Feelin’ Brain Dead

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by Susan McBride

I’ve got two weeks left to finish up THE COUGAR CLUB, and I’m feeling just a tad freaked out. I’ve been trying hard to say “no” more and travel less so I have more time to write, particularly with back-to-back deadlines these past two or three years. But despite the best intentions, I never end up with as much work time as I’d like. Something’s gotta give, and it’s usually sleep. That leads to brain fog, which leads to “oops” moments. Take this morning, for example. I had two hours’ worth of errands to run before the writing could commence, and I realized as I hit the vet’s office to pick up a prescription for a cat that I’d forgotten to enclose a check with a bill I mailed off at the P.O. this morning. Sigh.

For some reason, my tired mind keeps singing, “feelin’ brain dead” to the tune of “feelin’ groovy” from Sesame Street. That’s when you know you’re sleep-deprived. At least it’s stopped thinking of that stupid FreeCreditReport.com song!

Still it’s hard to regret taking time off work to do things like fly to Houston in early April for the Texas Library Association convention (even though I had laryngitis–oy! Can you say “stress much”?). I loved being back in my old hometown, seeing friends, doing a drive-thru of my former neighborhood which is where THE DEBS series is set, taping a TV interview, signing stock at the lovely Blue Willow Bookshop, and doing an event at Murder by the Book. If I sounded like a croaking frog, oh, well. There wasn’t much I could do about it, and everyone was awfully nice though it sure made it hard to schmooze! (Pictured left: Sara Zarr, author of SWEETHEARTS, and Justin Somper, author of the VAMPIRATES series.)

Neither do I regret playing emcee at Lisa Scottoline’s appearance on April 21 at the St. Louis County Library headquarters. I’d never met Lisa before, and she’s terrific. Just a bundle of energy and a hilarious speaker.

And, my gosh, it would’ve killed me to say “no” to the St. Louis Komen for the Cure co-chairs, Dede and Kris, who invited me to be guest speaker at the 11th Annual Survivors Luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton on April 26. As a breast cancer survivor, I felt honored that they’d asked me to share my experience with 800 fellow survivors and their friends and family. My husband, my mom, and my mom-in-law accompanied me, and I ran into several pals and met lots of other amazing women. I’d been warned not to make my speech sad, something I wasn’t sure how to do anyway. I got through the worst of my boobal trauma by relying on my sense of humor. If you can’t laugh through the tears, I don’t know how you make it.

I’d never been so nervous before a talk, however, and I picked at my food during lunch (which was a shame because it was delish!). But once I was up on the stage and the lights were glaring in my face–I mean, those suckers were bright!–the words began to flow and the laughter rang out through the ballroom. By the time I finished, I realized people were on their feet, clapping. It took a minute to grasp the fact that I’d gotten my first standing-O! Wow. I signed books for at least an hour after, and I probably took longer signing than I should have. But I couldn’t help chatting with each woman who approached. It’s astounding the connection between strangers when you share a bond like surviving breast cancer. I felt like I’d been embraced by some of the nicest people in the world. For all the luncheon ladies who said I inspired them, let me tell you, they inspired me, too.

No more outside events until next Friday when I speak at the Young Authors Conference downtown to St. Louis Public School students. No matter the interruptions, I keep telling myself to FOCUS and get THE COUGAR CLUB done by May 15. (I think I can, I think I can!) And if that fails, I remind myself that I finished TOO PRETTY TO DIE and wrote THE DEBS entirely while going through my surgery and radiation therapy in late 2006 and early 2007. Geez, Louise! If I can do that, I can surely complete the last chunk of COUGAR in two weeks, right? Even with a soggy brain.

New Book Mania

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Murder Takes the Cake, the second book in the Sullivan Investigations Mystery series by Evelyn David, has an offical publish date of May, 2009. That’s tomorrow!

Actually it feels like Murder Takes the Cake has already been out for six months – that’s how long we’ve been promoting it. Longer still if you consider we had the concept and title picked out two years ago.

We’ve designed and ordered bookmarks promoting the new book, the series, and The Stiletto Gang. We’ve sent charity promotion baskets featuring our series to Bouchercon 2008, Mayhem in the Midlands, Murder 203, Malice, etc.

We’ve sent out emails and flyers to readers and WorldCat-listed libraries who purchased the first book, Murder Off the Books. We’ve blogged, twittered, myspaced, and facebooked about the book. We’ve called into radio station programs featuring books about animals.

We did a sneak peek sale at the Love Is Murder Convention in February. We’ve sold a few advance, autographed copies through our website – http://www.evelyndavid.com and Amazon has been taking pre-orders. But this weekend at Malice, Murder Takes the Cake will be officially launched.

Now the real work begins.

We have to approach bookstores, libraries, clubs, civic organizations, basically anyone who would like a speaker or workshop for their organization and in turn, will give us an opportunity to promo our books. We’re busy booking events from now until 2010. If you’d like Evelyn David to speak to your group, email us at evelyn@evelyndavid.com

You can see some of our scheduled events listed on the lower right side of this blog. For a full listing check out our website at http://www.evelyndavid.com

My co-author and I love speaking to library groups – nothing like talking to a group of people who love everything about books. We have a listing of all the libraries we’ve visited on our Library Hall of Fame section of our website.

On the Saturday before Mother’s Day, I’m trying something different. I’ll have a small table at Reasor’s Grocery Store in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. From 9 am – 2 pm, I’ll be competing with the “food sample lady” and the “special on aisle 5” for shoppers’ attention. Hey, maybe I could join forces with the “food sample lady!” No, scratch that – I don’t want barbeque stains on my book pages. On the other hand someone might think red stains on a murder mystery was a plus. I’ll have to think about it.

Wish us luck! The new book mania begins.

Evelyn David

Off to Malice

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If you read this blog on a regular basis, you know that I spend an inordinate amount of time in my attic. My office is located up there, a little alcove that is filled with books, manuscripts, and shoes (we’re short on closet space in this almost one hundred year old house). But for the first time in my writing career, I’m heading to Malice Domestic this weekend with the northern half of Evelyn David, my good friend Marian Borden, who has schooled me in the ins and outs of attending the convention. And thank god she did, because I had no idea what to expect.

As she mentioned in Monday’s post, we have both been invited to participate in Malice Go Round, a mystery convention version of speed dating, where we have the opportunity to do a two-minute presentation on our latest books—mine being Quick Study—to groups of fans. I was told by the person chairing the convention that it is nice to do a little giveaway, a bookmark, post card, some candy. Well, suffice it to say that BJ’s needs to restock their candy aisle because I bought more candy than I’ve ever bought during the Halloween season, and still didn’t make my goal of making it last through one hundred bags. I’m on eighty, with a goal of preparing one hundred and fifty. So it’s back to BJ’s this week. I hope they’ve restocked.

Marian and I had a quick lunch to go over the details of the convention. My concern? That I’ve been in the attic so long that I’ve forgotten how to behave in polite society. If your day in the “office” starts at eight and ends somewhere in the vicinity of twelve hours later—after brief interludes of making sandwiches, doing laundry, NOT cleaning the bathroom, and preparing chicken cutlets for the fifth time in a week—and you’re by yourself with only Bonnie, the very emotionally needy Westie, to keep you company and talk to, you’d be nervous, too. I’m guessing that mystery conventioneers don’t respond to the same verbal cues as Bonnie and won’t get all excited if I ask them if they want a treat. I’ve been practicing my convention small talk, and watching myself in the mirror as I introduce myself to someone else. (That hasn’t been going very well. I’m starting to look like someone who needs anti-anxiety medication. When you introduce yourself, I guarantee that your smile shouldn’t include ALL of your teeth. Molars shouldn’t be part of the introduction equation.)

Marian and I are looking forward to the opening night reception (see previous paragraph on small talk, introductions, and smiling) and the banquet on Saturday night, though I am in a dither as to what to wear. If I wait long enough to pack, that will become a non-issue and I’ll just throw something in my suitcase that will have to do. I have a longstanding aversion to packing since my editorial job where I had to travel three months a year. Packing meant leaving and leaving meant not seeing husband and child number one for at least a week, if not longer. I’m trying to think through what I need, but know that I’ll be throwing items in a suitcase on Thursday morning, moments before I’m supposed to leave, confident that there is an underground mall beneath the hotel for anything I’ve forgotten.

I expressed all of the anxiety I was feeling about traveling down to the convention in a recent post. But something recently dawned me: I’ll be in a hotel room, by myself, for three nights. That, in itself, sounds fabulous. And if I do have any anxiety about mixing and mingling, I only have to remember the inimitable words of fellow poster, Marilyn Meredith: “Everyone’s in the same boat. Just smile and start talking.”

I’ll do that. I’ll just have to make sure that I keep my molars to myself.

Maggie Barbieri

My View on The L.A. Times Book Festival

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We got back late Sunday afternoon and I’ve had time to reflect on my two days at the L.A. Times Book Festival.

First, the pluses. It’s mind-boggling. So many people all in one place, and so. The UCLA campus is beautiful, the buildings are old and wonderful. If you love books, there were millions of them. The white tent booths are packed in a large area–book stores, authors, special interest groups, religions of all varieties, ethnic groups, college bookstores (not just UCLA’s), radio stations, food–people selling all sorts of things had booths. There are also many interviews of famous writers and celebrities who have written books, and performances going on in auditoriums and in large tents.

I met so many people and even ran into old friends. I handed out lots of cards and even managed to sell a few books–mainly in the L.A. Chapter of Sisters in Crime booth.

This is my third time attending and I realized that it takes a toll physically. It’s a long, long walk from the parking garage to the area on campus where the festival is held. And it seems even longer if you’re hauling books, even if they are in a rolling conveyance. There are lots of stairs. Lines for the bathrooms were long. There is lots of competition because there are so many authors signing books–many much more well-known than I am. You must work to sell your books–by working I mean really connect with people and be able to describe your book in a quick and succinct manner.

And of course, if you’re from out-of-town you must drive and stay in a hotel. Less expensive ones aren’t in the best parts of town. Also driving in L.A. can be scary and confusing. (I learned to drive in L.A., but so long ago and things have changed so much.)

All in all, though, I had a great time.

Marilyn a.k.a. F.M. Meredith

On the Road and Loving It

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This is a busy week. On Thursday night I’ve been invited to the Burlington County Literacy Volunteers Dinner with an Author , at Braddocks Tavern in Medford, NJ. As a writer, I celebrate those wonderful volunteers who “change lives word by word.” There will be an author at each table, and we’ll have the opportunity to sell our books after the dinner. It’s such a noble cause and if you’re at the dinner, please stop by and say hello.

Immediately after the event, my husband and I will hit the road heading South, stopping somewhere for the night when he gets too tired of driving. I’ve got to be in Arlington, Virginia by 11 am the next morning for the kickoff of Malice Domestic . Along with fellow Stiletto Gang blogger Maggie Barbieri, I’ll be part of Malice-Go-Round, a sort of speed dating for mystery writers and fans. The authors move from table to table, with two minutes to give a short spiel about their book(s). You’ve got to grab the fans’ attention, while summarizing your book without giving away too much of the plot. What I do give away is candy (what goes better with murder and mayhem than chocolate?).

Once Malice-Go-Round is finished, I’ll have plenty of time to schmooze with other Malice-ites, as well as attend the fabulous panels and fun banquet. I’ve created two bountiful baskets for the charity auction, one for Evelyn David and the other for The Stiletto Gang. There’s chocolate, alcohol, and mysteries involved in both – sounds good to me!

Finally on Sunday, at 12:30, I’m on the panel, “I Hear Voices,” moderated by Patti Ruocco (mystery fan and librarian), with authors J.B. Stanley, Kate Carlisle, and Clyde Linsley. I’ll be talking about character development – and learning a lot too! Can’t wait.

If you’re going to be at Malice, please let me know. It would be great to meet and greet!

Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Late Bloomers

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Of course, it’s all relative as to what constitutes a late bloomer. In the garden it can mean late spring, late in the season, or late in the year. Last week millions of people were introduced to the world’s most famous (at least right now) late bloomer – Susan Boyle, she of the viewed 35 million times Youtube/Britain’s Got Talent video. I accounted for four of those views myself, each time blubbering like a baby.

There were lots of reasons the video was such a phenomenon. Yes, she has angelic voice and yes, her appearance might suggest otherwise (although all she really needed was a Tweezerman and a little makeup.) And the television program she appeared on delights in embarrassing people and – for some reason I cannot fathom – people don’t mind making idiots of themselves on a global stage.

I prefer to think the reason for Susan’s success was at that the ripe old age of 47, she clung to her dream long enough to make it come true. And we got to watch. And maybe believe that some of our dreams might still come true. I don’t know anyone so cool (or so cold, really) who didn’t share in her triumph. Why should the precocious get all the attention – those scary little tykes with the oversized lungs who shriek into microphones and hope to be the next (lord help them) Miley Cyrus?

Or maybe I loved the video because I too am a late bloomer. I didn’t even start writing until I was past forty. By that time most successful writers have a few books under their belts, even if they’ve been toiling away in anonymity waiting for their breakout book to happen.

But that does not seem to be the case for mysteries. Hallelujah! Looking over the list of Agatha nominees for Best First Novel, none of us is anyone’s idea of a spring chicken. (I know all of those gals and think I can write that without getting clobbered in Arlington!) When I wrote Pushing Up Daisies, I wasn’t even thinking about publication, I just wanted to finish the darn thing. Then the other stuff came..agent, book deal.. second book deal. And now an Agatha nomination. And it’s all mighty fine. Maybe even sweeter since it’s a second act and there aren’t supposed to be any of those.

The point is, why let the Simon whatever-his-name-is type of person convince you it’s too late to live your dream. Unless, of course, your dream is to play shortstop for the Yankees, swim the English Channel or play guitar like Eric Clapton, in which case, it probably is too late if you’re past forty. But other than that, why not go for it?

Cheers,
Rosemary
http://www.rosemaryharris.com/

Rosemary Harris is the author of the Dirty Business Mystery series from St. Martin’s Minotaur, Pushing Up Daisies, The Big Dirt Nap, and Deadhead (2010.) She’s the president of Sisters in Crime New England, a board member of MWA-NY Chapter, a member of the Garden Writers of America, and a Master Gardener in the state of CT. She’s still over forty.

Plotting in Your Sleep

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The great American author, Edna St. Vincent Millay, once wrote that she couldn’t get the woman onto the porch. What she meant, of course, was that she couldn’t figure out an organically sound reason for the character to do as the plot demanded.

I struggle with this situation all the time. Plotting a mystery is, for me, a combination of architecture and sleight of hand. I lay the foundation, plan the structure, and use language to entice my readers to pay attention to something over here while something else is happening over there, unnoticed. In order for this complex process to flow seamlessly, I need to create characters whose actions mesh with the plot’s development.

It’s hard. If I have a boorish man, for instance, who blusters and creates awkward moments, certainly my readers will focus on him. But if, later, the plot demands that the character finesse something, I’m sunk. A boorish man who blusters would never finesse anything. Reconciling these two needs—a solid, architecturally sound plot and actions driven not by the plot’s needs but by the characters’ personalities is, for me, the most challenging part of writing.

How do I do it? I don’t know. I don’t know why, when I’m mentally outlining the plot, I know that a certain female character is well-dressed and socially savvy. The fact that she is, however, becomes important later in the plot—she hosts a ladies’ luncheon. It’s a good thing she’s that sort of woman because I needed her to host that event—but I didn’t know that the luncheon would occur when I started to write the book—at least not consciously.

I’ve concluded that much of the intricacy of plotting occurs on some unconscious level. For instance, I know that when I need to resolve something, I get the problem clear in my head just before I go to sleep, and when I awaken—I have the answer. Sleeping on it, for me, actually works when I need to figure out how to get the woman onto the porch.

Maybe it’s that my cats sleep on my pillow—sometimes on my head. Here’s Angela, my love bunny, at the foot of the bed.

Jane Cleland

Jane K. Cleland writes the multiple-award nominated and Independent Mystery Booksellers Association best-selling Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery series, set on the rugged New Hampshire coast, [St. Martin’s Minotaur], an Antiques Roadshow for mystery fans. Killer Keepsakes is the fourth in the series. Ms. Cleland chairs the Wolfe Pack’s literary awards and is on the board of the Mystery Writers of America/New York Chapter. “Josie” stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Her apartment (along with her husband and cats) was featured in a recent New York Times Habitat article. www.janecleland.net

Dear Mr. President

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I just read an article in the New York Times that described how, in the White House, it is one person’s job to cull ten letters from the tens of thousands that are received weekly for the President to read. The President reads them, and responds with a handwritten letter of his own to the ten that are chosen. In one, he asked the mother, who had written the letter about her son who was about to be deployed to the Middle East, to thank her son for his service. She was touched that President Obama used her son’s first name in the letter and took time to respond in writing.

According to the article, the President tears up when reading some of these letters. The letters that are chosen are designed to make the President “uncomfortable” with their messages, to show him how hard it is out there to be an American in these daunting economic times. It got me thinking, though: what would I write to the President? What message would I want to send him, if I had the inclination to write him? I feel like he’s on the right track so far, just shy of his first hundred days, and I’m willing to give him a little more time to make all of this work out. But if I were going to write him today—right now—what would I say? Just a little sampling:

1. Dear Mr. President: Could you please make the Department of Motor Vehicles a nicer place to visit and work? Could you please make it so the people that work there aren’t as miserable as human beings can be and happy to assist you with your learner’s permit, your license renewal, or even your picture? Could you please make it so that the camera at the DMV doesn’t make you look like you’ve just spent twenty-five years in the Gulag for a crime you didn’t commit?

2. Dear Mr. President: I’ve noticed that even though the price of gas has dropped considerably since last summer, our groceries, clothing, sundries, and other consumer-based items are still sky high. As a matter of fact, I spent nearly $200.00 on groceries yesterday at the store, and I’m a pretty savvy shopper. Why has gas come down, yet everything else stayed so high? Weren’t we told that the reason we were paying more for everything was due to the price of gas? What gives?

3. Dear Mr. President: Please get our troops out of Iraq. Toute de suite.

4. Dear Mr. President: Please make our waterways safer for Merchant Marines. Pirates? What the heck is up with that? I’ve been warning my kids for years that if they didn’t eat citrus, they would get scurvy, like pirates. They would always remind me that pirates didn’t exist. Suffice it to say that we’ve got a bunch of orange-eaters around here now so I guess something positive has come out of the recent headlines.

5. Dear Mr. President: Please thank your wife for planting that vegetable garden on the grounds of the White House and for making healthy eating an initiative. We’ve got too many overweight children, too many fast-food alternatives for people who don’t know the joys of fresh food, and too many children with food and weight-related illnesses in this country that could be managed by diet. Thank her for thinking of our children and making them a priority.

6. Dear Mr. President: Please make our environment a priority. Please find alternative fuel sources for our gas-guzzling society to use instead of fossil fuels. Please find someone for your staff—anyone—who can make clean air, clean water, and conservation a top priority and make Americans believe that that’s the only way to go if we’re going to live long, healthy lives.

7. And last but not least…Dear Mr. President: Can you please find out why my tax return has been delayed?

P.S. And, of course, “Why didn’t you get a Westie?”

Maggie Barbieri

One of My Favorite Jobs

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Over the years I’ve had lots of jobs, some of them great, some not so great.

I started babysitting when I was 10 and continued on through high school, I did housework for neighbors, cared for the bedridden, worked in an auto parts store, took inventory in a department store all before I was 18.

After I was married, hubby was in the Navy and I went home to live with my parents while he had tours of duty out of the country. During this time I worked in the office for the telephone company and then became an information operator. This was in L.A. That office was fairly modern since the Information calls came in through a headset and all you had to do was look up the number in several phone books, or on charts with the most frequent called numbers. (Remember, this was a long, long time ago.)

When hubby and I moved to Oxnard, I went to work for General Telephone. That office was a bit more backward as you had to use a switch board to get the calls. I also had to learn how to be a long-distance operator, a bit more complicated than finding phone numbers for people. At this office we were told if we knew the answer to any question, we could give it. People called and asked what the weather was like, and I’d look out the window and tell them what I saw. If they asked how to cook Chili I told them.

Long distance was more fun. We sat at a long switchboard and took the calls as they came in. There were a lot of movie stars living in nearby Thousand Oaks and we took care of all their long distance calls. I must confess that we listened in to a lot of them. Guess what, their conversations were about as exciting as any of ours.

I worked at that telephone office between babies. Hubby would come home from war–or wherever he happened to be–I’d get pregnant, work until they wouldn’t let me anymore, have the baby, stay home with the kids. I’d go back to work, Hubby would leave for a tour of duty, come back home, I’d get pregnant and so on.

Fifth baby, we broke the cycle. Hubby retired from the Seabees and I got a different job.

I was reminded of all this when I visited our little museum. One of the women who helps with the museum and has lived in Springville her entire life, used to work on the first switchboard when she was a kid–because it was in her house. She and her mother were the operators. That switchboard is now one of the exhibits in the museum.

Marilyn
a.k.a. F. M. Meredith

A Teacher Affects Eternity*

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Carolyn Rosenberg was my first grade teacher. What do I remember? She was pleasingly plump, white haired, and at least 120 years old. Of course, in retrospect, she was probably still in her 50s, if that.

The rest is a pleasant blur. While I don’t remember any specific lessons, I’m fairly certain that she taught me to read. But what I recall with vivid clarity is that I felt safe. Mrs. Rosenberg made school a haven. In her classroom, nobody’s feelings ever got hurt; you never felt foolish, stupid, or silly. I loved being in her class. By the time I became a mother, I hoped that each of my kids would find a Mrs. Rosenberg in their school careers.

Our local school board just announced teacher layoffs – including several who have tenure. It’s yet another reflection that times are still tough (despite the glimmers of hope that are being touted). I shouldn’t be surprised, but of course, I am. Good teachers are the key to society’s future. They can be transformative. I still remember Miss Thompson, my eighth grade English teacher. She made me believe that I could be a writer. Her encouragement set me on a career path that may not always have been lucrative, but has always been fulfilling.

John F. Kennedy once said: Modern cynics and skeptics… see no harm in paying those to whom they entrust the minds of their children a smaller wage than is paid to those to whom they entrust the care of their plumbing.

Ain’t it the truth.

I’m the daughter of one of those great teachers. My mother taught high school business classes, and then switched to teaching adult education. Her work continued outside the classroom. She taught more than technical skills. She worked tirelessly to place each of her students and the rewards were more than a paycheck – for them and for her. She was building character and confidence. As Mastercard would tell you: Priceless.

I know that layoffs of teachers is probably inevitable. It’s heartbreaking when they are good teachers. On the other hand, I can name a few teachers who should have been laid off years ago — even if the economy were booming.

Please share your memories of teachers who made a difference in your life.

Evelyn David

*This quote is from educator Henry Brooks Adams, who was also a member of the political Adams family