Murphy’s Law

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The Public Safety Writers Association had their annual writers’ conference in Las Vegas this past weekend. This conference is for anyone who writes fiction or non-fiction about or for any of the public safety fields–which includes mystery writers. I’ve worked all year as the program chair for this event.

Right before we left for the conference, I learned that one of the board members who also serves as the m.c. for the conference had been bitten by a spider and had a terrible infection and couldn’t come. His wife is the treasurer of the group and the one who takes care of book sales and of course she stayed home to care for her hubby.

My hubby, poor put upon soul who always helped the treasurer, stepped up to the plate and worked his you know what all weekend taking care of all the money that came in for books, extra lunches, and extra days at the conference. (He was too busy to fall asleep, something he’s done on past occasions.)

The president of the group m.c.’d and did a great job.

I took lots of pictures–and yes, some of the women who participated, but then my iPhone died and I couldn’t send them to my computers.

Two of my panels had to switch times because of a speaker having to leave early to catch a plane.

Other than that the conference really was terrific. The photos are of best selling author, Simon Wood, who was our keynote speaker and told us all about how to create suspense in our stories whether they be mysteries or thrillers. Simon also has the most wry sense of humor and is super friendly.

The other fellow is Kregg Jorgenson, who besides being Vietnam war hero, also has been in about every law enforcement organization there is including Homeland Security and the Border Patrol. He talked about how to sell articles to any kind of magazine. Terrific!

Sunny Frazier gave a presentation on how much sex is too much in a mystery–and she’d asked a lot of authors and the general consensus came down to whether or not the sex moved the plot along. Needless to say she held her audience’s attention.

Michael Black gave us a demonstration on how to plot a book in an hour that was terrific–complete with all kinds of colored post-it notes.

Morgan St. James gave a terrific presentation on POV. Retired FBI agent, Mark Bouton, gave us a demonstration complete with pictures about how to tell if someone is telling a lie.

We had lots of panels on all sorts of writing topics from using supernatural elements in our books to writing for trade publications.

Unlike many writing conferences, this one has one track and almost everyone stays for the whole day despite the call of the slot machines.

I told my husband it sure was a lot more fun to go to a conference where you never know what went wrong then to be the one who had to solve all the problems.

Despite all this, everyone had a great time and as soon as I recover, I’ll start working on next year’s program.

Marilyn

Vacation Anyone?

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I Know I Need a Vacation When ….

  1. I have trouble remembering what day of the week it is.
  2. I can’t even tolerate listening to the politicians with whom I agree. (To my Southern ears the phrase “with whom” grates, but I’ll try to dumb down the rest of my list.)
  3. I’m fascinated by reality tv – in particular Ice Road Truckers and Billy the Exterminator. (See that dumbing down thing is easy.)
  4. Book promotion feels like pulling teeth. (Okay it always feels that way to me, but at the moment it feels like having my wisdom teeth removed again – the way it was done 30 years ago – strapped down in the dentist chair with your mouth jacked open with some kind of rubber bracing. Only the dentist and the people in the adjacent buildings could hear the screams.)
  5. I’ll eat my Cheerios dry rather than make a trip to the grocery store.
  6. I resent having to explain “why” more than once. (Yes, I know. That’s just me getting old and cranky – taking a vacation won’t help.)
  7. I’m happy when I get one item on my “to-do” list done each day. Today I changed my central air conditioning filter. I had to use a flashlight to illuminate the operation since replacing the light bulb in the hallway would have just been too much effort. Maybe tomorrow.
  8. The highlight of the week is putting all my extra red pepper flake packets from Pizza Hut deliveries into a Tupperware container instead of stuffing them in a kitchen drawer to wander and breed with the Parmesan cheese and soy sauce packets.
  9. I seriously consider stocking up on disposable plates and cups so I never have to wash dishes again. (Along with this thought was a fleeting urge to toss all the dirty dishes in the trash and start over with new stuff. Lack of money and the fear my mother would find out held me back.)
  10. Even the Gulf Coast beaches with the floating tar balls and oily birds look like good places to park a lounge chair.

On a Serious Note: I’ve been to the Gulf Coast several times – New Orleans, Gulf Port, Biloxi, Ship Island, etc. It hurts to think about the damage the oil is causing to the environment and to the people who are losing a way of life. I hope the leaking oil well is plugged soon and we – the nation – find a way to prevent any similar environmental disasters in the future. I know we need the oil – but we have to protect our oceans and marshes too.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

In the Pink

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by Susan McBride

Last Saturday, I woke up to the alarm buzzing at 6 a.m. and quickly dressed in my running shoes, yoga pants, and my hot pink T-shirt so I’d be ready at 6:30 when my ride showed up to head downtown for this year’s Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. St. Louis turned pink that day, from the fountain at Kiener Plaza to pink “ribbons” plastered on the sides of buildings. It was my fourth Race since I finished radiation treatment after my diagnosis of breast cancer in December of 2006, and I felt much different than I had back in June of 2007 when I first participated. Being a survivor was new to me then. Heck, I’d never felt “sick” in the first place, even after an MRI confirmed I had a lump in my left boob. It’s amazing how three little words like “You’ve got cancer” can change your life.

Although I’d tried to stay fit during my surgeries and rad therapy, it meant strolling on the treadmill or unloading the dishwasher so that my left arm could regain enough mobility to finally reach the top cabinet shelf. When I walked in the Race in 2007 with Ed, my good friend and fellow survivor Shelly, and Shelly’s hubby Jerry, I didn’t know what to expect. Would I even be able to finish the 5k? Would someone bump my left boob (I was afraid of that for a loooong time)? Would I be so overwhelmed that I’d cry?

Shelly and I did skip the “Survivors’ Walk,” which they do early on before the Race starts, because she warned me it was very, very emotional. I decided that I’d done enough bawling after my diagnosis, and I prefered to avoid further tears. So we ran around to some of the freebie booths (Ed thinks it’s funny that women who survive breast cancer aren’t afraid to trample each other to collect bags of free loot). Then we took our Race team pictures, and I hung out with some of the St. Louis Public Library team members (love those library ladies!). Music blared and people hugged, and a sense of affirmation bubbled up inside me so that I had tears in my eyes anyway!

Once the Race started, we were all business. I remember Shelly and Jerry booking so fast I wondered how I’d ever keep up! I kept downing bottled water as I walked, telling myself, “You can do this, you can do this.” That was important somehow, just finishing the Race and not collapsing. People cheering the Racers from the sidewalks hooted especially loud when Shelly and I passed in our “Survivor” T-shirts. At first, that unnerved me. Why all the fuss? What had I done? I mused until I realized we stood for something to them: HOPE. If we had survived and were fit enough to briskly walk a 5k, then, by God, they could climb over obstacles, too.

This year, it was weird to imagine that I’m 3-1/2 years post-diagnosis. I felt strong as I walked–and, baby, I walked fast!–and, once again, I was initially surprised to hear the loud cheers from the sidelines. Although now it’s more because I feel very ordinary compared to the many women I’ve met since my diagnosis who’ve gone through what I’ve gone through (and much tougher stuff, too). I am surrounded by these ladies–my heroes–on a daily basis, and I don’t know what I’d do without them. When I whine about aches and pains, they make me laugh and, as importantly, they make me feel like I’m normal (or at least as normal as I’ll ever be!). Because if there’s one thing that having had cancer takes away from you, it’s the sense of normalcy. Oh, yeah, the scars it leaves on your skin have nothing on the havoc it’s wreaked in your head.

Although when you’re walking in a sea of over 71,000 people, nearly 5,000 of them survivors, as I did at the Race this past Saturday, you realize how NOT alone you are. Once you’re a member of this huge pink army, you’re a member for life.

P.S. Speaking of being in the pink, I’ve got a PINK, GEEK, AND CHIC CONTEST going on at my web site. You could win a hot pink tote bag, some hot books, and a DVD of “Star Trek” (the one with Chris Pine as Capt. Kirk)! Good luck!

A New Deal

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I’m so excited to announce that I have a new mystery deal. A straight cozy mystery with NAL. I’ll be publishing under a pseudonym (which is actually my given name–mom and dad are SO happy about that!). Here’s the PW blurb my agent sent it.


“Melissa Bourbon’s PLEATING FOR MERCY, in which a woman opens a custom dressmaking boutique in a small Texas town and solves a murder with the help of the shop’s resident ghost, in a three-book deal, to Kerry Donovan at NAL by Holly Root at Waxman Literary Agency (World).”

Now, I have a book due in October, so I have to get cracking!

Question: Are you a fan of the slight paranormal, hobby, light cozy mysteries? Apparently they are SELLING!

~Misa


She’s a Lady!

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Thank you so much for the chance to visit with the Stiletto Gang! I have to admit I’m very partial to the title of this blog. I’m a high heel fanatic. I wear them whenever I get the chance, which is rare indeed, since I spend 95% of my time sitting right here in my chair wearing my pajamas, a pair of sweatpants, slippers and a sweatshirt. When it’s time to pick up the kids from school, I switch it up a bit and take the pajamas off and even put on a bra from time to time. But when I do venture out of the cave, I like to go a little nuts, with the skirts and the earrings and the makeup and the heels.

It kind of bothered me for a while that high heels make me taller than nearly everyone around, but then I realized I was doing it mostly for me, as a reminder that there is a lady hidden deep down inside this fiction-churning machine. I don’t use that word – “lady” – lightly. As a not-too-closeted feminist, I’ve had an uncomfortable relationship with the word and its throwback overtones.

A lady carries a satchel purse to church containing pink lipstick and enough tissues for the entire congregation; she’s already put the bread on to rise and cleaned up from breakfast and ironed everyone’s shirts before the rest of the house gets their teeth brushed. A lady doesn’t have much say over anything, her politics are considered unimportant, and when she gets to be a certain age she’s expected to fade quietly from view. This word used to give me such fits, in fact, that I wouldn’t let my kids use it when they were little. I know this sounds a little deranged, but if they uttered the word in public – say in reference to the clerk ringing up their little bitty Boy Scout shirt – I would say “No, sweetie, that is not a ‘lady’ – that is a woman.”

Woman woman woman. I drilled that word into them, despite their sweet juvenile confusion; I’m sure it led to some interesting conversations at school. (“Miss Pringle? My mom says that’s a bad word….”) What changed my thinking? Why, Stella, of course.

Stella is the 50-year-old heroine of my mystery series. A BAD DAY FOR SORRY introduced her last year, a small-town woman who killed her husband with a wrench after 30 years of abuse, and then started up a business helping other women take care of their own abusers. You could say that Stella’s business is “pro-woman” to a fault. But to my surprise, as I wrote this character into life, I discovered that she was also enthusiastically, defiantly, unrepentantly a LADY. She likes her girly stuff and woe to anyone who suggests that isn’t seemly. In fact, Stella goes way past me on the girly continuum and looking back, I think I created her in my subconscious idea of what an extreme example of femininity would be (not counting the, uh, beating the crap out of men part). She is very curvy, uses a lot of perfume for special nights out, and treats every child with buckets of maternal attention. I love Stella. I do! I adore her, everything about her, including her flaws and contradictions. And while I may be heading into split-personality territory here, I think she has freed my long-buried softer side to come up to the surface a little.

I now think there’s a little bit of “lady” in every woman. I can still get a little political about it (uh, hey, idiots who are terrified of women in positions of power and have to accuse every female Supreme Court candidate of being gay to make your little limp selves feel manly, I’m sendin’ Stella after YOU) but most of the time I can celebrate it in spirited good fun. I’ve also been delighted to discover lots of kindred souls among my fellow women authors.

So tell me, what makes you feel most like a lady – in the best sense of the word? I’ll choose one commenter to receive a signed copy of A BAD DAY FOR PRETTY.

Sophie Littlefield
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Sophie’s first novel (A BAD DAY FOR SORRY, St. Martin’s Minotaur) features a rural Missouri housewife-turned-vigilante. It was nominated for the 2010 Mystery Writers of America Edgar Award for Best First Novel and won the Reviewers Choice Award for Best First Mystery of 2009 by RT BookReviews Magazine, and appeared on the San Francisco Chronicle and IMBA bestseller lists. Her young adult novel, BANISHED, will be released by Delacorte in October 2010. Sophie lives in Northern California with her family. Visit her at http://www.sophielittlefield.com/.

The Month for Graduations/New Beginnings

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As most of you know, I have a big family and come graduation time I’m deluged with graduation announcements, not so many actual invitations.

My great-grandson, Aaron, invited us to his 8th grade graduation at our little school up here in Springville. We’ve attended many graduations there and this was one more. Outside with the audience facing the graduates–and the sun–the ceremony never begins until the sun disappears behind the hill.

The clothing worn by the graduates is interesting. The girls wear dressy dresses, some short and some long, and one had an evening gown with a train. A girl in a darling short dress, wore cowboy boots in a matching color. My grandson had a white shirt, tie, and slacks and tennis shoes on his feet. Most entertaining.

This particular great-grandson was one of two really short boys in the class. I’m hoping he’ll have a growth spurt this summer as he really wants to play basketball in high school.

I received announcements from a great-granddaughter who has moved with her family to Missouri and one from a great-niece in Las Vegas. I hope I find out what they plan to do now.

A great-granddaughter in southern California graduated from fifth grade. Seems their middle school goes from sixth to ninth. My daughter was kind enough to send photos.

I’m really proud of this young lady. At birth, she stopped breathing for a long enough time to scare everyone. For much of her pre-school years everyone feared she was autistic. She hardly ever spoke, but when she did it was a long sentence with big words that had very little to do with anything.

She began school in special education classes, but soon was changed over to the regular ones as she did so well. She excels in track and field events. She and her older sister both do shot put and discus–and win awards.

All of these graduates are on the threshold of new beginnings. And really, even though most of us have experienced our own graduations–mine were long, long ago–don’t we each find ourselves at the end of one part of our lives and stepping into new beginnings at times?

Over the years, there have been many of these occasions for me: marriage, many moves to new places, the birth of children–and then grandchildren–and great-grands, getting published–and it goes on and on. New beginnings face us at many stages of our lives.

Marilyn

A Miracle is Born

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Blessed are You Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and allowed us to reach this season.

I murmured the prayer over and over again late Friday afternoon, June 4. It was, for me, nothing short of a miracle. Riley Giselle, was born and poof, I was a Grandma. In some ways, the joy was greater than when I first became a mother. Then all the love and excitement was tinged with fear: Was I up to the job of taking care of a small wonderful child? Now, my only job was to love, love, love her. Somebody else would figure out how to pay for college!

Like most teenage girls, I had “issues” with my mother. I knew, heavens I was certain, that I would do things differently. As my own children reached adolescence, however, I found myself setting the same standards that my own mother had demanded. As Mark Twain so aptly put it, “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” It took me a little longer, but ah yes, I discovered just how smart my mother really was.

But from the moment that my first child was born, I was in awe of both my mother and my in-laws as grandparents. My own dad sadly never got to meet my kids. But Grandma, Nana, and Pop-Pop had such bottomless love for each of their grandchildren. Their patience was limitless, but of course, even seven days into this grandparenting gig, I now realize that patience is easier when you can hand the little bundle back at the end of the day.

Alex Haley once said, “Nobody can do for little children what grandparents do. Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust over the lives of little children.” I like even better, and that may be the foodie in me, the quote I found, source unknown, who said, “Grandmas are moms with lots of frosting.”

But most of all, I am giddy, thrilled, and feeling so incredibly blessed that Riley Giselle is now in my life.

Just call me Grandma, the Northern half of Evelyn David

You Are There!

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Writers are often asked which is more important to them, plot or character. At the risk of being difficult, but in all honesty, setting is the most important factor to me in planning my novels and in choosing ones to read. I do read, and occasionally write, in venues outside of my passion for all things British, but at the end of the day, reading and writing in England (or Scotland, or Wales, or Ireland) is my default position.

Because setting is so important to me when I read, as a writer, one of my goals is to put my reader in the scene. Since I try never to write about a place I haven’t actually visited I try to recreate the sights, sounds and smells of the place through the consciousness of my heroine. That means careful planning of my research trips, since I live 7000 miles away from the scene in Idaho. I do all the research I can possibly do from home, which entails a lot of time on the Internet and in libraries. I also have to have my story quite thoroughly outlined so I’ll be certain to go to all the places the story takes us.

Once there I try to experience the scene as if I were the heroine. And since I write mysteries that edge into thrillers, I try to imagine the danger lurking around every corner in that place. Oooh, crumbly historic sites make the most wonderful places to bury bodies. And then the building could crumble on you. Or the ground give way beneath your feet. Or a sudden rain storm wash a body out of a shallow grave. . . (Don’t use that one— it’s in my next novel. And, yes, I stood on the spot and watched it happen in my mind.)

I take copious notes and since my husband bought me a nifty, idiot-proof digital camera a couple of years ago I can now delight in taking all the pictures I want. I also buy loads of books on site, because the same tourist guide will not be available 5 miles down the road. I learned the hard way not to wait.

And then when I get home I have the fun of reliving the whole experience over again at my computer a I write whilst watching the scenes in my head. I have been told that my style is very cinematic. (Please note— any movie producers who may be reading this!) I think that’s because I was a playwright, drama teacher and amateur actress. I tend to think in terms of scenes and act everything out in my head.

This method worked particularly well for me in writing my ecclesiastical thriller A VERY PRIVATE GRAVE, book 1 in The Monastery Murders because my heroine is a rash young American woman studying in a theological college in a monastery in Yorkshire. The monastery is based on one where my daughter (who isn’t nearly as rash as Felicity) studied. So when Felicity runs up the hill to the monastery from her flat just outside the walls I am retracing steps I actually took many times with my daughter.

Likewise, when Felicity’s favorite monk is brutally murdered shortly after he presents her with a journal he kept whilst on recent pilgrimage and she sets out to retrace his steps, all the sites of ancient spirituality she visits in England and Scotland are places I can call up vividly in my mind and hopefully, recreate as vividly for my readers. Because ultimately, it’s not the plot, the characters, or even the setting that’s most important, it’s my readers.

With a bludgeoned body in Chapter 1, and a pair of intrepid amateur sleuths, A Very Private Grave qualifies as a traditional mystery. But this is no mere formulaic whodunit: it is a Knickerbocker Glory of a thriller. At its centre is a sweeping, page-turning quest – in the steps of St Cuthbert – through the atmospherically-depicted North of England, served up with dollops of Church history and lashings of romance. In this novel, Donna Fletcher Crow has created her own niche within the genre of clerical mysteries.
– Kate Charles, author of Deep Waters

Donna Fletcher Crow
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Donna Fletcher Crow is the author of 35 books, mostly novels dealing with British history. The award-winning GLASTONBURY, The Novel of Christian England is her best-known work, an Arthurian grail search epic covering 15 centuries of English history. A VERY PRIVATE GRAVE, book 1 in the Monastery Murders series is her reentry into publishing after a 10 year hiatus. THE SHADOW OF REALITY, a romantic intrigue will be published later this summer.

Donna and her husband have 4 adult children and 10 grandchildren. She is an enthusiastic gardener and you can see pictures of her garden, watch the trailer for A VERY PRIVATE GRAVE, and read her international blog at http://www.donnafletchercrow.com/
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A VERY PRIVATE GRAVE

Felicity Howard, a young American woman studying for the Anglican priesthood at the College of the Transfiguration in Yorkshire, is devastated when she finds her beloved Fr. Dominic brutally murdered and Fr. Antony, her church history lecturer, soaked in his blood.

A Very Private Grave is a contemporary novel with a thoroughly modern heroine who must learn some ancient truths in order to solve the mystery and save her own life as she and Fr. Antony flee a murderer and follow clues that take them to out-of-the way sites in northern England and southern Scotland. The narrative skillfully mixes detection, intellectual puzzles, spiritual aspiration, romance, and the solving of clues ancient and modern.

The Im-Perfect Game

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If you want to handle something with grace and dignity, look no further than Major League Baseball umpire Jim Joyce and Detroit Tigers’ pitcher Armando Galarraga. If you have been living under a rock for the last week, you probably don’t know that Galarraga was pitching a perfect game on a balmy Tuesday night in Detroit last week. No hits, no errors, no base on balls; this feat has only been accomplished twenty times in the history of Major League Baseball. It was the ninth inning and the Cleveland Indians were down to their last out when Jason Donald hit a little grounder in the infield. Galarraga did what he was supposed to do: he ran to first to cover as the first baseman cleanly fielded the ball and threw it to him. The ball reached Galarraga, his foot on the bag, long before Donald did. Umpire Jim Joyce called Donald “safe.” The perfect game was history.

Galarraga’s teammates went crazy, as did manager Jim Leland. Joyce was confident that he hadn’t blown the call. Galarraga smiled ruefully and headed back to the mound to record the 28th out of the game and then walked off the field to the dugout. Joyce went into the locker room and watched the replay, which all of the Tigers had already seen and knew what Joyce was now discovering: he had botched the call. He had blown Galarraga’s perfect game. On a day when baseball great Ken Griffey retired after an illustrious career and six-hundred and thirty home runs, Jim Joyce was the only name we were saying. He would go down in history as making arguably the worst call in major league baseball.

You’ve got to feel for the guy. A mistake is just that. I listened to his post-game interview and he was choked up the entire time, taking the blame for something that he says will haunt him forever.

Major League Baseball gave Joyce the option of sitting out the next day’s game, but he declined. He took the field with his head held high, probably expecting the worst from the Detroit hometown fans. Instead, he was greeted by Armando Galarraga, who handed him the lineup card. Galarraga shook his hand, which drew cheers from the crowd. What could have been an extremely bad situation—have you ever seen how seriously people take their hometown sports?—was defused by the kindness and humility of one gentleman, Armanda Galarraga.

There are several things that are striking about this situation. First, Galarraga didn’t make a scene when it happened. He had just been denied the opportunity to achieve something that few men had done in the history of his sport. Yet, he didn’t throw his glove or kick the mound, or get in the umpire’s face. He returned to the mound and finished the job. Second, upon learning of his mistake, Joyce took full responsibility, turning into a grown man crying in front of a group of reporters when he learned of his error. Someone taking responsibility so honestly and forthrightly in today’s world is pretty much unheard of (BP anyone?), so to see this man reduced to tears upon learning of his mistake was truly a sight. Third, the Detroit fans cheered both men upon their arrival on the field, showing that people are mature enough to realize when something has been done in error and with no malice aforethought and can accept other’s failings. I, myself, made a mistake at my job today and my first thought was, “at least I’m not Jim Joyce.” I felt for the guy. My heart, and apparently the collective heart of the city of Detroit, goes out to the guy. He screwed up. He owned it. Hopefully, he’ll be able to move on.

Child #2 is involved in several sporting activities and the behavior of the kids on the field sometimes approaches reprehensible. Bad sportsmanship abounds. Names are called during the game and sulking takes place after losses. I hope that coaches everywhere use this situation as a teachable moment: what to do and how to behave when things don’t go your way and how to own up to and redeem yourself from a mistake, no matter how big.

Maggie Barbieri

Writer’s Block–Do You Suffer From it?

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I just read a really good blog about writer’s block and though I left a comment I really wanted to write more so thought I’d do it here.

Though I don’t really suffer from writer’s block, I do procrastinate about clicking on Word and my latest work in progress. Instead, I check my e-mail, read posts on Facebook and write one or two, read some blogs I’m following, and maybe write a blog or two.

Though I don’t work outside the house, I do some writing jobs that bring in money and if I have one of those, it will always come first. (Yes, my books bring in money, but not right away like some other things I do.)

If there is some housework jobs I really need to do, I’ll probably do them before I write. One of the reasons I do that comes from my bringing up–mom made sure we’d done all of our work before we did something fun. And since writing is something I truly enjoy, I don’t feel right doing it until all the more tedious jobs are done. (Funny how moms can still influence us even when we’re really old–and in my case, mom has gone on to her heavenly reward.)

Fortunately, I long ago figured out a way to not have a problem knowing what to write when I finally do open up that work in progress and that’s to stop in the middle of a scene, that way I know exactly what to write next.

Another trick is to go back and read what you wrote last making it easier to just continue on when you get to the blank place.

I truly love writing and with the book I’m working on now I have so many ideas for it they are spilling out of my brain. What I should do is change my schedule completely and write first–then do all the other things that need to be done. I’ll try, but I don’t think my many years of training and habit will let me.

I know a lot of you do your writing at night. Wish I could, but by evening I’m done. Brain is no longer functioning well enough to do anything challenging like writing.

Do you have trouble with writer’s block? If so, what’s your cure?

Marilyn