.

 In the health arena, things haven’t been as good as usual. In June, when I fell off a ladder (watch where you’re stepping!), I sprained all the joints on the right side of my body, my wrist, my knee, and my ankle. Tracy, the protagonist of my Tracy Eaton mysteries often says, “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing—that’s my motto.” Apparently, it’s also mine.

My wrist healed fairly quickly, so I guess it wasn’t hurt too badly. I felt especially grateful for that, since I didn’t lose too much writing time. My ankle followed the average sprain trajectory. However, my knee’s healing has proven to be a challenge. Its healing has actually been so slow, I often feared I’d be living with this one for a very long time, if not forever. Now I’m thrilled to report that it recently took a major leap in the right direction. Most days the worst I feel is discomfort, not pain, and on some days, it’s no more than a whisper of an ache. I take that as a sign that this injury is finally in the home stretch, and I probably won’t have to wait too much longer until it’s gone entirely from my life. I’m sighing deeply with relief over this one. If I ever step onto another ladder (highly unlikely!), I vow to make sure it's feet are securely positioned on the floor.

I’m also enormously grateful for my dog Annabelle’s ongoing health. She was diagnosed with lymphoma in October 2009. After six months of treatments that cost more than gold, her cancer was found to be in remission. I’m thrilled to report that it still is. If there’s one thing a serious illness teaches us, it’s to appreciate every day we get. I know how lucky we are to have enjoyed another 365 days with our precious fur baby.

Lastly, I’m happy to report that I’ve lost 25 pounds this year. It might sound as if I’m shouting that from the rooftops, but I’m not really. I’ve ridden the weight loss/weight gain yoyo for much of my adult life. I seem to only have two modes, losing and gaining. I don’t seem to come with a maintenance switch.

Yet I’m cautiously optimistic this time. Dieting hasn’t felt quite as burdensome as it has during past yoyo rides. And given that my losing period has largely overlapped the time when I’ve been injured, which dramatically reduced my exercise, which should have made it harder, not easier. Now, I secretly hope that I’m finally figuring out how to get off the yoyo

But…even if I am ambivalent about making reservations, you can bet that “maintain weight loss” will top my list.

How about you? What’s most memorable for you about the year just ending? What are you grateful for?

Wishing you and yours the happiest of holiday seasons!

Holiday Wishes for Femmes Fans

by Toni L.P. Kelner

Oops. I was supposed to post something to the blog yesterday, but you know, there was all this talk abou the world ending and I thought it would be silly to post something that wouldn't get read. But here we still are. (Rumor has it that the Doctor of Doctor Who and Buffy of Buffy the Vampire Slayer combined forces to defeat whatever evil the Mayans expected to take place, but I can't find reputable confirmation of that.)

And honestly, I'm really glad the world didn't end. I've got a lot to look forward to, and as this year ends, I want to send some good wishes your way for 2013.

First up, my husband Steve is starting a new job at the executive search firm Spencer Stuart. He's so excited about it, and that's just delightful to see. Too many people spend their days in jobs that are poor fits or working for dreadful bosses. So my first wish for you is that you're working at a job you love, or if you're not, that you find it this year.

Later on in the year, my older daughter Maggie will be graduating high school while my younger daughtet Valerie is set to graduate from junior high. I know they'll be sorry to leave their familiar worlds and good friends and terrific teachers, but the schools have been so great for the girls. They've learned so much, and their graduations will be tremendous accomplishments. So my second wish is that each of you complete something--a project, a book, a stage of education. I want each of you to be able to look back on 2013 and know that you've accomplished something wonderful.

In fall, both my girls will go to new schools. Maggie has been accepted at her first choice of colleges, and Valerie is sure to be accepted at the high schools she's applied to. They are both zig-zagging between excitement and panic at the change, of course, but mostly they're really looking forward to moving on to bigger and better things. My wish for you is that is that you start something new and exciting, even if it's a little scary.

As for me, I'm looking forward to my new series starting. A Skeleton in the Family will be coming out from Berkley Prime Crime in September, and I'm dying to introduce my character Sid the Skeleton to the world. Along with that, I'll be introducing a new me. You see, the book will be coming out under my new pen name: Leigh Perry. It's a chance to be a different person! I'm wishing that you, too, get the opportunity to reinvent yourself.

My last wish is on the melancholy side. Last week, my big sister Brenda died after a painful illness. Many of my friends and family have been telling me that they hope she rests in peace, and that's very sweet of them. Except for this. Wherever Brenda is, I don't think she's peaceful. At least, I hope she's not. Peace would bore Brenda to pieces! She'd want people to meet, and places to go, and things to see and learn about. Don't give her peace--give her fun and adventure, and above all, joy. So in Brenda's honor, let my wish for you to be this: may your upcoming year be filled with joy!

 

 

Tis the season

It's that time of year again. I'm just about to knock off (unless that means "steal" or "impregnate"), break up (unless that means "get divorced") oh blimey I'm just about to stop work for a fortnight and hit the couch, with a pile of books and a box of chocolates. 

So I'm looking back at the year.  And what a year it's been.  Mostly down to this book:

Away back last winter, Hallie Ephron picked it as one of the top 10 crime novels and said so in the Boston Globe.  I got very excited, then got a hold of myself, checked that Hallie Ephron was who I thought she was and the Globe was the one I'd heard of and got excited again. 

Then in March, a call came from London telling me that a BBC producer had read it and wanted to option the series.  All through Left Coast Crime in Sacramento I kept the news to myself (not easy) but by Malice Domestic in May, the contracts were done and I told everyone with ears.  People in lifts, dogs tied up outside shops, guards frisking me at Dulles.  (It's my super-sturdy underwires from Rigby and Peller; they set off the bleeper every time.  HM the dear old queen gets hers from there too but probably she doesn't have to go through metal detectors so it's not a problem.)

In the summer, in London, there was a day of feeling almost all that, having lunch with the producer and then dinner with the actor we're all hoping is going to be Dandy. 

Anna Chancellor, marvellous, gorgeous, hilarious Anna Chancellor who has always been my ideal ever since someone asked me the "Who would play . . .?" question at a book festival and I said "Anna" and afterwards, at the signing, a woman came up and said "I'm Anna's cousin. I'd like to buy a copy and send it to her."  Can you believe that?  Well, it's true.

Fast forward to autumn and Bouchercon in Cleveland and that surreal moment when I was scurrying forward through the crowd in the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame to accept my Macavity (!), thinking "oh god, oh god, oh god, why did I assume this wasn't going to happen?"  Because I'd seen the shortlist, that's why.  And so I ended up thanking Janet Rudolph for having such pretty hair and not thanking anyone else.  Suave, eh?

So, since Dandy Gilver and The Proper Treatment of Bloodstains has given me so many things to feel happy about this year, I thought I'd finish up with a seasonal giveaway of a couple of copies.  It's not a very festive title, but it's quite Santafied colours on the jacket (and at least it's not called by it working title anymore, which was Trouble Down Below).

If you would like one and you live in the US (sorry), just add a comment and I'll put your name in the hat to be drawn at the end of today.

And happy holidays, happy reading, happy feasting, and a happy new year when it comes.

 

 

 

The NIght Santa Came to Hank's House

Hank Phillippi Ryan: Talk about a Christmas traditon--telling this story is one of my favorite ones.

Spoiler alert! And you’ll read why in a moment. It’s about Santa.

I was signing in a bookstore a few weeks before Christmas, and also having fun watching people select books, and overhearing snippets of conversation. A mom and a pre-teen daughter were heading out the door.

The girl—cute, hip, mismatched gloves--was looking at her mother with a strange expression. She stopped, and held on to her mother’s arm. Wait, she said. You mean—YOU’RE Santa?

I almost burst into tears. What a once in a life time moment. And it reminded me…

Twas the night before Christmas—no, it really was. And at my home in rural Indiana, back in–1960-something? I had just turned sixteen.

 Twas the night before Christmas—and my younger sister and I were very unhappy. My mother had laid down the law. This year, there would be no Christmas tree. We were too old, Mom said. It was difficult. And even though we’d always had a Christmas tree, and all that goes with Christmas morning, and unwrapping presents and candy canes and chocolate apples and Handel on the record player and oranges in the toes of our stockings--this year, it was not gonna happen.

The Santa thing was long over (being careful here) and there was no reason for a tree. My sister Nina—age 13—and I were devastated. We had three younger siblings, and even though they were no longer waiting for Santa, we knew they would be devastated, too.

We pleaded. Nope, Mom said. We would have presents, and brunch, and all the trimmings. But a tree was a pain (she probably didn’t use those words) and just not necessary.

 Christmas Eve day came, and our living room was looking right out of Dickens. I mean—Bleak House, not A Christmas Carol. Sure there were stockings. hanging right where they should be. But where there should have been a tree, there was…living room.

 It was about 4 o’clock. And I had an idea. Mom? I said, all innocence. Nina and I need to go to the store. To get one last present. I remember trying to look guiltily sly, as if I were hiding that I was going to buy HER present. Could I, I continued, take the car?

With my brand new drivers’ license in my wallet, Nina and I headed out in the family station wagon. But not to the store. We went the Christmas tree place by the shopping center. All that was left, as you can imagine, were Charlie-Brown-scraggly leftovers. No matter.

 We put one of them in the wayback of the station wagon. Then realized—we had more to do. How were we going to decorate the tree? We couldn’t get the boxes of ornaments out of the basement, we’d get caught.

 So—we went to the movies. But not to see a film. We hit the lobby, and bought several boxes of popcorn. We got home, and hid the tree behind the garage. By that time it was dark, and we totally got away with it.

Then we ran upstairs. Mom thought we were hiding her gifts, probably, and actively ignored us.

We got out our sewing boxes (no comment) and madly started stringing popcorn with a needle and heavy thread.

We worked and worked. I think we had to stop for dinner, then we went back upstairs. “Wrapping!” we said.

At one point, one of us had a brilliant idea. We headed down to the basement, and got a bag of whole cranberries out of the freezer. “Being frozen will make it easier to string,” one of us said. And so we made frozen cranberry garlands too.

That night, we could barely sleep. What else is new on Christmas Eve? But we got up early early early, dragged the little tree from behind the garage, and set it up in its rightful place in the living room. (I don’t really remember how we did that, but somehow it worked.)

 We festooned it with our popcorn garlands, and our cranberry garlands (not terribly successful, however, as the cranberries began to defrost, drip and get mushy). We made a star-like thing out of aluminum foil.

Then we high-tailed it back upstairs. We had been instructed to come downstairs no earlier than 7 AM. We came down earlier anyway.

So we were there when my mom and step-dad saw the tree. And, in their pajamas and robes and slippers, they stopped in their tracks.

 Mom’s face was a mixture of—shock, and surprise, and joy. And love. “Santa!” she said. Her voice was a whisper. “He came!”

Mint-Busters

By Elaine Viets

Chris told me what happens when you drop chewy Mentos candy into two-liter bottles of Diet Coke.

Here, take a look: www.break.com/index/diet-coke-and-mentos.html

The result blew me away. Chris is a grandmother who bought her grandkids Mentos shooters for the holidays. I suspect she buys other useful gifts like drum kits and ant farms.

     Dropping Mentos into Diet Coke looked like so much fun, I wanted Josie’s daughter, Amelia, to experiment with them in my new Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper novel, "Murder Is a Piece of Cake." Amelia is eleven. When the Mentos explode, so does Josie’s miserable neighbor, Mrs. Mueller. Here’s that light-hearted scene from "Murder Is a Piece of Cake."

 

Mrs. M shot out of her front door like she’d been launched.

"Josie Marcus!" she screamed. "Your daughter is setting off bottle rockets in your backyard."

"She can’t be," Josie said. "Where would Amelia get fireworks?"

"I don’t know, but she did," Mrs. M said, with an unpleasant smirk. "See for yourself. Before the police arrive."

"The police?" Josie said. "You called the police on my daughter?"

"Bottle rockets are illegal in St. Louis County," Mrs. M said. She barged right down Jane’s walkway and through the back gate, wearing a flowered top bigger than a botanical garden.

Mrs. M pointed to the bottle rockets, her bulky body quivering with indignation.  "There," she said. "Right there! That girl is a delinquent, just like her mother!"

A geyser of brown liquid as tall as the two-story house shot out of a two-liter Diet Coke bottle. A second geyser erupted after it. Then a third.

"Amelia Marcus, stop that immediately," Mrs. Mueller commanded. Amelia ignored her. She was clicking at the soda gushers with Josie’s digital camera.

Josie had never seen bottle geysers before, but she recognized the scream of a siren. Officer Doris Ann Norris burst into the Marcus backyard, and Josie felt weak with relief. She knew the smart, street-savvy Maplewood police officer.

"Is there a problem?" Officer Norris asked. "The dispatcher received a  complaint that someone was setting off fireworks."

"Yes," Mrs. M said. "That young troublemaker is setting off bottle rockets."

"She is?" Officer Norris strolled over to the foaming Diet Coke bottles. "Looks awfully wet for fireworks," she said. She stuck her finger into a brown puddle and tasted it. "You used Diet Coke, Miss Marcus," she said. "You are Amelia Marcus, aren’t you?"

"Yes, ma’am," Amelia said.

Josie was relieved her daughter remembered her manners. Amelia’s voice shook with fear, and the blood had drained from her face, but she stood straight and tall.

"I knew your daughter was trouble, Josie Marcus," Mrs. M said. "She’s known to the police."

Officer Norris turned to Mrs. Mueller. "I do know this young woman. I helped Amelia and her mother when they had a vandalism problem some time ago. I barely recognized Amelia because she’s so grown up. Some people improve with age."

Her barb bounced off Mrs. M’s gray helmet head.

"Using Diet Coke is very thoughtful," she told Amelia. "Regular soda leaves a sticky mess."

"That’s what I heard," Amelia said. "I can just hose this away."

"How many Mentos did you use in your bottles?" Officer Norris asked.

"A whole roll of mints in each one. It’s a science experiment."

"You load them with a tube or a roll of paper?" Officer Norris asked.

"Paper tube," Amelia said, sounding more confident. Her color was starting to return.

"An old-school scientist," Officer Norris said, nodding her approval. "You used the more difficult method."

"I got three bottles to erupt one after the other," Amelia said. "It was awesome!"

"You’re not arresting her?" Mrs. M looked like she might explode with disappointment.

"Miss Marcus didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not illegal to test the fizz factor of Diet Coke," Officer Norris said. "Dropping chewy mints into soda to release the carbonation is a legitimate scientific experiment. Steve Spangler blogged about it on his science Web site. Usually the geyser goes about twenty feet in the air. Miss Marcus was smart to conduct her experiment outside, away from the house."

"Well, I never," Mrs. M said, deflating like a week-old balloon.

"Your generation used vinegar and baking soda," Officer Norris said.

"We did nothing of the kind," Mrs. M said.

"Sure you did," Officer Norris said. "My pop talked about it. He and his friends used glass bottles. Much more dangerous than plastic."

"Your job is to protect and serve citizens," Mrs. M said. "Not encourage hooligans."

"You are so right, ma’am," Officer Norris said. "And we can’t do that when people waste our time. You’re a church lady, aren’t you?"

"I am president of the Ladies Sodality," Mrs. M said, "past president of the Altar Decoration Committee, First-Vice President of Music Committee and head of the 2013 Harvest Festival."

"Impressive," Officer Norris said. "You must spend a lot of time at church."

"At least an hour every day, not including Mass and novenas," Mrs. M said.

"You’ve had plenty of exposure to the gospels then. Might want to reread that part about loving your neighbor as yourself."

"I’m going home," Mrs. M said, and stomped off.

"Am I in trouble?" Amelia asked.

"Not with me," Officer Norris said. "What your mother decides is out of my jurisdiction."

 

 

It's All About Comfort ... and How to Get There

There are times when life gets to be just a little too (fill in your own adjective here) for all of us. I've had the odd year here and there like that, and I imagine we probably all have. So how do we cope?

Everyone has her (or his, let's be ecumenical here) own coping mechanisms. Me -- I'm all in favor of reaching for the things -- books, movies, tv shows, and, yes, food -- that swathe me in a warm, cozy cocoon where the world goes away.

With books, I turn to some of my all-time favorite authors: Georgette Heyer, Elizabeth Peters, Margery Allingham, Carolyn Keene (and yes I know Carolyn Keene didn't really exist), Margaret Sutton (who really did exist), and a few others. Georgette Heyer (1902-1974) wrote a dozen mystery novels, but she is far better known for her historical novels set chiefly during the Regency era in England (think Jane Austen's time period). Heyer excelled at creating the world her chatracters inhabited, and the sophisticated wit and understated sexual tension between heroine and hero never fail to draw me into the story and completely away from whatever ails me. I have laughingly said on a number of occasions that, when I reach for a Heyer novel to reread, my stress level is way too high.

 If I'm not in the mood to read for comfort, I turn instead to the television set and my DVD collection. Sometimes it's a favorite series -- like "Bewitched" or "I Love Lucy" -- and other times it's a favorite movie -- like "The Philadelphia Story," perhaps my all-time favorite flick. If I'm in a particularly British mood, I might pull out the DVDs for "As Time Goes By," starring Judi Dench and Geoffrey Palmer. I've lost count of how many times I've watched the entire series. Another British favorite is "The Good Life" (known as "The Good Neighbors" in the US) with Richard Briers, Felicity Kendal, Paul Eddington, and the incomparable Penelope Keith. I've just about worn out my DVDs of another Penelope Keith vehicle, "To the Manor Born."

You can probably tell by now that when I need comfort, I want to laugh... because so many of these books and movies and television series are humorous. Even if I already know all the jokes, it doesn't really matter. Old friends are the best when we need to be taken out of ourselves, right?

Where's Timmy?

by Donna Andrews

The other day I heard from a reader with a complaint:

I enjoy your Meg Langslow mysteries. However, the most recent one, Some Like it Hawk, completely omits one character that had been in the two previous books in the series.  Who? The little boy Timmy. At the end of The Real Macaw, the possibility that he might return to his mother if she was posted to Germany was mentioned. But that was uncertain. Some Like it Hawk should at least clarify whether Timmy has left or not. Instead, he isn't even refered to. Would you clear this up with your readers?

I apologized to the reader--I am definitely sorry that she wasn't satisfied.   But she has hit upon one of the toughest things about writing a series, especially an amateur sleuth series.

One of the fun things about each book is that I get to introduce new characters. A writer needs new characters, unless she plans on killing off her regular characters and convicting other regular characters of the crimes. Quite apart from the fact that that would tend to bring the series to an end after a few books, I don't think readers would like that very much.  At the end of each book, I always have a whole new bunch of people whose quirks and foibles I've come to enjoy and whose guilty secrets I've revealed over the course of the investigation.  I'm rather fond of them.  What the heck do I do with them?

Some of them become regulars--characters who appear in every book.  But since I'm writing traditional mysteries, not Russian novels,  I don't have room to do that too often. Some become recurring characters, characters I bring in when I need them to tell the story.  Most just walk off into the sunset, continuing their lives, no doubt, but not on my stage.  I pretty much assume that along with the killer and the victim or victims, I should not plan on bringing back anyone who has been a serious suspect, because it would be unfair to a reader who reads the books out of order--the one exception being when one of Meg's loved ones is a suspect and both she and the reader are pretty damned sure all along that the suspicions are unfounded.

But the longer a series goes on, the harder it becomes to juggle all the minor, occasional, or recurring characters to everyone's satisfaction.  In addition to Timmy, characters who have not necessarily appeared in every book since they were introduced have included Meg's cousin, Horace; her sister, Pam; her nephew, Eric; her grandfather; Caroline Willner (her grandfather's friend from the animal sanctuary); Clarence Rutledge (the biker vet); Mrs. Fenniman (Mother's good friend); Dr. Smoot (the claustrophobic ME); Michael's mother; and probably several others who have escaped my mind.  Whenever I start a book, I'm always faced with a choice--a whole bunch of choices, actually; one for each of the minor characters--do I bring them in?  Do I need them to help tell the story I'm writing? Is it logical that they would be there in the time and place where it takes place? And if they're not there, does the reader need to know why?  I figure that if they live with Meg and it would be surprising for her NOT to see them over the course of the day or two in which the book takes place, I explain. If she could go a few days without seeing a character and not fret, I let the reader assume that character just doesn't happen to be in town at the moment.

Of course, this may seem comfortable to me because as a reader, I tend to be annoyed when authors OVERexplain the absence of minor characters, especially if I haven't read the previous books in the series or read them long enough ago that I don't even remember the characters in question. So I prefer to err on the side of underexplaining. Or explaining the eventual disappearance of a character--temporarily or permanently--within the confines of the book in which that character appears.  In The Real Macaw, from the very start Meg doesn't say that Timmy has come to stay with her and Michael permanently--she makes it clear that he's only staying with them until his mother is in a situation to take him back. Meg says "We were hoping to get word any time that her posting in Germany would be fairly long-term, which would mean Timmy could join her." I wasn't sure at the time whether I would want Timmy to appear in the next book, so I left that open, but assumed that the "get word any time" would cover the issue if he didn't reappear.

But apparently at least one reader wanted more. If perchance there are a whole bunch of frustrated Timmy fans out there, apologies. For the record, Karen is now comfortably settled in Wiesbaden, enjoying the wine festivals and rejoicing in the fact that she has found an excellent Waldorf or Montessori school for Timmy.  Should I ever want to bring Timmy back for a future book, I will have Karen transferred stateside and allow her to leave Timmy with Meg and Michael for a few weeks.  Or months.  Whatever the plot demands.

Perhaps I'm weird, but in a related issue, I'm not fond of seeing a canceled TV series wrap up with a grand finale episode in which all the good characters' wishes comes true while the villains' worst nightmares are realized and every single question you ever had is answered.  I'd really rather think of the characters as just continuing to lead the lives I have enjoyed watching, only doing it someplace where I can no longer watch. The Enterprise is still patrolling the galaxy, Buffy is still slaying, and roll call in the Hill Street Station continues to be raucous. In the same way, I like to think of Horace and Rose Noire and Caroline and Clarence as having lives of their own, and sometimes exciting things will happen to Meg while they're off living them.

But how should I handle the desires of readers who want to know what's happening in the lives of the characters who don't appear? I really hate the idea of doing a roll call of the missing with a little explanation about why they're not in the book.  Should I perhaps post a blog or a page on my website for each new book, giving people a rundown on events in the lives of my characters that just didn't make it into the books?

Any reasonable suggestions welcome.  Because I'm starting a new book, and I don't yet know for sure which of the minor characters will be around and which won't, but I know darn sure whoever I leave out will have at least a few fans.

 p.s. Pictures just for fun.  Or atmosphere.

New England Holiday Party!

by Dana

Ever since I've been writing mysteries, it's been a wonderful winter ritual to attend the holiday party at Kate's Mystery Books.  It was always a mob scene, but terrific fun and a reunion for writers and readers.  It was also a chance to buy what I think is the best holiday present, a book signed by the author.

Kate's Mystery Books, alas, is no more, but the community Kate built there with members of SinC and MWA lives on.  Last night, the tradition was rekindled at the New England Mobile Book Fair.  Three hours of books and friends, old and new, in a book-lover's paradise.  Here are a few pictures:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 L-R:  The fabulous Katherine Hall Page, with Femmes Hank and Toni.  I'm in back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yay!  Signing Akashic's Boston Noir and Cape Cod Noir. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miles of writers: I can see (standing,l-r) David Zeltserman, Susan Oleksiw, and Gary Braver.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miles of books!

Here the thing:  When I was a kid, my father used to make deliveries near the NE Mobile Book Fair.  If I gave him the titles, authors, and publishers, he'd bring back books I asked for, and once or twice, we met him there for lunch.  It was awesome.  I'd never seen so many books before in my life (the closest comparison I have now is to Strand Books in NYC).  

Last night, I went back as an author signing books with my short stories, which was strange and wonderful, another kind of reunion.  I wish everyone great books and great friends for the holidays!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

P.S.  Today, I received the ARCs of my newest book, Seven Kinds of Hell, which will be out in March from 47North.  If you leave a comment, I'll draw a name randomly from the list to receive an ARC!  Don't forget to check back to find if you've won!