Clunkers for Cash? Not Me

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I think there are two kinds of people in the world: those for whom a car is a work of art, to be studied, admired, and coveted. And those for whom an automobile is a way of getting from one place to another. Ours is a mixed marriage. The hubby grabs the automotive section of the paper first. Maybe even before sports. Me? I want to turn the key and go. What the car looks like is irrelevant. Reliable is all I ask.

Which is why my very favorite automobile is now 14 years old. We’ve jerry-rigged the air-conditioning. It doesn’t have a CD player. There are no heated seats. I’m not sure how many times the odometer has turned over, but I don’t care because this old car just keeps chugging along. Since I’m not interested in a new model, the clunkers for cash government program doesn’t work for me. My husband says this antique of ours is no longer fit for long trips, but where am I going?

Some folks love the smell of a new car. Me? I love the fact that I can get into my car and remember the picnics held in those seats on days when it rained and we couldn’t stand being in the house another second. I smile when I think about the long talks I had with each of my kids as we barreled down the highway (and why do sex questions with teens always pop up when you’re going 60 miles an hour in heavy traffic?). I cringe slightly at some of the more heated arguments my husband and I had in the car – but sometimes it was the only place we could be alone and figure out a solution to a problem without the intrusion of children or dog. I relax when I’m in that car, recalling the naps taken during long drives to visit relatives in far-away states.

Son number two has been talking about needing a station car – and hinting, none too subtly, that my old clunker would nicely serve that purpose. He’s probably right. It would be an easy retirement for my faithful motorized servant. But I’m tempted to give him one of our newer cars (new being a relative term since we own no car less than five years old). They don’t have the memories or the old car smell.

For me, getting into my old car, with all the memories, is like Cinderella getting into the pumpkin. With a bibbity-boppity-boo, or a more mundane turn of the key, the transformation is complete. Both become gilded carriages – and we’ll both get to the ball (or supermarket) on time. But at least my pumpkin won’t break down at the stroke of midnight!

What’s your car IQ?

Evelyn David

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

Eating Apples in a Bathtub

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The author of Death of a Cozy Writer , G.M. Malliet is an Agatha Award Winner, recipient of an Anthony and Macavity Nomination for Best First Novel, recipient of a David Nomination for Best Novel, and an IPPY Award Silver Medalist (Mystery/Suspense/Thriller). Death of a Cozy Writer was chosen by Kirkus Reviews as one of the Best Books of 2008.

Is there anyone who by now does not know the story of how the Harry Potter series was conceived? Just in case: J. K. Rowling was on a train from Manchester to London in 1990 when the idea for the boy wizard suddenly came to her. As she relates it:

“I had been writing almost continuously since the age of six but I had never been so excited about an idea before. I simply sat and thought, for four (delayed train) hours, and all the details bubbled up in my brain, and this scrawny, black-haired, bespectacled boy who did not know he was a wizard became more and more real to me.”

(Notice that she sat and thought. She wrote none of this down; she just let the ideas bubble away.)

But is this really how it happens? The idea for a beloved character just pops into your head? Or has the idea been there all along, percolating away, inspired by nothing more than a face in the crowd from months before, or a phrase overheard in a café? Some insignificant event that may not even have registered at the time? This question fascinates and vexes authors, who are always asked where their ideas/characters come from. In reply, we mostly go into blank-stare mode, or give some glib answer (“the idea tree”). The fact is, no one knows.

What is certain, however, is that a train ride is the world’s best conductor, so to speak, for the creative process. I think it’s because you are trapped. You can’t be distracted by the sudden urge to do laundry, or paint the house, or go make a cup of coffee. In order to do these things, you’d first have to throw yourself off the train, and wisely realizing that would be unwise, you are thrown back instead on your own thought processes.

This trapped concept doesn’t work—for me, at any rate—on airplanes, because I am too busy helping the pilot keep the plane aloft by aiming uplifting prayers towards the cockpit, and it definitely doesn’t work in cars, distracted as I am by some idiot changing lanes at high speed without using his turn indicator (just yesterday I saw a bumper sticker I loved. It said, “If Jesus Were Here, He’d Use His Turn Signal”).

You’d think the same “trapped” concept might work while you’re in the dentist’s chair, but it doesn’t seem to pan out that way. A dentist’s chair does seem to send my brain into high gear, however: What’s that noise? What is that big silver thing he’s holding now? Is that a needle—good heavens, is that a needle? Is this guy old enough to be a dentist, anyway? I wonder if I look like Hannibal Lecter in this rubber mask? Will this be over soon? What’s that noise?

In other words, it’s like having a hyperkinetic four-year-old trapped inside your head: It’s lively in there, but it’s hardly creative.

But on a train, the forward movement is restful. I’m freed from all obligations and distractions, especially if I’ve left the computer at home. Combined with the sense that I have been granted permission to just sit and daydream, that does the trick for me every time. Plot twists invented; characters who announce themselves, fullblown. It is pure bliss for a writer.

Agatha Christie wrote that her best ideas came to her while she was sitting in a bathtub, eating apples. Believe me, I would try this if I thought it would make me half as ingenious as she was, and I’d be willing to bet some mystery authors have tried it, but somehow I think this technique was unique to Agatha. Other authors swear by washing the dishes as a surefire generator of ideas, but that doesn’t really work for me: I just want to get the chore over with, not daydream. Walking? Sometimes works, but not really.

Maybe if I ate apples on a train while sitting in a bathtub…would another story as good as Murder on the Orient Express come out of it?

Please visit me at http://gmmalliet.com/

G.M. Malliet

Under Review

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What I learned this week:

Twitter can be fun.

The Swine Flu Vaccine will be ready soon, but in such limited supply, I won’t see any.

It’s time to get new towels.

Brenda’s cat, Kitty, died.

Leverage has returned for its second season on TNT.

I have a printer stand for my office arriving tomorrow (see last week’s post).

Good intentions don’t get the house cleaned.

Shark Week is coming.

I can’t cook squash – well.

Stories about Amelia Earhart’s disappearance still fascinate me.

Sometimes drug stores have great sales on items for author auction baskets.

I should buy more fresh peaches.

Dogs might be psychic.

Just because you’re talking, doesn’t mean anyone is listening.

Only one Republican judiciary committee member voted for Sonya Sotomayor.

Despite what some politicians are saying, none of the health care draft reform bills contain a clause promoting euthanasia of people over 65.

President Obama needs a “jeans” intervention.

I haven’t read a book for pleasure this whole month.

Braums milk is the best.

The economy is turning around – the value of my 401k increased by 1/3 in last three months.

Birthers are just plain silly.

I might be going to Chicago in late October – beats my February trips.

Colin Powell is a national treasure.

I will never like liver, no matter how it’s smothered.

The Terminator carries a big knife and issues I.O.U.s

Most ghost tours shut down for the month of August – just like Congress.

I miss watching The West Wing.

Bare Minerals makeup is incredible.

I spend less if I only get $20 out of the ATM per trip.

Dogs love Funyons.

I need to start getting to bed before midnight.

I still don’t like chicken wings and beer – I don’t like them separately either.

Writing a blog every week is hard work.

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

A Few of My Favorite Things

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I was going to wade into the racially-charged waters of the Henry Louis Gates incident (Gates-gate?) but will leave you with one very succinct quote from Bill Maher which made me laugh no end: “Is your home safe from black intellectuals?” Presumably, Officer Crowley, Dr. Gates, and President Obama will join together in racial harmony this week and share a beer and move past the whole thing, even if in many parts of this country, black men will still be arrested for doing nothing wrong other than being black.

Ok, enough said. We’ve come a long way, but still have a long way to go. On that, I think we can all agree.

So, I now turn to what I like to call “a few of my favorite things” post. Not as popular as Oprah’s list of favorite things and I certainly won’t be sending each and every one of you one of the things on the list but maybe you’ll find yourself intrigued enough to buy one or more item on the list. Here we go:

1. Progresso Pesto Sauce: As faithful readers of this blog, you know that dinner time is a challenge around the Barbieri house. We have one vegetarian, one person on a low-roughage diet (that would be me), one person who eats just about everything, and one person who only likes to eat things, mostly meats, that a group recently cited as those who increase your risk for colorectal cancer (try explaining what that is to a 10-year-old). The answer to all of my prayers? Progresso Pesto Sauce. Yes, I know you can make your own, but that would require that I a) buy a basil plant, b) put it in a pot, c) make sure the cats in the neighborhood don’t use said pot for a litter box, and d) go outside and tend to the plant. None of that is happening friends, I can guarantee you. You know what’s easy, though? Pulling back the plastic lid on a container of store-bought pesto and mixing it with a bunch of hot pasta. Serving a salad and a loaf of Italian bread alongside it. Hearing people in family exclaim that this is their “favorite meal!” and seeing their smiles as they eat it. Easy, not too expensive, and everyone eats it. What could be better?

2. The BodenUSA web site: The country has a long way to go on racial issues and I have a long way to go on dressing myself better. Not so since I discovered the BodenUSA web site. Boden is a company based in the U.K. with moderately-priced but extremely hip clothes for women of a certain age. (That would be me and the northern half of Evelyn David, who is still expounding on her love of the black wrap dress that I encouraged her to buy and which she now owns. If you’d like to see what it looks like, go to www.maggiebarbieri.com. I’m wearing it in the photo on the home page.) And fortunately, as things have shifted southward on me, they have taken to making a line of very stylish tunics, which look fabulous with a pair of jeans or dressier pants and which cover my trouble spot or “writer heinie” which has developed over the past few years. I hesitated giving out this secret because I don’t want to see an army of tunic-wearing women walking around wearing the clothes that I have, but I’m a giver. You already knew that.

3. Facebook: I know. We’re supposed to be tired of social networking sites, but I’ve got to say that I am loving Facebook and enjoying reconnecting with friends and family. I’ve gotten to see pictures of my nieces and nephews on their most recent vacation, learned about who’s doing what from my high school and college classes, and reconnected with a lot of old friends. It’s also a great way to get the word out about my books, learn about other writers in the mystery world, and get feedback on covers and promotional materials. It’s also a nice diversion when I get bored with what I’m doing during my workday and that is not a bad thing.

4. My new Dyson vacuum: Another way Facebook has helped me is that it allows me to get information on products before I buy them. I put in my status update last week that I needed a new vacuum and the comments flooded in. Most encouraged me to get a Dyson and boy am I glad I did. Remembering the southern half of Evelyn David’s post a few weeks back about putting her vacuum together (something I wouldn’t be remotely interested in or adept at), I was concerned about getting a machine that I wouldn’t be able to use right out of the box, let alone have to use a screwdriver to put together. Fortunately, the Dyson was already assembled and after a few test runs, virtually the easiest thing in the world to use. The only drawback? The bagless technology. It’s great—don’t get me wrong. I just don’t enjoy seeing Barbieri dirt—and apparently, there’s a lot of it—swirling around in the clear canister after just one vacuum session. We are apparently a very dirty and disgusting family and my old vacuum, with its bag housed in a canister in which nothing could be seen, kept this ugly secret. I guess I’ll get used to seeing the dirt swirl around, but for right now, I’m pretending it belongs to someone else.

So, that’s it. I could go on but I’ll wait for another post to do so. We still haven’t discussed my love of mocha chip frappacinos from Starbucks but will, I promise. What are your favorite things? More importantly, what can’t you live without?

And don’t forget to protect your home from intellectuals—black, Asian, caucasian, or otherwise.

Guilty Pleasures

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Bet you thought I was going to write about chocolate. Well, yes, I confess chocolate is one of my guilty pleasures, but I don’t indulge nearly as much as I used too.

Instead I’m going to confess my TV watching guilty pleasures. My husband and I both watch General Hospital. I’ve watched General Hospital for years, way back before Luke and Laura got married. Hubby didn’t watch with me back in those days because he was either off to war or working on base.

Because it comes on at 2 in the afternoon here, it’s a good time for both of us to take a break–and I must confess, sometimes we both snooze a bit. We are entertained by the fact that almost everyone has slept or been married to everyone else in the cast at one time or another. We know nothing will ever have a happy ending or the show would just stop. However there are some amazing actors on the show–at times I wonder how they can keep from laughing.

I also love reality TV. I watch Big Brother and have my favorites–hubby will only watch this one if he’s forced into it. Survivor and the Amazing Race are others that I enjoy. I have a granddaughter who is determined that she and her husband are going to try out for it one day–the only thing that’s holding them back is my daughter who won’t babysit until their three year old is less of a handful.

What I don’t like is the Japanese take-off shows where people actually get hurt. Why anyone would do those I have no idea.

Oh, and I also like to watch the disaster movies that have been coming out this summer too. The acting has been lousy, the stories just as lousy, but for some reason I’m fascinated by them. Maybe it’s because I don’t really have to think to follow along and if I go to sleep before it’s over it’s not really something I’ll worry about.

Last week we went to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and took one of my good friends who is also a faithful fan of my books. We loved the movie–husband nodded off a few times–we went to the 10 a.m. showing so I think he was bored. My friend is also a General Hospital fan so at lunch we talked about all the wild goings-on.

Except for GH I don’t watch TV in the day time. By the time evening rolls around, I no longer have the ambition to write and I guess I’m ready for my guilty pleasures.

That’s my confession and I’m sticking to it.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com/

Careful Word Choices

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As a writer, a fiction writer, I’m always looking for the exact word or phrase that will telegraph immediately to the reader what is happening in a scene. Ideally, I want the reader to be enthralled by the action, not left scratching her head or reaching for the dictionary to check the definition of my choice.

Usually, with enough rewrites and tweaking back and forth between the two halves of Evelyn David, we settle on the perfect word for the situation.

Here’s the dilemma. Irish wolfhounds, like Whiskey, the adored and adorable character in Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake, don’t bark. Or at least, they don’t bark like Lassie. They rumble, they boof, they definitely communicate, but bark, like Benji or Beethoven, or any of the other big screen canine idols, nope, that’s not how an Irish wolfhound sounds.

But when we use the verb, bark, despite full knowledge that it’s not exactly accurate, we’re trying to use a common term that the reader will understand. Whiskey is talking – we’re less concerned about the sound she makes, than about her efforts to communicate. For example, in Murder Takes the Cake, we wrote:

“Whiskey?” Rachel sighed and stroked the dog’s head. “Okay, I know your first loyalties lie with him, but it doesn’t feel very good to always be an afterthought. Don’t you think I deserve to be more than a minor character in this little drama Mac calls his life? If he survives, we’re going to have a serious discussion.”

This time Whiskey’s bark sounded much more like agreement.

On the other hand, we want to acknowledge, as several wolfhound owners have pointed out to us, that these gentle giants sound different than other dogs. It would be as if we called the Chicago rapid transit system the Metro instead of the L. For most readers outside of Chicago, it probably wouldn’t matter. But for those who do know exactly what the train system in the Windy City is called – it breaks the action, takes the reader outside the story.

Our solution – we think – is, in the next book in the series, have Rachel comment to Mac about the timbre and tone of Whiskey’s “voice.”

Any other ideas?

Evelyn David

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

PIs, Car Chases, and Squealing Brakes

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****Update: The winners, picked at random from the individuals leaving comments on PIs, Car Chases, and Squealing Brakes. are: Chester Campbell and Chelle. Each is eligible for either a “Writing PIs” T-shirt or one free class from www.writingprivateinvestigators.com Please e-mail The Stiletto Gang using the “Contact Us” link on the right side of this blogsite so we can tell you how to claim your prize. Thanks.

The Stiletto Gang

_____________

I noticed your guest blogger last week was Lisa Lutz, who has a very funny car chase prologue that kicks off her wonderfully entertaining book The Spellman Files (the first in her Spellman series). I laughed when I first read the prologue, laughed again when I read it to my husband (who’s also my business partner in our private investigator [PI] agency), then laughed all over again when I read it to his teenage daughter (who, with a PI dad and a PI stepmom, is similar to the protagonist in The Spellman Files). Suffice it to say, we’re a real-life PI family who are fans of the fictional PI family, the Spellmans.

But what about such car chases in real life? I mean, besides the Spellmans, think about all those groovy car chases and squealing, burning brakes in every one of those old Rockford episodes (for those uninitiated to this classic PI series, do yourself a favor and check out The Rockford Files, a ‘70s TV series starring an ex-convict turned laid-back PI, played by James Garner, who also did his own car stunts in the show).

Fortunately, those exciting, nail-biting car chases only take place in fiction. In the real-world, PIs drive more safely and have guidelines for mobile, also called rolling, surveillances (meaning, surveillances conducted while driving a car or van). I thought I’d discuss some mobile surveillance techniques for fans of The Stiletto Gang blog as some of you are also writers and might find them useful for your stories.

First of all, let’s debunk the myth that mobile surveillances are one-man (or one-woman) shows.

One-Person Mobile Surveillance: Recipe for Failure?

There are investigators who swear that a one-person mobile surveillance is a recipe for failure (one PI gives a 5% success rate). In our agency, we can vouch that a one-person mobile surveillance is tough. You’re watching traffic and pedestrians and intersections and traffic lights and regulatory traffic signs and your subject is weaving and gunning it through rush-hour traffic and…

You just lost him.

We now counsel prospective clients that a two-person surveillance significantly increases the chances of success. Our preference is two investigators in two vehicles, but even two investigators in one vehicle improves the success rate of a mobile surveillance (one investigator can focus on driving while the other takes video/photographs, checks directions, stays focused on where the subject’s car is turning, etc.)

Nevertheless, at our agency there are times where one of us ends up doing a solo mobile surveillance. Sometimes by accident. For example, both of us were surveiling a felon a while back. We were in two cars, communicating with each other by walkie talkies. We’d researched the area, knew all the streets, and we prepared to do a two-person mobile surveillance. When the target turned on a side street, I followed, but my husband got caught in a rush-hour traffic jam. Miraculously, I did a one-person mobile surveillance through three counties, all the while tracking the felon, and ultimately tagging the location he ended at (which had been our goal). But I’ll tell you, both of us still shake our heads over that one—we still can’t believe we pulled off a one-car/one-investigator mobile surveillance through three counties. For those of you writing a sleuth story, maybe he/she knows the stakes are against him/her in a lengthy one-person mobile surveillance, but goes for it anyway.

Tips for Conducting a One-Vehicle, One-Investigator Mobile Surveillance

If your fictional sleuth is stuck, such as I was, in a one-vehicle, one-investigator mobile surveillance, think about using some of the following techniques:

  • Have him/her stay in the right lane most of the time. If that’s not possible, use the center lane (that way, your PI can respond to either a right turn or left turn at the last moment).

  • If it’s a night surveillance, have your sleuth disable the dome light. Some real-life PIs put black tape over any miscellaneous interior lights as well (digital clocks, radio dials, etc.).

  • While following, have your sleuth try to keep one car between his/her vehicle and the vehicle being following.

  • Rather than stop directly behind the subject at a red light, see if there is a parking lot your sleuth can pull into until the light changes.

  • If your fictional PI has an associate riding shotgun, besides taking photos, reading maps, etc., that person can also jump out for foot surveillance if necessary.

Tips for Conducting a Two vehicle/Two investigator Mobile Surveillance

Much better odds with two cars, two PIs. Below are some tips for this scenario:

  • If your fictional PI has a good idea where the subject is going, he/she might travel in front of the target’s vehicle (be the lead) while the second PI travels behind the target’s vehicle.Using radios, the lead unit stays fairly close to the subject (no more than three or four cars in front). If the trailing unit sees the subject signal for a turn, he can radio the lead unit in time for it to make the same turn ahead of the subject.

  • Play leapfrog: If the trailing unit gets cut off by a missed light or some other obstacle, he/she can radio the lead unit to drop back and behind the subject. The cut-off unit can then, by following the instructions radioed by the still in-contact unit, cut through side routes and place himself in front of the subject a few blocks down the road.

  • To avoid suspicion: The lead and trailing units swap places while following the subject. First, the lead unit drops back behind the subject and just in front of the trailing unit. The trailing unit then speeds up and places him/herself in front of the subject.

  • Think about using these techniques in your story. Have your PI mull over his/her options, discuss it with his associate. It’ll add plausibility to your characters and your story for them to discuss such tactics, their anticipated success rate, and use such jargon as “rolling” or “mobile” surveillance.

  • And then, when they’re out there on the road, think about your readers and how much they love the prologue to The Spellman Files, or the way Jim Rockford could spin his car on a dime, and throw in some squealing, burning brakes.

Colleen is offering 2 giveaways to 2 names randomly picked from all who comment: 1 “Writing PIs in Novels–Keeping Sleuths Real on the Page” T-shirt (size L, sorry it’s the only size left), and 1 free registration to class of choice from Quick Studies on the Shady Side: Tips and Techniques for Writers Developing Sleuths: http://www.writingprivateinvestigators.com/

Names to be picked on Sunday, July 26! Check back here for winners and information on how to collect your prize if you win!

Colleen Collins (http://www.colleencollins.net/) is a multi-published author and professional PI. She and her husband run a detective agency in Denver, Colorado, and post articles about investigations on their blog Guns, Gams, and Gumshoes (http://writingpis.wordpress.com/). They’re currently teaching a series of classes for writers: “Quick Studies on the Shady Side: Tips and Techniques for Writers Developing Sleuths” at http://www.writingprivateinvestigators.com/

Adjustments

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The new office is finally beginning to feel like some place I’m supposed to be every day – not just a port in the storm.

Readers that have been keeping up with my blog entries know that my new day job office was completed about a month later than promised. As a result my co-workers and I were forced to work from our homes and cars for about thirty days. It was fun for about two.

But that trauma is almost a memory (not really but I’m working on it). We moved in to our new digs on July 1. Movers brought our old furniture and files the next day and we’ve been unpacking boxes ever since, trying to become a functional office once more.

The Xerox machine was a week late. We’ve discovered we can do very little without a copier. Another week and we would have had to hire a scribe.

We’ve got a new telephone system and crib notes on how to operate it. I still don’t know how to forward calls to another extension. I’m doing a lot of shouting, “XXX, pick up on line one!”

Our new furniture arrived last week. Now we have a mix of post WWII grey steel and 2009 extra special wood veneer particle board. Okay, the new stuff is better than that, but I bet the WWII filing cabinets still outlast our new ones.

The office is approximately 1700 square feet with tiny private offices along two sides and one large communal area that we’ve sectioned off with a wall of filing cabinets and bookcases. It’s actually very nice. And the construction is mostly new – only the concrete slab and steel frame was left from the old building.

Tile floor is throughout, except for the small private offices. The builder ran out of time – actually I might have threatened to shorten his life span if he didn’t hurry up – and he had to use carpet in the individual offices. After walking on the tile for a few weeks, I’m glad it’s not all tile – my joints are protesting.

The building we leased for fifteen plus years before our move was in terrible shape. No upgrading or maintenance had been done for most of that time and we had to get out. We were demanding improvements and the landlord didn’t see the need. The old space was a little bit larger and had a store room we miss, but we surely won’t miss the leaky roof, intermittent heating, or rampant rodent infestation. Seriously, last winter we were almost overrun by mice.

Anyway, that’s all in the past. The parking lot here isn’t finished yet, but in another couple of weeks that will be done. I have a glass door in my new office (instead of a window) and I can watch the workmen pouring a new sidewalk within inches of my door. Will be a great place for a pot of flowers or my rock. Yes, I have a rock. A big rock. It was thrown by a blast from a mining company through the roof of a residence. I keep it to remind me, and the mining company, why the mining regulations are so important. At 150 pounds it’s a little big to move around, but it really makes my point at hearings.

I’m glad to be in the new building, thankful the move was paid for before the state’s economy went south. In Oklahoma we’re only now beginning to feel the pinch that other states have been dealing with for awhile. Our agency budget has been slashed for the next twelve months. I think we’ll have to buy our own ink pens and paper this coming year, but we also won’t be fighting off invading hoards of mice – seems like a fair trade to me.

Just have to figure out how we’ll use our new dishwasher-sized printer. We had money for the printer, but not the $700 stand to hold it. I think the vendor really intended them to be sold as a set. But if you don’t have the money, you don’t have the money. State governments – or at least our state government – can’t run up deficits.

Back to the printer, it’s sitting on the floor. We don’t have a spare piece of furniture that is big enough or sturdy enough to hold it. If we plugged it in now, the printed documents would be shooting out across the tile floor and landing under the new conference table. I’ll have to figure something out.

Hey, if the public complains about state workers laying down on the job, you’ll know at least one reason – no printer stands.

Evelyn David

Characters Welcome

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This post borrows a line from the USA network: characters welcome. As you know, our faithful Stiletto Gang readers, I have just returned from a week on the island of Bermuda, a place as close to paradise as you’ll find on this earth. But I laughed as I read Lisa’s post from Friday about the people riding the bus in her neighborhood in San Francisco because people saying things like “I’ve been in hot tubs with judges” happen with regularity in the cities and towns of the United States but not in places like Bermuda, as I’ve determined from several bus rides from my two vacations there. I have been on a total of four buses, all going different places, and have found that everyone rides in complete silence. Not a word is spoken, not a conversation had. Everyone stares at the gorgeous rolling vistas, the ocean, or the floor. Nobody talks about their time in hot tubs with judges, but they do greet their bus driver when they get on and bid him or her a lovely adieu when they leave. Is it the climate? The continual ocean views? Or just a sense of decorum that we’re lacking here in the States? Bermuda is a very civilized place to navigate.

Not so the resort, filled with intense and sometimes your quintessential ugly Americans. To paraphrase a song, “clowns to the left of me, type-A-ers to the right, here I am…” People often ask me where I come up with some of my characters, and dear readers, the answer is: everywhere. Vacation spots are a great place to people watch (the airport, in particular) and observe behavior. Who doesn’t respond when their spouse asks them a question? Who swims by themselves while their significant other tans all day? (I resisted the urge to lecture.) Who starts drinking rum swizzles at noon and doesn’t stop until the dinner bell rings? Who obsessively checks their bar bill and questions the cabana boy about it until the bartender comps at least one drink?

Hubby and I arrived at the resort last week, and after having lunch and two rum drinks consumed in rapid succession (not recommended), headed down to the pool, where we set up camp on two lounge chairs next to the most gorgeous pool I had ever seen, the ocean at our backs, a lovely breeze caressing our exhausted bodies. The only bad part? We obviously had a VERY IMPORTANT PERSON sitting right behind us who had to do business—loudly—on his cell phone, while his wife and friends sat idly by, drinking daiquiris and trying to enjoy their vacation. We were soon joined by a family of four with a young daughter so unhappy with everything having to do with vacation that she set about wailing every two minutes or so to express her displeasure at a) the salt on the French fries served poolside, b) the amount of ice in her drink, c) the tightness or looseness (depending on her mood) of her arm swimmies, or d) all of the above. Her parents dealt with all of this with a general malaise, seemingly used to her meltdowns. Jim sat placidly, trying to block out the squealing, but hoping against hope that I wouldn’t get up and remind the parents that all of us around the pool were on vacation, some of us without our children for the first time in fifteen years. Fortunately, this family only returned intermittently and VERY IMPORTANT PERSON appeared to have checked out the day following our arrival.

VIP and unhappy little girl were replaced by a large, extended family who were attending a destination wedding at the resort. They were fine for the most part: pleasant, amiable, happy to be on vacation. Only problem was that instead of communicating via the poolside telephone with people in their party who were in other parts of the resort, they instead reveled in screaming at each other from pool to the third floor veranda of whichever guests were not at the pool. This got old very quickly.

But I got a ton of stuff for characters in my next book or two because you truly can’t make some of this stuff up. I overheard a conversation among a group of older women (who had brought their seemingly mute husbands with them on vacation) which centered entirely around doctor error and MRI’s. I’ve experienced both but have chosen to wipe them out of my mind, never to speak of either ever again unless I am a) called to the witness stand in a malpractice case or b) need to give someone advice on how to withstand the noise inside of an MRI machine. Their conversation about these two subjects took up the better part of three hours. No one swam, no one stared at the vistas beyond the pool, but everyone had a story about an MRI or a doctor who had killed one of their friends by prescribing the wrong medicine, puncturing their femoral artery with a syringe, or by JUST NOT CARING.

As fellow Stiletto Gang poster and northern half of Evelyn David would say, “OY.” Don’t even get me started on the behavior at the all-you-can-eat (for $25.00 US) breakfast buffet.

But then again, all of this is coming from a woman who sat poolside in what my mother calls her “bathing costume,” which is comprised of wide-brimmed hat, ankle-length swim tights, and a mock turtleneck, long-sleeved pull over (all UV protective). I’m sure people were looking at me thinking, “What the hell is she wearing? And if she can’t go out in the sun, why would she come to Bermuda?”

We met some great couples while we were away, too, all of whom were vacationing without their children and in a state of disbelief that we were in such an amazing, exotic locale. But we all talked about our children at length and then all admitted that we would be back with the kids at some point because we wanted to share this incredible place with them. And that’s how you know that even though they drive you a little crazy, you love them like crazy. And will do everything in your power to keep them away from doctors and MRI machines even if it means that at some point, they, too, will have to wear a bathing costume.

Maggie Barbieri

Hooray, I Get to Stay Home for Awhile!

/in /by

This month’s traveling is finally over and for the next two weeks I’m staying right here at home. Not sure that’s so wonderful though since the temperature hit 108 yesterday and supposed to be the same today.

Last week we were in Santa Maria where everyone was complaining they were having a heat wave when the temperature hit 80. We loved it.

We were there for the Santa Barbara County Fair where we had a table for my books in the Fine Arts Pavilion. (Really, it was the roller skating rink with portable flooring put down over the skating floor). If we’d been out with the displays, paintings and photographs it might have been a great venue–instead they had us behind a Plexiglass wall that was the route to the restrooms. There wasn’t even a sign that pointed out our hideout.

Only a few people ventured back there intent on looking at the photographic entries that hung on the wall behind us. When we were spotted, the people seemed surprised to see us there. Of course when anyone came in I was on my feet, pointing out the fact that I was an author and these were my books.

When no one was around, I took my cards and went into the main room and talked to people and giving out my cards and telling folks about the authors that were waiting to be discovered behind the wall.

I was the only mystery writer. There was a science fiction writer, an author of a how to raise children book, a poetry author, a children’s book author and a children’s book illustrator who worked on illustrations all through the fair.

I only signed up to be there three days from 11 to 4. I know my limits. For one thing, I was the only one up on my feet and talking to people. The others waited far more patiently than I am, for someone to pass by their displays.

I sold the most books–which wasn’t a lot. I sold eight the first day, two the second, and seven the last. Not so great–however I did talk to many people and handed out lots and lots of cards.
Would I go again? Yes, if they found a better place for us to have our tables.

Hubby and I had a good time together–and he read one of my books all the way through while he was there. We ate every meal–breakfast and early supper–at the same restaurant which was near our motel. The food was outstanding and the wait staff wonderful. And the weather was much better than here at home.

Now I can concentrate on my writing for awhile.

Marilyn