Booksignings and Other Stuff

/in /by

Frankly, I thought I’d already done a post for today but couldn’t find it. So here I go.

We just returned home from a weekend trip to Vegas to celebrate our 57th wedding anniversary. Yep, 57 years together–can you imagine? Frankly, I lived it and I can’t.

No, we didn’t go to a show or hit the casinos. We went to my sister’s, she and her hubby took us out to a nice dinner. Afterwards we watched the latest Indiana Jones movie on TV and screamed out in all the exciting parts like we used to when we were kids. We spent the whole weekend with them and did a lot of reminiscing, watched home movies of when we were little, and ate a lot of good meals.

Sis and her hubby along with mine, accompanied me to a book signing at Cheesecake and Crime in Henderson. Though we didn’t have a lot of people, the quality was great. Two of my cop friends from the Public Safety Writers Association came along with one of the wives, who is a fan of my Tempe series and the president of Epic came. These are two writers groups that I’m very active with. We had a great time talking writing and just talking. Oh, and I did sell a couple of books. And yes, I bought some cheesecake for our dessert that night.

While we were driving to Vegas I read David Morrell’s book, Lessons from a Lifetime of Writing, one of the best books I’ve read on the craft of writing.

We also had some white knuckle driving excitement. We took one of our grown grandsons with us who had never been to Vegas to a friend’s for the weekend. (He did do all the things people usually do when visiting Vegas.) This friend lives right off the strip which meant we had to drive in all that traffic to both drop him off and pick him up. Thank goodness for our Magellan or we’d never have made it. The offramp we were supposed to get off on was closed–and people in Vegas are dare devil drivers.

We managed to get there and back unscathed–but it was pretty scary at times. Scarier than ghosts and haunted houses.

That’s it–I’m going to watch Dancing with the Stars and go to bed!

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

The Glory of Grandparents

/in /by

“Guess what? We had Coke and biscuits for breakfast.”

Charlie, my firstborn, was eight. His birthday present from my mother was an airplane trip with her to Smithfield, North Carolina, the small town where her brother lived. The breakfast menu, as astonished Charlie reported to his younger, envious brothers, had been approved by the same woman who had insisted on at least two vegetables at every meal when I was growing up. Years later, Charlie still talks about the magic of that trip, how special and grown up he felt, and how much fun he had with his Grandma.

I thought about that journey last week when Barack Obama left the campaign trail to visit Toot, his grandmother, Madelyn Dunham. He mentioned Mrs. Dunham several times during the campaign, but most poignantly during his nomination acceptance speech in August. “Thank you to my grandmother, who helped raise me and is sitting in Hawaii somewhere right now because she can’t travel, but who poured everything she had into me and who helped me become the man I am today. Tonight is for her.”

None of my grandparents were alive by the time I was born. Three of the four were immigrants and I always wished I’d had the opportunity to talk to them about their experiences coming to this country, leaving behind everything and everyone they had known. The heroism of their decisions is still staggering to me. As a creature of habit, I often have self-doubt that I would have had the courage to leave my parents and family at a young age, in full knowledge that I would never see them again. But of course, their bravery made my life possible.

Barack Obama credits his grandparents for raising him for much of his childhood. His experience is not unique. According to a joint study of the American Association of Retired Persons (AARP), the Brookdale Foundation Group, Casey Family Programs, Child Welfare League of America, Children’s Defense Fund, and Generations United, “more than six million children – approximately 1 in 12 – are living in households headed by grandparents (4.5 million children) or other relatives (1.5 million children). In many of these homes, grandparents (approximately 2.4 million) and other relatives are taking on primary responsibility for the children’s needs.” It’s a growing problem.

Unconditional love and acceptance is the hallmark of parenting, but most especially of grandparenting. We owe a debt of gratitude to those who assume parenting responsibilities at a time when retirement looms. But to all grandparents, whose love and laughter enrich our children’s lives, we are eternally grateful.

The Hebrew expression, L’dor va Dor, means from one generation to the next. It refers to the generational continuity of traditions and knowledge, just like Madelyn Dunham passed on her values and work ethic to Barack Obama. This is what grandparents have to offer to our children. And for that, we say, Amen.

Please share a favorite story of your own grandparents.

Evelyn David

Writing Like a Woman

/in /by

Readers sometimes ask me why I write from a woman’s point of view, the assumption apparently being that it’s an odd choice. To me it’s not odd at all. I grew up on a farm in Mississippi, an only child, with a mother who had four sisters and a father who had two. My paternal grandmother had a sister, and my paternal grandfather had three sisters. Then there are the in-laws… I spent a lot of time in my youth in the presence of these women. Usually I was in the corner reading a book, pretending not to be listening to what they were discussing. I learned a lot that way – particularly about the ways in which women interact with one another, what they talk about, and what is important to them.

When Wanda Nell Culpepper first introduced herself to me, I already knew her well. She’s very much like my late mother – stubborn, feisty, hard-working, loyal to family and friends. And she has a temper. Wanda Nell earns her living as a waitress in a small café, the Kountry Kitchen, and she has another job during the night-time hours at Budget Mart. She has a family to take care of, and since her shiftless ex-husband, Bobby Ray, got murdered in the first book in the series, Flamingo Fatale, she doesn’t expect help from anyone else.

Writing about Wanda Nell, her family and friends, and the small town in Mississippi where she lives is like coming home for me. I grew up with these people, they’re my family, and I never have to stop to ask myself, what would Wanda Nell do in this situation? I just know. I know what my mother and her sisters or my dad’s sisters would do in a situation, or what my grandmothers or my great-aunts would do. You stick by your family, even when they’re dumber than a clod of dirt, and you help anyone who needs it. Those have been the themes of each book in the Trailer Park series. In the fifth book, Leftover Dead, due out in January 2009, Wanda Nell gets the chance to solve a thirty-one-year-old murder and achieve justice for a nameless young woman. I think my mother and all the aunts would approve.

Jimmie Ruth Evans

Got Health?

/in /by

I would have voted for him even had I known he was in a wheelchair. But when deciding whether to return FDR to the White House for an unprecedented fourth term, would I have wanted to know that he had high blood pressure, long-term heart disease, and was likely, according to a doctor at the time, to “die of a cerebral hemorrhage within six months” of his election? Of course.

The Party elders, understanding that Roosevelt was sick (but not sharing that information with the public) insisted that he replace Vice President Henry Wallace, who was feared to be too pro-Soviet, with a little-known hat-making Senator from Missouri, Harry Truman.

I don’t know why releasing complete, current medical records, if you’re running for President or Vice President of the United States, is optional. If you want to go to kindergarten or college; if you enlist in the military or want to be a professional pilot, you are required to undergo a physical exam and submit the results to the appropriate authorities. Why do we demand less of the candidates for the highest offices in our nation?

Senator McCain did release some of his records, but under such stringent circumstances that it was difficult for medical professionals to interpret them. Senator Obama had his doctor release a one-page, undated letter that declares he’s healthy. Senator Biden released a limited version of his records, but no information on whether there has been follow-up testing to the aneurysm surgery of 20 years ago.

And then we have Governor Palin who until yesterday refused to release any health records at all. No explanation had been given for her decision, except that a spokesman for the McCain-Palin campaign declared that the media has been “unfair” to the Governor, therefore they wouldn’t release the files. Which is the moral equivalent of a “nyah, nyah, nyah, you can’t make me” response. A reasonable approach if you’re in preschool, but scarcely what we expect of our elected leaders.

Frankly, the failure to release the records only opens the door to intense speculation about what she is trying to hide (which may be nothing at all). The conspiracy theories are likely worse than the truth. Mostly it reflects poorly on her concept of being a passenger on the Straight Talk Express. Late yesterday, she declared that she would release her medical records, but we have yet to see them or see how complete they are.

I understand that everyone is entitled to privacy and that health records are extremely personal. I don’t have a right to know the intimate details of Michelle Obama, Jill Biden, Cindy McCain and Todd Palin’s medical histories. They are not running for office. But the top four candidates – I do think there is a valid reason for full disclosure.

I believe that all Presidential and Vice Presidential candidates need to be forthcoming about their medical histories. I don’t need to know if they have been treated for strep throat or what allergies they have or even if someone has an enlarged prostate (presuming it’s a benign condition). I do think that an evaluation of the candidates’ health records by an independent medical professional would ensure that no medical problems have been hidden or downplayed. The stakes are too high not to have all the information each of us needs before we cast our votes.

Evelyn David

Giving Back

/in /by

As my children get older and begin to understand that we are indeed a very fortunate family in so many ways, not the least of which is financially, we talk a lot about giving back to the community, both small and large. Once every six weeks, as a family, we get together with another family and cook and serve a meal for anywhere from thirty to fifty people at a local church. It takes place every Saturday night and is free to anyone who attends the dinner. We have been doing this since child #1 was about seven and now that child #2 is nine, he is part of the program as well. We cooked and served the other night to a crowd of about thirty-five: men, women, young, old, families, and singles. It was a chilly night here in New York, and most of our guests made the trek on foot. One of our guests told us that he had spent the previous night sleeping outside. We made every effort to make sure he didn’t spend a second night outdoors, directing him to a local place that is home to an group of Franciscans.

We are lucky that we have this opportunity to give back and to do it as a family. I know a lot of people who tell me that they would love to volunteer but don’t know where to start. Well, today, I have a suggestion. My good friend, Mary Beth Powers, works for Save the Children, and is the campaign chief of Survive to 5, a program that is dedicated to keeping children around the world healthy and free from what we here in the United States consider preventable diseases. Mary Beth wrote me last week with her latest initiative called Knit One, Save One. Here’s the information:

I am sure you and your children are all super busy, but I just thought I would give you some info on our crafting campaign and you just might find a reason to help your children make a cap or at least to write a letter to the President Elect suggesting that the next administration has an important role to play to reduce the unnecessary deaths of millions of children from preventable diseases… You can download a KNIT ONE, SAVE ONE kit at the website below (but it will ask for your contact info to keep you “in the loop” on the project).

If they are in a club or group that would be willing to participate that is even better! They can plan a knit-in and I could even help with press outreach! If you are a teacher or in a school, maybe we could create an event for interested students afterschool so many can help.

If you want to understand the project – we have a couple of videos on YouTube about “Knit One, Save One”. And some celebrity knitters will soon be on our website with their cool caps as well.

It is a nice way to get people and especially children engaged in an issue beyond our own borders and to reach across the miles and give a small gift and good wishes to a mother and a baby on the other side of the world.

Thanks for considering this request.

Are you a CRAFTIVIST? Be 1 of the 10 million people who take action to help us save a baby’s life. To learn more and find out how you can help, go to file:///C:/Documents%20and%20Settings/cgrasso/Application%20Data/Microsoft/Signatures/www.savethechildren/surviveto5.

I don’t think I could say it any better than Mary Beth. Although I’m not a knitter, I know people who are and I will do everything I can to get them involved. That’s my contribution. And it might just occur to one of them to give me free knitting lessons!

So, if you’re out there and you’re a “Craftivist” or just want to do something to give back, this is your chance. Knit a cap and save a life.

Maggie Barbieri

Mystery Conventions and Rules

/in /by

Because they’ve been talking about Bouchercon and Left Coast Crime on DorothyL and the rules that can keep authors who aren’t published by MWA approved publishers off panels, I thought I’d put out my two cents worth here.

The people who run these things can certainly make whatever rules they want. Bouchercon committee voted down what LCC is using to allow people to appear on panels.

Also, they’ve discussed the fact that some authors are just too pushy with their books. You know what, I’ve gone to all sorts of cons and I’ve never run into a pushy author. I’ve run into a few who are a bit on the “stuck on themselves” side, but that’s all.

Usually most authors have been absolutely delightful to chat with. Recently I had the opportunity to dine with and introduce David Morrell, author of all those wonderful thrillers including First Blood of Rambo fame. A most unassuming and delightful person.

I’ve been a member of MWA for years, but have decided that the discrimination against small press authors just goes against my grain too much. I won’t be renewing that membership.

And back to mystery cons–I’ll be sticking to those who only care about good books, not who published them.

Discrimination is discrimination no matter how you look at it.

This is my opinion and I’m sticking to it.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Boo!

/in /by

Retailers are worried. Me too. Already economists are predicting a coal-in-the-stocking kind of holiday shopping season. There won’t be much Ho, Ho, Ho this Christmas.

We know that the economy is in the tank and that it’s not just Wall Street Fat Cats who are suffering. The only thing grinning this Halloween may be the Jack-o-Lanterns. Our kids may see much lighter trick-or-treat bags. Gone are the days when neighbors distributed full-sized candy bars to the doorbell ringers. Look for mini-candy bars, one to a customer, but please, this is no time for raisin boxes. Chocolate-induced endorphins are definitely in order.

Until this economic downturn, Halloween has been a retailers dream. In 2007, Halloween-related merchandise sales were up 10 percent from the previous year, which had seen a record 22 percent growth from 2005. But now, we’re all tightening our belts and reconsidering our costume options. How about one of the fashion catastrophes from my closet, with a cardboard sign that says “Glamour Don’t”? Jackets with shoulders that could have rivaled any professional linebacker – whatever was I thinking?

One retail executive suggested that “consumers who have been anxious and uncertain for the past several months may be looking at Halloween as an opportunity to forget the stresses of daily life and just have a little fun.” I sure hope so, but frankly it sounds like wishful thinking to me.

I’m not suggesting that we dress our kids in costumes of sackcloth and ashes. Surely, we need some fun, especially under current conditions. But this is an opportunity to scale down a holiday that seems to be getting out of control. So let’s focus more on the highjinks, and less on the over-the-top decorations. Let’s encourage our kids imaginations and help them make costumes, instead of buying them.

The economy has played enough tricks on us; but we can put the treat back into October 31.

What are you planning for Halloween — and what kind of candy do you hand out?

Evelyn David

Andy Sipowicz and the Case of the Fictional Detective

/in /by

Ted Hindenlang used to be a police officer. He now prefers to break the law. He is working on his first novel, a mystery.

I have to admit, I have a love-hate relationship with fictional detectives. For every Andy Sipowicz, who was great, there are twenty-five or so who make me root for the bad guys. Sipowicz was very real to me. Dennis Franz, who played him on NYPD Blue must have hung around some of the people I knew because his attitude, his dress, everything seemed so dead-on.

Real life provides the template for cop shows and cop books, but it is only natural that cinematic policing bleeds back into the real thing as well. Some real cops try to act larger than life but few of them seem to be able to modulate their performance so that they come across as something other than a caricature of the hard-bitten, tough talking sleuth of fiction and television. One night I was hanging around the squad room in the Harlem precinct where I worked. We were the first officers on the scene of a fatal shooting and were giving statements to the investigators. It was close to 1 AM and the covering detective supervisor–a sergeant–had just arrived. He took over the squad room with his loud, opinionated demeanor. I had the distinct impression that the detectives were secretly carrying on their business in accordance with their routines while only pretending to follow his commands. During this episode, he received a call about another homicide from the 20th Precinct, which at the time had a significant gay population. As he spoke on the phone, his voice became louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore his contribution to the conversation. When he was sure he had everyone/s attention, he shouted to the detective on the line, “So whattya tellin’ me? Is it a homicide or a HOMO-cide?” As pleased as possible with himself, he looked around the room for approval. I could imagine Sipowicz asking the same question, but not playing it for laughs.

I want my fictional detectives to be more like my real detectives; fallible, vain, arrogant, self-centered, occasionally brilliant but more often instinctual and possessing a people sense that more than compensates for their fictional counterpart’s ability to see pillows arranged on the couch in such a way that it exonerates the housekeeper but implicates the gardener.

I want my fictional detectives to be less dedicated and I want them to have to deal with the vagaries of victims who hung their cloaks of innocence in the great coat check of life a long time ago and immediately lost the redemption ticket.

My fictional detectives can even be coldhearted racist, sexist pigs, if they have to be, in order to move the story along. I want them to spend all day and half the night investigating the fatal shooting of a young woman in a bar named Tres Marias, only to have one of them ask another if he wants to grab a drink after work and then reply, when asked where, “there’s a new place down the street called Dos Marias.”

I want my fictional detective to be a cynical and lazy malcontent who can be galvanized into action only when his city, the one he is pledged to serve and protect , is threatened by an evil presence so perverse and insatiable that soon housing prices will be affected. I want my fictional detectives to tell a slashing victim, upon seeing the jack o’lantern grin of a scar across his cheek , “Hey, chicks dig that.”

I guess, for me, most fictional sleuths are just too serious, too noble and too dedicated to suspend my disbelief. And I have no trouble with cartoon character detectives like Dirty Harry. They work for me because they don’t pretend to portray reality. Give me your overweight, your intox, your bitter veteran detective yearning to be free and receiving disability checks. Give me a detective trying to get out on the heart bill who calls from the recovery room and says, “I’ve got great news! I have a 70% blockage!”

Ted Hindenlang

Who’s Minding the Kids?

/in /by

More than 60 percent of women with children under the age of one are in the workforce. In this country, the average length of maternity leave is six weeks. I don’t know about you, but when my firstborn was six weeks old I couldn’t wash my hair and brush my teeth on the same day. The kid never slept or if he did, it was in a Snugli attached to my chest. I was a walking zombie, only the Bride of Frankenstein looked better.

My employer gave me three months of maternity leave, unpaid except for my unused vacation. Not working wasn’t an option. We needed my salary. I was lucky to find a mother in the neighborhood who was willing to babysit, for essentially half of my salary. On my first day back to work, I pulled on a pantsuit with an elastic waistband, dabbed at the spitup on my shoulder, got in my car and cried hysterically while I drove to the office.

Get a group of working mothers together and inevitably the conversation turns to childcare. I’m willing to bet that 99 percent of moms are dissatisfied, to a greater or lesser degree, with their arrangements. For those with the resources to hire private nannies, the quality and cost of such care is a constant worry – hence the explosion of hidden nannycams. For those who opt for home or commercial daycare, there is the concern about a lack of one-on-one interaction, frequent staff turnover, and inevitably, a baby with a never-ending runny nose due to the constant exposure to viruses. Even if it’s grandma who is the baby sitter, there are often tensions between generations about how best to care for the infant.

We worry about our kids. We worry about our jobs. I often thought I wasn’t giving 100 percent in either place.

Other nations seem to have figured out that fully paid maternity leave and better childcare are good for both parents and the economy. It means better worker productivity. In France, the government provides three-year paid parental leave with guaranteed job protection upon returning to the workforce; universal, full-time preschool starting at age three; subsidized day care before age three; stipends for in-home nannies; and monthly child-care allowances that increase with the number of children per family.

We’ve got to do better for our families. We’ve got to make it easier for parents to take care of their children, while also being productive members of the workforce. It’s a win-win situation for all.

Evelyn David

There Are No Special Occasions–Just Regular Days to be Celebrated

/in /by

I’m sure, like me, you come from a family of “save it for a special occasion” people. You know what I mean: use grandma’s tablecloth? No—save it for a special occasion. Break out the Waterford on a Friday night while eating pizza? Nope—that’s special occasion crystal. Use the china that you registered for on your wedding day? Heavens no—you only use that on a special occasion.

I’ve decided that special occasions are a crock of bull. And exactly what are we waiting for, people?

Case in point. My best friend from college—we’ll call her D.—used to come to my house right after Jim and I had gotten married. We would have pizza, beer and wine. Because we were young and broke, we would pull out our cheap wine glasses and serve our guests their beverage in those. D. would open up every cabinet until she found the Waterford—she, like me, is Irish-American, so she knew there was Waterford crystal hiding somewhere—and would pull out a heavy hock glass and proclaim that she wasn’t drinking out of any old cheap wine glass. She was to be served in the Waterford. I remember relating the story to my mother, the two of us shocked that the Waterford had been pulled out on Friday-night pizza night. But you know what? D. taught me a lesson. Mom always said that everything tastes better in Waterford, so instead of staring at it in our glass-fronted cabinet, we pull it out and use it every chance we get. (And with the amount of wine that is consumed around here on a normal weekend, they get used A LOT.)

Second case in point? Shoes. I own a lot of shoes, probably somewhere in the forty pair range which is a lot of shoes considering that I work in an attic and hardly ever leave the house. Frankly, I probably only need one pair of black pumps and a pair of sneakers, but really, what fun would that be? Most of the shoes I own fall into the $20-$60 range, most of them coming from either Target or Nine West. But last year, I fell in love with a pair of leopard-print, kitten heel pumps called “Fiona” (the name I had chosen for our dog originally but voted down the family). They were ridiculously expensive and completely impractical. I work in the attic, remember? But I lusted after them and talked about them incessantly until my husband finally said, “Just buy them.” The day after he said that, a friend sent me a 30% off coupon to the company that carries the shoe. It was destiny.

I bought them a year ago and have worn them exactly twice. I was saving them for a special occasion. But let’s face it: when you work in the attic, there aren’t too many special occasions that arise. Of course you have holidays and such but these shoes are so beautiful and a little fuzzy so you don’t want to wear them in rain, sleet, or snow, which is what we encounter on most of our holidays out here in the East. But last week, a strange thought came to me: what about if I wore these shoes a few times a week? They look as fabulous with jeans as they do with dressier clothes…what was stopping me from pulling them out and wearing them around town?

I got dressed for church this past Sunday and tested my new theory. I put on a pair of jeans, a cute sweater, and the shoes. I came downstairs and told my husband that the new me was not saving these shoes for a special occasion but was going to wear them whenever I felt like it. He looked up from his paper and gave me a nod. (See, men don’t get theories about shoes or proclamations of this sort. He was unimpressed.) I got so many compliments on the shoes that day that I was sold. I’m wearing them whenever I want. (Trouble is, they’re still not broken in. I’m hoping this new resolve to wear them more often will solve that.)

So all this to say: pull out that tablecloth, use the Waterford, and eat off the china. Drink that expensive bottle of champagne. Wear the expensive shoes with your favorite pair of jeans. Every day that we’re alive and healthy is a special occasion.

So, what are you saving for a special occasion? What prohibits you from using it/wearing it/drinking it? I’ll read your responses right after I finish this glass of seltzer in the Waterford water glass.

Maggie Barbieri