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Picture This!

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: I don't know. I don't know. I just DON'T KNOW. Is there something horribly missing in my knowledge of popular culture that I have no idea who would play Jake and Jane in the movies of my books? Does it date me, hideously and irrevocably, that I only want Gregory Peck and Rene Russo?

I'm not concerned, really, since although I know my books would make terrific movies, I am very happy that they are books. And you can imagine your own characters. (Gregory Peck would have been good, right? Here he is in Designing Women.) 

But LynDee Walker (the terrifcally talented and hilarously clever Henery Press author) has really been thinking about this. And she's wondering--as, admit it, we all do every day--who would play the main characters in her books?

She also wonders--as admit it ,we all do, every day--do you, readers, REALLY want to know?

How Much Do You Need to Know?

       by Lyn Dee Walker

 

Which actors would play your characters in the film version of your book?

Y’all want to win at stump the reporter? Ask me this. If I had a nickel for every time someone has done so in the past year, I could buy … well, a nice lunch, probably. But that’s more than a few nickels.

I never know how to answer it, which has caused my type A personality to spend an inordinate amount of time dissecting why.

Part of it—the most obvious part—is that I’ve spent years living with these characters. To me, they look like…themselves. When I’m writing or reading and I see Nichelle and Joey having a conversation in my head, I don’t see actors.

That’s not to say it isn’t fun, looking through head shots of beautiful people and considering who might fit best. But that brings me to another issue: playing the odds. I mean, a book deal is a hard enough thing to land. A movie? I think statistically, I have a better shot at winning Powerball and getting hit by lightning on the way to cash in the ticket.

I won’t even go (far) into the glacial force that is normal hollywood timing. But think about how long it is before some beloved characters reach the screen: unless (and sometimes, even if) your book is a huge blockbuster success and you are a bonafide household name, the chances that anyone will be casting your characters terribly soon after you win the movie lottery and sign your contract are in the Victoria’s-Secret-model slim range. So I’m casting infants to play Nichelle, and preschoolers for the guys. Bob might be in high school right now.

Of course, those are all things I can overcome for my fantastic readers, if casting is what they want. So I peruse head shots. I make lists. But still, something nagged.

It wasn’t until I was chatting via email with the talented lady who did the trailer for my newest novel, Small Town Spin (now that was a fun process, and she did a lovely, above-expectations job), that I found the heart of my discomfort with casting my stories.

I don’t want to create the picture of the character for the reader.

I want the reader to imagine the people in my novels however they see them. You want to put yourself in Nichelle’s fabulous stilettos? Enjoy. You want Joey to look like Mr. Tall-and-Dark you see on the elevator every morning, but can’t talk to (seize the day, sister. You never know if you don’t step out there)? Or like your husband, or your long-lost crush? Have at it.

I don’t write a ton of character description into my books. On purpose. I just didn’t put it together with my “cast your book” phobia until the trailer discussion.

The designer asked me for a physical description of each main character, which I gave—as I see them. About an hour later I had a mild panic attack when I realized she was looking for images to match those descriptions. Since I try so hard to let readers imagine Nichelle and her friends as they wish, I didn’t want the trailer to put images in readers’ heads before they’d opened the book.

That’s not to say there’s no character description. But it’s minimal. From the books, you get that Nichelle is tall, fit, has longish dark hair, and violet eyes. And not exactly ample cleavage. You fill in the rest with your wonderful reader imagination. 

One of my favorite things is for readers to tell me they see Nichelle as African-American, Native American, or Indian. Those emails make me want to fistbump myself, because I feel I’ve done exactly what I set out to do. No matter how Nichelle looks to me, it puts a ridiculous grin on my face that others see her differently. I take it to mean they’re seeing themselves, or someone they’d like to be friends with, in my heroine. Which makes her a real person to them. Writer warm fuzzy.

I fired off an email explaining that, and my fantastic trailer wizard quickly agreed. She did a beautiful job of finding images of long legs in high heels and dark stockings.

As an added bonus, the back and forth brought this dilemma I’ve had with the ever-popular casting question into sharp relief.

When I read a book I like to imagine the characters for myself. I want to give my readers that same treat when they read my novels, and at least in some cases, I have. I’d hate to ruin a reader’s vision by saying I think someone who looks all wrong for their Nichelle should be cast in the part.

How about you, Femmes? What do y’all think of the “list your dream cast” question (and Miss Charlaine, can you tell us what it was like to see your characters on screen)?

Dear readers: do you like to imagine characters for yourself, or do you want the author to tell you the placement of every freckle?

HANK: Yes! SUCH a good question!  What do you think? And a copy of LynDee's new SMALL TOWN SPIN to a lucky commenter!

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

 

LynDee Walker’s award-winning journalistic work has appeared in newspapers and magazines across the nation. After nearly a decade covering crime, courts, and local politics, she left full-time reporting for motherhood with a side of freelancing and fiction writing. LynDee’s debut novel, FRONT PAGE FATALITY, is an amazon and Barnes & Noble #1 bestseller, and an Agatha Award nominee for Best First Novel. SMALL TOWN SPIN is the third in her Headlines in High Heels mystery series. The fourth arrives January 2015.

 

LynDee adores her family, her readers, and enchiladas. She works out tricky plot points while walking off the enchiladas. She lives in Richmond, Virginia, where she is either playing with her children or working on her next novel—but probably not cleaning her house. You can find her online at www.lyndeewalker.com.

SMALL TOWN SPIN

When a superstar athlete's son turns up dead in a tiny town on the Virginia coast, crime reporter Nichelle Clarke gets the inside scoop. But she quickly spies a gaping hole her inner Lois Lane cannot ignore.

Determined to unravel the mystery, Nichelle fights off paparazzi cameras and an unexpected rival. She uncovers an illegal moonshine operation, a string of copycat suicides, and a slew of closets stacked with more skeletons than slingbacks. Chasing a killer who’s a breath from getting away with murder, Nichelle realizes too late the culprit has her number—and it might be up.

Related articles

Small Town Spin, by LynDee Walker

Family feud

by Charlaine Harris

There are books that are deep and wonderful and rouse great feelings in their passages. There are books that are fun and delightful and entertain you greatly for a certain duration. And there’s nothing wrong with loving both. I read a book recently that was so excellent, so fraught with tension and truth, that I couldn’t think what to read afterward. So I picked up a cozy, a conventional mystery, and was perfectly happy with its crafting motif against which is stacked a murder. Why not? There’s no rule that states that every book we read has to change our lives, or our politics, or our social outlook.

I’ve run up against all too many scornful readers, the kind who think that if you’re not reading a book in which a detective comes up against many ignorant and socially backward antagonists, you’re not reading anything worth the paper it’s printed on . . . especially if the ending is unambiguous and satisfying. I don’t prefer one over the other; it’s whatever I’m in the mood for.

I don’t listen to the same kind of music all the time, either. Why this militance over reading material?

It seems there’s always a brouhaha in the reading world, when some literary lion condescends to visit the genre ghetto, or when some genre writer soars and “transcends the genre,” as if that was something utterly desirable. And then there’s infighting between the knights of noir and the constables of cozy. And they all band together to deride the sameness of romance and joke about the covers.

Perhaps musicians do this, too. Maybe country fiddlers mock orchestra violinists, and ukulele players laugh at both. And I’m sure classical ballet dancers have a few things to say about hip-hop moves. To say nothing of the way portrait artists may feel about performance art.

I doubt this infighting will come to a stop any time soon. It seems very much like an episode of “Family Feud.” Who knows? Maybe the squabbling attracts spectators who will read/listen to/dance with/buy the art of one or more of the contestants . . . er, combatants.

Certainly, I’m not above getting a good mad on, as the Isabel Allende controversy proved.

In retrospect, it all seems a bit silly. All we artists are trying to make a living in a world in which fortune favors only a few. It might behoove us to drop our maces and swords (or teacups and petit fours) and concentrate on working harder, rather than swinging at each other.

On the other hand, who’s for a good brawl? Man, I can’t stand those game designers . . . or what about bassoon players? Weird!

Charlaine Harris

Plotting the Deadliest of Sins

 

 

Today the Femmes welcome special guest Sallie Bissell, author of the best-selling Mary Crow series. These wonderful books are known for their stunning portrayals of the North Carolina mountains of Appalachia and of Native culture. And for scaring the holy wits out of you! Lawyer Mary Crow has faced some mighty mean bad guys in her time. Looks like more trouble ahead for her in the new book, Deadliest of Sins.

 

Sallie has been kind enough to share a few insights with us on writing and how this latest novel evolved:

 

 

Deadliest of Sins

 

 

 

 

Okay—I have a confession to make.  I hate plotting.  After six published novels and two more on the drawing board, I'm no less plot-challenged than I was fifteen years ago. 

 

I can set scene and create characters well enough, and I'm not too bad at dialog.  But coming up with what my characters are to do has always been an uphill climb for me.  You know those nightmares where you're racing to take the last final before graduation and you get to the classroom just as the class is turning in their finished tests?   That's me and plot.  Churning stomach, sweaty palms, the whole works.

 

“You need to think like a criminal,” another writer told me.  “Just read the paper.  You'll be falling over story ideas.”

 

Well, that's true to some extent.  There's certainly a lot of bad stuff going on.  Some of it has possibilities for my fiction, most of it not so much. 

 

Then, I always remember what the great Robert Stone told us at one Sewanee Writers Conference.  “All plot springs from character,” he said with such absolute certainty that I felt like I should have it tattooed on my arm. 

 

Mr. Stone's point was well-taken.  Plot does spring from character, once you have an inciting incident.  But what if you have trouble coming up with something fresh and exciting that seems worth writing 100k words about?

 

A couple of years ago I signed a two-book deal with a new press.  I'd already written the first book, so that was no problem.  But then I had to come up with book # 2.  The news presented nothing beyond the ordinary mayhem, and even the mountains of Western North Carolina (my usual go-to place for stories of the strange and bizarre) were having a calm and beatific spring. 

 

I was drawing a blank, plot-wise.  I was on the verge of panic when  I had a conversation with a woman at the Grove Park Inn, a fancy resort in Asheville.   The lady was roughly my age, and had climbed to the top of the corporate ladder in the health care industry.  As we drowned our respective sorrows in the bar, she told me she was quitting her job, to work against human trafficking.  I assumed she meant she was packing up and heading to Africa or Asia.

 

But she corrected me with a rueful smile.  “No, I'm going to work right here in North Carolina.  You'd be amazed at how many young American girls are sex slaves.”

 

I was shocked by the plight of these young women, and though I gave a small donation to this nice lady, I knew she had given me far more--an idea for my next book.   I went home and started doing research, reading about the infamous Berlin Highway in New Jersey, the dark undersides of interstate truck stops.

 

Then, as I was reading, I remembered an incident that happened to me some years ago.  One night while traveling along I-81 in Virginia, I passed, at seventy miles an hour, what appeared to be an abandoned infant car seat.  At first I thought, oh somebody's just left some junk on the side of the road.  But then I began to wonder—what if a child was in that seat?  What if someone had, through meanness or desperation, abandoned a baby along I-81?

 

As the mother of three, I knew I could not rest until I found out what was there.  I zoomed to the next exit, doubled-back at speeds I didn't know my car could go.

 

When I reached the infant seat again, more people were there—a couple from Delaware who'd had the same reaction as I.  We all hurried over to find the car seat empty, turned away from the highway.  Though the other woman and I were simply relieved not to find a baby crying in the darkness, the man was more distrustful.  “We need to get out of here,” he told us, peering into the thick trees that bordered that lonely stretch of highway.  “We might have just blundered into a trap.”

 

Trap?  What did he mean trap?  I just thought it might be a baby.  But as I continued on my way, I realized with a chill, that it could well have been a trap, set by robbers or kidnappers or worse.  God knows stranger things have happened.

 

Still, that memory was compelling, and began to shape my book rather nicely.  A young girl trapped into sexual slavery when she finds an empty car seat by the side of the road.  That could work!

 

I was cooking along nicely when I got a bonus gift from the Plot Gods.  I was watching the late news when a story came on about a North Carolina preacher who advocated putting homosexuals into “concentration camps”.  That a man of God would advocate such a thing was shocking enough, but the man was a YouTube sensation.

 

As I watched, slack-jawed at his hatred,  I suddenly knew I had the last piece of  my plot puzzle.  My hero Mary Crow would be sent to connect the murders of two gay men with a homophobic preacher.  As horrific as that was, along the way she would uncover a new kind of viciousness that preyed upon young girls and stretched from Florida to Canada.

 

Deadliest of Sins came out just a few weeks ago.  In the opening a young girl spots an abandoned baby seat by the side of the highway.  With Mary Crow's help it all ultimately ends well,  but unlike me, the girl does not just get back in her car and drive away.

 

My point in relating all this is to say that plot can spring from your own life and experience.  Though most of us writers live calm lives, safe at our keyboards, the unusual and unexpected happen to us as much as everyone else.  The trick is to see these things with a writer's eye, and take advantage of all the marvelous plot twists real life presents.

 

 

 

###

 

Thanks so much, Sallie! You have a 'writer's eye' for sure!

 

Have any of you out there come upon something strange, like the child's seat on the highway, that made you wonder if you should call the cops? Writers, have you seen weird things that you were able to incorporate into a story?

 

Happy Birthday, William Shakespeare!

by Toni L.P. Kelner / Leigh Perry

A big day for William Shakespeare--it's his 450th birthday!

Photo credit: The Telegraph

I've always thought that Shakespeare's greatest gift was creating work that touches people all over the world, and for over four centuries. Certainly he's added to my life, both professionally and personally.

Though my alter egos--meaning Toni and Leigh--have a tendency to snark in public, there is one thing they are in complete agreement on: love and admiration for the work of the Bard of Avon. And we both sneak it into our work in all kinds of ways.

In the Laura Fleming series, Laura's husband Richard was a Sheakespearean scholar with a habit of quoting the Bard every chance he got. Some of Laura's family found it confusing, and others thought it was annoying, but Laura rather liked it. Most of the time, anyway. I even created a quiz of how Shakespeare translates into Southern, and posted it on my web site: http://www.tonilpkelner.com/tobesouthern.php

Later on I payed homage in a more unusual way by naming a bunch of characters in my story "Where Does a Herd of Elephants Go?" after some of Shakespeare's characters. The twist that the characters were all circus elephants.


As Leigh, I had thrown out the comment that maybe Sid, the ambulatory skeleton in my Family Skeleton series, should star as Yorick. Only when I went to write the second book in the series, that actually sounded like fun. So that's exactly what happens--Sid stars in a high school production of Hamlet. (Okay, maybe starring is exaggerating just a bit.)

Shakespeare sneaks into my private life, too. One of my daughter Maggie's first dramatic performances was as Juliet. She was quite young for the role, and when I pointed that out, she assured me that she would not actually be kissing the Romeo du jour.

Later on, she played Ariel in The Tempest.



My other daughter is currently rehearsing Alan Naehnel's play Will and Whimsy, which is made up of sixteen of Shakepeare's sonnets, dramatically illustrated.



As a family, one of our fondest memories of our trip to London was a visit to the Globe Theater.



 I could go on nearly as long about how much fun we have with Shakespeare until this blog was as all the history plays, put together, but instead I'll leave with this. If you don't know as much about the Bard as you'd like then check out the Reduced Shakespeare Company or buy their DVD. You won't be sorry. We've got the DVD and have seen them live, too!



 

Bad Girls

I've just returned from a book group visit, where the members were discussing AS SHE LEFT IT and one of the comments that struck me forcibly was "There are a lot of very bad women in this book." We talked about and you know what? There certainly are. Evil, vindictive, selfish, neglectful, malign women. And at least three good men.

How'd that happen?  My official answer is that I've always thought of AS SHE LEFT IT as a fairy story and every fairy story has bad women. I suppose there's nothing scarier to a child than a mother who doesn't do what mothers should do.

The real question I've come away with, though, is how'd that happen without me noticing? And, there, the answer is that I prefer flawed characters to perfect ones.

Doesn't everyone? Is there a Jane Austen fan in the world who prefers the obedient, self-effacing Fanny Price to the impetuous Lizzie Bennet, the spoiled and meddlesome Emma Woodhouse or  - my favourite - the complete space-cadet Catherine Moreland.

I can think of some truly good and truly likeable fictional characters: Lisa Scottoline's Mary DiNunzio is one, Harlan Coben's Myron Bolitar is another. But even in those series I've got a soft spot for Mary's bad-ass boss Benny Rosato and, even worse, for Myron's sociopathic side-kick, Win.

So it was something of a disappointment to find out recently, from no greater a source than  the mighty Buzzfeed Quiz, that I am a good girl.

"Mostly Good" anyway. 

http://www.buzzfeed.com/tanyachen/how-bad-are-you

Then I took a closer look. This quiz is the most mixed-up mess of puritanism and amorality I've ever seen! You get a point for buying a raffle ticket and another point for hacking into someone's email. Those don't belong on the same scale, if you ask me.

So I've been thinking a lot about the difference between flawed and bad - what flaws only make a fictional character more likeable and what turns a flawed hero into a villain. Anyone have a theory?

 

 

 

 

 

Of dogs, wolves, and dinosaurs

By Dana

Elaine discussed trying to outwit her cat Harry. I've been there, with my cats.  Suddenly they acquire superpowers when they want/don't want something.  I'm used to it, but...

...now I have something to confess. 

I'm afraid of dogs.

It's not that I see a dog and start shaking; I'm just very nervous near them, until I get to know them, and I'm still cautious, then.  It doesn't help that I'm allergic to some dogs and have to wash my hands if I pat one, or start wheezing and itching.   

I've gotten to know a few personally, and have a reasonable relationship, even affection, for friends' dogs.  I can admire a great personality, or super athleticism, or antics.  I know when a dog is smiling, and it makes me happy to see another creature happy.  I have many dogs and wolves as "desk guardians," at the moment.

But it's still an instinct.  I hear a jingling collar or barking and my hackles go up.  I try to be cool, but...

Here's the deal.  When I was four, I went to visit some folks.  They had a collie.

As far as I knew back then, all collies were Lassie, and Lassie was awesome.

I ran to hug the dog—which wasn't so bright, but you know...excited four-year-old. 

'Lassie' lunged and bit me in the face.

It didn't even break the skin, I don't think, but it scared the hell out of me.  Freaked me right out.

So, I figure it's understandable if I'm wary today, all these years later.  

Which makes it kinda funny when you realize how much time I spend writing and thinking about other canines now.  Any documentary about wolves, I'm there.  I love going to Wolf Hollow, a wolf sanctuary and educational facility nearby.  I have pictures of the pack—collect them all!—and follow them on Facebook; I contribute to the support of the pack.  One of my favorite moments in Sweden, was going to a zoo/historical park in the middle of Stockholm.  In one of the large wilderness areas, I watched two dark wolves gliding through the underbrush.  From my vantage point up high, they were silent, gliding across the forest floor like smoke.  It was magic. 

And I spend a lot of time thinking of what it's like to be a wolf, so that when my werewolf character Zoe Miller is in her full wolf form, I have a lot of fun adding vulpine behavior to those scenes.  It's actually a lot of fun to think about biting the bad guys, worrying them to get information, howling.

So...why not a werecat?  I love cats!  I've always had cats, and I adore watching shows about big cats, or better, getting to see them in person. My first stop at any zoo.  It was a fascinating moment when I realized that, while I was playing with Kaylee and Zoe, Kaylee distracted me while Zoe circled around behind me.  Hello, cooperative hunting behavior in housecats!  If we'd been on the veldt, I would have been lunch.  There are precedents for weretigers, werepanthers, all kindsa felines...

I think for me and wolves, it's like dinosaurs, and how little kids get obsessed at the same time they're scared by them.  And they learn all they can about them and even pretend to be them.  It's a way of getting past fear.  And it's a way to feel powerful.

I'll never stop being allergic to dogs, but I'm hoping that as I study wolves—from a distance, from behind a fence, on a DVD—some of my initial response to seeing their domestic cousins will change, just a little.

 At least now I have some of the fun of fictionally biting someone who really deserves it. :-)   -v--v-

So folks, tell me:  what are you scared of?  Writers have you worked it into a story?  Readers, will you go out of your way to avoid a book with that scary thing in it, or do you enjoy it from a safe place?  Leave a comment between now and 5:00pm EST Sunday night, and I'll send a copy of Pack of Strays to one randomly selected visitor!

 

Outwitting a Cat

 By Elaine Viets

My cat Harry has a brain the size of a Ping-Pong ball. He weighs eight pounds.

So when he has to go to the vet, I  pack him in his cat carrier and go, right?

Oh, no. It’s far more complicated. Maybe it’s because Harry sleeps twenty hours a day – he’s much more rested than I am.

 
Harry, a striped tabby, is my writing buddy. Last week, he wasn’t feeling  well, so took him to the vet clinic. This is traumatic for Harry. He’s a formerly feral beach cat. Contact with people outside his home is stressful. Some idiot shot his whole family. We think it was a large white man, because Harry is terrified of big white men. If any white guys visit our condo, Harry goes under the couch and hides for the rest of the day.

Fortunately, the Imperial Point Veterinary Clinic in Fort Lauderdale understands. We call ahead and ask for a female vet and tech, and the clinic caters to Harry. This time, he spent two days at the clinic for an impacted colon, which is a fancy word for constipation.

The poor little guy was dehydrated. While the clinic treated him overnight, he was kept in a special quiet area.

The vet put Harry on a high-fiber diet.

Yep, even if you’re a cat, you get a lecture on the importance of fiber in your diet.

Harry also had to take a liquid medicine called Lactulose. He didn’t like it, but he swallowed the stuff.

But during the stress of getting well, Harry caught a bad virus – a cat cold. His eyes were wet and streaming. He wheezed like a rusty door. Sneezes shook his little body, and he had the snerches.

Harry went back to the clinic Monday morning for more treatment. Once again, the clinic made sure Harry saw only a woman vet and tech. His treatment included a nebulizer to help him breathe. And more medicine. Lots more.

Two liquids, a nasty yellow pill and more special food, this time to fatten him up.

Harry is now feeling better and eating more. You could say he's in fighting form. Yesterday, when Don and I tried to give Harry his medicine, it took two of us to wrestle the eight-pound cat into submission. Yes, I know about Pill Pockets and cute tricks like hiding the pill in his favorite food. That doesn’t  work with Harry. He says it’s medicine and the hell with it.

Don used the ultimate weapon: a pill shooter. This device shoots the pill down the cat’s throat.

In theory.

In fact, Harry sent the pill flying across the kitchen. Twice.  Don got Harry to swallow the pill on the third try.

Next, it was time for the two liquid medicines, delivered in plunger-like devices.

Harry spit one milliliter into my hair. The other .75 milliliter splattered all over my shirt.

After we medicated the cat, I showered, washed my hair and then my clothes.

Don and I both have college degrees and we outweigh Harry by more than 250 pounds. But he nearly beat us.

Must be all that extra sleep.

***

  Catnapped!, my lucky 13^th Dead-End Job mystery, debuts May 6. Save more than $6 on the hardcover and pre-order online from Barnes & Noble.

http://tinyurl.com/nk4wb3v

Be Careful What You Wish For...

I spent twenty consecutive years in school, earning three degrees in the process, including a Ph.D. in medieval history. Then my graduate fellowship ran out, and I had to join the ranks of the gainfully employed. Since that time, 1985, I have had a full-time job and a part-time job of some sort, occasionally two of the latter. During all those years, I often wondered -- wistfully -- what it would be like to be a full-time (or even almost full-time) writer.

Back in December, nine days before Christmas, I was laid off from a full-time job I loved. Merry Christmas to me, I thought. Now you get to see what it's like, at least for a while, to be an almost full-time writer (I still had the part-time job).

Luckily for me and my bank balance, my part-time job expanded a bit to include more hours, but it still left me with four days a week to write. In the exactly four months since I was laid off, you'd think I could have written a couple of books at least.

Short answer -- I didn't. I did manage to finish one that was already overdue, but I discovered something interesting about myself and my work habits. For nearly twenty-nine years I was used to writing around my job schedules. What that meant, in practical terms, was that I did most of my writing (the actual sitting at the computer part) on Sundays. That was usually my only day off. When suddenly I found myself with three extra days a week in which to write, what did I do? Nothing. The loss of that structure after nearly three decades threw me for the proverbial loop.

A more self-disciplined person would of course hopped write on that extra few days and been incredibly productive. But not me. Suddenly manana became my favorite word. "Oh, I'll have time for that tomorrow."

Unfortunately for me, tomorrow never seemed to show up when it should -- despite what that redheaded moppet sings about tomorrow being only a day away. If I could make it on writing income alone, I'd probably get myself sorted out and onto some kind of schedule. But I'm not to that point yet. I still need a full-time job, and I keep scouring the Internet on a daily basis looking for jobs that will be a good fit for my sklls and experience as a librarian.

I'm doing fine -- I'm not yet to the point where I'm fighting my two cats over the contents of their food bowls, not that I think it will come to that. Overall, this experience is teaching me some much-needed lessons about life. The issue is whether I will heed them promptly enough.

This is not to be interpreted as an appeal for sympathy for my plight -- think of it more as an object lesson. If you wish for something in a big way, be sure you're prepared for what happens when you get your wish. Right now I have a book to start, and the opening line is whispering itself in my head...

Good Girls/Bad Girls

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: One of the joys of femme fataling is getting to introduce you to debut authors--especially when we find one who is incredibly talented and who has joined the author ranks after a successful career as...something else. And more about that below.

But in whatever realm, fiction or non-fiction, the role of femme fatale is always key:  from Lady Macbeth to Circe to Salome to the Katherine Turner character in Body Heat--what was her name?.  And Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity.  And oh--well, I could go on.

But instead, let me introduce you to Nancy Allen,  a former prosecutor who has handled her share of femmes fatales in real life--and now creates them in fiction.

 

 

Good Girls/Bad Girls

            By Nancy Allen

I love to read about female characters, good and bad. I want to see female protagonists in fiction, particularly in the suspense genre: a heroine who’s smart and strong and saves the day. And what’s more delicious than a fiendishly bad female villain? There’s nothing more fun than a bad girl—one who is rotten to the core. Most bad guys in fiction are male, but when an author crafts a woman who is really, really bad—that can be really, really good.

We were children when we were introduced to the best/worst villain of all time: the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. While L. Frank Baum deserves credit for creating the character, Margaret Hamilton played it with such gleeful evil that it became an icon: the witch upon whom all witches are based, the cackling green-faced fiend of our childhood nightmares.

 

Another great villain of the past was Mrs. Danvers from Rebecca. Whether you encounter Mrs. D on paper or on film, she has the same effect. She is the monstrously unsettling woman who unearths our deepest insecurities, setting us up for destruction as she toys with our own self-doubt. Clearly, the naïve heroine/child-bride of the book (whose name is not Rebecca, as readers know) is no match for Mrs. Danvers—but who would be? Mrs. Danvers would make Hilary Clinton shake in her boots. Both Mrs. Danvers and the Wicked Witch were pitched against sweet young things.

A fairer fight was staged by Stephen King in Misery, when Annie Wilkes beat the tar out of novelist Paul Sheldon. One of the spookiest elements was the premise that Annie adored her victim; she was his biggest fan.

Love that goes sour recently hit a high note in Gone Girl, in which author Gillian Flynn created one of the most diabolical villains of all time. Amy is so viciously clever that neither her hapless husband nor the reader can keep in step with her. Is Amy crazy or just plain bad? In the end, I’m not sure the distinction matters.

In my novel, The Code of the Hills, the primary bad guy is a guy; the villain is male. But I created a supporting player, Donita Taney, who has a villainous streak. Donita is not all bad; she’s not precisely a monster. But her mothering skills leave a lot to be desired and her motives will keep the reader wondering: just what is she up to?

So, back to the protagonist. What makes a stellar heroine? She should have strengths; I like to read about women who are strong and resourceful. But as a reader, I don’t like for things to come easily for the heroine. She should struggle; overcome personal obstacles in her life.

An excellent example of the heroine who must overcome trouble is Hank’s creation, Jane Ryland, the journalist who stars in The Other Woman and The Wrong Girl. When we meet Jane in The Other Woman, she has just reached the low point of her life. Because of a jury verdict in a defamation case, newswoman Jane has lost everything: her job, her financial security, her reputation, and her lunch. I love that! Jane has must start all over and climb the ranks; she struggles in her position as a newspaper reporter who is given assignments that don’t match her skill and experience. Jane’s fall and battle to rise again endear her to me as a reader; I root for her and want to see her succeed. A conflicted heroine is also good fun.

My heroine is Elsie Arnold, an assistant prosecutor in the Missouri Ozarks who is prosecuting a high-profile sex case. When I was crafting Elsie, I wanted to make sure that my good girl wasn’t too doggone good. Because I like women protagonists to have flaws, imperfections, personal failings. When a heroine is perfect in her looks and her character and her profession, it bothers me. I can’t relate. So I made sure that Elsie has plenty of human foibles.

Though she hails from the Bible Belt, Elsie is no pinnacle of virtue. I ladled on imperfection with a heavy hand. To blow off steam, assistant prosecutor Elsie runs—to the local barroom to guzzle beer. At suppertime, she’s likely to pull her car through the Sonic drive-in for a foot-long hot dog. Her vocabulary would make a sailor blush, and her taste in men turns her mother’s hair gray.

And though Elsie’s smart, she stumbles as she works through the case, making legal mistakes that trip her up. But her heart is in the right place; despite her (many) failings, she is passionately determined to see justice done.

 

What do you like to see in a female main character? And conversely, what characteristics are off-putting in heroines? Who is your favorite female villain of all time? Why?

HANK:  Aw, thank you, Nancy!  My favorite female villain--ah, is, ah...well, that's difficult because I love to hate the oh, what's her name? In The Golden Compass?  Glenn Close's character in Fatal Attraction. And Carrie!  How about you, Femmes?

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THE CODE OF THE HILLS: An Ozarks Mystery

 To get to the truth, she’ll have to break the code of the hills…

 In the Missouri Ozark hills, some things aren’t talked about…like what goes on between a man and his family—even if it’s abuse. Prosecutor Elsie Arnold is determined to change that.

 When she is chosen to prosecute a high-profile incest case, against a father accused of sexually abusing his three daughters, Elsie is ready to realize her ambition of becoming the Ozarks’ avenging angel. She might even get on television.

 

But as soon as Elsie begins to sink her teeth into the case, it begins to go sour. The star witness has gone missing; the three girls are reluctant to talk about their father, who terrorizes the courtroom; their tough-as-nails mother has ulterior motives, and mom’s new boyfriend raises suspicion that there’s more going on in this household than meets the eye. To make matters worse, Elsie begins to receive gruesome threats from religious extremists, warning her to stay in her place if she knows what’s good for her.

Elsie swears not to let a sex offender walk, but the odds – and maybe the whole town – are against her. With her job at stake, her personal life is taking a one-two punch. Amidst all of the conflict, the safety of three young girls hangs in the balance... 

A powerful debut thriller, perfect for fans of Winter’s Bone and A Killing in the Hills.

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Nancy Allen practiced law for 15 years, serving as Assistant Missouri Attorney General and as Assistant Prosecutor in her native Ozarks (the second woman in Southwest Missouri to serve in that capacity). During her years in prosecution, she tried over 30 jury trials, including murder and sexual offenses, and is now a law professor at Missouri State University. THE CODE OF THE HILLS is her first novel.

THE WORLD IS WATCHING

While watching the news recently, I saw a few minutes of testimony in the Oscar Pistorius trial in South Africa. I’m sure most of you are familiar with this case, that of the Blade Runner and the young woman he shot to death, Reeva Steenkamp. Whatever your opinion of his state of mind at the moment of shooting (Did he truly think there was an intruder in his house, or did he knowingly kill Steenkamp?) you have to be aware he’s putting on the performance of his life. So is the prosecutor.

How much does being watched change the event being watched? Do you think televising a trial make it a different event altogether? While theatrics in the courtroom are nothing new – lawyers have been summoning up the drama since there was such a profession – having a crowd of onlookers in a courtroom can’t compare with the thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, who are passive participants in a televised trial.

Is it remotely possible to block that from one’s awareness?

Since the words said in that courtroom are echoing around the world, in effect, the defendant is on trial twice: once in the courthouse, and in secondly in the court of public opinion.

Sure, it’s always been that way, at least to some extent. I don’t imagine Lizzie Borden was a popular dinner guest after her acquittal – but most likely if she travelled, she would not be recognized. Reaching further back in time, probably no one was anxious to sip tea brewed by Scotland’s Madeleine Smith, who ended her days in America in secret. And these two were acquitted, as possibly (though not probably) Pistorius may be.

Now that we have such universal and instantaneous information networks, I don’t believe there’s any way for the verdict reached in a courtroom to be the final one. I think we’ve all joined in being judge and jury.

Charlaine Harris