The Books on My Desk

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My second novel is finished and I’m more than ready for a quiet vacation somewhere with a sandy beach, but until Oprah discovers a fondness for Irish wolfhounds, my trips will all be to mystery conventions. I’m going to Mayhem in the Midlands in May – no beaches, but Omaha is a great place to visit. Since I’m driving this year, I hope to have a chance to see all the sights.

Speaking of sights, my house looks like a disaster area. Or maybe just a house where nothing got done the past couple of months except writing. Looking around my living room, the place where I write (yes, I have a spare bedroom that I will eventually turn into an office but for now I’m superstitious about changing anything), I see the effects of the “write until you drop” effort. Office supplies, Christmas wrapping paper, TV Guides from November, receipts from Staples, pens with mismatched caps, sticky notes with all kinds of important information (i.e. the Pizza Hut delivery number, the name of a poison I researched, and a plot point I feared forgetting), and books. I have lots of books stacked on my desk, on the floor, even part of the sofa has been commandeered to serve as a temporary bookshelf.

I love books. I love reading. So when I decided I wanted to learn to write fiction, my first instinct was to purchase books on writing. I devoured dozens of “how-to” books. Some were useful, others not so much. Some yielded practical information – the correct punctuation of dialogue; others gave me hints for structuring a plot, introduced me to pacing, and clarified the finer points of “point of view.”

My favorites are already showing signs of wear and tear – I’ve read them more than once and refer to them often while writing.

Here’s the best of the best – my recommendations for any mystery writer’s desk.

For help with the nuts and bolts:
Writing the Novel – From Plot to Print – Lawrence Block.
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers – R. Browne & D. King.
Save the Cat! – Blake Snyder.

For research:
Death’s Acre – Dr. Bill Bass & Jon Jefferson
Deadly Doses, A Writer’s Guide to Poison – Stevens & Klarner.
Death to Dust–What Happens to Dead Bodies – Kenneth V. Iserson M.D.

For inspiration:
On Writing – Steven King.
To Kill a Mockingbird – Harper Lee
Anything by Laura Lippman or Nevada Barr

Evelyn David

The Best and Worst Things about Being a Writer

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I’ve been thinking a lot about writing lately, possibly because I’m set to begin work on my fourth installment in the Alison Bergerson mystery series. I already have a title—“Extra Credit”—so that’s a start. My editor and I are usually throwing around words and phrases long after the manuscript has been submitted and approved, hoping to land on that one turn of phrase that will pique a reader’s interest. The third novel—out in December of this year—will be called “Quick Study” and many thanks to my friend Kelly, optometrist extraordinaire, who came up with that one.

I’ve also been thinking about the things I like the most about writing and some of the things that I’m not so crazy about and have compiled a list. Here are my top three:

1. My home office: One of the best things about being a writer? My home office. One of the worst things about being a writer? My home office. Being able to amble up to the third floor and sit at my pine table and work away for the day is really a blessing; I’m here to ship the kids off to school and here when they come home (is it three o’clock ALREADY?). But truth be told, I haven’t really left that attic space to do anything approaching physical activity in a really long time. I had a friend over the other night for a glass of champagne (no occasion; I think drinking champagne should make its way into the normal and mundane days just as often as it makes its way into the celebratory and exciting ones) who is a personal trainer. I asked her her secret to having abs that you could bounce a quarter off of. Apparently, scientists haven’t invented a secret pill since I stopped exercising that will guarantee you abs like my friend’s. Her advice? Eat less fat, cut out the Chardonnay, watch your carb intake, and take a brisk walk every day. My advice? Personal Trainer Friend, do not ever set foot in my house again. That solves that.

2. Talking about writing: One of the best and worst things about being a writer is talking about writing. I love talking to other writers, hearing their secrets, bouncing ideas off of them. I like how a great conversation about writing can get the juices flowing for everyone involved. I admire other writer’s work ethics, their ability to write through writer’s block, and how they turn a phrase. What I do not enjoy is people asking me what it takes to be a writer or when they devalue what writers do. Usually the people asking me about writing discuss the excuses they have for not writing first: “I have a full-time job,” (me, too); “I have kids,” (got two of my own); “I have a great idea for a novel but am way too busy to write,” (join the club). But you know what? Just like there’s no secret pill to having rock hard abs, there is no secret pill that will allow you to sit down and write a novel. It’s hard work and requires a bit of skill. And if you want to write, you have to write (just ask my fellow Stiletto-ites). Nothing will get in your way. Let’s revisit this in nine months when novel #4 is due, the abs are still the consistency of Jello, and I’m really cranky. Make sure you’re not the person I run into at the grocery store who announces to me that writing is easy, they have a book in them (that’s gotta hurt), and after they’re done, they’d love to have me edit it for them.

3. Book reviews: Good reviews? The best thing about writing. Bad reviews? Do I even have to answer that? A good review will make my day. The birds will sing, I’ll make cornbread from scratch—just because!—and I will be whistling a happy tune. But get my day started with reading a bad review and I’ll turn into a beast that should only show its face during the full moon. Why do I let reviews—both good and bad—affect me like this? I don’t like everything I read and I don’t have to. Neither should anyone else out there (and I’m thinking of those reviewers on Amazon for whom one-star is a rave). There’s some kind of saying involving not believing the good reviews or the bad reviews and all will be well, but I haven’t been able to listen to this sage advice and continue on this roller coaster of emotion for the few months after I publish one of my novels.

The best thing I’ve done in the past several months related to writing is visiting the book club at my husband’s school. This group is comprised of about ten teachers who read and discuss the chosen book at length. They have just finished “Extracurricular Activities” and we had a spirited discussion about the book, mysteries, and writing in general. It was a fabulous evening, with some of the best refreshments I have ever seen at a book club. (Braised short ribs? Potatoes au gratin? Asparagus? I guess I’ll work all of those butter-filled calories off at some point but for today, I am salivating just thinking about that meal. Don’t tell Personal Trainer Friend—who, incidentally, I adore—she’ll have me in exercise boot camp before long.)

But since this is a combo best/worst list, I can’t leave out the part of the evening that will live in infamy: I got up to say goodbye to an old friend, tripped in my new high heeled giraffe-print shoes and took a header into the dessert table. I don’t think that even having perfectly sculpted abs and a killer rear end would have kept me upright or from grabbing the Shop teacher’s leg in an effort to ward off a head wound.

Even though it was the worst thing for me, I’m going to hope that that was the best thing about the book club meeting for the book club members. Because, let’s face it, how many times do you get to have the writer at your book club AND see her do a face plant?

Maggie Barbieri

Looking Forward

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It seems I’m always looking forward to something. This weekend it’s having a booth at the Jackass Mail Run. This is the beginning of Rodeo Weekend in Springville, CA. This particular event begins at noon with booths lining Main Street. (The part of Highway 190 that goes through town.) My booth will be in front of the dentist’s office.

Most everyone will be dressed up like cowboys or saloon girls of the Old West. If a woman wears pants, she might be thrown in jail. If a man doesn’t have a beard, the same thing will happen to him. It can get pretty rowdy, but not nearly as bad as it was when we first moved here, and the drunks took over by late afternoon.

There’ll be some local bands playing and games for the kids. Plus it costs a buck to get out of jail if you’re caught breaking the only two laws that are enforced. About 100 horse and riders will come up 190, having started in Porterville (17 miles) in the morning, escorting the mail wagon. Some of these folks do too much drinking along the way and get a bit wild. Sheriff’s cars escort them as well as an SPCA truck and horse trailer.

When the mail wagon reaches Springville around 3:30 or 4, they are attacked by bandits. Lots of gun fire. Sometimes the Civil War Calvary gets in on it and shoots a cannon. The bandits drop dead in the street, but miraculously rise to fire again. It gets pretty darn noisy.

Most of the booths are manned by people selling food and trinkets. Our youth group will have a booth with popcorn and cotton candy. I’ll be there hoping that, among the attendees, a reader or two might drop by and take a peek at my books. One thing I do know, is that there will be some folks I know who I haven’t seen for awhile and they’ll stop and chat.

After all that excitement, there’s a dance in the Inn. I won’t be attending. After being outside all afternoon, I’ll pack up my books and head for home.

The next day, I’m having a visitor, a dear writing friend, Willma Gore. She taught me more about writing than anyone else while we attended the same critique group for many years. She moved to Sedona AZ a few years ago, and I’ve only seen her a couple of times since. We’ll have all Sunday afternoon and evening as well as Monday a.m. to bring each other up-to-date. I can hardly wait.

Next on my agenda, is the Public Safety Writers conference in Las Vegas.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

Why Is This Night Different From All Other Nights?

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I’ve got a ton of people coming for dinner on Saturday night. It’s the start of Passover and we celebrate with a ritual meal called a Seder. This holiday marks the Biblical exodus of the Jews from Egypt. We sing songs, say prayers, and eat certain traditional foods (yes, this is the origin of matzoh ball soup).

Holiday preparations start a month in advance. I dig out huge pots, originally owned by my husband’s grandmother, source of generations of chicken soup. I can make the broth ahead and freeze it, but the matzoh balls must be made the day of the Seder, bubbling away to perfection as we chant the opening prayers. When the crowd is large, we switch the furniture in our dining room and living room, to have space for extra tables. My husband grumbles as he schleps the folding chairs from the basement, but beams when he looks across the full room at family and friends joining in song.

Seder means “order” in Hebrew and there is an order to the evening and to the Haggadah, the prayer book we use for the holiday. But “order” and even tradition don’t have to mean stagnant. Over the years, we’ve introduced new songs, tested new recipes for familiar foods, and researched subjects we take for granted looking for new insights. We’ve tripped over our tongues trying to make the traditional prayer book gender-neutral – and for some of us, we’ve shrugged our shoulders, read aloud the traditional masculine pronoun for God, confident that She would understand. At the end of the Seder, we leave feeling satisfied that we haven’t just paid lip service to ancient traditions, but instead have made them our own.

In an odd way – and I’ll grant that it may seem a stretch –there’s a similarity between being a mystery writer and preparing the Seder. There’s a well-known “order” to books, with the traditional elements of hero, murderer, red herrings, minor characters, place, setting. But how you mix these up, how you make these basics your own, is what defines you as a writer. I don’t want my books to be any more of a formula than my Seder.

Sometimes our choices, in cooking or writing, work perfectly, pleasing the palate and the imagination. And sometimes, they are abysmal failures and our only choice is to delete, rewrite, reseason, or dump in the garbage can. That’s okay too.

One of the traditional foods for Passover is Charoset, a sweet mixture of apples, walnuts, wine, and cinnamon, to represent the mortar used by Jewish slaves to build the Egyptian storehouses. It’s a family favorite and will be on the table in my mother’s cut glass bowl, as usual. But I’m also offering something new: Persian Charoset, made with dates, pistachio nuts, pomegranate, banana, cloves and cardamom. It’s a spicy alternative that hopefully will prompt discussion about history, ancestral connections, and the meaning behind these symbolic dishes.

So this week, in addition to the usual murder and mayhem I try to create, I’m polishing silver, moving furniture, cooking, cleaning, and getting ready for a crowd. I can’t wait.

Happy Holidays to all.

Evelyn David

Split Personality

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Lorraine Bartlett is the author of Murder Is Binding, the first in the Booktown Mystery series, now available, and the author of the Jeff Resnick Mystery series. Dead In Red will be released in late June by Five Star.

I’m writing under two names: L.L. Bartlett writes the Jeff Resnick Mysteries, which are either psychological suspense or paranormal thrillers, and Lorna Barrett, who writes the Booktown cozy mysteries.

I’m also promoting in harmony:

How the heck did both books happen to come out so close to each other? Karma? Just plain dumb luck? It would’ve been better had they been half a year apart, but that isn’t what fate handed me.

So while I’m pushing one, the other is always on my mind.

It’s been a little over a week since Murder Is Binding came out (my cozy), but in eight weeks, Dead In Red (the second in my Jeff Resnick series) will debut. I should be concentrating on pushing MIB, but DIR is coming up fast.

My solution? Push them both.

The problem is–they’re two distinctly different kinds of stories. The Booktown mysteries are set in a small town, where “everybody knows your name” (a la Cheers), and it’s also the first murder in over sixty years in the safest town in the state. The Jeff Resnick series is set in the second biggest city in New York; Buffalo–and my protagonist is definitely NOT known by anyone except his family in the book…until Page 1. And crime in a big city isn’t as “personal” as it is in a small town. Except for those people it directly affects.

So what’s the common ground?

Actually, there is one. The Booktown mysteries feature sisters–Tricia and Angelica; the Jeff Resnick books feature brothers–Jeff and Richard.

For some reason, sibling relationships fascinate me. What makes me qualified to write about brothers? I have two. One older; one younger. Growing up, I had a first-hand view of the relationship between my brothers–the ups and the downs–and how that relationship changed as they became adults.

So what makes me qualified to write about sisters when I have none? Wishful thinking? Maybe. Observing my friends and their sisters? Definitely.

The thing about siblings is–come hell or high water–they will be there for you. (At least one hopes so.) And that’s a recurring theme in my work. When the worst happens, the brothers–and the sisters–can be sure that one person in the world will risk everything for them.

Has that ever happened to me in real life? Kinda…sorta. I saved my younger brother’s life twice. (Once from drowning.) When I was in my early twenties, I moved away from home. Not just across town, but two states over. It didn’t take long before I realized I wasn’t prepared to leave the nest. Who came and bailed me out? My big brother. Now that my Dad can no longer help me with home chores, who do I call? My younger brother. (He has neat things like chain saws and can take down an ailing tree during his lunch hour. What a guy!)

These are the kinds of real-life situations that inspire the relationships my characters have–be they brothers or sisters. True, no brother of mine has had to take a bullet for me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.

Lorraine Bartlett/L.L. Bartlett/Lorna Barrett
http://www.llbartlett.com/

Don’t Give Up Your Day Job

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Coming late to a writing career, the first piece of advice I was given was not to quit my day job. Unless lightening strikes, it could take a decade of work before the income from your writing pays the bills. And that’s the optimistic view.

For more than twenty years, my day job has been with the Oklahoma Department of Mines. A few years after college I started as a surface coal mine inspector. Besides acquiring my first pair of steel-toed work boots and hard hat, I quickly learned that coal mines are dusty and miners don’t much like state environmental regulators. I wish I could say that I envisioned that first day a long-term career in the field, but I was primarily focused on having a paycheck that covered my rent and car payment. But as the years passed, I slowly became an expert in my small slice of the world. I acquired new skills that made my biology degree a lot more useful (lots of training, classes, networking, and practice). I worked hard, learning how to do a little of everything when budget cuts left me shorthanded. Then through attrition (my supervisors left, retired, or died) and sheer stubbornness (refusing to quit when the job seemed impossible), I worked my way up the regulatory agency ladder.

Eventually I achieved the job I have now – Administrator of the Coal Program for Oklahoma. The pay is not very good, the work sounds more exciting than it is, and I’ve had to get used to lots of criticism. In other words – the perfect preparation for life as a writer!

Four years ago I started writing for fun, fortune, and fame. Didn’t take long for me to learn that there would be no fortune, little fame (my family is impressed), but the fun was actually endless and the opportunity to try new things and go new places has been scary and exciting.

The first time I gave a library talk, I didn’t sleep a wink the night before. I couldn’t imagine what I had to share with the audience. I felt like a fraud. (Especially when I discovered the case of books I’d ordered for the event actually held someone else’s book). But when I started talking I discovered that I could easily fill an hour just by talking about Evelyn David’s writing journey and answering questions from mystery lovers and aspiring writers. I love sharing my continued sense of “wonder” about the process of turning thoughts into words and words into a novel.

Sometimes when I’m giving a speech at a library or civic club, I’ll get questions about mining instead of mysteries. And that’s okay. Without my day job, I wouldn’t have the opportunity to write.

The Northern half of Evelyn David has suggested we write a mystery using a coal mine as the setting. Maybe someday!

Evelyn David

Spring Cleaning: Hoarders versus Non-Hoarders

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Is there any better feeling than throwing stuff out? Am I the only person who feels this way? (Show of hands, please.) The whole spring cleaning exercise started this year when my teenage daughter, whose bedroom had last been decorated when Clinton was in his first term of office—before the blue dress, before we used the word “impeach,” before Hillary grew her bangs out—protested that she was too old for pink, Laura Ashley wallpaper and flowered bed linens. I took a look around at the sad, drooping wallpaper, and the flowered comforter on the bed with the grape juice stain, and had to agree. It was time for a change. And a major cleaning.

But as anyone with teenagers knows, they have a lot of stuff. (With thanks to my idol, George Carlin, for his extended riff on the stuff we have and collect.) So, to get things started, we had a conversation that went something like this:

Me: I’ll redo your room but you have to clean it out.

Her: I will.

Me: No—I mean really clean it out.

Her: I WILL.

Me: Let me be clear: everything that comes out is not going back in.

Her: IT WON’T. Please leave me alone.

That went well.

But the momentum gained from the cleaning out of her room was unexpected and welcomed by me, a Non-hoarder. Once we tackled her room, we moved onto my son’s room or as we call it, The Land of the Lost Action Hero. We moved the bed, the bookcase, the desk. I took the back off of his dresser and fixed the two drawers that were broken. We were on a roll. We found shorts that hadn’t fit him in two years and bagged everything up for the used clothing bin. We were very happy.

Since we were doing so well, I then made a proclamation that we would next turn our attention to duh, duh, duh…the attic. Let’s be fair. Although it is technically an attic, our attic is akin to what most people have in their homes called a basement. That is, it’s a catch-all room: it is home to my 5’ x 5’ office, a family room/television area, and a play section that holds all of the toys that aren’t found in my son’s room. But it is also home to several decades worth of sports equipment (five baseball mitts anyone?), the magazine from 1988 that has a picture of my wedding gown in it (why would you keep that?), several hundred baseball cards, and close to a thousand—conservative estimate—comic books. And let’s not forget the videos from toddler-hoods gone by and the tween and teen detritus.

In other words, it’s a mess.

Which brings us to the real purpose of this blog entry: hoarders versus non-hoarders. I’m a non-hoarder living with a bunch of hoarders. I will admit to keeping any piece of preschool artwork with the word “I Love My Mommy” on it but I will throw anything else out that isn’t bolted to the floor. Haven’t looked at that signed Bobby Orr puck since you got it? Gone. So’s the stack of ‘45’s that you can’t play anymore because we don’t have a record player. And make sure you don’t look for that stack of Power Rangers videos—they were donated in ’99 to the preschool tag sale. So, needless to say, when I brought my family of hoarders upstairs, the fur flew, so to speak. I picked up a bunch of Nerf-ish ammunition from the floor, little orange Styrofoam darts that I was sure my son used to torture my daughter.

Me: What are these?

The Hoarders: Those are the pellets to the Nerf Super Blaster.

Me: (holding aloft a black plastic garbage bag) Say goodbye.

The Hoarders: NO!

And so it went. I would create a little mound on the floor and to be fair, would give the Hoarders a chance to take a look before bagging up the items in the great pile. There was a great deal of consternation as things proclaimed “favorites” that hadn’t been played with in years, or items that all of sudden became “special,” found their way into the garbage bags. It was an endless, emotional process that left all of us drained. And not just a little bit angry at one another—me because of the collecting, and them for my lack of sentimentality or recognition of the special nature that each item held.

I had had enough. I was tired of working in an area that looked like the set from “Sanford and Son.” But they had worn me down. I was done. I couldn’t battle to get another Wonder Woman action figure (missing a leg, no less) into the garbage bag and they couldn’t hold me down long enough or distract me for any length of time to go through the bags. As I lay on the floor, exhausted from the cleaning and the fighting, a thought dawned on me:

In two days, they would go back to school. And we live two miles from a Good Will Donation Center.

The skies parted and the angels sang and I left the attic. The Hoarders were more than a little suspicious but confident that they had worn me down.

I had a very nice chat with the ladies at the Good Will Donation Center this week, who were more than happy to hold the door when I arrived, boxes in tow, with all things “special” and “favorite.” Bless you, ladies. May someone else—a Hoarder in training, maybe?—enjoy the fruits of my cleaning labor.

Maggie

For Writers: Organizing Your Time

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Or I could title this, “Figuring Out How to Get Other People to Do your Chores.”

The older I get, the harder it is for me to take care of everything in my home like I used to do. I’ve been paying someone to do my housework for years. Back when I had kids at home, I paid them. Relatives, who need money, have been my later choices.

One thing I’ve learned, though it hasn’t been easy, it isn’t necessary to do my chores on a particular day of the week like my mother. Believe it or not, some things don’t have to be done weekly. A lot depends upon your personal tolerance for messes. Dust waits for you.

I can’t stand to have dirty dishes piled around, so besides using paper plates a lot, I’ve trained everyone who eats or drinks at my house to put dishes and glasses away in the dishwasher. I only run it when it’s full. Then I hope that someone else will put the clean dishes away and often someone will.

My best time for writing is in the morning, so after I shower and dress (yes, I always do that first because I don’t like to be caught later in the day in my p.j.’s – just doesn’t seem fitting for a great-grandma), I plop myself down in front of the computer and get started. Usually I quit when I’m getting tired but still have more to write. That way it’s easy to get right back to it the next day.

I’m interrupted plenty during my writing time – phone calls, hubby or other relatives who have something “urgent to tell me that just can’t wait” and I do stop and listen. When the laundry piles up, I take time to do that while I’m writing. After all the washing machine and dryer work while I am. I fold and put away the laundry in the evening when I’m watching TV.

Yep, I watch TV. Love movies and I have my favorite shows. If I’ve written all day, I’m done by evening and need to give my brain a rest. Sometimes I do other paperwork in the evening – might even do some editing. I’m a champion at accomplishing odd jobs during commercials. (Helps keep me awake.)

Once a week, I take a break and for at least part of a day, do something totally unrelated to writing. Usually it involves a movie and eating out. Reading is also important to me. I read in bed and always take a book with me if I have an appointment somewhere and might have to wait.

For me, to keep my writing fresh, I have to know when it’s time to stop and have some fun. Though I don’t write out a schedule, I’m always sure to make that part of my daily schedule.

Having a calendar nearby that I make notes in also helps keep me on schedule for upcoming book promotions, blogs, the teaching I do, and the mundane stuff like doctor appointments. I also write myself lots of notes, especially when I’m in the middle of a book.

Fortunately, I have a wonderful husband who loves to go to town so he’s stuck with grocery shopping and running errands.

Now, it’s time to get back to the book I’m working on.

Marilyn

http://fictionforyou.com

The Writing Life

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Last week I gave a library talk in Neptune, New Jersey. Lovely group, great food, fun discussion about my favorite topic – mysteries! I was packing up, considering carefully whether I should take one of those delicious brownies for the road, when a gentleman stopped me.

He wanted to know: “How did you become a writer?”

I thought a moment and then explained that there had been a survey on the Dorothy L listserve about why writers write and the general consensus had been: “because we can’t not write.” For me, writing is as much a part of who I am as breathing and brown hair (albeit the hair color might have a tad bit of help).

Maybe it’s destiny or maybe it’s the challenge that intrigues me. George Mallory, the British mountaineer, gave a similar response when asked why he wanted to scale Mt. Everest: “Because it is there.” He couldn’t not try.

On the simplest of levels, we become writers because we have something to say. But why fiction? Jean Kerr, one of my favorite funniest authors, explains in her first book, Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, that she decided to become a playwright because as a child, her father, exasperated by her constant chatter, declared “all you’re good for is talk.” Wasn’t that the perfect encouragement, she reasoned, to make a living writing dialogue? She then went on to further explain that she needed to find some career since there didn’t seem to be much income potential in marketing her signature soup—which she had developed by combining two different varieties of Campbell soup.

I re-read several of her essay collections as the Southern half of Evelyn David and I were starting Murder Off the Books. I laughed hysterically (again) and had one of those aha moments. (1) I like to chat so maybe I too could write dialogue, and (2) I don’t think I can make much of a career selling my world-famous matzoh ball soup so I might as well write.

Sometimes writing is exhilarating and sometimes, often, it’s tortuous. There are times when the words seem to flow like water and I’m sitting at my desk reveling at the cadence and precision of the language I’ve created. And then there are the times when I couldn’t compose a shopping list if held at gunpoint.

So why do I write? How’s this? Because for all the disappointment, rejection, poor pay, and frustration, no other job makes me as happy. I write because I love it.

Evelyn David

Death Will Get You Sober

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Today Evelyn David interviews Elizabeth Zelvin, author of Death Will Get You Sober (St. Martin’s, in bookstores April 15). Liz’s story, “Death Will Clean Your Closet,” has been nominated for an Agatha award for Best Short Story. The story appeared in the anthology Murder New York Style and is available as a free download on Liz’s site, http://www.elizabethzelvin.com/.

Your journey to published author has had a lot of twists, turns, and detours. What gave you the impetus to keep moving and writing?

I had dreamed of getting a novel published for too many years to give up at this late date. I first said I wanted to be a writer when I was seven years old—about a hundred years ago—so I’ve had a lot of practice. Of course there were moments, still are, when I look at my work and think it’s no good. I think every writer has them. But there are more moments when I knew that there were readers out there who’d enjoy what I had written, if I could only find that elusive agent and publisher. Death Will Get You Sober was always meant to be the first of a series. Once I’d written it, my protagonist Bruce and the other characters, especially Barbara, the codependent addictions counselor, kept making clever remarks in my head, so I had to keep going.

Recently, there was a lengthy discussion on a mystery listserve about humor in whodunnits. Some love it – others don’t want to mix mirth with murder. Death Will Get You Sober features a recovering alcoholic – any laughs for such a serious subject?

I think Death Will Get You Sober is hilarious. Not everybody will agree, but I bet that people in recovery will. I didn’t create the humor. It was already there. There’s a lot of laughter in AA meetings. Recovery is all about getting honest about yourself, and for that, you need a sense of humor. Alcoholism is serious. Our society tends to think of certain kinds of drunkenness as funny. I don’t agree. But recovery can have a lot of fun in it, and that’s what I wanted to convey.

What do you know now about writing and publishing that will make a difference for subsequent books?

I made a lot of mistakes that people warned me about, but it took a while for them to sink in. They said, “Don’t send out your first draft, and don’t burn through too many agents right away.” I learned the hard way. My manuscript went through many drafts, and I queried many agents and editors, before St. Martin’s took it. I’m grateful it had time to turn into the book people will read. They said, “Kill your darlings.” In other words, there’s such a thing as too much, even if you’re in love with every clever word or well turned phrase. I had a three-week arts residency at the Atlantic Center for the Arts in Florida in 2006, a paradise for writers and other creative artists. SJ Rozan was the “master artist” I worked with. She said, “Liz, two good lines are enough for any paragraph—you don’t need three or four.” After she said that a few times and my colleagues in the workshop agreed, all of a sudden I could see what needed cutting. Having to put together a reading where you’d get the hook after three minutes also helped me streamline my work.

About publishing: I knew going in that nowadays the writer has to do the promotion, unless you’re a celebrity or a bestseller. Working with St. Martin’s, I’ve been lucky to realize that people at the publisher’s can be enormously helpful if you take the time to learn what they actually do and develop a relationship with them. You may book your tour yourself or hire a publicist, but they’ll make sure the booksellers and librarians hear about you, and they’ll get the books there.

Any special rituals or favorite foods that you need to kickstart your writing?

No. The best writing day for me is one that starts with me stumbling right out of bed to the computer with a scene or sentence or line of dialogue tugging at the inside of my head. Of course, that doesn’t always happen. But when I can get the world to leave me alone—and that includes my husband and my email, both irresistible at times—it can be a morning when the words come pouring out.

Why did you choose to have a male protagonist?

That was sort of an accident. I wanted to write a recovering alcoholic, and I wanted to write someone who nobody would think could possibly be me, which meant a man. But I took it for granted I’d have a female voice as well. So I originally had two protagonists, Bruce and Barbara, the codependent who loves to help and mind everybody’s business. They alternated chapters as first-person narrators. I got inconsistent feedback: some agents and editors had no problem with it, others thought it didn’t work. One or two wanted me to throw Barbara out, one at least wanted me to get rid of Bruce. Then the first editor who saw the manuscript at St. Martin’s told me he thought Bruce made a terrific protagonist but Barbara would do better as a sidekick. First I thought, “I can’t.” (My husband says my process always starts with, “I can’t,” and he’s probably right.) Then I thought, “St. Martin’s! This could be my shot.” So I rewrote it, and the editor was absolutely right. It made Bruce stronger and Barbara, oddly, more endearing. And that’s the book St. Martin’s took.

Which camp are you in? Long-hand or computer?

Keyboard all the way. I was a poet for thirty years before this turn to mystery, and I never wrote a poem that was a “keeper” in longhand, even when I used an old Royal manual typewriter, long before computers. I love writing on the computer because I can type faster. I was always a crackerjack typist, but I think fast too, and it’s good that my fingers can always keep up. As I get older, I’m sometimes afraid I’ll forget my best lines before I can get them down. It’s happened! But I usually carry a little digital recorder in places I can’t type, like when I’m driving or running around the Central Park reservoir.

Success as a mystery writer came later in life for you. How did being older influence you as a writer?

Oh, all those books in the drawer! The three mysteries from the Seventies, completely outdated now. The book about my first marriage—thank heaven that never got published. Mainly, it’s not so much that I became a better writer, though I certainly became a better editor. And in the course of writing Bruce, I’ve found my voice, which is something I believe you can’t fake or force. But what I have to say owes everything to life experience and whatever wisdom advancing age has brought me. I might not even want to read the novel my 24-year-old self might have written today.

You seem very comfortable online. In your other career as therapist, you have an online therapy and counseling site, www.LZcybershrink.com . Why should writers establish an online presence?

I wouldn’t say “should.” In fact, it’s a word I almost never use. I’ve said in a professional context that online therapy is for those who love it, both therapists and clients. I think the same is true of cyberspace in general. I’m no techie. My family is still astounded that I can not only use a computer but am at it all day long in both my “hats” as therapist and writer. I’ve been seeing clients online since 2000 via chat and email, after twenty years in traditional private practice as a psychotherapist and day jobs directing alcohol treatment programs. I made a lot of my mistakes and went through my very gently inclined learning curve with my online therapy site. I was able to put my author site, www.elizabethzelvin.com , together relatively quickly once I got my contract and knew it was time. I already had a webmaster, and I knew what each of us could and couldn’t do. He can program anything so it works across platforms (a concept I didn’t even understand for my first five or six years in online practice), but he can’t write my text or spot a typo. I do my own design too, because I have an eye. I took the photos on both sites (except for the head shots) and did the drawings on the LZcybershrink site.

But the websites are only part of the story. For me, becoming a published writer has been all about networking. And networking is just another word for making friends and, as we say in New York, schmoozing. I love to schmooze! I used to look at authors’ Acknowledgments pages and wonder how they got to know all those other writers they were thanking. Now I know hundreds: in part, thanks to living in New York and belonging to such great organizations as Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, but also because of the amazing online community of not just mystery writers but also mystery lovers of all kinds: readers, booksellers, librarians. I’d never have gotten past the first draft of Death Will Get You Sober without the Guppies, the online chapter of Sisters in Crime for newbies trying to break in—and now, many who have, like me. I love the very different flavors of DorothyL and CrimeSpace. And what I’ve learned from generous pros sharing their experience on the e-list Murder Must Advertise is priceless.

Another unexpected pleasure has been blogging. I’m lucky to belong to Poe’s Deadly Daughters with five terrific blog sisters, fellow mystery writers Sandy Parshall, Lonnie Cruse, Sharon Wildwind, Julia Buckley, and Darlene Ryan. I love the community, and I love the writing, which for me is like being a journalist once a week—a columnist with freedom to write about whatever I want. And most of all, I love saying I have “blog sisters.”

Elizabeth Zelvin
www.elizabethzelvin.com