Or I could have said, where did our day go?
The older I get the shorter time seems to be. Now by the time I get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, do a few things on my list, it’s time for lunch. Same thing with the afternoon, it disappears and it’s time to make dinner. Evenings are much shorter too.
When I was kid a day lasted forever. Summers seemed like they went on forever. We had time to play, visit friends, ride our bicycles, zoom down the hill on skates lickety split and crash into the neighbor’s garage door to keep from killing ourselves. When we were teenagers, our group took turns hosting evening get-togethers at our homes and served homemade cookies and lemonade or Kool-Aid. We walked home in the dark. Not the least bit scary. I wrote and put on plays with the neighborhood kids. We had a girls’ club that met in the play house my dad built for me when I was younger, but was big enough for us to get-together and have secrets from the little kids.
And of course, I had plenty of time to read those ten books I got from the library each week. I was writing too. One summer I put out a magazine and charged five cents a copy.
We did chores too, but I have to admit, it was mostly doing dishes every night. I washed and my sister dried and we cleaned our rooms on Saturday.
We always went to Sunday School and Church on Sunday. Most Sunday’s we came home and had a big dinner. Afterwards we often visited with one of our relatives, my grandparents, or my aunts and uncles and all their kids.
We had wonderful birthday parties–usually two, one with our friends and then another with our cousins. With the cousins it was usually a picnic at one of the big parks.
Before TV we listened to the radio. I always listened to all the scary shows as well as Lux Radio Theater that had dramas with all the movie stars on them. Mom and I would go to the radio station to watch and then afterwards I’d get the stars autographs.
After my father built the first TV in our neighborhood, we had a lot of company in the evening who came to watch the magical box with us. Evenings lasted a long time too, I always had a project that I wanted to do.
Even after I had a family, once the children were all tucked into bed, I had my own private evening. Now, I’m the first one into bed.
Don’t get me wrong, I still cram as much as possible into every hour I’m awake, but those hours just don’t seem to last as long.
Maybe I’m just being nostalgic, but I don’t think so. I listen to what one of my married granddaughter does during her days, she’s a speech therapist at a public school and has two kids, a pre-schooler and a second grader. This summer, besides their vacation where they rode the rapids, yes, with their kids, camped, bicycled, rode an old fashioned train, the boy went to karate lessons and both kids took swimming lessons, the girl plays the violin and does that Irish dancing, and in the meantime, my granddaughter was taking a class for her profession. Her husband is a deputy sheriff and of course he helped with all this, but he also took a cake baking class and turns out he loves doing it and is now the official birthday cake baker for the family.
That’s the way my life used to be, jam packed with activity, now I can’t imagine even trying to do all that.
Now that I’ve written all that, I guess I’m just thankful that I can look back at all those great memories and be grateful that I still am able to do as much as I can.
Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com
New Year’s Resolutions
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangContrary to popular belief, THIS is the most wonderful time of year. It is reflected in the commercials we see on television (one even uses the wonderful Christmas song to illustrate this point) and in the faces of moms and dads around the country. What time is this, you ask?
It’s time for school.
This is the time of year, for me and many others like me, when it feels like we’re turning over a new leaf. New Year’s Eve and Day? They’ve got nothing on the beginning of a school year. New backpacks are purchased with promises extracted from their new owners that this year they will not, under any circumstances, lose them; new clothing is bought, with again, promises extracted that they won’t be worn until the first day of school (I’m looking at you, child #2, in your bright-white sneakers purchased from the Nike outlet by a very suggestible grandmother); school supplies are purchased with promises made to fill them only with intellectually-stimulating material generated by invigorated teachers.
All lies, I promise you.
But this is the time of year when people like myself (those who work in their attic and never see the sun and/or those sending a passel of kids back to school) decide to make some resolutions about how life is going to be different after a regulation-less, schedule-less summer. Here’s what I have planned:
1. I will go outside every day, even if it kills me. I live so close to the Hudson River that it would be a crime not to. I also have a good friend who has just quit her job, and has purchased two new kayaks. There is no reason, besides my incredibly dysfunctional work ethic which dictates that I should be in my office all day every day, to not enjoy the beauty that surrounds us here in the Hudson Valley.
2. I will get dressed every day. Now let’s not get the wrong idea. I’m not undressed every day, just dressed in a way that might suggest to you—if you happened to run into me at the grocery store—that I’m either between homes or don’t care about my appearance. Maybe it’s the “What Not to Wear” marathon that I watched that convinced me that even though I work at home, I should take some time with my appearance. Once everyone goes back to school and I’m on the hook for going out more in public (i.e. back-to-school nights, PTA meetings, church events, going into clients’ offices) I need to spruce up a bit. The summer of baggy, linen pants from Target (which are a dream come true, by the way), un-styled and un-dyed hair (no that gray can’t pass for sun streaks—everyone knows I haven’t been outside since the end of June), no make-up, and seen-better-days tee shirts are over. You heard it here first.
3. We, as a family, are going to eat healthier foods. Oh, why bother? It’s a lost cause. I’m really the only one interested in anything green that grows outside.
4. I will not worry. It’s worth a try.
5. I will work less. Won’t happen.
6. I will write at least 500 words every day. I’d better. The manuscript is due in four months.
So, there you go. What are your resolutions for the “new year,” loyal Stiletto readers? What do you have in store for school year 2009-2010, even if you don’t have kids going back into the classroom? Let’s all turn over a new leaf together.
Maggie Barbieri
Making Lemonade Out of Lemons
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangHubby and I were invited to spend the weekend with Lorna and Larry Collins to help them celebrate two events for the launch of their mystery, Murder…They Wrote. We met Lorna and Larry four years ago in San Antonio at an Epicon. (Conference for electronically published writers.)
We’ve since spent time together at subsequent Epicons and kept in touch through e-mail. They’ve invited us several time to come visit them at their home. It’s a long, long drive to where they live through L.A. traffic and we had never accepted their kind invitation before. This time they asked me to be part of a Fine Arts Festival being put on by the church; to have a table with my books and give a talk about How to Write A Mystery.
We also found out that we shared the same birthday which was yesterday. So of course we packed up what we needed for a weekend and headed down to San Juan Capistrano. Mrs. Magellan, as my husband calls our GPS, guided us right to the Collins’ front door.
Lorna met us with this greeting, “The books haven’t arrived.”
Oh, my, I’ve been in this predicament myself before and I knew exactly how she felt–and I told her so. After a consoling hug and learning about her frantic calls to her publisher and the post office, neither giving her any encouraging information, we brought our suitcases inside and sat down to talk about the situation.
She did have other books to sell at the festival and I suggested she make out some forms for people to use to buy the books and when the time came she could either mail or deliver them to the ones who lived close by. She quickly made an order form with a copy of the book cover in the corner.
Doing all that could be done for then, we all went to dinner, still hoping the books might show up the next day. They didn’t.
Because Lorna was in charge of the festival, my husband helped Larry do all the set up. We both sold some books and I met a lot of interesting people, and had fun giving my talk. After it was over and everything was back in order, we took the Collins’ to dinner this time as a celebration of our birthdays.
After church on Sunday, was the launch of the book. Of course the invitations had all been sent out so the party went on despite the lack of books to sell. The Collins back yard is gorgeous with a beautiful waterfall so tables with umbrellas and chairs were set up in the lovely beach weather. Lorna decorated each table with a Bird of Paradise and sea shells. (The book is set in Hawaii and has a Bird of Paradise on the Cover.)
Many guests arrived to be told there was no book as yet, but nearly everyone pre-paid for a book and filled out one of the order forms. (Taking care of all that was my job and I was glad to do it.)
Wonderful refreshments were served and the conversation was lively. I don’t think anyone felt deprived because the books weren’t there–except for Lorna and Larry, of course.
That evening, Lorna used the left-over meatballs and made pasta for our last meal together, and we talked about what a wonderful time we had together despite the lack of the new books.
We certainly got to know this lovely couple much better and enjoyed their hospitality, and I feel that we helped make the weekend go a bit smoother.
When “Murder…They Wrote” finally arrives, I’m sure they’ll have many more venues to introduce it to mystery lovers.
Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com
Proverbs 17:22 A merry heart doeth good like a medicine
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangI’d like to include in that pantheon of appreciation, a toast to Anne George. I fell in love with her Southern Sisters mysteries back in the 1990s. They feature Mary Alice Tate Sullivan Nachman Crane, “Aunt Sister,” six feet tall and admitting to 250 pounds, the wealthy three-time widowed older sister (although she decided to start counting her birthdays backward when she hit 66), and Patricia Anne Hollowell, “Mouse,” retired school teacher, five-feet one, 105 pounds, and still perfectly happy with her first husband, her real age of 61, and her naturally gray hair. If their parents hadn’t sworn that both girls had been born at home, Patricia Anne was convinced that one of them had been switched at birth.
There are eight books in the series, which ended prematurely with the author’s death in 2001. The warmth, humor (sometimes gentle, sometimes laugh-out-loud), and clever plots have been a soothing balm in choppy waters. Ms. George, who was also a Pulitzer-prize nominated poet, creates complex main characters that drive the action, but also a finely-honed supporting cast that has the reader anxious to learn more about them as well.
These wonderful stories allowed me to escape to a sweet, soft, albeit deadly community, with cornsticks and egg custard pie, and expressions like “common like pig tracks,” which, I’ve decided,is the perfect description of some of what I see on reality TV.
In an interview with mysterynet.com, Ms. George was asked:
Do you see humor as a means of coping with these sorts of problems?
She answered: I have been blessed with a family who uses humor as a means of dealing with problems. It’s a “might as well laugh” attitude and it works.
She’s right. Humor, even in the darkest of moments, can sometimes be the perfect medicine.
I also loved her description of her mysteries. “Let’s face it, these are definitely not hardcore mysteries. My son explains them as “nobody gets autopsied.”
And that’s okay too. All the CSI-gadgets in the world are no substitute for well-drawn characters, smart plotting, snappy dialogue, and a healthy sprinkle of humor.
If you’re looking for a delightful series, I recommend Anne George. She does the body good.
Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com
No Children Allowed
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangIt wasn’t until I came to Internet mystery discussion groups that I realized that a large percentage of readers want to read series in order. It had always been my assumption that one goal of writing a series should be to write individual volumes that can be picked up in any sequence. Book Number Three should be a terrific read even for someone who’s never opened Books One and Two.
My first series of novels, featuring the uselessly overeducated LA private eye Simeon Grist, could be read frontward, backward, or sideways. A reader could have picked up Number Four without even knowing there was a Number One.
There are good reasons for series books to work as stand-alones. Let’s say you’re browsing and you pick up a book by a new author. You flip through it and think it might be worth a few hours. And then you realize that it’s the fourth in a series, and you ask yourself, “Am I going to have to read three other books just to get to this one?” That’s enough all by itself to stop some people, but suppose it’s not suppose you look for the first three titles in the series and they’re . . . not . . . there. Guess which book, out of the four you’re toting, is going to wind up back on the shelf. (By the way, this is the main reason many booksellers don’t like series.)
I’m hoping the information that follows will help some poor writer who is thinking about creating a series and would like the books in his or her series to be true stand-alones. A series that booksellers will love.
If so, here is one thing you do not, under any circumstances, want to do.
Do NOT include a child among your primary continuing characters.
When I decided to write a series of Bangkok thrillers about an expatriate American rough-travel writer named Poke Rafferty, I thought it would give him a deeper relationship with Thailand if he’d created a family there. I also thought that doing that would get me away from the lone-wolf private eye stereotype. Within about 30 seconds of making that decision, I realized that Poke came from a broken family, that he had been scarred by his father’s abandonment, and that the family he has pulled together in Thailand is the most important thing in his life.
It’s an unorthodox family, to be sure. His wife, Rose, is a former dancer in Bangkok’s notorious Patpong red-light district. (Yes, “dancer” is a euphemism.) Their daughter, Miaow, was adopted off the Bangkok streets, where she’d been struggling for a living since she was three or four. She’s eight or nine (no one knows for sure) in the first book, A Nail Through the Heart, and she’s going on eleven in the third and newest one, Breathing Water.
And there’s the problem. Those particular years would be a huge amount of time in any kid’s life, but when she’s gone from being a semi-literate street child to being a desperately wanna-be middle class kid in a school where everyone is fancier, richer, and more sophisticated than she is, it’s a geological era. And because the family is at the heart of all the novels – I think of the thriller stories as rites of passage for the family – the installments in Miaow’s development comprise a continuing story, and it can really only be read in one order.
In fact, Miaow’s growth and development comprise the most important element in the family’s life. In the first book, she’s barely off the streets, still learning to read and trying to get used to living eight stories above the ground instead of in doorways and abandoned buildings. By the time of the current one, BREATHING WATER, she’s at the top of her class in international school and vaguely ashamed of ever having lived on the street. In the one I’m writing now, THE ROCKS, she’s playing Ariel in a school production of Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.” And Rose and Poke, as her adoptive mother and father, are deeply involved in all of it.
If I’d realized then the impact Miaow would have on the series, I would have gone ahead and written her anyway, because she’s more fun to write than anyone else in the books.
Tim Hallinan
Reason on Life-Support
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangI’ve been listening to the health care bill “shake and shouts” this month and I’ve come away concerned about the status of “education” in the United States. Yes, I said education. Apparently the ability to think, to reason, and then to debate differences of opinion in a civil manner has been lost.
I would blame it on the past eight years of teaching to the “test,” but the individuals I see parroting conflicting statements in a loud and uncompromising manner at these town hall meetings can in no way be considered a product of the last ten years of the public education system. They are too old. Some of them are our elected representatives. Some are special interest group shills. Many are retired seniors who have been frightened into spouting gibberish.
No matter what your political leanings, reason shouldn’t be the first victim when times get tough. I think we can all agree that times are tough.
Death Panels? Nazis? How did end of life counseling done at the patient’s request become akin to forced euthanasia? Come on people! Think!
I don’t know if the “public option” insurance is a good thing or a bad thing. At this rate I never will. I get very suspicious when people don’t want me to hear what others have to say. I begin wonder if the people shouting down the others have a financial interest in things remaining the same.
I know that we already have government run health care – it’s called Medicare and Medicaid.
I know that we already pay for those who don’t have health insurance – it’s called Emergency Room treatment (much more expensive than any other kind of medical treatment) paid for with our tax dollars.
I know many people, through no fault of their own, can’t afford any health care insurance or are severely under-insured.
I know many businesses can’t afford to offer health care insurance to their employees. Even state governments, the provider of my health insurance benefits, find each year that they can afford less and less coverage for the funds available. When the costs of health benefits increases between 20% & 30% in a twelve-month period, we all have a problem. It’s easy to say, “Leave me alone, I’m happy with my insurance.” But if things continue as they have, you won’t be happy for much longer.
I know we have a problem that needs fixing. Regardless of your politics, you know we have one too. We just disagree on how to solve the problem.
A lot of people are involved in the “noise,” but I don’t know if there are any smart, well-informed people being heard.
I haven’t “heard” any. How about you?
Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com
Don’t Miss This One!
/in Uncategorized/by Stiletto GangI had the pleasure of getting away on my birthday last week to see “Julie and Julia” with a friend, followed by dinner. I have to tell you, dear readers, if you haven’t seen it, run—don’t walk—to the theatre to see this delightful film. From the moment the credits came on until the lights went up at the end, I was smiling from ear to ear. It’s that good and it’s that uplifting.
I find as I get older—and have been through some stuff (that which we shall not name and all)—that I can’t take movies that have any kind of violence, but particularly violence against women, children, and animals; a focus on the end of the world and complete destruction; or anything in which a character develops, deals with, or god forbid, dies of, cancer. Any kind. If that makes me a wimp, well, so be it. (I still can’t look at the Statue of Liberty up close. Why? The last scene of “Planet of the Apes” where Charlton Heston escapes from the apes, runs down to the ocean, and finds the Statue of Liberty sticking out of the sand. He’s been in his own country all along, a country that’s been overtaken by apes. The visual has stuck with me all these years and is something of a joke in my family. But it’s not a joke to me. The memory of the final scene in that movie—seen when I was a young child—makes me sick to my stomach to this day. Heck, I’m getting a little queasy just writing about it!) So, with all of those requirements, it’s been well over a year since I’ve stepped foot in a movie theatre. When I saw the advertisements for “Julie and Julia” on television, I told my husband that I wasn’t going to miss it.
One of the most refreshing things about the movie is its positive depiction of marriage, particularly the marriage of Julia and Paul Child. These were two people who cared about each other, supported each other, loved each other, and had a very voracious and healthy sex life. What could be better? They had their hardships—many moves between Europe and the United States, infertility, Paul’s job insecurity and subsequent questioning by members of HUAC—but they seemed to get through everything with laughter, a good meal, and each other’s support. I know: it’s just a movie. I’m sure that they hit their bumps in the marital road. But isn’t this just a bit more refreshing than watching couples deal with infidelity and any one of a host of other problems in the movies that seem to come out weekly?
The “Julie” portions of the story weren’t quite as uplifting, but charming nonetheless. Her marriage was on shakier ground than “Julia’s” due to her obsession with her blog and cooking her way through Julia’s cookbook, but things resolved nicely and left me with a positive feeling about her and her husband as well.
One piece of oft-recited advice: Do not go to the movie hungry. The cooking scenes are numerous, realistic, and intense. I have never wanted to eat boeuf bourguignon so badly in my life but that’s a tough dish to find in a sleepy suburban village in New York in the middle of August. So we settled for dinner at an Italian restaurant and the chicken special to take the edge of the hunger exacerbated by the movie.
This is one not to miss.
What movies would you recommend, now that you know my requirements for a good feature film? And please, make sure the Statue of Liberty doesn’t take up residence on a sandy beach far, far into the future. That’s rule number one for my viewing pleasure.
Maggie Barbieri
What Happened to Our Time?
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangOr I could have said, where did our day go?
The older I get the shorter time seems to be. Now by the time I get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, do a few things on my list, it’s time for lunch. Same thing with the afternoon, it disappears and it’s time to make dinner. Evenings are much shorter too.
When I was kid a day lasted forever. Summers seemed like they went on forever. We had time to play, visit friends, ride our bicycles, zoom down the hill on skates lickety split and crash into the neighbor’s garage door to keep from killing ourselves. When we were teenagers, our group took turns hosting evening get-togethers at our homes and served homemade cookies and lemonade or Kool-Aid. We walked home in the dark. Not the least bit scary. I wrote and put on plays with the neighborhood kids. We had a girls’ club that met in the play house my dad built for me when I was younger, but was big enough for us to get-together and have secrets from the little kids.
And of course, I had plenty of time to read those ten books I got from the library each week. I was writing too. One summer I put out a magazine and charged five cents a copy.
We did chores too, but I have to admit, it was mostly doing dishes every night. I washed and my sister dried and we cleaned our rooms on Saturday.
We always went to Sunday School and Church on Sunday. Most Sunday’s we came home and had a big dinner. Afterwards we often visited with one of our relatives, my grandparents, or my aunts and uncles and all their kids.
We had wonderful birthday parties–usually two, one with our friends and then another with our cousins. With the cousins it was usually a picnic at one of the big parks.
Before TV we listened to the radio. I always listened to all the scary shows as well as Lux Radio Theater that had dramas with all the movie stars on them. Mom and I would go to the radio station to watch and then afterwards I’d get the stars autographs.
After my father built the first TV in our neighborhood, we had a lot of company in the evening who came to watch the magical box with us. Evenings lasted a long time too, I always had a project that I wanted to do.
Even after I had a family, once the children were all tucked into bed, I had my own private evening. Now, I’m the first one into bed.
Don’t get me wrong, I still cram as much as possible into every hour I’m awake, but those hours just don’t seem to last as long.
Maybe I’m just being nostalgic, but I don’t think so. I listen to what one of my married granddaughter does during her days, she’s a speech therapist at a public school and has two kids, a pre-schooler and a second grader. This summer, besides their vacation where they rode the rapids, yes, with their kids, camped, bicycled, rode an old fashioned train, the boy went to karate lessons and both kids took swimming lessons, the girl plays the violin and does that Irish dancing, and in the meantime, my granddaughter was taking a class for her profession. Her husband is a deputy sheriff and of course he helped with all this, but he also took a cake baking class and turns out he loves doing it and is now the official birthday cake baker for the family.
That’s the way my life used to be, jam packed with activity, now I can’t imagine even trying to do all that.
Now that I’ve written all that, I guess I’m just thankful that I can look back at all those great memories and be grateful that I still am able to do as much as I can.
Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com
Into the Wild
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto Gangby Susan McBride
Today I’m filling in for the Northern half of Evelyn David, and it’s my honor to do so. I decided to tell y’all the story of the cardinals who live in our yard, and I do mean the actual birds. If we had a pair of Cardinal ball players nesting in our pear tree, I have a feeling even animal-lover Tony LaRussa would not be too happy about it.
Let me start at the very beginning. When Ed and I bought our house three years ago, the yard had been neglected for quite awhile. The bad kind of honeysuckle had grown rampant in our backyard, and Ed practically had to go out wielding a machete to chop it back (and we still have more chopping to do–that stuff doesn’t die easily, does it?). I unearthed lots of brick garden surrounds and added more so I could plant like a maniac. We cut back ivy from the patio and found the loveliest stone border. The side yard, which we labeled “The Wasteland,” was regraded with help from a landscaping crew. A flagstone path was added with liriope on either side. Our rose bushes came back to life, and things started looking healthy and happy again.
The front yard was no better than the back. We hired Ray’s Tree Service to tear out a HUGE forsythia bush that had morphed into a 6′ x 6′ blob. Half of it grew over the driveway, which made it hard for Ed to put his car in on that side until he’d hacked it back to the grass. We managed to trim down another forsythia, and we demolished weeds that had grown over the gas meter and a downspout. Six other overgrown shrubs sat in the second tier of a “garden” directly in front of the house. We pruned them as much as we could, but still the tallest stood about 8′ or 9′ and even the flatter bushes went half-way up the frames of our nearly floor-to-ceiling windows. We finally decided to have those torn out as well after finding damage to the wood window frames and realizing rain-water was leaking into the basement down that outside wall.
I’m glad I was home the day Ray’s crew showed up to cut those suckers down. Just before they hauled the 8′ or 9′ shrub to their truck, I noticed a nest within and two baby birds practically falling out. I removed it, worried the babies were dead already beacuse they were SO tiny and pink. It was cold that day, sunny but with a blustery wind. I had no clue what to do with them. I stuck the nest in the only remaining bush nearby: the saved forysthia. Then I ran inside and called my mom.
Thank goodness, Mom remembered there was the Wild Bird Sanctuary in Overland, which wasn’t too far from where we live. I called the place first, asking what to do, and they basically advised I leave the nest in the forsythia bush so the mother could find her kids. Well, I sat behind the storm door for an hour or more, watching Mama Cardinal frantically hop around, chirping, looking for her babies. She flew all around the front of the house, but the wee cardinals obviously weren’t making a sound. So she couldn’t find them.
I felt awful, like a baby bird killer. Plus, here in St. Louis where the baseball Cardinals rule, it would have been sacrilegious to let newborn cardinals die. So I called the Wild Bird Sanctuary again (okay, and again and again), until they finally said, “Just bring ’em down here!” I was advised to fill a baggie with warm water, put it in a shoebox, then set the nest on top of it. I covered the whole thing with a soft piece of T-shirt. And I drove to Overland to get the babies into caring hands tout suite.
I was told the babies were a day-old at most, and I worried about them all night. I had promised my mom and my husband that I wouldn’t call and check on them. So, the next day, I started to dial a few times but made myself hang up. Until I couldn’t stand it anymore and rang the Sanctuary once more, asking as soon as they picked up, “How are the babies? Did they live through the night?” I realized the first 24-hours were the most crucial so when I was told, “They made it, and they’re keeping us busy today!” I breathed a huge sigh of relief. And, no, I didn’t call again. That was enough for me. I firmly believed they would live.
With the overgrown shrubs gone, (thankfully) the Mama Cardinal and her red hubby moved into the backyard. We put out a feeder for them filled with wild bird seed (which Squirrelly Squirrel likes to hang by his toes and enjoy way too often–he’s already pulled it down twice). Best of all, I saw Mama Cardinal gobble at the feeder and then fly into the pear tree. Soon after, I heard chirping and could just barely see her feeding a wee cardinal. Ed and I witnessed several more tiny bird-lings hopping from branch to branch inside the pear tree not long after. It warmed my heart to think that Mama and Papa Cardinal had another batch of babies after the two lost to them (but saved from the tree shredder). Yeah, I’m a sucker for a story with a happy ending.
P.S. We’re on our second feeder (a “squirrel-proof” one this time) after Squirrely Squirrel knocked the first one down for the third time and broke it for good. Muhaha, we humans aren’t as stupid as we look, Squirrely Squirrel!
The Perils of Public Speaking
/in Uncategorized/by Stiletto GangHannah Dennison began her writing career in 1977 as a trainee reporter for a small West Country newspaper in Devon, England. While the English countryside would always be home in her heart, she yearned to see the world on a grander scale. For more than a decade, she traveled the globe working as a flight attendant on private jets, while dreaming of someday landing in Hollywood to pursue a writing career. After an inspiring conversation with Steven Spielberg during a flight to the Middle East, Hannah decided to take his advice and follow her passion. Without a net in sight, she took a leap of faith and moved from England to Los Angeles, with her daughter and their two cats in tow. Once in Hollywood, she worked as a story analyst for several motion picture studios, while producing a hefty stack of her own screenplays. After enrolling in the UCLA Writer’s Program, Hannah decided to focus exclusively on writing long form narrative and began the Vicky Hill mysteries. Her first book, A VICKY HILL EXCLUSIVE! was published in March of 2008 with SCOOP! in March of 2009 – and the third, EXPOSE! will follow in December 2009. Hannah still has a demanding day job. For the past ten years she has worked as an executive assistant to the Chairman of a west coast advertising company. She is married to a fellow writer.
Call me naive, but I had no idea that public speaking would become such a huge part in my life as a published author. It’s one thing pretending to be someone else on stage or playing charades at Christmas, but being myself and trying to be witty and entertaining in front of strangers is mortifying. I can cope with simple book signings where spelling a name is easy enough; I can even handle a five-minute carefully rehearsed introduction, but it’s the bookstore appearances with a lively twenty-minute pitch that gets me hot under the collar. Taking part on a panel is only a tad more bearable because a) I am with kindred spirits and b) with luck, questions will have been sent over in advance—even though the Q & A that follows can sometimes be unpredictable.
You’d think I’d be more confident having published two books in the VICKY HILL mystery series with another coming out in December. I’m certainly better than the very first time I read aloud wearing a skirt above the knee. My husband said the audience was captivated by the speed at which my kneecaps were moving.
The worst is the after-dinner speaker gig that really sets my nerves on edge. My first humiliating experience came when I was guest speaker at a local mystery club with a three-course meal thrown in. No, I didn’t get plastered and fall off the podium in a drunken stupor but I was so anxious, I couldn’t eat a bite. When nervous, I make a habit of taking my eyeglasses on and off. On this particular evening—accompanied by the loud grumblings of an empty tummy—I thought I delivered my speech quite well. People seemed entertained. They were laughing. It was only on my way home that I discovered the large clump of strawberry cheesecake stuck in my hair above my right ear. I’d accidentally put my eyeglasses down in my dessert.
But now all that is about to change.
At a recent Los Angeles chapter meeting of Sisters in Crime, award winning Toastmaster maven, Susan Mayberry, and professional pitch consultant and author, Donna Sozio, gave us some great tips on the art of public speaking.
In a nutshell, it’s very cheering to know that listeners only pay attention to 5% of the actual words spoken, 38% to the tone of the voice and the remaining 55% to the presentation. The key is to be energetic and make eye contact with your audience. My favorite tip when reading aloud from a lectern is to type the excerpt in 18 pt font using only the top third of each sheet of paper. This means a quick downward glance keeps you on track. There is no shaking of papers with trembling hands and you can still maintain the all-important eye contact.
I was so excited by the sound of Toastmasters that I decided to go to a meeting. It was a lot of fun, not remotely daunting and membership will not break the bank. Each week there are assignments that you can take part in or just observe until you feel confident to give it a go. Generally, there are prepared speeches between five and seven minutes and a “table-top” topic (a spontaneous off the cuff presentation) running around two to three minutes.
Each week, members are encouraged to volunteer for various roles. The Wizard of Ahs must pay attention to the number of ah’s, um’s and word repetitions uttered by all speakers; the Grammarian is responsible for grammar and sentence construction; the Timer holds up various colored coded cards to ensure speeches are kept to the correct length and the Master of Chuckles is self-explanatory! Evaluation is offered in a way that I found surprisingly nurturing and supportive.
I signed up immediately. With my next public speaking engagement only a few weeks away, I’m looking forward to reading aloud, wearing a skirt above the knee and devouring everything on the menu.
Hannah Dennison
http://www.hannahdennison.com/
August Fun in the Ozarks
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangI usually end up taking my vacation from my “day job” in August. I say from my “day job” because I’m not sure writers ever take a vacation from writing or from thinking about writing. I’m still officially on vacation until Tuesday. I’ll spend the remaining days doing some home maintenance and plotting out a new stand-alone novel.
As I’m writing this blog, I’m eyeing the unpacked bags stacked on my living room floor. A few hours previously, I’d returned from a three day trip to Eureka Springs, Arkansas with a side trip on Tuesday to Branson, Missouri. A three day trip required two soft-side suitcases, my laptop, my camera, an ice chest, and a tote for miscellaneous stuff that wouldn’t fit into one of the other bags. I hate lugging so much stuff in and out of the hotel and car, but I just can’t seem to do with less. I count this last trip as a success since I didn’t forget to pack anything vital and I didn’t leave anything behind. (Note: whoever was staying the cabin 1003 before me left behind a green cotton t-shirt – sized small. It’s still hanging in the closet if you’re looking for it.)
Speaking of cabins, my brother and I stayed at a cabin at the Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Last year we stayed in regular rooms in the hotel proper. The cabins were a much better experience! I love visiting old buildings, but I like sleeping in new ones with air conditioning and updated plumbing. The cabin we stayed in was wonderful – two bedrooms, two baths, full kitchen, fireplace, deck, three flat screen televisions, excellent satellite reception, and wireless internet. With the floor to ceiling windows on the side facing the valley below – it felt like we were staying in a very elegant tree house.
The Crescent Hotel is a famous destination for weddings and – since being featured on Ghost Hunters – a hot spot for ghost tours. We were there for the ghost tour. Last year’s tour was wonderful – this year’s not so much. Have you noticed whenever something really good also becomes very popular, the quality almost immediately goes down? The first time there were about 20 people taking the tour. This week’s tour included almost three times that number. Everyone was stepping on each other in the narrow hallways, snapping photos of the back of someone’s head, and trying to hear the tour guide over the murmurings of the crowd. I’m sure the ghosts found better places to hang out – about halfway through, I did too.
But even with an absence of ghosts, the time I spent sitting in a rocker on the hotel veranda, watching an evening thunderstorm roll in, made the whole trip worthwhile.
On Tuesday we drove to Branson and went through the Titanic Museum. The self-guided tour included many interactive exhibits. Nothing like sitting in a lifeboat and listening to the stories of survivors of the sinking to put an Atlantic chill in your bones. Don’t confuse this museum with the traveling Titanic exhibits with items salvaged from the ship. The Titanic Museum in Branson offers fun doses of history and replicas of some of the ship staterooms and radio telegraph equipment, but no recovered items from the actual sunken ship. This museum is a great destination for history buffs and kids of all ages. I really wanted the “Rose Doll” (modeled on the character in the Titanic movie) sold in the gift ship, but I refrained. My house already has too many dolls – and I hardly ever play with them!
I did buy a book while I was away, In the Woods, a mystery by Tana French. I’m about a 100 pages into it and I’m hooked. Can’t wait to finish it.
I hope everyone managed some type of vacation this summer – even if it’s just a few hours on the deck with a good mystery!
Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/