On the Clothesline

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Writing clothes has developed into a theme on the Stiletto Gang this week. I’ve been thinking of what I have to say on the matter. Unfortunately, it’s not much. I write at night. So when I write, I wear whatever I wore to work that day minus shoes, jacket and jewelry. I pull my hair back in a ponytail, grab a Pepsi One, maybe some Strawberry Twizzlers, and I’m good to go.

Of course I do have to dress my “people.” Descriptions of clothing can help define your characters. Anyone who has read Murder Off the Books can tell you what kind of clothes JJ wears.

“Can I help you?” A young woman in her late teens reluctantly looked up from her computer screen, then stood and stretched. Her short spiked black hair was shaved over her left ear, which sported a silver hoop earring the size of a tennis ball. A red plaid flannel shirt, cargo pants, black studded leather belt, and heavy work boots completed the receptionist’s attire.

In Murder Takes the Cake, JJ’s style draws her boss’s ire:

“Hey, you already yelled at me once this morning. You don’t pay me enough to put up with it all day long, mister.”

Mac narrowed his eyes. After her outburst, JJ had actually flounced out of his office; a difficult feat for someone wearing an outfit better suited for a military grunt than a southern belle.

He obviously needed to establish some boundaries. She worked for him! “And buy some appropriate clothes for the office. Nothing in camouflage! A suit maybe. And no hobnailed boots. I’m tired of you scaring off the clients.”

There! That was something he’d been intending to say for days.

And somehow when JJ does upgrade her style, she still stands out.

Edgar and the dog stared at her.

“What?” She didn’t need to ask why they were staring at her. After Mac’s order to change her wardrobe, she’d visited a consignment shop. Currently she was wearing a circa 1930s, knockoff, Chanel suit. Even though she’d had to re-sew the seams, the old suit had still cost her more money than she was comfortable spending–especially just to make a point. It was black wool with gold metal buttons. She’d added a white silk blouse. Around her waist she’d cinched a black leather belt to hide the fact the jacket was a little large. The four inch heels were already killing her feet and it wasn’t even noon yet. She’d left her jet-black hair in its normal spiked style, but she’d replaced her large hoop earrings with fake pearl studs and a matching double strand necklace.

“You got one of those little hats with the black netting?” Edgar asked, waving one gnarled hand across his eyes showing where the netting would be.

“Maybe.” She had seen one of those at the shop and thought about buying it. But she wasn’t about to take fashion advice from the old man. “Why?”

“Widow’s weeds. You could get a job as an extra at O’Herlihy’s when Mac fires you. You know, as one of those paid mourners.”

Do you pay attention to what characters are wearing in the novels you read? Is there a character you’ll always remember because of his/her clothing?

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Clothes Do Not Make the Writer (Thankfully)

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I was planning on writing about something else entirely, but Marilyn’s post yesterday generated so many comments that I took some time to think about what exactly I wear when I write and why.

I fall into both camps that were discussed yesterday—I do get up and get dressed almost immediately upon waking, but there are those days when I loll in my pajamas for a few minutes. These are the days, inevitably, when it is raining cats and dogs and someone needs a ride to school. On those days, yes, I have been known to drive around town in Old Navy pajama pants and a “Life Is Good” tee shirt, hoping against hope that I don’t break a law that would require that I pull over and face a cop, most of whom live right in the town. I’d never live it down. And, for sure, I’d end up in the “Blotter” section of our local paper, the section most often cited as the first one everyone goes to on Thursday when the Gazette arrives. Trust me—you do not want to see your name in the Blotter.

I could be one of those writers who spends an entire day in pajamas, but I don’t feel like the day has any merit until I’ve showered and dressed. Additional grooming is another matter entirely. I have just returned from a lunchtime trip to Trader Joe’s where I realized—upon gazing into the mirrored glass above some of the pre-prepared dinners—that I never brushed my hair today. There’s really no point in getting up and worrying about what you’ll wear if you forget to brush your hair, is there? Thankfully, I never forget to brush my teeth but remembering to put on a little make-up? Another one of my issues.

Work attire usually consists of tee shirts and jeans. However, there are some days that require that I leave the house to see a client and on those days, I usually put on a pair of nicer pants and a blouse with a cardigan. My mother calls these “wake clothes” because they are too dressy to hang around the house in, yet not dressy enough to wear to a wedding. To her, they represent the clothes that we normal folk call “business casual” but since we’re a wake-professional family (all Irish-Catholic families are to some degree), she has denoted them “wake clothes.” Feel free to adopt this phrase into your vernacular. Guaranteed, most everyone will know of which you speak. Incidentally, husband I went to Bermuda this summer to a resort that had five restaurants on the premises, many requiring “smart casual” wear. We wore our wake clothes. We weren’t turned away.

The only problem with the tee shirt/jean combo is that it doesn’t allow me to wear many of the fifty-odd pairs of shoes that I own, many stilettos, most dressier than the usual daily ensemble requires. So every once in a while, just to shake things up, I will put on a pair of shoes that I shouldn’t be caught dead in during the day in the middle of the week and prance on down to the A&P to clickety-clack along the aisles, feeling like Amazonian shopping woman.

But here’s an equally thought-provoking question that I’d love your input on. What’s on your desk when you write? What are your magic writing talismans?

Maggie Barbieri

What is Proper Writing Attire?

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Of course there isn’t any such thing. I thought I’d throw the question out and learn what others wear while they are writing.

I have a good friend who gets up at 4 a.m. everyday and begins writing in her pajamas and doesn’t get dressed until she’s through with her literary process.

I must confess I always get dressed before I start my day doing anything. Could be partly because this was what my mom did until she reached her 90s, then she’d eat breakfast in her bathrobe and get dressed afterwards. Another reason is for twenty-three years hubby and I ran a licensed residential care facility in our home for six adult developmentally disabled women. We never knew when licensing or the regional center might make a surprise visit and I didn’t want to be caught looking less than professional.

I no longer worry about looking professional, but I always dress for whatever I’m going to be doing the rest of the day. Once I take my shower, I put on whatever I’m going to be wearing no matter what time that happens. I do not like to change clothes. Strange, but true. Hubby is just the opposite, he’s wear his grungies until just before it’s time to go somewhere.

Another reason I get dressed right away is because of family members who just drop in. No one bothers to knock around here and once we’re up the front door is unlocked.

So… I could be writing in casual clothes because I’m staying home all day or you might find me in business type clothes because I have to go to a meeting–like today.

Tell me about your writing attire.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Childhood Favorites

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My daughter is loving her course in Children’s Television. I’m attending vicariously!

One class focused on early TV shows like Howdy Doody (hello Clarabelle!) and Captain Kangaroo (cheers Mr. Greenjeans). The production values were scarcely high-tech. There was no attempt to hide Howdy’s puppet strings and the kids in the peanut gallery were sitting on wooden benches five feet from the action. And yet they captured the imagination of kids across the country.

My own kids loved Mister Rogers Neighborhood. Calmer and far less frenetic than Sesame Street, my children, especially son number one, adored King Friday XIII and the Neighborhood of Make Believe. Little hand puppets captured his imagination, and this was the kid who adored Star Wars, so it wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate special effects.

Fred Rogers was a different kind of children’s TV host. For the first time, the star was supposed to be a grown-up, not an oversized child who got into mischief (see Pinky Lee). Rogers talked directly to children, offering reassurance and advice that this Mom continues to find valuable. There was a gentleness to his show I miss – both in current kid-vid, adult TV fare, and for that matter, in real life.

Of course, not all my TV viewing (or my children’s time in front of the boob tube) was of the educational variety. Growing up, I watched plenty of dumb sitcoms that thanks to TVLand, I can now rewatch. It’s like entering a time machine. On The Andy Griffith Show, there are silly (even offensive) stereotypes about men and women; alcoholics like Otis Campbell are portrayed as nice guys who just need a safe place to sleep it off; and in one recent show, I actually heard Andy Taylor tell Barney Fife to “come out on the porch, I need a smoke: – and then we watched him light up!

I read a lot, but also spent hours in front of the television watching soap operas, game shows, and variety hours. I’m convinced that time dedicated to All My Children and General Hospital taught me about plot development and pacing (most of all, I learned that at some point, a storyline can get dragged out waaaay too long and the audience, or reader, loses interest).

What were your favorite childhood TV shows – the good, the bad, and the ridiculous?

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Subliminal Plagiarism

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I recently asked readers at my blog for some help with fresh topics and my friend Cathy McDonald asked this:

I know you read a lot…how do you keep the plots and twists and characters that you have previously read about from becoming a part of your book? I mean the leftover spaghetti from Sunday, the corn and green beans we had Monday, and the roasted chicken leftover from tonight will become chicken vegetable soup tomorrow…each part recognizable from some other dinner. How do you make it a “new meal” in your head rather than leftovers you remember?

Good stuff. I like this vegetable soup analogy except the part about the spaghetti noodles. But if I were having dinner at Cathy’s house, I’d eat the chicken, vegetable, and spaghetti noodle soup and love it. Mmm!

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about her question. I’ve heard authors address the same thing at writers’ conferences. At least two panelists have said that they refrain from reading mysteries while they are working on a book because they fear committing what one speaker dubbed “subliminal plagiarism.” I subliminally plagiarized that guy and used his phrase as my title today.

So I guess now this has happened to me.

But seriously, I count myself among the lucky ones because this hasn’t been a problem for me yet. Maybe that’s because I’m only working on my second book. I’ll be interested to hear what the other, more prolific, Stiletto Gang ladies have to say about their reading and writing experiences in this regard. Since it takes me about a bazillion years to finish a manuscript, refraining from reading mysteries anytime I’m working on a project would basically mean taking a vow of whodunit chastity.

Even though it takes more than a year for me to write a book, the whole time I’m working on the story I already know what I’d like to happen. The struggles, conflicts, clues, and ending have already been imagined if only in a crude form. The real work lies in getting the words on paper and bridging the gaps in the story. In other words, I’m not at a loss for ideas once I’ve started a story. The idea train has already left the station.

When I read other people’s books, I’m relaxing and being entertained. In fact, I’m usually reading those books because I’m putting off working on my own. The last thing I want to do is make any connections between the polished, engrossing novel in my hands and the horrid, incoherent rough draft waiting on my laptop. A link between the two would only remind me of what I ought to be doing instead.

But perhaps the most compelling reason that ideas never mix for me is that when I’m reading, I’m not in my world anymore, I’m in the story world. I’m not thinking about my manuscript challenges because I’m too caught up in the action on the page. When I’m away from a story I’m reading, I’m more inclined to worry about its characters or try to find time to sneak in more reading than I am to draw parallels to my own work. I think because, to some degree, I view the story I’m writing as work and the ones I’m reading as fun.

Here’s the best way to explain. I wouldn’t enjoy a pool party with my co-workers. Part of that scenario is fun but the other part is work. Mixing them together is just a bunch of unsightly researchers in Speedos.

Rachel Brady

My Fall TV Line-Up

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I confess – I’m a tv addict. Always have been. Each year since forever I’ve had my list of shows. I never miss them if I can help it.

For decades the Special Fall Season TV Guide was my playbook. (Remember when the TV Guides were small and user-friendly? No grids.) I compared the new shows to each other and figured out their timeslots. In the pre-vcr days, I had to choose between competing shows. I was partial to dramas. Still am.

I tried to give each new show a look. It used to be that all shows were on at least a half year before being cancelled or moved to a new day and time – so with a little organization I could sample a couple of episodes of each before settling in with my favorites.

Not so any more. Some shows are cancelled after two or three episodes. If you want to see the new shows, you have to hurry!

I still subscribe to the TV Guide, but I don’t get my tv program planning from it. I get lost with all the channel listings.

I’m left with commercials. Yep, commercials are good for something! When I see a commercial for a new tv show that looks interesting, I take note of the name, then look it up on-line. Every self-respecting tv show has a webpage or maybe even a whole website dedicated to it.

My returning favorites are:

Medium – saved by CBS from cancellation. Shame on you NBC. It’s a wonderful drama.
Dancing With the Stars – good fun.
NCIS – CBS – love the whole ensemble cast.
Criminal Minds – I’ve been watching the repeats and I’m beginning to like it very much.
The Mentalist – CBS – Simon Baker is so cute.
House – Fox (It took awhile for Dr. House to grow on me but my co-author loved the show, so I kept watching.)
Ghost Hunters – Syfy (Why in the world they changed the network name from Sci-fi, I’ll never understand.)

New shows I want to see:

The Good Wife – CBS – stars Julianna Margulies – loved her on ER
The Forgotten – ABC – my prediction – I love the premise, I’ll probably love the show, and it will probably be cancelled before midseason.
NCIS – Los Angeles – CBS – rarely are sequels as good as original but I’ll give it a try.
Mercy – NBC – love nurse shows – this looks to be a good one. Does anyone else remember Nurse with Michael Learned? I absolutely adored that drama.
Eastwick – ABC – probably too campy for me, but might be fun.
FlashForward – ABC – interesting – not sure what it’s about but I’ll watch once or twice since with BattleStar Galactica gone I have an opening on my science fiction dance card.
Trauma – NBC – I used to love the old Emergency series and ER was a long time favorite. Maybe this one will be good too.

What new shows are you planning to watch?

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/

Getting to Know You (Ok, me)

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As I get older, it is refreshing to acknowledge the things I like and don’t like to do. For years, I did things because I felt like they were the right thing to do or what I should be doing. Because everyone else was doing them. Or loved to do them.

Case in point: yoga.

For years, I was a faithful practitioner of yoga, knowing that it would be the best thing for my type-A, control freak, slightly ADD personality. I went every week with my purple mat, in my cute black stretch pants (that incidentally could have benefited from a tummy control panel) and twisted myself into various positions, holding them as long as I could, and trying to think about anything but all of the things I wanted to think about. I never could execute a handstand, but I could live with that, because when it came to the “pigeon pose,” I was a champ.

The only problem was, I wasn’t relaxing. What I was doing was stressing about not being able to relax at yoga. And I was thinking about other stuff that didn’t have anything to do with my own inner peace, chakras, or mindfulness. Every time I got into a pose and was instructed to hold it, my mind went in about five hundred different directions, starting with: “Things I need from Shoprite: eggs, milk, butter, toilet paper…” Then I would refocus (and readjust my tummy-control-less yoga pants) just in time for the next pose and clear my mind. Seconds later, I was back to: “…chicken, bread, toilet paper—oh, right, I already have that on the list—beer…beer…beer…”

My friend, Tami, is a yoga instructor and in the best shape of anyone I know (with the exception of trainer Shari). She is also very serene. She has graciously invited me to her class and while I was tempted to go, I never took the plunge. I couldn’t figure out why. Then, it finally hit me: I don’t really like yoga.

For all of you yoga devotees, let me be perfectly clear: the problem is me, not yoga. Yoga is a fabulous form of mediation and exercise. It’s just not for nut cases like myself.

But for years, I kept thinking that because it was such a fabulous form of mediation and exercise, I should do it. Even though it didn’t do anything for me physically or spiritually. I finally found the courage to articulate this epiphany to my friend, Melissa, who stared back at me and said, “I could have told you that.”

Why are our friends more likely to know more about us than we know about ourselves?

Now that I’ve embraced this new-found self awareness, I have also finally admitted that I really don’t like the beach. It’s hot, it’s crowded, and there’s sand. And flies. And it’s outside.

I also don’t like expensive coffee, I would rather have a big plate of fried chicken than a salad (despite what it does to my cholesterol and triglycerides or whatever they’re called), and I think that programs on public broadcasting stations are for the most part boring. I also prefer a dimestore novel to what is purported to be a literary masterpiece. I will no longer suffer through an “important work” if my mind starts to wander after the first three pages. I also prefer cheap chardonnay to the more expensive ones. But I won’t cheap out on Champagne.

By this time, you’re probably wondering why it took so long to come to some of these truths. I guess I’m just a slow learner.

So, what have you learned about yourself recently? Please share.

Maggie Barbieri
http://www.maggiebarbieri.com

How Do You Get Everything Done?

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That’s a question I get asked all the time. The answer is, often I don’t.

I make a lot of lists and cross things off when I get them done. Yesterday I planned to work on a book that has just been edited and take care of some of the edits. Instead, I read and answered email, filled out an interview someone sent me, received a great review for Dispel the Mist, the third.

Once I got that of course I had to copy it, put it on the page where I’m keeping those reviews and I had to let my Twitter friends and my Facebook friends know. Holding my breath about the reveiw that might not be so good. My publisher and I both sent the book out to a lot of reviewers.

Hubby brought in the mail and I had to pay a couple of bills and I went on line to cancel a membership to something we never used–should have done that long ago.

Remembered that I should add to my newsletter about my talk at the library (not many showed up but someone I only met on Twitter and his wife traveled 1 1/2 hours just to meet me. Don’t tell me Twitter promo doesn’t work. Then, of course, my launch Sunday at Kirby Farms in Springville had to be mentioned–that one went super well, lots more people and books sold and the cookies were delicious.)

And that’s more or less the way it went all day. I did get a little done, I’m looking for the word was and trying to turn the sentence around in order to eliminate it–works sometimes, not always.

Hubby and I did take time out to watch General Hospital together–its our afternoon rest period.
Cooked and ate a big dinner, but left right after for Bible Study–we’re studying Daniel. Came home and my brain doesn’t really function well much after seven, so I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about watching Dancing with the Stars. (Good excuse, anyway.)

Maybe today will be more organized with less distractions–except I really must get the laundry done.

Marilyn

For a Sweet New Year

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This weekend was Rosh Hashonah, the start of the Jewish New Year, 5770. While Dick Clark doesn’t host a “Rockin’ Rosh Hashonah” Show on ABC, and there aren’t thousands of people blowing horns, wearing funny hats, and watching the crystal ball descend into Times Square, like December 31, the Jewish New Year is a time of reflection and a celebration of renewal.

Surrounded by family and friends, I spent this holiday once again reminded of all my blessings. I didn’t make a list of New Year’s resolutions, but did make a personal promise to improve where I could, try harder when necessary, and accept graciously when acceptance is the best option.

Traditions are the always in life, those things we count on and by which we define ourselves and our family. So my holiday table was full of the traditional foods like apples and honey, to represent a sweet new year, and round challahs, instead of the Sabbath braided ones, to symbolize the circle of life. It wouldn’t be a holiday in this household without homemade chocolate chip cookies. Perhaps not found in the Bible, but a required food group for my family.

One of the nicest traditions of the holiday is Tashlikh, the ritual of symbolically casting off your sins by tossing pieces of bread into a body of flowing water. The ancient practice is based on the the Biblical passage in Micah, “You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.” Our congregation strolls about a mile down to the park that edges Long Island Sound. We sing some traditional prayers and then walk out onto the rocks and toss bread into the waters. The gulls come swooping in, happy to ingest our “sins.” Inevitably we joke that we each need to bring at least a couple of loaves of bread to atone for all our sins. The Rabbi reminds us that it’s symbolic, not a one-for-one ratio of bread to sin.

The beauty of the setting, the warmth of being surrounded by family and friends, the comfort of the traditional melodies, and the sense of renewal, of starting the new year afresh, gives me a wonderful feeling of contentment and rejuvenation.

Best wishes for a Healthy, Happy, Sweet New Year.

Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

A Vegas Show Chicken in the Underbrush

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Wendy Lyn Watson writes delicious mysteries with a dollop of romance. Her first cozy, I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM: A MYSTERY A LA MODE, will be released on October 6. To pay the bills, Wendy teaches constitutional law to college kids. She’s also an avid fan of 80s music, horror films, and (of course) ice cream. You can find her on the web at http://www.wendylynwatson.com/

When I first contacted the Stiletto Gang, this whole blog thing sounded like a good idea. I mean, everyone’s doing it, right? How hard can it be?

Ha!

Let’s face it, y’all are strangers. You don’t know me from Adam. This is my chance to make a first impression, and I better make it good. So what to say? About 93 different topics came to mind, and they all sounded totally stupid. Or brilliant. But probably stupid. I was paralyzed with indecision.

So I asked the universe to send me a sign, and it did.

With a leisurely Labor day afternoon ahead of us, Mr. Wendy and I headed to the 380 Greenbelt, a rather utilitarian Texas park that meanders along a trickle of water that one might call a river (if one had never seen a real river before). We parked the Family Truckster; schlepped across the tarmac like the boring middle-aged couple we are, Mr. Wendy toting a folding chair in each hand and me clutching a plastic grocery bag with some almonds, a couple of diet sodas, and our paperbacks; and set up camp in a little plot of shade right at the edge of the sad tributary and away from the other park-goers.

We had just gotten settled in, Mr. Wendy dozing in his chair, me munching on the almonds, when I heard a rustling in the underbrush behind me. I looked around, expecting a squirrel, or perhaps an armadillo. Imagine my surprise …

I asked the universe for a sign, and it sent me a chicken.

But not just any chicken. This was one of those fancy chickens with an absurd explosion of feathers sprouting from the top of his head and a cascade of snowy plumage springing from his backside. This was a Vegas show-chicken.

Strike that.

A feral Vegas show-chicken.

I couldn’t help wondering, “What’s his story?” Was he lost? Had he escaped some chicken gulag? Why did he limp? Did he have chicken friends in the park? Or was he flying solo, one chicken against the world? Was he scared of the people who wandered past him, carrying kayaks and blaring boom-boxes? Or did he hope that one of those people would scoop him up and tote him back to civilization, give him a nice shady coop where he wouldn’t have to worry about coyotes or his next meal? And what would become of him? Could such a fancy chicken possibly survive in the wild?

Some writers–indeed, some of my favorite writers–write about exotic people in exotic places doing exotic things. I, however, am drawn to ordinary folks living ordinary lives in Everytown, America. Like the heroine of I SCREAM, YOU SCREAM. Tally Jones is a small town divorcee, struggling to keep her ice cream parlor afloat and her rag-tag family out of bankruptcy. On the surface, her life is perfectly normal, but unbeknownst to her the people she’s known her whole life are harboring secrets. Those ordinary people are capable of both heroism and treachery, and Tally has to learn that bad guys don’t always look like bad guys.

That nice elderly man who fed his wife rat poison? That high school tennis coach who gave a kidney to one of his players? That soccer mom who made a million bucks by stripping in front of a webcam? Those are the stories that really affect us, because they come out of the blue. They sneak up on us, ambush us, and force us to question our assumptions about the world we live in.

So here’s my advice to you: keep your eyes open. You never know when you’ll stumble across a moment of mythic drama right smack in the middle of your grocery store’s produce aisle. Or a brilliant bit of poetry on a bathroom wall. Or perhaps a Vegas show-chicken rooting around in the underbrush.

Wendy Lyn Watson