The Road to Love Is Murder – Part III

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I’m writing this blog on Sunday morning. Thursday morning when this blog posts, I’ll be halfway to Chicago and the Love Is Murder conference. (I hope.) I’ll be updating this blog entry Thursday night after I arrive at the hotel. Be sure to check back through the weekend for the latest highlights and low-lights of my trip!

Wish me luck. I can’t wait to get my hands on copies of Murder Takes the Cake and Missing. They both debut at the conference.

If you want autographed copies of either, just send us an email at evelyn@evelyndavid.com

Copies of Murder Takes the Cake are very limited until May, so first come, first served!

****Update! 3:00 PM Central

I’m here!!! Chicago is cold but this is the first time I’ve been here that the skies have been clear.

Saw Rosemary Harris as I was checking into the hotel. She’s hosting a hospitality room at the conference and promoting her new book – The Big Dirt Nap.

My first order of business is to find a late lunch somewhere and then find where the book room is located. My publisher, Karen Syed of Echelon Press, is reported to be in the building somewhere. Can’t wait to find her and get my hands on Murder Takes the Cake and Missing.

More later.

Evelyn David
www.evelyndavid.com

To Blackberry or Not…

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I had an appointment in the New York City yesterday that would require me to spend several hours in a waiting room, followed by several more hours in another waiting room. The night before, faced with this prospect (and the one and half hours that I’d be spending on the train into and out of New York City) and thinking about other “wasted” times spent sitting around, I started to wonder: is it time to get a Blackberry?

As you all know, I work from home. Technically, although I do work for other people on a freelance basis, I work for myself. Should time spent sitting in a waiting room be productive, or should this be the time I catch up on my reading, make new friends (people in waiting rooms tend to want to talk to other people in the waiting room), or just meditate? I haven’t decided. But the pull toward the personal data assistant or whatever PDA stands for, is getting greater, and I turn to you, oh venerated Stiletto Gang readers for advice.

My sister, who works for a company who offers these devices and calling plans, said, “They’re great. But you are married to them then.” Another friend couldn’t live without hers. Would I become a slave to the PDA or forget I even had it? Do I really need to check my email every few minutes throughout the day, regardless of where I am? I’m undecided.

I returned from New York City yesterday to more than forty emails. Those of you in the corporate world are probably laughing, thinking to yourselves, “Forty? That’s bush league, sister. Try coming back to two hundred!” But in my world, forty is a lot. Especially since all of them include information that is necessary and meaningful. You in corporate America get at least twenty responses that say “I’ll be there” to the email that circulated about some meeting taking place Friday morning at ten. Those, my friends, do not count in your overall total. Would it have been better for me to sit in the waiting room and respond to at least twenty of those emails? Or does it not matter? Should my clients have to wait until I return or should I be available to them twenty four/seven? I leave these weighty questions in your hands.

I know that the Southern half of Evelyn David has a Blackberry, so I’m hoping she weighs in with the plusses and minuses of PDA ownership. I do know that I will have to invest in the device that has the largest key pad because even though I do not possess overly-large hands, I can’t imagine that I’ll be able to write messages with any kind of ease unless the keys on the keypad approach the size of those on my laptop. I know the keys are larger than those of my cell phone, but exactly how large do they need to be? All I know is that it took me ten minutes to text my daughter these two words, “not sure,” in response to her message to me, “What time will you be home?” I do not have that kind of time, people. And if you need an immediate answer from me on an important issue, do not—I repeat, do not—text me. It will be hours before I’m able to type a comprehensible reply.

I await your wise counsel. To Blackberry or not—that is the question.

Maggie Barbieri

And the Promo Begins

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Sometimes I wonder why I do all this. All what? you ask.

Submerging myself in an imaginary world, writing about it, going back over to eliminate inconsistencies, because if I don’t find them, someone will. Checking the galley proofs for mistakes and no matter how careful I am, gremlins seem to be at work and sneak them in. And once it’s actually available, then the promoting.

Of course this all takes lots of time that you can’t be doing normal things like hanging out with the family (though I try to involve them as much as possible–just ask my hubby), doing housework, cooking, visiting with friends.

I don’t actually have a book in hand, but they are on the way, and I know it’s being advertised on Amazon–though when I looked the cover wasn’t up yet.

I’ve still got to plan and advertise my launch party, put together some promo materials, do some posting here and there, but I do have quite a few speaking engagements set up already. I’ll be attending four conferences, only flying to one, the others are close enough to drive. As you’ve heard from Evelyn, conferences are fun. I’ve met lots of wonderful people at conferences, Evelyn and Susan for example.

More things to do, so onward I go.

Marilyn
aka F. M. Meredith

Corporate Crooks and Idiots

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John Thain is an idiot. Forget the fact that on his watch, Merrill Lynch lost $15 billion in three months. I don’t need an MBA from Harvard to know that he didn’t have a firm grasp of that bronco. No, I’d think he was an idiot even if he’d manage to save the company from ruin because really, in what universe, does anyone pay $35,114 for a toilet? Frankly, just how much time was he planning to spend sitting on the throne? And I’m guessing that even two-ply Charmin doesn’t make the cut for toilet paper in Thain’s powder room.

Okay, okay, it wasn’t really a toilet. His commode on legs is really an antique chest of drawers that was originally designed to hold a chamber pot, but is now considered decorative. Think I could put my old American Standard toilet in the living room and call it art?

How tone deaf, crass, and craven do you have to be to justify spending $1.2 million dollars to re-do your office – even in the best economy? Did it make him work more efficiently? Did it make him turn around a failing company? Um, that would be a “no.” In an interview, he stumbled and stammered his justification about how he just didn’t like the décor of the previous tenant. I assume it offended his delicate sensibilities.

But to give him his due, Thain decided to spread the wealth around – to a chosen few. Right before the merger with Bank of America, but after he’d accepted Federal bailout money, he distributed $4 billion in bonuses to his top echelon. Nevermind that in the same breath, he issued pink slips to the minions at the bottom.

I know that John Thain isn’t the devil incarnate, although tell that to those who have lost their jobs and pensions. But he does represent a culture of entitlement found all too often in the boardrooms of our nation’s failing companies. That “me first” behavior that we insist is unacceptable from preschoolers has somehow become tolerable if you’ve got a seven figure income. These guys have lost touch with the reality facing most of us. So Mr. Thain agreed to pay back the $1.2 million in decorating fees. Big deal, big fat deal. If he had no idea that $87,000 for a rug and $18,000 for a desk are ridiculous expenditures, then this guy shouldn’t be treasurer of the PTA, let alone CEO of a company.

Word of advice to all companies taking Federal bailout money: spend money as if it were coming out of your poor grandmother’s pocketbook…because it is. And if Grandma won’t yell at you for being a wastrel – I sure will.

Evelyn David

Confession of a True Crime Writer

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Phyllis Gobbell, co-author of An Unfinished Canvas (Berkley, 2007), is Assistant Professor of English at Nashville State Community College. She received the Tennessee Arts Commission Individual Artist Literary Award in 2006, and her portfolio is featured on Southern Artistry: www.southernartistry.org/Phyllis_Gobbell. Her new website will be up and running in a few weeks at http://www.phyllisgobbell.com/

I didn’t set out to write true crime. It seems I’ve written everything but true crime, as I examine my manuscripts on file:

· A multi-generational saga that fills a banker’s box. The word count is probably 500,000, but I’d have to count the words manually. I wrote it using an old Word Perfect program, on 5-inch floppies from the era of Magnum, P.I., so the chances of resurrecting my epic novel are next to zero.

· A “literary” novel, revised five times in fifteen years, pitched by four agents. It came so, so close, but . . . . Can you believe I’m writing a sequel?

· Another “literary” novel that is not as good – but I’m not ready to shred it.

· A collection of short stories, to which I add periodically. Actually, several of these have been published.

· A mystery. A woman traveling in Provence, an architect (I was married to one); a lovely little village; art theft, car chases through narrow, twisting streets; murder, romance – you get the drift. I thought my heroine would travel the world over, solving mysteries. I almost had a publisher for this one, too – but the small press folded.

· A collection of creative nonfiction pieces. The death of my mother, brother, and sister in a short period of time triggered these intensely personal writings, and in some ways, creative nonfiction has been the most successful for me. But I can do only so much of this.

· A collection of poetry written during the time my brother was dying. Some of the poems have been published individually, but I doubt this collection will ever go anywhere beyond the chapbooks I made for family members, and that’s OK.

· A children’s book about seatbelt safety, published when I had small children. (Those children now have babies of their own.)

· Two books from the same time period, published by a religious publisher.

Do you think I have a problem with focus?

Back to true crime and how An Unfinished Canvas came to be written.

Two high-profile cold cases in Nashville were finally solved. The first involved the mysterious 1996 disappearance of Janet March, young mother and artist, married to a prominent lawyer, Perry March. Everyone believed Perry killed her, but there was no body, no sign of murder. Perry moved to Mexico and started a new life. Nine years after Janet’s disappearance, Perry was deported from Mexico and indicted for murder. After he went to jail, the plot took more twists and turns than a fiction writer could ever make up.

Another writer and I decided to put out feelers because we knew somebody would write about this fascinating case. We sent queries to three agents who immediately asked for more, so we wrote a book proposal. As we waited for responses, 48 Hours did an episode on the March case. Next day, we received a call. The agent had seen the show. I can imagine her digging our proposal from the bottom of a stack taller than I am. Timing isn’t everything, but it’s a lot. CNN and Court TV televised the trial, and we had a book deal shortly. My co-writer and I wrote our first true crime.

And about that second high-profile cold case – I’m working on it.

I might say the story chooses what it wants to be. There’s some truth there. But it’s probably more truthful to say I’m still trying to decide what kind of writer I want to be when I grow up.

Phyllis Gobbell

The Road to Love Is Murder – Part II

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A week from now I’ll be on the road to Chicago to the Love is Murder conference. It will probably be the second day of my drive – since I just can’t seem to make myself drive more than 6 or 7 hours in one stretch. Also weather will play into my travel plans. Snow and ice will move the start of my journey up a day.

For the past week I’ve been sorting through my promo items and figuring out clothes for the trip. I always pack too much and then I have to cart it all into the hotel with me. I found the Rosemont Hotel (where the conference was held the last few years) very warm even if the outside temps were subzero. My wool suit jackets were uncomfortable, but this year the conference has moved to a different hotel. Maybe I can wear the wool. Decisions … Decisions.

This week’s blogs on the Stiletto Gang have been about procrastination in one form or another. I’m good at procrastination too. I’ve got a half-dozen things I need to get done before I leave and instead I’m watching NetFlix movies. (The last season of Foyle’s War is now available).

Back to procrastination – when I really don’t want to do something I make a list about all the things I need to do. Somehow making the list makes me feel less guilty for not actually doing anything. I’m a good list maker. The first thing on my current list is to make a list for things I need to pack for Love is Murder.

I’m lucky enough to be on a Saturday panel about team writing. So on my to-do list I need to add “be sure and pack materials for the panel”: a copy of each of my books for display, as well as bookmarks and any give-away items I’m going to pass out to the panel audience. Usually three panels are running at any one time at Love is Murder, so you never know how large a crowd you’ll have – depends on the competition. For instance if John Grisham was appearing on a panel next door at the same time – even I would have a hard time listening to me!

I love mystery panels. Before (during and after) I was an author I was a reader. A big reader. I still get a thrill listening to some of my favorite authors speak – put Charlaine Harris and Nancy Pickard on the same panel and I’ll be in the front row every time. They’re fabulous writers, but also lots of fun to listen to. I met a new author, Rosemary Harris, last year at the conference. She’s a lovely person and I’m looking forward to seeing her again. She’s sponsoring a hospitality room this year to promote her new book, The Big Dirt Nap. Sounds like a gritty mystery, doesn’t it? I’m joking. Last year Rosemary gave me a pack of Daisy seeds as a promotion for her debut book, Pushing Up Daisies. Do you think this year she’ll … Just kidding, Rosemary. Anyway, I’ll be picking up a copy of her new book while I’m there.

That’s the other wonderful thing about attending conferences – besides meeting authors, you can find their latest books. Love is Murder has a book room and booksellers set up their wares on tables. Since I’m driving, I don’t have to worry about weighing down my suitcases with too many books and getting penalized by the airlines. Last year I came home with all of Charlaine Harris’s vampire series and her psychic series. I also purchased books by Luisa Buehler, Craig Johnson, and Margaret Maron.

Did I mention that Evelyn David will have two new books at Love Is Murder this year? We have a short story, Riley Come Home, in the Echelon anthology, Missing. We also are giving conference attendees an opportunity to purchase an advance copy of Murder Takes the Cake, the sequel to Murder Off the Books. Murder Takes the Cake’s official publication date is May 2009, but Echelon did a special printing just for Love Is Murder.

If you’re at the conference, hunt me down and I’ll sign a copy for you. I’ve also got some plastic “wedding ducks” to give away to buyers of the first twenty copies of Murder Takes the Cake. Hey, wedding ducks, that’s not something you see everyday!

Note to self: Add gaggle of ducks to list of things to pack.

More next week from the road!

Evelyn David

In the Kingdom of Procrastinators

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It seems like procrastination is the theme of the week. Let me share some of my time-wasting secrets and tricks to avoid writing.

1. Cleaning: This is a good one because it makes you feel virtuous while you are clearly procrastinating. The minute writer’s block hits, I decide that it’s time to strip all of the beds, put all of the fancy attachments on the vacuum, and get out the Swiffer. Everyone in my family usually knows when Mom has writer’s block or is just plain old wasting time: the house is immaculate.

2. Check out the blogs: I start my morning by reading my favorite blogs, starting with the Stiletto Gang, except for Wednesday, obviously. This usually takes a solid twenty minutes. After all, where would I find out about the television shows that I missed the night before? Or what 684 commenters said about said shows? After I’m done checking out the blogs, I go to the New York Times web site to find out where the international markets closed. (I have no money, know nothing about money, yet find the ups and downs of both the domestic and international stock market fascinating. Go figure.)

3. Hang around on Facebook: This can waste, collectively, a good four to five hours a day, depending upon how serious I am about procrastinating. If I’m really in the mood, I even respond to those requests to post “25 Things Nobody Knows About You.” I’m an open book; if my friends don’t already know everything about me, I’d be surprised. Yet, here I go, listing things like “doesn’t like onions,” “thought Barry Manilow was sexy and her future husband when she was twelve,” “sings in the car.” Stuff like that. I figure I owe it to the other procrastinators out there to post interesting tidbits like this. How would they procrastinate otherwise?

4. Call Annie, Ceil, Carrie, Tina, and/or my mother and any other combination of friends and relatives: Most of them have caller ID. A lot of the time, they don’t answer the phone. Clearly, they are not procrastinators.

5. Look at shoes online: Doesn’t matter where…Zappos is a favorite, however. They have probably a million different pairs of shoes on their site, plus free shipping and returns. I can spend hours looking at different types of mules, sling backs, or pumps. Let’s not remember that I don’t cause or occasion to wear anything but sneakers and clogs. But having a website that you can peruse for hours that only has shoes is a godsend. Especially to a champion procrastinator.

6. Surf the web: Where else would I have learned that the remains of Gene Roddenberry (creator of “Star Trek”) and his wife were going to be shipped into outer space? Or that New Mexico has toughened its collection on used car sales? Or that David Beckham’s soccer team is negotiating to keep him? Next time you’re at a cocktail party and drop one of these juicy nuggets of information into the conversation, you can thank me and my endless procrastinating.

These are just a few of my techniques. Thanks to the tough love of my friend and fellow Stiletto gal, Susan McBride, I no longer a) check my book’s “number” on Amazon; b) Google myself; c) read reviews of my books online. But I’ve found other ways to waste time that are just as fulfilling.

What do you do to avoid the task of writing or anything else, for that matter? Procrastinating minds want to know…

Maggie Barbieri

The Muse was there, So was everyone Else!

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I’ve been working on my next Rocky Bluff P.D. crime novel (still bordering on cozy since I don’t use bad words or have graphic sex scenes) and I’ve been struggling.

I know how it’s going to end, and some of what it’s going to take to get there, but it wasn’t jelling.
Everyone was going to be away on Saturday (we not only have a grown grandson living with us, but my son, wife, granddaughter and her girlfriend live right next door and they all use my computer to access the Internet) and I thought it would be a perfect day to write.

Started out wonderfully. I wrote about two scenes while getting some great ideas for others.

The phone rang. It was my daughter who lives nearby wanting me to order something for her on the Net. (We’re in a lousy area for Internet access. I’ve got a little satellite dish on my roof from my computer company that brings the Internet in.) She came over and I took care of her order. She’s the mom of the new grandchild and we talked awhile about the baby.

She left and I did some more writing. Got another call from a friend who wanted to tell me all about the cruise he went on with his parents, his mom is 70 plus like me, and his big news was she was the first to go on a zip line through the jungle. (Believe me, that’s something I’ll never do.)

He hung up, back to the computer. Another good friend and loyal fan who wanted to sell me tickets to the annual chamber of commerce banquet wanted to stop by. I had a book she loaned me and one to loan her, so I agreed. She came, we visited.

By that time, I’d given up on the writing.

I’d like to say I’m going to get with it tomorrow, but I probably won’t because I got a new mini laptop with wireless access to take with me on trips and I’m going to take it down to my computer place to have them get it set up with the Internet.

I had a friend email me and tell me she’d gotten up at 4 a.m. to start writing. Maybe I’ll do that–or maybe I won’t. Since I’ve been retired it’s awfully nice to stay in bed until I wake up–which is usually about 6:15.

All my notes for the book are stacked beside my computer–I know the muse will get back to me.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Procrastination, Thy Name is Evelyn

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Let me rephrase that: thy name is the Northern half of Evelyn David.

I’m what is politely known as “between assignments” – or more bluntly, unemployed.

Last week I handed in the manuscript for my latest nonfiction project, The Everything Baby’s First Year Book. It will be published later this year. Loved the topic. There is a sweetness about even the virtual smell of a newborn – and it’s a lot easier to write about colic than to live through it. If anyone, however, doesn’t think I paid my dues, let me introduce exhibits A, B, and C – my sons, with whom I walked hundreds of miles in my living room as I desperately sought to comfort them during the colic era.

But, anyway, I should have, while hip deep in research on baby topics, also been immersed in a dozen other subjects so that I had book proposals for consideration already in the hands of editors. Ideally, there would have been a seamless handoff from one project to the next. Instead, I am breathlessly awaiting the greenlight on some fun book ideas – keep your fingers and toes crossed.

I do have several mystery projects already underway with the Southern half of Evelyn David. One is a short story that has a paranormal element and when it is not scaring the you know what out of me – I’m having the time of my life integrating ghosts and whodunits.

Or at least, I’m having fun thinking about a ghost with a serious cat allergy – but writing it, not so much. Instead, for every three sentences that I manage to eke out, I either do laundry, search for chicken recipes, or most brainless of all, play Spider Solitaire, which is my new online addiction.

I know writers who have removed all computer games from their hard drives; others who refuse to answer e-mail, talk on the phone, or go out to lunch until they’ve turned in their manuscripts. Of course, I also know people who can be offered a brownie and firmly turn it down – a concept that is absolutely foreign to my way of thinking.

But I think what I’m saying is that I lack self-discipline. In my defense, I’ve never missed a deadline and I’ve written 12 books, countless articles, and now, a weekly blog. But I need to find something to jumpstart me back into the fiction writing habit. The Southern half is threatening to send me an e-mail virus that destroys only computer games – and I’m half-tempted to encourage her to do so.

But before I delete Spider Solitaire from my computer – what’s the best score you’ve ever gotten – and are there any tricks to winning?

Shhhh – don’t tell anyone that I asked!

Evelyn David

Excuse My Manners (or Lack Thereof)

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by Susan McBride

I don’t claim to be an expert on etiquette. Everyone in my family has probably caught me talking with my mouth full once too often (although I try not to, really!). My Midwestern mother worked hard to instill a sense of etiquette in me, and I can still quote the infamous ditty about “Mabel.” If you’re unfamiliar, it goes like this: “Mabel, Mabel, if you’re able, get your elbows off the table.” I can’t imagine asking for anyone to pass the pepper without prefacing the request with a “please.” No, I was never sent for lessons in How to Use the Proper Fork like my debutantes in THE DEBS, or even to Little Miss Manners classes like Andy Kendricks, the debutante dropout in my mysteries. But I do know that one’s bread dish should be placed on the left and one’s drink on the right (something I remember by making a “b” and a “d” with the thumbs and fingers of each hand, a trick learned long ago).

I realize that everything I need to know about etiquette I learned in kindergarten, or at least by grade school. The basics my mother taught me way back when still seem to apply pretty well to almost everything I do, like these golden oldies:

**Don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve (er, unless you can’t find a Kleenex and the hem of the tablecloth won’t reach that high).
**Don’t blow your nose in public (particularly if you honk like an elephant).
**Don’t put peas up your nose (hmm, I’m noticing a recurrent “nose” theme).
**Don’t swallow your gum, or it takes seven years to digest (I believe Wrigley’s did a study on this using the Doublemint Twins as guinea pigs, God rest their twisted intestines).
**Always wear clean underwear, because you never know when you may be in an accident (hence, my request for Victoria’s Secret gift cards last Christmas).
**Don’t run with scissors (though it did work for Augustine Burroughs, didn’t it?).
**Never sit with your knees apart (someone should tell Britney Spears about that one).

For the most part, these are excellent rules, and I break them only in extreme cases (say, if I can’t find a Kleenex). As a published author of 10 years who tries to be as well-mannered as possible, I’ve developed my own set of “Road Rules” for promoting books which I’m happy to share. Granted, I’m no Letitia Baldridge or Emily Post. More like Marge Simpson (whose directness I admire). If my pearls of wisdom seem obvious–or odd–well, it was late when I wrote this and my nightly cocktail of chamomile tea and Benadryl had already started to kick in, so cut me some slack.

**Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I don’t know how often the Man Upstairs (or Goddess Upstairs) showers, but I’ll bet it’s everyday, and almost certainly before a book signing. I can’t guarantee that smelling like Irish Spring will draw the buying hordes, but it makes a far better impression than reeking like unwashed gym socks.

*Be polite to fellow airport dwellers during travel delays. I figure it’s okay to talk to these strangers, as the people at your gate have already been prescreened to some extent. If they’re allowed to fly, you know they’re not on the terrorist watch list, and they’re not packing lighters, bottles with more than 3 ounces of fluid, or other weapons of mass destruction in their carry-on bags. And you never know whose conversation will become fodder for your writing some day. A layover in the Columbia, SC, airport years ago allowed me time to chat with an author from Mississippi who happened to be on her town’s debutante selection committee. Without her, I never would have heard the terms “debu-tank” and “debu-trash,” which I promptly stole for my DEBS series about Houston debutantes. See what I mean!

**Never rearrange a bookseller’s display to more prominently showcase your titles, unless you’ve got Nate the Decorator from “Oprah” with you and he’s re-doing the space on Ms. Winfrey’s dime. I know, I know…word on the street is that turning your covers face-out at every opportunity is mandatory. But it’s more polite to approach the bookseller and offer to sign any available stock (upon which “autographed” stickers will promptly be slapped), practically guaranteeing that your books will be turned cover-out or even moved to more expensive real estate, like an end-cap. Think about it: when booksellers visit your home, they aren’t allowed to rearrange your furniture. So fair’s fair.

**Always say “thank you” any time that people have gone out of their way to help you. If you don’t like writing notes on monogrammed stationery then a gracious email will suffice. Like my great aunt Gertrude always said, “A thank you is worth a thousand peas up your nose, so long as your legs are crossed and you’re wearing clean underwear.” That Gertie was a wise woman.

P.S. Thanks again to the fabulous ladies of the Stiletto Gang for inviting me to join their ranks. I look forward to posting the first Friday of the month from now on. And I promise to be on my best behavior or you can tattle to my mother.