My Weblog

Life Is Not a Beach

 

By Elaine Viets

 

"Board Stiff" is my May Dead-End Job mystery. This time private eyes Helen Hawthorne and her husband, Phil Sagemont, are hired by Sunny Jim’s Stand-Up Paddleboard Rental in mythical Riggs Beach, Florida.

When a customer dies in what looks like an accident, Sunny Jim insists she was murdered. Helen and Phil, along with dozens of others, saw her tumble off her paddleboard. Now they have to solve a murder with no witnesses and no weapon.

The setting is a cheerful beachfront town in South Florida, but I didn’t sit on the sand sipping margaritas to research my twelfth Dead-End Job mystery. I suffered for my art. I had to visit beach souvenir shops and check out the T-shirts. You won’t believe what’s on those shelves.

Florida may be the capitol of tacky, but visitors made us that way. I don’t know a single Floridian who would wear this T-shirt: PARTY WITH SLUTS – even if they did. But it sells on the beach.

I’ve never seen this snarky shirt on locals: I’VE STOPPED LISTENING –  WHY HAVEN’T YOU STOPPED TALKING? But tourists buy it.

Tourist season ends here after Easter and Passover, but this weekend we’re packed with vacationers. The beach highway is plastered with these signs: "Caution. State Law – Must Stop for Pedestrians." Tourists are a protected species. We’re not allowed to kill them, in season or out of it. Visitors make it difficult  for locals by staggering out into A1A with a beer in each hand. Nobody has 20-20 vision with beer goggles.

Along with the booze, the subtropical sun seems to soften tourist brains. Why else would someone buy these shirts?

NICE STORY BABE – NOW FIX ME A SANDWICH.
FOR MY NEXT TRICK I’LL NEED A CONDOM AND A VOLUNTEER.

I can’t imagine anyone in St. Louis wearing a shirt with a cartoon chef leering TONY’S ITALIAN – IF YOU LIKE MY MEATBALLS YOU’LL LOVE MY SAUSAGE around my hometown.

Wearing this shirt could be a public service: I PEE IN POOLS. But I suspect you’ll swim alone.
Somebody must buy these shirts, or they wouldn’t take up expensive display space. Locals rarely shop in beachside souvenir stores. Tourists must feel their vacation isn’t complete without a tacky T-shirt. 

Do people really wear those once they get back home? Or are these shirts simply twenty bucks worth of temporary insanity?

Florida has its own brand of craziness. I saw this handmade sign on a souvenir shop in Lauderdale by the Sea:  "No food, pets, wet feet. We Have Camera Surveillance!!"

Can a camera see if people’s feet are wet?

That shop had stacks of shirts that said: PLEASE TELL YOUR TITS TO STOP STARING AT MY EYES. I can’t imagine any woman desperate enough to date a dude wearing that. REEFER MADNESS was the only shirt I liked, and it  featured coral reefs, not reefer.
My stomach turned when I saw Florida Gator Poop on sale. In a souvenir shop, it might be the real thing. I sidled closer and was relieved it was chocolate-nut candy. "Chocolate Lore," the package said. "To reduce calories, store your candy on top of the refrigerator. Calories are afraid of heights and will jump out of the candy to save themselves."

This research will make "Board Stiff" feel like a real day at the beach. I also noticed that the beer dives liked to cozy up to the sleazy T-shirt shops.

Which led me to devise the Viets Beach Law: The sleazier the bars, the slimier the T-shirt shops.

"Board Stiff," my new Dead-End Job mystery, will be published as a
hardcover and an e-book this May. Pre-order from booksellers including  bn.com, Amazon.com  or Mystery Lovers Bookshop.

http://tinyurl.com/c8qlkq6

 

 

Just Say "Go"

Today we welcome guest blogger Alana White, author of a new historical mystery, SIGN OF THE WEEPING VIRGIN. Kirkus said this in its starred review: 

"A Florentine lawyer must solve a murder to keep his city from imploding.  One hopes that White’s clever tale, meticulously researched and pleasingly written, is the first in a series that will bring Florence and its many famous denizens to life.”

Alana was also a Macavity Award nominee for her short story introducing WEEPING VIRGIN's characters and their intriguing world. 

I know Alana spends a great deal of time on research, at home and on trips to Italy. What a wonderful place to study! 

 

Too much knowing is misery. So said Italian Renaissance man Lorenzo de' Medici in the fifteenth-century. 

Sometimes, I agree with him, particularly when I'm surrounded by the mountains of research I've undertaken on him, his illustrous circle of friends, and his hometown on the Arno.  Florence.  The Golden Age.  Gorgeous clothes, beautiful men and women, outrageous stories, all intertwined, poetry, passion, politics.

I will confess: more than once while writing The Sign of the Weeping Virgin, I wept myself.  Was the story too much, too big, too—everything?  Most people in it are famous.  Leonardo da Vinci.  Sandro Botticelli.  My protagonist, real-life Florentine lawyer Guid'Antonio Vespucci, and his "sidekick" nephew, Amerigo (who eventually would set sail for the West).  They have their own personal histories.  We know what they looked like. 

 Still, while Guid'Antonio was an outstanding personality in Renaissance Florence, both as a lawyer and government leader and as Lorenzo de' Medici's ally and friend, he has remained a step back in the shadows, a pace behind the famous painters, philosophers, and poets of late fifteenth-century Florence. 

Thus, I felt I had space—permission—to create a story with him at its heart, filling in the unknown places, and giving him a private life, while drawing upon the facts surrounding his documented power and prestige.  I felt I had the freedom to create a good, but haunted, inner man, one whose driving passion is to protect his family and Florence from their enemies at all costs.  

I was equally drawn to the fact he was a lawyer.  He is not only an amateur or armchair detective.  He is assigned court cases and represents clients, while also investigating matters of a private nature.

In Weeping Virgin, accompanied by Amerigo, Guid'Antonio walks down dark alleys where other men won't go while investigating the religious painting that is weeping in his family church and its connection to the young woman who has disappeared while traveling out from the city.

Originally, I did not set out to write a story set in the Italian Renaissance.  I was drawn into it when I read about an event known to history as "The Pazzi Conspiracy," wherein Lorenzo and Giuliano de' Medici came under attack by assassins in Florence Cathedral on Easter Sunday morning in 1478.

Giuliano was murdered, Lorenzo drew his sword and escaped.  So terrible!  So dramatic!  Reading further, I discovered that not much fiction has centered on this incident.  Thus, I walked straight into Florence's Golden Age and met all the larger-than-life characters who lived therein.

Here is my leading man in his crimson cloak.  Isn't he handsome?

 

Early on, I realized the historical setting meant, required, that I travel to Tuscany for research.  There, I could walk in Guid'Antonio's footsteps as he investigates crime in Renaissance Florence.  And so, go, I did.  There, with notes and maps in hand, I ventured into the streets prepared to dodge Vespas rather than couriers on horseback.  What I learned was the more things change the more they stay the same.

 

In six hundred years, this view of one of the many bridges spanning the Arno River has changed very little.  Expensive shops with gleaming gold bracelets and necklaces on display still line the Ponte Vecchio (the Old Bridge), and celebrants wearing their district's bright colors parade through the streets on special occasions. 

 

 

The ancient 15th-c. convent where I stay while visiting Florence is within walking distance of the Ponte Vecchio and the Cathedral where Giuliano de' Medici was slain.  In fact, most everything in Florence is within walking distance and very, very old.  After all these years, Firenze remains the "Cradle of the Italian Renaissance."

 

 

I nourished myself while nourishing my story.

I soaked up the sights and sounds.

 

I noted timeless fashions and hair-dos.

 

I walked in the shadow of Florence Cathedral, measuring the time it would take to go from the church entrance to the altar, where Giuliano died beneath Brunelleschi's red brick dome.  (The walk takes five minutes.)

 

I cast into the back of my mind one agent's sage pronouncement:  "No one wants to read a mystery set in the Italian Renaissance."  Instead, I concentrated on tracing Guid'Antonio's route around Florence and on the abandoned tan Mastiff who just will not stop following him around town, waiting patiently for him wherever he goes.

I asked myself, can Guid'Antonio save Florence from her enemies?  Can he save himself?  Can he save his marriage?

The answers came as he and I walked and talked the streets of Florence.  In his hometown, Guid'Antonio and his friends taught me many things, including stubborn perseverance and the patience to put one step firmly in front of the other, no matter where you are, or where you are in history, or what others may believe.

* * *

 

*  *  *

Magnifico!

I love the cover - gorgeous - I'm adding a short summary of WEEPING VIRGIN for readers - 

The year is 1480, and celebrated Florentine lawyer Guid’Antonio Vespucci and his nephew, Amerigo, return home to Italy from a government mission to find their dreams of peace shattered.  Marauding Turks have abducted Camilla da Vinci and sold her into slavery.  Equally disturbing, a revered painting of the Virgin Mary is weeping in Guid’Antonio’s family church.  Angry and fearful Florentines interpret these stunning events as signs of God’s wrath for their support of the city’s leader, Lorenzo de’ Medici.

Faced with losing control of the city, Lorenzo enlists Guid'Antonio, his friend and staunch political ally, to investigate the tears.  Following a seemingly unrelated trail of clues—a name whispered in the marketplace by a hooded monk, a secret message painted by Sandro Botticelli on the wall of the Vespucci church—Guid’Antonio and Amerigo chase across 15th-century Florence to the workshops of Leonardo da Vinci and Botticelli, from Florence to San Gimignano, where Camilla da Vinci disappeared, and, finally, to the hilltop town of Vinci itself, where Guid'Antonio uncovers the truth about the missing girl and the Virgin Mary's mystifying—and miraculous?—tears, all pursued as he comes face to face with his own malicious demons.

Such a rich area full of history and beautiful things. And FOOD ... sigh ...

Thanks so much for being with us today, Alana! 

 

Happy Anniversary, America and me!

By the time you read this, I will be . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

in Colorado, at Left Coast Crime. (Dramatic opening, though, eh?)

And it just occurred to me that it was exactly ten years ago - March 2003 - that I landed in Denver airport on my very first visit to this country I now call home. (Well, I changed planes in Newark but Newark airport is barely Earth never mind America.)

So it seemed like a good time to look back and see how far I've come.

First off, when I pick up my hire car at Denver tomorrow, I'll be able to drive it. Last time, jetlagged to hell and back, I got into a Buick bigger than my first flat and said to the Hertz guy, as I pawed at empty carpet with my left foot: "Where's the . . . ? How do you . . . Why isn't it rolling away?" I still can't believe they let us take it out onto the road. And I won't go into a Starbucks and ask for a cup of black coffee instead of a 16oz Americano, no room, for here, please.

Ten years ago I didn't know what biscuits and gravy was either. Surely people didn't really have meat-juices on choc-chip cookies for breakfast. Then a nice lady in The Hop diner in Newcastle,Wyoming did a show and tell. She showed us a biscuit ("Ohhhhh! It's a scone!") and explained gravy in a way I'll never forget. "Well, hon," she said, 'white gravy is real creamy and brown gravy is . . . brown." She's right. It truly is. (And for the record, emulsified sausage fat on a scone still seems a bit weird. But then . . . haggis.)

The Hop waitress also enlightened us on chicken fried steak. Not steak fried by chickens or steak fried in chicken fat, but steak fried as though it were chicken. Which makes a lot of sense if you know fried chicken, but to me in 2003 it was like the time a reader asked if burry in Burry Man's Day rhymes with furry or curry?

But what in the name of haven't you heard of the Rockies was I doing in Newcastle, Wyoming anyway, I hear you ask. Stopping off on the way to South Dakota is the answer. But what in the name of . . . Well, I wanted to see Crazy Horse Mountain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I come from a country with a long recorded history: standing stones, Roman walls, runes, mediaeval churches, a "new town" from 1740 . . . and I was interested in the oldest history of here too, even if it's frustrating to seek the stories of people who used leather and wood instead of brick and stone to make things.

Also (she said, settling back down into her normal cultural level) I wanted to go to Deadwood and put flowers on Calamity Jane's grave. I read up a bit on the real Calam and Wild Bill and all of them, but still when I was standing there I couldn't get rid of the notion that six feet below me was a blonde bombeshell, laid to rest in her buckskin catsuit. , I would never have guessed that ten years later, my weekend retreat of choice would be the home town of that very bombshell, my musical, dramatic and hair colour hero, the finest woman ever to wriggle into a pair of gingham capris: Her Dorisness of Day.

I've never actually seen her on any of my probably fifteen trips to Carmel so far, and wouldn't know what to say (if anything) when I did, but one day . . .

The Amateurs and the Pros

by Kris Neri

Like many authors of amateur sleuth mysteries, I’m also a fan of reading them. That’s not to say I don’t read many other subgenres as well, and in my writing, I write a magical series that features both an amateur sleuth and an FBI agent, so that one straddles the fence between amateur and professional sleuths. I also write an occasional standalone thriller, which is a whole different category. But as both a writer and reader, I’ve always felt a particular  fondness for amateurs who solve crimes, going way back to the time when


Nancy Drew first led me into this life of crime.

Some years back at a signing, a reader asked me whether, like the protagonist of my Tracy Eaton mysteries — a writer and detective wannabe — I secretly harbored a desire to solve murders. Nope, not even a little bit. I bet that’s true for most writers of amateur sleuths as well. But that I don’t long to follow Tracy down the path of actually solving crimes, doesn’t in any way lessen my love of amateur sleuth mysteries, especially fun ones.

Besides, I think we learn from their examples. To my mind, some of the appeal of amateur sleuths is that, when we see them take on the impossible in their lives, we’re inspired to tackle the looming obstacles in our own, even if ours involve something less life-threatening than solving murders. 

Of course, in amateur sleuth mysteries, it’s the amateurs that have to shine. But that’s not to say the police don’t play important roles. They do create stabilizing presences, even if, in the end, it’s our amateurs that save the day.

I’ve always loved the police detectives I’ve created in my Tracy Eaton mysteries. Each has been different, some more rigidly official than others, more resistant to Tracy’s free-spirited antics, and they’ve all made unique and engaging foils for her. But none have been more fun than the police presence I created for my new release, Revenge on Route 66.

Roy Fricker, the Chief of Police of the small town of Tecos, New Mexico, where much of the action occurs in Revenge on Route 66, makes an immediate presence on the page, although maybe not the one he might have wanted.

Here’s Tracy’s first impression:

In the doorway stood the world’s most glittery Rhinestone Cowboy, an African-American man, whose embroidered Western shirt and decorated leather spats sported so much fringe, he had drastically reduced the world’s supply of it. There must have been clackers hidden within that fringe, too, because when he strode into the place, he jangled.

Even more colorful than his dress is Chief Fricker’s speech:

He tipped a gigantic white hat, which matched the accents in his black shirt and spats, and said, “Ma’am. Hear tell someone blew out poor Woody’s light. 

That was just the beginning of Chief Fricker’s colorful lingo. Every time he spoke more of his Western gibberish came out:

Fricker removed his hat and ran a large hand over his closely shorn hair. “Can’t say I’m all that surprised someone flipped Woody’s hash browns. He’s always been like someone riding ’round with a wasp in his bonnet. Always looking for a pig to kick.”

Tracy’s reaction was predictable enough:

Huh? Was his getup and lingo a joke? If we’d been back in L.A., I’d have assumed this guy to be an actor in some Western movie parody. Here, I figured he’d been yanked from his other job, rodeo clown.

But she soon learns that his looks and lingo can be deceiving. Chief Fricker is actually a wily investigator, a former big city homicide detective simply living out his long-held Western dream, albeit in a pretty dramatic way.

He and Tracy continue to lock horns. He might be all about living his dream, but he’s not about to let some wacky amateur sleuth just passing through the flaunt the law and cut corners in his town.

Isn’t that the way it often goes when amateur sleuths and cops tangle? Amateur sleuths are all  about the spirit of justice, while the police get tangled up in the letter of it. 

However the struggle goes in the course of a mystery, it’s always fun for those of us who love amateur sleuth mysteries.

What do you think about the cops in amateur sleuth mysteries? Have you enjoyed reading them as much as I’ve enjoyed creating them?

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When this is posted, I will be at the Left Coast Crime Convention in Colorado Springs. Let me share my appearances there and the others that I have scheduled for this spring. But check my appearance page often because I'll be adding new ones all the time:

LCC: Friday, March 22, 1 pm: Panelist on the “If there’s a bad pun in the title, it must be a funny cozy!” panel, with Donna Andrews, Bionnie Biafore, Jess Lourey, and moderated by Linda Joffe Hull.

LCC: Friday, March 22, 2 pm: Moderating the “This can’t be normal, can it: the panel for fantasy, paranormal,” with Ann Charles, Theresa Crater, Linda Hilburn and Alex Sokoloff.

LCC: Saturday, March 23, 10:30 am – 11:00 am: This is my time to chat with readers in the Blogs around the campfire rooms.

LCC: Sunday, March 24, 10 am: Panelist on the “Thrills & Laughs: A Conflict of Interest” panel, moderated by Chantelle Osman, and with Bonnie Biafore, Robert Downs, and Kathy McIntosh.

Tuesday, March 26, 3 pm: Radio interview with Sandy Moss, KQNA, Prescott

Saturday, April 13, 2 pm: Signing REVENGE ON ROUTE 66 at Poisoned Pen, 4014 N Goldwater Blvd #101  Scottsdale, AZ 85251. (480) 947-2974. I'll be signing with Deborah J. Ledford.

Friday, April 26, 4-6 pm: Pump House Readings. Ken’s Creekside, Sedona, AZ. I’ll be presenting a reading from REVENGE ON ROUTE 66.

Wednesday, May 15, 6 pm: I will be presenting a talk on humor writing, “Making Them Laugh,” at the meeting of the Sisters in Crime chapter, the Desert Sleuths of Scottsdale, AZ. Grimaldi’s Pizzaria, 4000 N Scottsdale Rd, Scottsdale, AZ. For more information, email: [email protected].

Friday, May 24 – Sunday, May 26, all days: Phoenix Comicon. Appearance schedule TBA.

Saturday, June 8, 2 pm. Book ‘Em Mysteries, 1118 Mission Street, South Pasadena, CA. (626) 799-9600. I’ll be signing REVENGE ON ROUTE 66.

Sunday, June 9, 2:30 pm. Mysterious Galaxy. – Redondo Beach, 2810 Artesia Blvd Redondo Beach, CA. 310-542-6000. I’ll be signing REVENGE ON ROUTE 66.

Monday, June 10, 7 pm. Mysterious Galaxy – San Diego, 7051 Clairemont Mesa Blvd., Suite #302, San Diego, CA. 858-268-4747. I’ll be presenting a writing workshop, Creating Memorable Characters, and signing copies of REVENGE ON ROUTE 66.

The Thing About Cats

I suppose it was inevitable that I should end up writing a series with a cat as in important secondary character. (As I compose this blog, Toby, pictured above, is wailing at me like he's been abandoned in the Sahara after not having eaten for three months. A few rubs on the head quieten him momentarily.) We had cats when I was a child growing up on a farm in Mississippi, but after a while there were no more cats, only dogs.

I considered myself a dog person for years, until a fateful day in 1994 when a friend convinced me to give a home to a five-month-old furball named Marlowe (named for the playwright, not the detective). She was a dear little thing who immediately bonded with me, and I lost my heart, utterly and completely. Soon I had to get her a companion, because she talked my ears off every evening when I came home from work, telling me how bored she was all day by herself. Thus entered Booboo, the sweetest, most laid-back cat I ever knew. The Diva and the Lovebug, I called them. They were with me for seventeen years.

Now I have Pippa and Toby, both rescues, who came to me when they were already a year old, unlike Marlowe and Booboo. Pippa (another Diva) and Toby (another Lovebug) have been with me for almost eight months now, and I'm relearning what it's like to have kittens in the house. (Lack of sleep is what it boils down to, because Pippa, my crazy Calico, is relentlessly active during the night.)

Back in 2009, when my editor suggested I consider a series about a librarian and a cat, I thought "why not?" I'm a librarian, and I have cats. So I started work on what eventually became the first book in the series, Murder Past Due.This book, my fifteenth published novel, accomplished something no other book of mine had ever done -- it hit the extended New York Times bestseller list.

And if you're thinking I should bless my editor and shower her with gifts, you'd be right. I'm writing a series about characters (including a Maine Coon cat) that I love, and the readers are giving me the love back a thousand times over. Mystery readers (myself included) are crazy about their feline (and canine) friends, and watching the antics over the years of my feline companions has given me plenty of ideas.

Now I have to pay attention to Toby again, because I've neglected him for all of seven or eight minutes...

What's New? Listen to THIS!

Hank Phillippi Ryan Big news at the FEMMES! Fabulous Femme Dana Cameron has a new—well, if I say a new book, that’s just part of the story! When you say to Dana “what’s new?” Whoa. The answers are amazing. And keep reading—we’re giving away an early copy of—well, just read on.

HANK: So, Dana. This is ...NEW! And yet, familiar to your fans. Tell all!

DANA CAMERON I'm so excited! Yes, it's a new series with a new protagonist— archaeologist Zoe Miller—and a new publisher (47North) and a new genre (urban fantasy). The first book of three (and three short stories) will be called SEVEN KINDS OF HELL.

The familiar elements: The Fangborn are vampires, werewolves, and oracles dedicated to the secret protection of humanity, which I introduced in a series of short stories beginning with “The Night Things Changed.” And since my first career was in archaeology, and my first six novels were archaeological mysteries, there's heaps of archaeology and adventure. It's an archaeological thriller with Fangborn!

HANK: I want to know all about Zoe Miller, your main character, but first, what’s the title mean? Or would that give it away?

 DANA: In “The Night Things Changed,” Claudia tells Gerry he looks like “seven kinds of hell.” I liked the sound of that as a title, and it fit when I started to write about Zoe. Her mother's dying. She's on the run from her father's family, who are reputed to be killers. Her tendency to violence—and the occasional glimpse of fangs in the mirror— has her worried about her sanity. She left the love of her life to protect him.

 A violent Russian “businessman” has kidnapped her cousin, because the artifact she accidentally-kinda-stole is not as worthless as she thought. The world appears to be full of monsters, all whom want something from her. That sounded like she had at least seven distinct brands of hell in her life, and while she has a tough time of it, it's tremendous fun for me.

 HANK: We all think we know about vampires and werewolves and oracles--but you kind of started from ground zero, right? How did you realize you could-should do that? And how did that evolve?

DANA: I did start from scratch, and that was an important moment for me. When fellow Femmes Fatales Charlaine Harris and Toni Kelner invited me to contribute to their anthology WOLFSBANE AND MISTLETOE with a short story about werewolves at holiday time, I was delighted. Then I panicked; when I turned to my reference material, I discovered I didn't have any on werewolves! As a recovering academic, my early archaeology mysteries were very much grounded (ha!) in the real world. What was I to do?

 Then it occurred to me: this is fiction! I can just make this stuff up! That sounds pretty elementary, but it represented a huge shift for me in terms of writing. In the course of writing the story, “The Night Things Changed,” I turned the conventions about werewolves and vampires on their head: they're the first on a crime scene, not because they're killers, but because they're tracking evil-doers and protecting humanity. The hostility between werewolves and vampires is because they're related—which led me to the name Fangborn, because they both have fangs and are born to the Family, not bitten. I threw in the oracles because I liked the idea of combining oracles with high tech, and they also add an x-factor in terms of powers.

 HANK: Okay, so tell us about Zoe a bit.

 DANA: Zoe's an archaeologist; she's smart and curious. She's been broke and rootless, so she knows how to handle herself and she has a fierce desire to find a place where she fits in. Right before the book starts, she's actually starting to pull together something that looks like a stable life, with friends, prospects for a career, a boyfriend. But when her true powers and identity are revealed, it all goes wrong and the adventure begins. It's as much because of her character as her supernatural abilities that she's up to it.

 HANK: Did it get you thinking about "supernatural abilities?" Ones people have that they may not realize? Did this help you come into your own power as a writer? I mean—this is kind of the book where things changed for you!

DANA: Anyone who's read comics knows the saying, “with great power, comes great responsibility” (which comes from Spider-Man, but Voltaire and Luke 12:48 express the same thing!) The Fangborn can be seen as guardians, but maybe most regular people would see them as vigilantes and killers. That's something Zoe will be grappling with.

As for the powers themselves, I really had to start thinking out of the box, asking two questions: What is the coolest thing that could happen here? And how does that fit into what I know (and eventually will tell) about the larger Fangborn 'verse? The challenge of learning to think on a grand scale, outside of the reality I know, has taught me a lot as a writer. I wouldn't have said I could write short stories, or urban fantasy, until I had the challenge of “The Night Things Changed.”

I think we all have resources that are revealed with great challenges—need, desire, opportunity, calamity—and they emerge even faster if we go looking for them and work at making them more powerful

 HANK: Urban fantasy..how do you see that? And what does it require? What surprised you about it..you're used to that genre from the short stories, but was this different to juggle?

DANA: The short stories were mysteries with supernatural beings and elements. Having read a lot of fantasy growing up, when confronted with the idea of writing a Fangborn novel, I realized fantasy is structurally similar to thrillers.

 No Jack Reacher, no Jason Bourne, but the clock is running out, and someone has to stop the very bad thing—often a global catastrophe—from happening. In the case of urban fantasy, the settings are modern (often real places), and some of the characters have magical powers or fighting abilities. Which is fine, as long as the antagonist has powers too, or the goal is supernatural in some way.

 If you think about it, it's not that big a stretch, because both Reacher and Bourne have superhuman abilities, or are at least larger than life. The surprise was that I already had the mystery and thriller background for writing the Fangborn and I just had to reconsider the conventions of fantasy and urban fantasy to add those elements. The other surprise is how much fun it is building the the Fangborn 'verse! I've really let myself off the leash.

HANK: Oh, Dana off the leash! There's a concept. I've never imagined you ON the leash--your brain is always going a million miles an hour. Gang, questions for Dana? And we're giving away a copy of SEVEN KINDS OF HELL to one lucky commenter!

DANA: Thanks so much for these terrific questions, Hank!

Anticipating spring

by Donna Andrews

Earlier this week we in Northern Virginia survived this winter's big snow event.  I hate to complain, but it wasn't a very satisfactory snow for any of us.  For the snow lovers, it melted way too fast.  And for everybody else . . . well, this time of year you always hear a lot of people muttering "When will it finally be spring?"

Sometimes I mutter with them.  But right now, I find I'm rather enjoying these last few days of winter.  There's a spare, serene, geometric beauty in the bare branches of the trees.  Later in the year, when they're all clothed in leaves, you won't be able to see as easily how some seem to be standing up tall like soldiers on parade, some reaching out anxiously toward the sun, and others just spreading out as if where they've grown was the best of all possible places for a tree to be.

And I sometimes think I enjoy the early flowers more than the ones that bloom along with everything else.  The early daffodils--the Rijnveldt's Early Sensation were blooming in January.  The hellebores have been blooming even longer.  And the crocuses are up--at least they are in my neighbor's yard.  Mine are either slugabeds or have been eaten by something--rodents chewing the bulbs or deer cropping the foliage. Must go take some pictures of the neighbor's crocuses soon.

I've been taking more pictures of the birds that visit my birdfeeder.  For a while, I couldn't get any good pictures.  If I opened a window or a sliding glass door, the silly birds would fly away and stay away longer than I could stand to wait around for them.  What's wrong with them? Don't they realize that I am the all-powerful filler of the feeder, the dispenser of pre-shelled sunflower seeds? Can't they stick around and show a little gratitude?

But I've finally figured out a way to compensate for the slight overexposure that happens when I shoot through my sliding glass door. And I've created a sort of blind out of boxes--when I stand behind it, only my head and my camera show. When I need a break from writing, I turn around and crouch over the boxes,waiting until the birds get over the momentary fright at seeing me approach the glass.  Later this year, when the yard is filled with color--at least I hope it will be--I may not spend as much time stalking the birds, but for right now they're a bright spot in my photographic day.

So I'm content to wait a while for spring. Just as long as I've got my camera and my iPhone to play with, and a few garden catalogs to daydream over. Am I the only one who feels this way?

 

 

French Lesson: Fingertip Research

By Elaine Viets

Technology has changed mystery writing. Now I can e-mail my novels to my editor, instead of figuring out which FedEx box has the latest pickup.

When I finished "Board Stiff," my May Dead-End Job mystery, a touch of the SEND button shot it straight to New York. The main work was over. Now the worrying started.

I was confident I’d thoroughly researched this novel about crooked beach towns and cutthroat Florida tourism. I’d even taken stand-up paddle boarding lessons to learn about that new water sport.

It took a day for my confidence to erode like a hurricane-hit beach. Doubts stung like sand flies. Did I really check out everything?

What about that scene where a French woman flipped off a lifeguard who told her she couldn’t go topless on the beach? The French don’t have Americans’ puritanical attitude about nudity, but do they really give the finger when they’re angry?

How would I know? Yes, I saw this scene on the beach. The topless woman sure sounded like she was cussing in French. But Florida gets tourists from around the world, and I’d never been to France. Maybe I should check. A sleepless night convinced me I had to.

I asked my friend, Kristy Montee, who’s half of the award-winning mystery team, P.J. Parrish. Kris lives in France for a month every year. The French editions of her novels get good reviews there.

"You're my expert on the French," I wrote her. "Do they flip people off when they're angry? I have a French woman in my book who does this and I want to make sure it's an international gesture."

Kris wrote back, "I don't think they do the middle finger thing. They have this gesture called bras d'honneur. In exact French it would be fait un bras d'honneur (give the arm of honor) where they raise a fist and sort of slap their arm. I know MEN do it, but not sure about women. But why not???"

Okay. It could work. But Kris still wasn’t satisfied with that answer. "Tried to find a video of it for you," she wrote. "Try this one.  It comes at the very end. Don't know what the guy is pissed about!

http//tinyurl.com/d3le6ew."

Kris kept digging. "I found you some proof," she wrote. "This woman gives the bras d'honneur to a priest! It's from a French TV series. It comes at the end if you want to fast forward."

The YouTube account had been discontinued, but I believed her.

Next Kris checked with her French translator who worked on "The Little Death."  In French the title is "Such a Little Death."

"Well, tell your friend that our ‘honneur’ cultures are quite similar," the translator wrote. "In France we can deliver a doigt (finger) or some bras (both d'honneur). The doigt is a little less vulgar than the bra which, you're perfectly right, are more ‘masculine.’ So, I guess that this French woman could deliver un doigt d'honneur which is perfectly French.

"Now, if she's very angry and very sophisticated, it could be funny to have her give le bras d'honneur which is probably more specifically French than le doigt.

"Now, Kris, life is really full of surprises. The first time I translated your work, if someone told me that we'd have such a conversation some day I don't think I would have believed him. Have a great year with lots of books for me to translate."

Well, that settled it, I thought. My topless French woman was an unsophisticated,  ticked off tourist.

Then another worry popped up. What if she wasn’t from France? We have lots of French Canadian tourists here in Florida. Did they use the finger?

I spent two sleepless nights worrying about French Canadians’ rude gestures.

Finally, I let the scene go. I was too tired to give a flip.

Hitting the road this spring

by Dana

Seven Kinds of Hell launches in just about one week--March 12!  I'm so thrilled about my first Fangborn novel.  And I love to travel, I love getting to see folks, but it's a matter of getting out the door, first.  Until I get to the airport, I panic about packing, flights, connections, weather...the cats will miss me!  Mr. G will miss me!  I'll miss them! Don't let any of them see the suitcase!  Don't let me see the suitcase! 

But here are a few of the people and places I'll be seeing, and just telling you makes me want to dig out my suitcase NOW.

Saturday, March 16, 4:30pm  I'll be at Murder by the Book (2342 Bissonnet, Houston, TX).  I'm so excited—although I've met the fine folks from the store at conventions, I've never been there before. I'll get to see fellow Fatale Dean James (NYT Best Selling author!) AND I'll get to meet Tessa Adams and Emily McKay, who both write a wide range of paranormal fiction!

Saturday, March 23, Noon I'll be signing at Mystery One (2109 N. Prospect Avenue  Milwaukee, WI); this is a return trip to Mystery One for me and I'm so looking forward to it.  I've had a blast every time I've been to Milwaukee— and I'll get to see the Crimepsree Magazine folks, too!

Thursday, March 28, 7:00pm  Mysterious Galaxy (7051 Clairemont Mesa Blvd., Suite #302
San Diego, CA)  I'm not sure how many times I've done events at Mysterious Galaxy, only that it's been too long since the last one!  I love the discussions the writers, staff, and readers get into, and I'm looking forward to more!

From there it's on to Anaheim and WonderCon: I've never been to one before, and I'm wicked psyched for it!  I'm betting that if I wear my Blue Sun t-shirt there, someone will get the joke!

The Edgars Symposium is on May 1, and from 2:40 – 3:40, I'll be moderating fellow Fatales Charlaine Harris (who is also MWA president) and Toni Kelner (with SJ Rozan and Ben  H Winters) on the panel "Where Monsters Came From and Where They Will Go."  And I may have found some serious shoes for the Edgars Banquet...

After the Edgars, it's Malice Domestic 25 from May 3-5 (Hyatt Regency Hotel  Bethesda, MD).  I'll be cheering on fellow Fatales and Agatha nominees Hank Phillippi Ryan and Catriona McPherson, and keeping my fingers crossed for my own “Mischief in Mesopotamia,” which you can read, along with the full slate of Best Short Story nominees,here.

Whew!  That's just the spring!  More details about the rest of my travels this year can be found on my website.  I look forward to seeing you at one of these events!

A Few Quick Reviews

from Mary

It seems like I'm always writing about dogs. And books. I can't help it. They're both in the top ten greatest hits of all creation, don't you think?

 

 

Oh yeah, I talk a lot about Dean Koontz, too. Love that guy. Since I discovered how much I enjoy his books, I've been going backward through his catalog. WATCHERS is an oldie-goldie with ... you guessed it ... a Goldie. A man takes a walk in the forest and encounters a golden retriever. The dog blocks the man's way down a certain path, over and over. The man hears strange, unearthly noises coming toward them and realizes the dog is trying to protect him. But from what? They escape first and wonder what kind of boogey-man is coming after them later.

 

At its heart, WATCHERS is about family. Some readers may think the dog's super-powers are a bit over the top, but I love that stuff.

 

LIGHTNING by Dean Koontz, another older title I read this week, does have a tie-in to Hitler Germany.

 

 

One of the things I admire about Koontz is his intriguing story beginnings. They're real grabbers. LIGHTNING starts with an alcoholic obstetrician. He's drunk out of his mind when the hospital calls late one night with an emergency. One of his patients has gone into labor and is having complications. The doctor knows he's in no shape to work, but he's too proud to admit it. He's about to leave his house when a strange man attacks him. The man forces him back in the house, ties him up, holds him at gunpoint and tells him he's going nowhere. Why would an assassin want to kill this no-count nobody drunk?

 

I enjoyed the good storytelling in LIGHTNING, but it's not one of my favorites. It is, after all, dog-less. Still a great read.

 

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Everybody's wild about Harry ...

 

... and this fabulous series by Michael Connelly. In TRUNK MUSIC, L.A. homicide detective Harry Bosch investigates the murder of a man found in the trunk of a car near the Hollywood Bowl. Why am I wild about Harry? Because he is real. He's solid. He's not showy, he just bears down and gets the job done, most of the time in spite of internal power struggles in the LAPD. Great book.

 

* * * * * *

 

 

Don't you just love it when you find a new series to follow? FATED by Benedict Jacka is the first in a new fantasy series set in LONDON. HURRAY!!!! I am so excited. Alex Verus is a diviner with the special talent of seeing into the future. When young, he was an apprentice to a very bad mage who was cruel to him. Alex escaped that life and now wants nothing to do with the mages, Dark or Light. Of course, like with the Corleones, they pu-ul-l-l-l him back in. 

Another super-talented young Benedict. Two more books in the series are out now, with many more to come, I hope.  

 

What are reading this weekend?