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End of summer

by Kris

Labor Day is almost here. While fall won't officially begin for weeks, many people regard Labor Day as the end of summer.

When summer starts, I obsess about the things I never like about it. Like the  triple-digit temperatures. And especially, once monsoon season starts here in Arizona, humidity that rises to tropical levels.

But once summer moves on, and I begin to see the end in sight, the scales tip. I to think more in terms of what I’ll miss.

Instead of focusing on the humidity, I find myself thinking instead of how it feels when a storm is coming. The way the wind picks up and swirls with such gusto. The greenish-yellow tinge the air takes on, the fresh, ionized smell that always signals the coming of rain, and the lightning bolts that seem to split the sky, which can be seen for miles. And how much I enjoy being rained on by huge warmish drops that are sometimes as much as an inch in diameter.

I look ahead to the cold days that are on their way and those dark mornings, and I know I’m not ready for them.

With everything suddenly weighted differently, I long to hold onto the aspects of summer that I will miss. After dreading its arrival, my thinking shifts, and I find myself hoping it won’t leave too soon.

What will you miss most about summer where you live?

 

Divide and Conquer

I’m rushing to finish my May 2015 Dead-End Job mystery, Checked Out,  and I have all the symptoms of an author with a book nearing the end:

I can’t sleep.

I’m restless, anxious and distracted. I pace around the house. I pick up another author’s (successfully completed and published) novel, then put it back down. I can’t concentrate.

I can’t relax until I finish this book.

My friends with children say delivering a novel is like that last stages of pregnancy. I’ve never been pregnant, but I disagree.

Late-stage pregnancy has to be uncomfortable. I don’t have swollen ankles, I don’t have to sleep on my back, and my clothes still fit. Most of them, anyway. I’m still recovering from the Dove candy binge when the book stalled at Chapter15.  

Instead, I have a stranger symptom: My chapters keep dividing.

I’m what’s known in the novel trade as a plotter. Novelists are divided into "plotters" and "pantsers."

     "Pantsers" write by the seat of their pants. They have no idea how their novels will end when they start them, and they wind up as excited as their readers when they figure out the mystery. Also, relieved.

Some of my best friends are "pantsers," and they produce first-rate books. But the name sounds vaguely pervy to me, like they steal underwear or something.

I like being a "plotter." The name sounds Machiavellian and more professional than those let it all hang out  . . . er, I mean than those highly inventive and devil-may-care "pantsers."

We plotters do outlines before we start our books. Not those essay outlines like we did in school, with the topic and then points A, B, C, etc.

Anyway, I’d write the essay first, and then do the outline.

I outline my books by doing a paragraph or two about the action in each chapter. Something like this:

Chapter 1: Sweet Sue is killed by a beer truck. The cops say it’s a simple hit-and-run and there have been three similar accidents on that corner in four months. But Sweet Sue’s best friend, a CPA named Liza, doesn’t believe them.

Chapter 2: Liza goes to Sweet Sue’s wake, and sees her friend’s weeping family, including three adorable children. She swears on Sweet Sue’s coffin that she will catch the killer, despite having no clues, no forensic experience, and no detective training.

And so on, for about thirty chapters, until Liza beats the cops at their own game, and Sweet Sue’s killer is hauled off to jail.

You get the idea.

I write my outlines and follow them, but not religiously. If something isn’t working out, I’ll change it along the way.

And that’s what I was doing with Checked Out. But the closer I get to the end of the novel, the more it eludes me. According to my outline, I have two chapters and an epilogue before I finish. But it’s not happening that way.

Take Chapter 30, where my married private eyes, Helen Hawthorne and Phil Sagemont, set up a sting to catch a thief. This morning it morphed into two chapters. In Chapter 30, the thief is captured. But now I need Chapter 31 to explain the implications of the arrest. Chapter 28 also split into two chapters.

Deadline is looming, but I’m afraid to go to 32. The chapters are dividing like amoebas, and I never was good at long division.

PS: Like my new cover?

John "TED" Clement

Catriona writes: The mystery world is stuffed to the gunnels (what's a gunnel?) with splendid people - warm, funny, wise, generous, clever, downright adorable. If I can steal an old Steve Martin joke, it's true to say that I'd rather be with these people than with the finest people in the world. Even on that deep bench, though, there are some mystery writers who're . . . I don't have enough sports knowledge to finish the metaphor . . . but John Clement, our guest today, is one of them.

Welcome, John!

Three Simple Things You Can Do Right Now To Become Rich and Happy

I’ve been asked to give a TED talk.

It sounds like a big deal because it is, and I’m excited. Really excited. But I admit I’m also kind of nervous. Here is me, a nobody, giving a presentation at TED. What makes me so special? Well, I’ll tell you.

 

TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design. Through a process that has yet to be shared with me, certain people are selected to give a live talk about their books, their life’s work, or their innovative ideas, usually accompanied by a slide show. They get to hold a cool little remote that controls the slide projector. When I step out on the TED stage, I’ll be holding the same little remote held by an impressive roster of world-renowned luminaries, among them Bill Clinton and Jane Goodall, Malcolm Gladwell and Al Gore, Bill Gates and Bono, Gordon Brown and Richard Dawkins (whoever they are, I just lifted this from Wikipedia), and many Nobel Prize winners. 

I won’t forget where I came from though, nor all the people I left behind. In fact, I still haven’t forgotten you. That’s why, here exclusively for the Femme Fatale readers, is a sneak preview of my entire presentation, slides included, except the first one which will be a picture of me. I’ll be, like, on a yacht or something with several dogs of the same breed, or some models in bikinis, or Leonardo DiCaprio. (I haven’t taken the picture yet. Please send me an email if you have a yacht and/or are Leonardo DiCaprio.)

 

[SLIDE 1 (to come)]

 

Hi, my name is John Clement. Thank you for inviting me to TED. Believe it or not, once upon a time I was just like you: Unhappy, alone, struggling to find meaning in an empty life as I crawled like a worm to my inevitable grave. Just like you, I was a miserable loser. But today, your luck has changed, because in the next few moments I’m going to share a secret — a secret so huge, so revolutionary, that your life may never be the same again. 

YOU… can be fabulously rich. 

YOU… can be happy. 

YOU… can be a WINNER. 

How? I’m here to tell you how: By becoming a writer.

Yes. I said writer. I know what you’re thinking. “John, you’re fantastic but money doesn’t buy happiness.” We’ve all heard that before, right? Over and over again? But let’s stop and ask ourselves: Is is true? I mean, really true? Can money actually make us happier? To help us find an answer, let’s take a look at the homes of a random selection of writers, some known, some not so unknown. 

 

[SLIDE 2] 

Here’s Edith Wharton’s house…

Not too shabby, right? 

 

[SLIDE 3]

 And here’s Robert Graves’ house…

Of course you’d rebuild, but what a view! 

 

[SLIDE 4] 

Here’s J.K. Rowling’s house…

Hey J.K., mind if I Slytherin? 

 

 

[SLIDE 5] 

And finally, here’s Paris Hilton’s bedroom (yes, she wrote a book)…

 

Now ask yourself: While it might be somewhat altogether not untrue that money can’t buy happiness, if you were in Edith Wharton’s mansion right now, wouldn’t you be just a teensy bit happier? 

How about if you were in J.K. Rowling’s castle? 

What if you were in Paris Hilton’s bedroom? 

What if she’s not there?

By now you’re saying to yourself, “John, this is brilliant and you’re handsome, but how does it help me?”

Well, I’m going to share with you three simple steps you can take right now to put yourself on the road to becoming a fabulously rich and ridiculously happy best-selling author.

 

[SLIDE 6]

 

Step #1 — Buy my new book, The John Clement-Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

With a photocopy of an autographed, handwritten introduction by me hand-tucked under the front cover, the John Clement Merriam-Webster Dictionary is a must-have for all writers. It has all the words you need to create your own international bestseller. Available exclusively from me for $199 while supplies last. Order now. (Don’t be misled by the substandard so-called “dictionaries” available online and in bookstores for ten dollars or less. I don’t vouch for them, and they DO NOT include my handwritten intro.)

 

Step #2 — Choose the words to go in your bestseller. 

I’ve done the research, and I can tell you with confidence that practically every word in every best selling book in the history of the English language is included in the Clement-Merriam-Webster dictionary. So just start picking words and have fun!

Of course, the obvious question is: If the words in all the books are all the same, why are some books destined for the Dumpster in the parking lot behind the church the morning after the annual civic association fair, while others have their own dedicated wings in Amazon distribution centers to keep up with the ever-expanding demand from adoring readers and Hollywood producers? 

That brings us to the third and perhaps most important final step…

 

Step #3 — Write the words in the correct order. 

This may sound tricky at first, but we can easily get the hang of it by examining the work of other writers who’ve already figured out how to do it. Let’s start with Elizabeth Gilbert. Here’s the opening to her internationally acclaimed bestseller, “Eat, Pray, Love” which sold a trillion copies and was made into a major motion picture:

“I wish Giovanni would kiss me. Oh, but there are so many reasons why this would be a terrible idea. To begin with, Giovanni is ten years younger than I am, and — like most Italian guys in their twenties — he still lives with his mother.”

Now, here are the same exact words, but in a less successful order:

“Most guys in their twenties wish Giovanni would kiss his mother. Like, there are so many reasons why. To begin with, I am Italian and I would be ten years younger than Giovanni.  Oh, but he still lives with me. This is a terrible idea.”

See how the order of the words in the second instance just doesn’t have the same zing as the first? And yet, they are exactly the same.

 

[SLIDE 7]

 

Let’s try another. Here’s the opening from SALEM’S LOT, one of a trillion best-sellers written by Stephen King that’s sold a trillion copies. It was made into a movie along with a trillion other Stephen King novels:

“By the time he had passed Portland going north on the turnpike, Ben Mears had begun to feel a not unpleasurable tingle of excitement in his belly.” 

And now the same words, but in a less commercially viable order:

“The turnpike going north to Portland was not unpleasurable, but by the time Ben Mears had begun to feel a tingle of excitement in his belly, he had passed.”

See that? Not nearly as good. In the second instance, our novel’s lead character has expired in the opening line. The chances of this becoming an acclaimed bestseller now are almost nonexistent, which further proves that you can’t underestimate the importance of Step #3. 

At this point, you may be looking up at me on this stage and asking, “Why share your secret with us? Why don’t you just shut up and go write your own bestsellers, idiot?” Believe me, I’ve asked myself that very same question over and over again, but with more vulgar epithets. 

The answer is simple: There are plenty of bestselling novels in this world. What we need is more bestselling authors. 

Now go to it. You can thank me in the acknowledgements. 

 

 

 

 

 

John is an animal-lover, part-time New Yorker, and full-time author of the Dixie Hemingway Mystery series, carrying on after his mother, Blaize Clement, who left us in 2011, first with The Cat Sitter’s Cradle, and now with The Cat Sitter’s Nine Lives and another on the way next year. They’re part catly cozy, part Florida funhouse and completely delightful.

 

 

 

 Find John at www.dixiehemingway.com

 

 

Let there be vultures

by Donna Andrews

This past Saturday I went peach picking in the foothills of the Blue Ridge with a group of friends.  It’s something we try to do every year.  This year, by the time David, our leader, conferred with the orchard and coordinated everyone’s schedule, we found there was only one day when all parties would be available—Saturday August 23.

It rained on and off all week here in Northern Virginia, and it was still raining when we set out Saturday morning—but what are a few rain drops to determined peach pickers?  And we hoped the rain would die down by the time we got to the orchard, or at least that we’d get a lull in the rain, which we did.

The state of the harvest threatened to cast more of a pall on our expedition.  Apparently some of the other nearby orchards had been closed a lot lately, and our favorite orchard had been picked rather lean.  The peaches that were already ripe were already gone, and the only ones left were the late ripening cultivars.  Some were still all yellow; others were starting to redden; almost none were ready to eat.  Not a big problem—the peaches will finish ripening in a windowsill or on your kitchen table. in fact, it’s more of a problem if you take home bushel after bushel of completely ripe peaches and suddenly realize you have to do a lot of eating, cooking, and freezing.

So we did what sane people do when life hands them lemons, or in this case, unripe peaches. We made do. Everyone else started scampering up and down the rows, making the best of what peaches were available.  I made the best of it by getting out my camera and my iPhone and taking pictures of everything I saw.

I missed getting a picture of the black bear, who scampered into the woods before I got the lens cap off my camera.  I have to say that I was relieved when it turned out that the trees near where we’d seen him turned out to be nearly bare of peaches.

I got a lot of pictures of turkey vultures, sitting on fenceposts in the vineyards of the winery next door to the orchard, including the one who had apparently risen late and was still trying to dry out his wings.

I got pictures of the peaches, glistening with rain drops.  Pictures of the Gala apples we picked when everybody decided they had as many peaches as they had space to lay out for ripening. Pictures of the mist-shrouded mountains and the verdant rows of grapes.  And of course pictures of my friends, picking.

I came home with twelve peaches, two nectarines, and six Gala apples.  And several hundred pictures that will always remind me of a day spent in good company and beautiful scenery.

 

Diary of a "seat of the pants" writer

by Dana

Remember how the big question in the first episode of Season 3 of BBC's "Sherlock" was...how did he do it?  How did Sherlock manage to survive what looked like a successful suicide in an attempt to save his friends?  There were many theories put forth, ranging from the improbable to the absurd, that even at the end, you're still left wondering how it was done.

Writing by the seat of your pants sometimes feels like that.  For me, it's jumping off the roof of St. Bart's every time, a leap of faith that yes, my writing process will work again this time.  It's happened eight times before, but I think every writer, pantser or outliner, has the same fear:  Will there be a book at the end of all this effort? 

Picture from DailyMail.co.uk

At various points, I find myself saying to my husband James things like “I don't know if there's a story here,” “this is never going to work,” and “I can't do this.”  And every time he'd say “you say the same exact thing every time you write a book, and it just means you're in the right place on your writing timeline.  This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.”  Which is not really reassuring as he'd like it to be.  

So, in an attempt to try and replace hand-waving and “it's all magic” with data, I paid particular attention to what my process is during the first draft of my soon-to-be next Fangborn book.  

1.  Since finishing my last book Pack of Strays late last year—and I do mean, finishing, with all the editing and tweaking and copyedits and final looks completed—I started keeping a list of what would have to happen in the next book.  Things that were left unresolved at the end (and the cliffhanger did get a strong response from some readers), character arcs (what will happen with Will-Adam-Zoe?), and story lines (what happens after the Battle of Boston?) all needed to be addressed.  Actually, I've begun adding to an existing list created when I was finishing Strays.

2.  While I was recovering and working on other projects, I also started collecting inspirations to answer these questions.  I'd see a picture that moved me or an article that suggested something for the next book, and I'd file them away.  A piece of music that made me want to write a fight scene or a meeting went into a new playlist (“Zoe #3”).  And when I had my first very good (or at least, very vivid) idea, I'd open a new file (“Fangborn #3) and write down that thought or scene.

3.  Writing.  In addition to those othe r projects, I kept adding scenes and ideas to the file, slowly pulling the story together.  I had a goal of six to eight pages everyday, so if I did two or three pages on “The Curious Case of Miss Amelia Vernet,” or a horror story (news coming soon!), or working on the Bouchercon anthology (are you going to Long Beach?), I'd make up the difference with “Fangborn #3.”  I'm always about having a Plan B, Plan C, and sometimes a Plan D, too (not including editing on various projects and work travel, too!)—when my brain is done on one, I can usually get traction on the others. There are LOTS of little notes on scraps of paper everywhere on my desk—“don't forget to add XYZ” and “we need to see the new artifact do something.” The white board, Jarvis, is now covered with sub-plot timelines to work out.

4.  The last two months to ten weeks before the deadline, I'm spending all my time and focus on the novel.  This is important to clarify gaps in the story and create solutions for the problems I find.  And it's the point where the book fills every waking—and sleeping—moment.  I often wake up, blearily, with a solution or a scene in my head that addressed an issue I was working on the day before.  The immersion is key for me as an “organic” writer, I think, because that's the opportunity to live in the story and pull it all together from the inside.  This is the point where the “giant yellow Post-Its of added emotion and awesomeness” come into play.  These emphases will be the last things to come down from their places on the bookshelves over Jarvis, because going back and adding emotional beats and beefing up defining scenes are like putting on the make up and jewelry after you've created bones, fleshed them out, and dressed them up.

5.  Three or four weeks before deadline, I sit down with a print-out of everything I have so far, and put it into narrative chronological order.  I add notes for connective scenes and work on them.  I develop a loooong punch-list.  While I try very hard to write only during work hours, this is the time when it goes late or I work on weekends.  I still try to get out to clear my head, because as much as the immersion is integral to the process earlier, this is the point where perspective is key.  Posture, personality, and good grooming are things of the past, now.

6.  A rough draft, sometimes very rough, goes to beta readers.  I sleep for a day and scramble on things left by the way side.  Then start to work on edits.

7.  Deadline day:  I try to get it to my editor by end-of-business, his or her time, if at all possible.  A shower is optional, after that, but a bottle of champagne is not.

Eventually, “Fangborn #3,” which I'm calling Hellbender for now, will go through a few more drafts depending on editorial comments.  The page count will get bumped up, and I'll start to think, “hey, not bad” or “this is way cooler than I remember” or even "dammmn!"  And that is when I'll realize:  the process has worked again.

Writers  (pantsers and outliners both)—how about you?  Readers, do you have involved tasks that you use a similar strategy for?

When Dead People Write

The way publishing works these days, being dead is no impediment to being published. New books featuring established characters by dead authors are published on a regular basis. A sample list of these dead authors includes V.C. Andrews, Robert Ludlum, Robert B. Parker, and Margaret Truman. Some readers don't care who's actually writing the book as long as they're getting their "fix" with new installments in the lives of favorite series characters. Other readers refuse to try them.

I've recently read "continuations" of series by writers who were not the original creators of the characters -- characters who happen to be among the most iconic in the genre. Here's my take on them.

Jill Paton Walsh, a distinguished and award-winning writer in her own right, was asked by the estate of Dorothy L. Sayers to complete a fragment of a novel called Thrones, Dominations, and this was published in 1998. Three more novels featuring Lord Peter Whimsy and Harriet Vane have followed, with the most recent, The Late Scholar, published in June of this year. I have to say I loved this latest one, which takes Lord Peter and Harriet, alive and well in 1953, back to Oxford, the setting for Sayers' most beloved novel, Gaudy Night. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Lord Peter and Harriet, and I hope there will be more to come.

Margery Allingham, creator of Albert Campion, is my all-time favorite crime writer, so it was with some trepidation that I approached Mr. Campion's Farewell by Mike Ripley. Based on a fragment left by Allingham's husband and collaborator, Philip Youngman Carter, and set in 1969, Mr. Campion's Farewell turned out to be thoroughly delightful. Ripley, author of numerous mysteries, is a devout fan of Margery Allingham, and he has captured the spirit and the zest of Allingham in this wonderful continuation. What was supposed to be a one-off, however, won't be, because Ripley has been asked to write at least one more. I look forward to it eagerly.

Back in 2005, I collaborated with my friend Elizabeth Foxwell on The Robert B. Parker Companion, a reference to the works of the late writer who created Spenser, the Boston-based PI. Spenser is a modern icon of the crime genre, and I was curious when I heard that Parker's wife picked Ace Atkins to continue the series. Ace has won kudos for his own work, and he is a fervent fan of Spenser. Over the summer I read Lullaby and Wonderland, his first two Spenser novels, and I have to say he has done Parker proud. He has captured the spirit of the characters, the witty dialogue, and the setting beautifully. His plots are also complex and engaging.

In September we will see The Monogram Murders hit the shelves. This is the first original Hercule Poirot novel written by someone other than Agatha Christie to be published since Curtain in 1975. British crime writer Sophie Hannah was selected by the estate. I have not read any of her own work, but I am eagerly anticipating this new book. If this is a success, I wonder if the estate will find someone to write a new Miss Marple novel?

Whatever you think about authors continuing the characters of other writers, I have to say that, in the examples I've mentioned today, the end result has been wonderfully entertaining. It's a daunting task for any writer to accept, but fortunately for readers, these particular writers have risen to the challenge and succeeded.

Write What You Like?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:    The book I'm working on right now--or, SHOULD be working on, as so often is the case--is titled WHAT YOU SEE. It's about how what you see in not always...well, you can imagine.

And that brings me to the wonderful Vinny O'Neil.  We met, a million years ago, at CrimeBake. He'd just won the St. Martin's prize for best manuscript, but being Vinny, he didn't mention that when we first sat down together at dinner.   We just talked about writing and mysteries.

Then, if I remember correctly, he said something about graduating from the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy. Cool! So, pursuing that, I managed to get him to tell me that he was also a West Point graduate, and an long-time infantry officer, in PANAMA, and he speaks Chinese. There's probably a lot more, but he said, if he told me, he'd have to kill me.

Who'd a thought? You never know who you're going to sit by--and you never know if, like Vinny, that person will turn into a lifelong friend.

Vinny is having quite the adventure in mystery/thriller world. And his new book--with an entirely different bent!--is just being published. I knew you Femmes would be fascinated. 

 

Write What You Like

            by Vincent H. O’Neil

 

HarperCollins just released my first science fiction novel Glory Main (under the name Henry V. O’Neil) and so I thought I’d offer a few observations about writing across different genres. 

The first novel I ever wrote was a thriller about a government agency fighting terrorists. I was (and remain) a huge fan of writers like Alistair MacLean and Jack Higgins; I knew I liked reading that sort of story and so I decided to try writing one of them. I believe I stuck with it because I was excited about the genre.

 Over the following years I wrote a novel pitting ex-Green Berets against Russian drug gangs in the former Soviet Union because I liked to read a lot of Tom Clancy, a military history non-fiction book because I find that topic fascinating, and finally a murder mystery about a fact-checker in Florida because I enjoy the works of authors like Agatha Christie and Rex Stout.

 The Florida fact-checker novel Murder in Exile was the one that got published, and it was followed by three more books in that series. So another reason to consider branching out is you never know what’s going to find a home.

 Writing what you like doesn’t necessarily mean writing what you know. A very fun skit at one Sleuthfest convention made me want to write a mystery involving theater.

I knew next to nothing about the stage, but a few months of research gave me enough of the basics to write Death Troupe. It also broadened my appreciation of how actors build characters, playwrights and directors develop plots, and how costume and set designers exploit imagery.

 Stephen King’s The Shining motivated me to write when I was a teenager, and so I later came back to that genre. I’ve always enjoyed scary stories, and so the Providence-based horror novel Interlands was my next project. It featured my first female protagonist, and of all the books I’ve written I believe it was the most fun to write because I really do get a thrill from that kind of tale.

 Which brings us back to Glory Main, a military science fiction tale of starvation, blisters, and survival that draws heavily on my personal experiences as a young army lieutenant at a particularly grueling commando course called Ranger School. Although I can’t claim to having actually “liked” Ranger School, it was an extraordinary experience and I had always wanted to use it in a book.

 Glory Main was completed only a few weeks before HarperCollins announced it was expanding its science fiction offering, and so once again I benefited from writing what I like. You really do never know what books are going to find a home. The sequel to Glory Main will be released in December, and I’m currently writing the third book in that series.

 After that I’m going to write the sequel to the Providence-based horror novel because I miss the main character Angie, because I enjoy the genre, and simply because I want to.

Write what you like. 

HANK: Is that what you do, Femmes? Write what you like?

 **************************

Vincent H. O’Neil has worked in a wide variety of roles, and brings something from every one of them to everything he writes. A native of Massachusetts, he graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point in 1985 and spent the next nine years serving as an infantry officer in the United States and the Republic of Panama. He is a graduate of the Defense Language Institute’s Mandarin Chinese program, and he holds a master’s degree in International Business from The Fletcher School of Law & Diplomacy. Among his many experiences, he has worked as a risk manager, an advertiser, and an apprentice librarian.

 

Glory Main

For decades, mankind has been locked in a war with an alien enemy that resembles the human race so closely they are known as the Sims. Both sides battle for control of habitable planets across the galaxies—often at any cost.

Lieutenant Jander Mortas is fresh out of officer training and new to the war zone but eager to prove himself. There's just one problem: disaster strikes while he's traveling to his first assignment. He wakes to find himself marooned on a planet that appears deserted, with the only three other survivors: a psychoanalyst, a conscientious objector, and a bitter veteran of a brutal slave-scout detachment. As the group struggles to reach safety on a nearby base, Glory Main, they discover a Sim colony—which could mean their salvation, or their demise.

Thrown together, they must fight the harsh elements, an ever-present enemy, and possibly each other.

 

 

THE END OF THE ROAD

I know other Femmes have written about their own celebrations when they finish a book. I have my own ritual, which is pretty much a non-ritual. I’m usually feeling so shattered by the time I get to the final page that I don’t want to do anything but close my eyes and yell “Yippee!” and then crawl into the nearest corner and do something really humdrum, like watch television or order pizza.

You’d think I’d want champagne and dancing boys, right? After all, the book is finished.

But really, you know, it’s not. It’s finished in one sense; you’ve completed your thought. You’ve sustained a plot and some characters for the length of your work. And that’s laudable. Even joyous. That’s a moment that should be celebrated in the manner of your choice.

It’s hardly the end of the road, though. Because after I come to the end of what I had to say, I send the book off to my two readers, Toni and Dana, Femmes and friends. When I hear back from them and digest their comments, I make changes. Maybe not all they suggested, but some.

I send the book to my editor and my agent. I hear back from them. I rewrite the book, employing some of their changes. I send the book back in.

Then I get the copyeditor’s comments and markings, and I make more changes. The copyeditor invariably points out things that make me feel like an idiot (“I don’t believe the sheriff was in the room, so how can he leave?”), and I always feel pretty low when I finish that round.

Then I get the page proofs and reread the book, nearly always detecting yet more inconsistencies that must be corrected before the book meets the world.

And then, by golly, it’s printed and on the shelves, and no one can make any more changes.

Until I start hearing from readers. “Did you know that you lost three days of the week in the story?” “Did you know that your math is wrong? The heroine can’t be twenty-six.” “Did you know the stripe on Jason’s truck has changed color?”

A guy can’t have his truck repainted? Jeesh.

My point (and I do have one) is this: a book is never finished. It’s just as close as you can get to complete, when you have to honor your deadline. And that’s really all you can do!

Charlaine Harris

AUGUST BOOK REVIEWS

 

from Mary

 

Summer time … and the reading is Ab Fab for August!

I did a little virtual traveling to Italy, Switzerland, France and England, plus some time-hopping to ancient Roman and Celtic lands. A nice way to vacation at home. :)

 

 

THE BOOK OF LIFE by Deborah Harkness 

 

THE BOOK OF LIFE, third in the All Souls Trilogy, carries on the story of Diana, a scholar and a witch with extra-special powers, and her beloved Matthew Clairmont, a vampire who, with his family, have been rulers and movers and shakers in Europe for nine hundred years.

Diana and Matthew must use their expertise from their “regular” jobs to save the day this time. Matthew's genetic lab joins forces with another leading scientist to crack the code of a bad inherited disease, one that both Matthew and his villainous son Benjamin have.

Meanwhile, Diana must find the magically elusive book, known as Ashmole 792, somewhere in the dark depths of the Bodleian Library.

That may all sound a bit far-fetched. :)

But Harkness gives much depth to each character and setting, this time without going back and forth in time. The problems encountered are big ones that require serious attention. The settings are well-described and enjoyable.

THE BOOK OF LIFE is billed as the last in the series. It will be interesting to see if her next books are spin-offs, maybe with the future generations of the Clairmont clan. One can hope!

 

 

THE HEIST by Daniel Silva

 

Silva's Gabriel Allon books are SO GOOD. It's a happy happy day when a new one comes out.

In THE HEIST, Allon is in the middle of an important art restoration project in Italy. The police head of Italy's stolen art division has received a tip that the country's number one most-wanted stolen art treasure, a Caravaggio missing for many years, has re-surfaced. He asks Allon to use his connections and his knowledge of art and forgeries to follow the leads they have.

Allon's personal story continues – his wife Chiara is pregnant and, after struggling back and forth over possibly taking the job as chief of Israeli spy headquarters, he moves closer to doing so, for now at least.

Great writing from a master.

 

 

VERTIGO 42 by Martha Grimes

 

Richard Jury is back!

This is another favorite series that I've enjoyed for years. I love the characters, the great UK settings, the classic writing style and that little bit of humor sprinkled throughout.

Superintendent Jury of Scotland Yard agrees to meet a millionaire, Tom Williamson, at the upscale London bar/restaurant, Vertigo 42. Williamson's wife, Tess, died in a fall on their Devon estate several years earlier.

She had vertigo, and there was no evidence at the scene to suggest it was anything but an accident. But Tom believes she was murdered, and he convinces Jury to look into the case again.

Good light reading.

 

 

 

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE CELTS by Peter Beresford Ellis

This title is for the abridged audiobook version of THE CELTS by Ellis. It's a fascinating and very enjoyable read as an introduction to Celtic history.

While listening, I took so many frantic notes that I finally gave up and ordered the original “book” book to have on hand for study. If you have any interest in ancient Rome and its conquests across Europe and into Britain, this is a must-have.

What I liked best was the way the author presented similarities in Celtic and Hindu languages and cultures. 

Warning: reading this book will make you want to find and hoard everything on Celtic history!

 

 

BIRD BY BIRD by Anne Lamott

 

Ahhhh. Anne Lamott. I just love her and this wonderful book.

This was another audiobook listen for me, read by the author. It doesn't get any better than this, folks.

If you're looking for a step by step writing manual on how to construct a plot or ways to make characters and settings realistic, there are tons of those out there to choose from.

BIRD BY BIRD is a different kind of how-to. It explores the human side of writing, how it affects you as a person, how to go easy on yourself and others, in Lamott's wonderful down-to-earth person-to-person voice. A must-have for all writers.

 

Tell us what you've enjoyed reading lately!

 

Beatlemania in the 1960s: They’re All Wet

By Elaine Viets

What were the major symptoms of Beatlemania?

Fainting? Yes. Screaming? Of course. Crying? Definitely.

Incontinence?

Never.

Recently, men have been lining up to say that Beatles concerts smelled like urine during the Fab Fours’ American tours, some 50 years ago.

This Huffington Post story is typical: "11 Things You Probably Didn't Know About The Beatles, Even If You're A Superfan"

http://tinyurl.com/p8vjuqv

And what fact tops the list?

"The Beatles concerts were said to smell heavily of urine due to overexcited girls," the story said.

What? Says who?

"Multiple people have claimed Beatles shows were known for their urine," the HuffPo claims. "Notably, John B. Lynn, son of the owner of a venue the Beatles played, told the Washington Post that the concert hall smelled like the pee of overexcited girls after the show."

There’s more. The story says, "Bob Geldof told Q Magazine in 2010:

" ‘The Beatles was a case of watching females in excelsis. It's the old cliché, but you couldn't hear them for all the screaming. I remember looking down at the cinema floor and seeing these rivulets of piss in the aisles. The girls were literally pissing themselves with excitement. So what I associate most with the Beatles is the smell of girls’ urine.’ "

Could that possibly be true?

In the mid-60s, most Beatlemania fans were teens, way too young for Depends. And why wasn’t this mentioned in 1964, ’65 or 1966, when the Fab Four were touring the States? The press was hunting for anti-Beatles’ info. By 1966, it seemed like the whole world was PO’d at the Beatles. They were picketed and their records smashed, especially after John Lennon brashly said the Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

Check out this video of the boys in St. Louis. Don’t they look cute and clean-cut? Squeeeee!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgcLM5ujEOs

I knew one woman who could set the historical record straight: Karen Grace. The St. Louis Superfan went to the Beatles concert at Busch Stadium August 21, 1966.

"My mom bought three tickets," Karen said. "I remember she thought the ticket prices were outrageous – $5.50 each. My brother Rob went with me, and Mom gave the third ticket to a neighbor girl. Now she wishes she’d gone.

"I remember we had to go past the protestors who were picketing the stadium, and the weather was warm and drizzly."

Did you actually hear the music?

"I did, if I plugged my ears with my fingers to drown out the screaming. I’m sure if anyone took my photo they would have gotten the wrong impression. The Beatles were one of the first stadium concerts, and Busch Stadium wasn’t really set up to have lots of loudspeakers, but I could hear the music."

You're also the best Beatles expert I know, Karen. Did Busch Stadium smell like pee from all the excited teen girls?

"Not that I remember," she said. "It was warm and drizzly, so I'm sure we would have noticed it. Granted, we were outside, but my brother, Rob, who was nine at the time, would surely have said something if he saw or smelled any evidence of pee. In fact, he would have made a big deal of it.

"I read this story, and I guess it could be true. Geldof was talking about a concert hall. But I think it’s an urban myth."

Thank you. I’m so relieved.