Tag Archive for: Linda Rodriguez

The Generosity of Mystery Authors

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by Kay Kendall
The first conference for mystery fans that I attended
was Bouchercon 2011 in St. Louis. Previously I’d only attended writers’
conferences where would-be authors pitched manuscripts to agents and sat at the
feet of those hallowed gods/goddesses called published authors. Bouchercon,
billed as the “World Mystery and
Suspense Conference,“ was an entirely different breed of cat. I couldn’t
get my mind around what was going on.  
And then I got it! The published mystery authors weren’t there to tell us
how to write, how to sell, or how to win an agent. No, they were there to talk
about their writing and their writing worlds. Once I figured that out, I soaked
up every tiny detail that came my way. And I loved it.

I’m holding Charlaine’s LIVING DEAD IN DALLAS,
 the second Sookie Stackhouse book,
and she holds my debut mystery, DESOLATION ROW. 

The session that stands out, still to this day, was an
afternoon panel of new authors. One man exclaimed his astonishment over the
generosity of mystery writers. He said they supported each other and even him—a
newbie. But he was shocked to discover that mystery writers do so little
backbiting. Then he leaned over and leveled a hard look at us in the rapt
audience. “Poets are not like that,” he said. “I’ve attended meetings of poets
with a relative, and they’re just awful.” The audience howled.
While I can’t comment on poets, I can say from experience
that mystery authors are indeed generous. At Bouchercon 2012 in Cleveland I met
two authors who later agreed to blurb my debut mystery, Desolation Row. First,
thriller writer extraordinaire Norb Vonnegut gave key advice that helped me through
final edits. Whenever I need advice from
a seasoned pro, I still turn to Norb. Janet Maslin, influential book review at the
New York Times, calls him “the author of three glittery thrillers about fiscal
malfeasance” in which “he is three for three in his own improbably sexy genre.” 
The second author was Hank Phillippi Ryan, to whom I
was introduced only in passing. Yet brief as that encounter was, this
multi-award winning mystery author agreed to blurb my debut effort when I asked
her. 
As well, Stiletto Gang member Linda Rodriguez reached
out to me as an online pal to offer help setting up a bookstore event in the
Kansas City area. (Her writing career began as a poet so she may disagree with
the opinion I quote above.)
I could go on and on, but you get the idea. Mystery
authors are a benevolent group. At heart they love the genre we write in and
seem to understand that the success of one does not take away from the others. In
fact, a whole organization has been founded on that principle, the
International Thriller Writers. After attending Bouchercon 2004 in Toronto, ITW
founding members decided to reach down and pull up writers who needed help in
climbing the slippery slope to publication, “providing opportunities for mentoring, education and
collegiality among thriller authors and industry professionals.” 
A much older organization is the Mystery Writers of America founded in 1945. It underwrites MWA-University, one-day seminars led by
experienced authors who share their how-to advice for a minuscule fee. The session
I attended last weekend in Dallas was, as the under-30s would say, “awesome.” The
attached photo of me with Charlaine Harris was taken at that event. When this
creator of the Sookie Stackhouse series of paranormal mysteries (on which the
HBO series True Blood is based) wished me success like hers, I almost fell
over. In truth, I’d be pleased with one percent of her enormous fan base.

Traditionally the holiday season is when we are encouraged
to be more big-hearted and giving than usual. As I contemplated blogging about generosity, I remembered the mystery authors I’ve been privileged to meet. While I can’t
thank each one individually because they’re too numerous, I can offer this
posting as an ode to them collectively. Both their writing and the generosity
of their spirit serve to inspire me. 

Kay Kendall
~~~~~~~
To celebrate the conclusion of 2013, the year in which my debut mystery was published, I will give away one copy of Desolation Row to someone who leaves a comment here about the joys of reading mysteries . . . or how you feel about mystery authors . . . or, heck, anything that you think is related! 

A Life of Her Own

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My husband came home after a run-in with someone at work who
inherited wealth and who specializes in not doing the work she’s responsible
for, creating discord and trouble for/with everyone who works with her, and
then having loud, angry, public meltdowns to get her way. Husband’s the only
one at work who will stand up to her, and once again he’d had to draw a line in
the sand and tell her that her behavior was inappropriate. Our son asked how
she can possibly expect to keep her job with such incompetence and
unprofessional behavior. I told him she felt entitled because her inherited
wealth had always cushioned her from consequences and quoted someone, as I
often do. It could have been Helen Keller, Emerson, the Dalai Lama, Eleanor
Roosevelt, but this time it wasn’t. I quoted from my newest book, Every Hidden Fear, which I’d just spent
the day with as I pored over page proofs. “As Skeet says, ‘It’s
amazing the crap people will put up with from someone with lots of money.’” 
My
son looked at me with a little concern and said, “You do know Skeet’s not a
real person, right? I mean, she’s not really alive. She didn’t really say
that—you did.”
Of course, technically, he’s right. I write every word that
comes out of Skeet’s mouth. But Skeet says and does things that surprise me all
along. I can begin a book or chapter or scene expecting to write about Skeet
doing this and saying this, only to find once it’s written that Skeet’s
actually doing and saying something else entirely, something I never intended
or planned or even wanted.
Skeet’s not the only character who’s become her own person.
I have some others from the Skeet books and from other stories and books I’ve
written or am writing who have come to life and move and speak in ways I don’t
expect. It’s an extension of my lifelong reading, in which beloved characters come
alive for me and continue their adventures in my head long after the book’s
adventures are over. 
I just notice it in Skeet so much because I’ve written
three books with her and am planning the fourth, planning that she will
blithely disregard as soon as I allow her on the page again. So I quote Skeet
and other characters and ask myself what they would do in certain situations
that call for strengths they have that I don’t. And yes, I am aware that very
little separates me from the bag lady with the shopping cart who walks down the
street having arguments with the voices in her head. I just don’t do it in
public—yet.
So, tell me, am I alone in my affliction, or do you also
have these people in your head who insist on living lives of their own?


NOTE: I am still not able to reply to comments here, but I’ll respond on The Stiletto Gang Facebook page, so visit us there at https://www.facebook.com/stilettogang.

Home Again, Home Again

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My youngest son has moved back home, and much as he loves
us, he’s not happy about it. He finds himself in the position in which so many
young people who’ve done everything parents and society have told them to do
find themselves—well-educated with excellent grades and college leadership
experience and no jobs. And heavy student loans.
Joseph’s lucky. He had full scholarships In undergraduate
and fellowships in graduate school, so his student loans are nowhere near as
large as those his friends are carrying. But he spent one full year studying
abroad and went to England on several research trips, as well as traveling to
national conferences to present scholarly papers (all an absolute must anymore
if you’re looking for an academic job), and his scholarships didn’t cover all
of that, so he had to take student loans.
Universities have been phasing out full-time, tenure-track
faculty positions over the last decade or two. Where part-time, contingent
faculty used to make up less than 30% of faculty nationally, now they are over
70% of the teachers at universities and colleges. Even as tuition has gone
sky-high, the students paying it are being taught by part-time adjunct faculty
who usually have no campus offices or telephones and are paid less than the
lowest level clerical worker at their schools, having to cobble together multiple
classes at several universities to make a minimal income (with no benefits) and
racing from one place to another each day and week.
My son is also looking for non-academic jobs, but there he
runs into a twin difficulty that’s almost an oxymoron—he has no applicable
experience yet he’s considered overqualified. And again, a whole generation of
young people are facing this same double bind.
This leads me to wonder how we as a country came to this
point of failing our children. As individual parents and as a society, we’ve
stressed to them, “Work hard. Stay in school. Go to college. Get good grades.
That’s the road to success in life.” So what do we say when our kids have done
all of this, and they’re faced with jobs that require they also apply for food
stamps?
I don’t have any answers to these questions, but I know
they’re questions we need to be asking and finding answers to as a society. If
all we want is a nation of underpaid fast-food/TargMart /AmazGiant warehouse
workers, what are we turning ourselves into? And why do we even bother with
schools of any kind?
Do you have any young people in your life? What do they feel
about what they’re facing economically? What do you think about it?

Autumn = New Beginnings

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As most of you know, I’m part Cherokee and Choctaw. Traditionally,
we see the world and life in a circular form, a wheel or spiral. For the
Cherokee, autumn is the time of endings that create new beginnings. We
celebrate our New Year in the fall, and I’ve always lived my life like that—with
autumn as the time new cycles begin and new things of importance are started in
the most abstract and concrete ways.  If
you think of cleaning up the garden for winter while you’re dividing and
replanting your perennials for new plants, it makes a lot of sense. And we’ve
been doing something similar with this blog. 
It’s my privilege to kick off a new version of The Stiletto
Gang this month. We’ve had some big changes around here. Those of you who
follow us regularly will know that we recently began a Facebook page for the
blog, https://www.facebook.com/stilettogang.
 We’ll be doing some fun things there as
folks launch books—and we’ve got lots of book launches ahead. We’ll have
giveaways and other fun things going on over there.
At the same time, here at the blog, we’ve undergone some
major changes. Two of our regular longtime blog mates, Joelle Charboneau and Maggie
Barbieri, are leaving because, well, mostly because they’ve become so
successful that time has become really limited for them. We all wish them the
best and will miss them greatly, as I’m sure you will. But don’t worry. They’ll
come back occasionally to visit with us.
In the process of revamping the schedule and bringing in new
blood, some of us have cut our blog appearances to create more time or switched
days to make blogging more manageable—and we’ve brought on five new members of
the blog. That’s the exciting news! Lots of new voices to join with the rest of
us here. Our new members, in the order that you’ll meet them, are Lynn Cahoon,
Sally Berneathy, Kay Kendall, Sparkle Abbey (really, co-authors Anita Carter and
Mary Lee Woods), and Debra Goldstein. Check out their bios and books in the sidebar,
and I think you’ll be thrilled, too.
We regulars are so pleased to welcome such a talented and
diverse group of authors to join us, and we’re anticipating lots of fascinating
new posts from them. In the process, I think those of us who’ve been here a
while are getting energized, as well, like those perennials that grow so much
faster after division.
So, the wheel of the year is turning for us, and we say an
affectionate goodbye to Joelle and Maggie, grateful for all the wonderful times
we’ve had together, while we sing out an enthusiastic greeting to Lynn, Sally,
Kay, Anita, Mary Lee, and Debra. Oh, are we going to have some fun together!
NOTE: Blogger and I are still at war over comments and
replies. Blogger won’t let me comment here or at my own blog (though I can on
other Blogger blogs), so I will respond to comments here over on Facebook. *sigh*
Hope to get this fixed soon.

Another Year Older and Counting Blessings

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Yesterday was my birthday. The week leading up to it was
full of chaos and turmoil caused by one of those people who have no empathy or
conscience and walk around making life difficult for everyone. In the past, I
would have tried to convince this person how wrong it was to do the things she
was doing to others. I’m older and wiser now. These folks just don’t care, and
they will bend the very shape of reality to avoid admitting they were wrong or
made a mistake. Now, I pick my battles and try to keep all that toxicity away
from myself. I did everything I could to help the victims and then moved on.
In this past year, I have noticed a growing sense of
hostility and aggression out in the world around us—in politics, in traffic, in
most places I look. The only way I know to truly combat it is to try to counter
it with loving, peaceful acts and thoughts. But when so many around us are acting
out, it’s hard to keep thinking and acting in a positive manner.
One technique that helps me is to focus on gratitude and the
many blessings I’ve received. The angry people I know have received multitudes
of blessings, but somehow they remain oblivious to them and filled with
resentment and rage. Every day, I make a conscious choice not to be like them.
Sometimes all I can do to follow through on that choice is to avoid taking out
my irritation on everyone around me. Other days, I can contribute some peace
and joy to the atmosphere around me.
This year, all of my three children are living in their
hometown with me for the first time in fifteen years. That’s a huge blessing. I
have well-received novels that are selling well. This is a dream come true. I am making a living (of
sorts) by making up stories and writing them down. That’s another great
blessing.  The year began with health
scares for me and included more for two of my children, all of which came to
nothing—another blessing of major magnitude. And the list goes on and on.
I believe that, if those cutting off people in traffic or
committing hostile or underhanded acts against others in the workplace or
attacking others viciously on the internet would take a moment to look at their
lives, they, too, would find reasons for gratitude. As my grandmother used to
say, “Any day I can suck in breath and stand up on my own feet gives me reason
right there to be thankful.” It’s when we live blind to the miracles of our daily
lives that we turn sour and mean.
So I’m beginning this new personal year with gratitude and
recognition of the blessings that surround me, and I hope to continue in that
vein for the entire year. One thing I truly appreciate is this blog—the
wonderful women who are part of it with me and the great people who visit it
and connect with us.
What about you? Have you noticed the rise in uncivil
behavior lately? How do you deal with it? What are the things you’re grateful
for? What are your blessings and little and big miracles?
NOTE: Something I’m not happy about is my inability to
comment on this blog or reply to others’ comments right now. I’m trying to get
answers to this problem from Blogger, but until then, please note that, if you
leave a comment, I will respond to it on The Stiletto Gang Facebook page, which
does recognize my existence—at least at this moment.

The Brooklyn Book Festival

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I’m finally back in Kansas City from the Brooklyn Book Festival.
More than 45,000 people attended the festival, and 200 stalls sprawled across
three blocks in the heart of downtown Brooklyn, representing a cross-section of
independent bookstores, independent presses and magazines. At times, the crowd
was so packed it was difficult to move. New York City’s largest free literary
event offered a long list of lectures, conversations and presentations at
fourteen different locations. Sunday afternoon presentations included famous
authors with Brooklyn connections, such as Edwidge Danticat, Pete Hamill, and Colum
McCann.
After a weeklong series of over 60 “Bookend” events
from Sept. 16 – 22, the Brooklyn Book Festival consisted of 90-plus
panels, readings and workshops spread across 14 stages. Among the venues were
Brooklyn Borough Hall and Plaza, Columbus Park, Brooklyn Law School, St.
Francis College, the Brooklyn Historical Society, and St. Ann & the Holy
Trinity Church.
I wasn’t sure I’d make it safely to the festival from my
Brooklyn hotel since my cab driver couldn’t find the address and ended up
driving while wearing his reading glasses so he could decipher his cell phone’s
GPS. But he managed to deliver me safe and sound to St. Francis College where
my 10:00 a.m. panel was to take place.
On the panel called “Six Degrees of Separation,” Meredith
Walters of the Brooklyn Public Library moderated Brooklyn poet laureate Tina
Chang, novelist Ray Robertson, memoirist Leigh Newman, and me as we read from
our work and discussed the similarities and differences of between the
different genres of writing. The conversation ranged across the topics of
voice, setting, and characters/personae and found us agreeing with and learning
from each other as we examined the process of writing.
Next for me came a reading with other great Latino authors at
the Las Comadres/La Casa Azul Bookstore booth in the small city of vendor
booths that had sprung up on the Brooklyn Borough Hall plaza. A lovely crowd
gathered and grew as the reading progressed. The crowds moving among the stalls
warmed my heart—so many readers and booklovers.
All too soon in midafternoon, I had to leave the festival to
make the trip down the Hudson River to the Hudson Valley Writers Center, a
beautiful restored train station, to give another reading with the incredibly
talented Sergio Troncoso. This center is located in Sleepy Hollow, New York,
one of the loveliest towns you’ll ever see.
All this whirlwind of activity was bookended by a grueling
road trip from Kansas City to New York City and back. Now, all I want to do is
sleep. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, though. 
Do you like to attend book festivals or writers conferences?
Do you return energized or drained?

Killer Nashville Ate My Blog Post

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I am scheduled to post my blogs on The Stiletto Gang every
fourth Friday. Now, those among you who are very on top of things may have
noticed that this is the fifth Friday of the month. Those of you with
indecently strong memories may recall that no new post went up on the fourth
Friday of the month just past (I have always maintained that a faulty memory is
a kindness to others). Yes! *hangs head in shame* I missed my scheduled blog
post this month, and this is a make-up post. But I have a good excuse. Killer
Nashville ate my blog post.
I have my blogs scheduled on my Google calendar, which sends
me reminders a day ahead of time to write and post a blog for that fourth
Friday, and the calendar keeps good track of this, even when there are five
Fridays in a month.  I, on the other
hand, tend to imprecisely think of my post as due on the last Friday of the
month, which it usually is. So when I left at the crack of dawn with my husband
and a good friend from Border Crimes, my local Sisters in Crime group, to drive
from Kansas City to Nashville for the conference, I left behind all possible reminders
that I had a blog post due. It was only earlier this week when I was home again
and cleaning out the overflowing email inbox that I encountered that reminder
of a long-past-due post and had to throw myself on the mercy of my blog
sisters. “But if you had been there having all that fun and learning things and
meeting people—did I mention that Anne Perry and D.P. Lyle were guests of
honor?—you’d have forgotten the doggone blog post, too.” So my blog buddies
said to tell them and you about Killer Nashville to redeem myself—and as a
writer, I’m all about redemption.

Vinnie Hansen and Julie Tollefson


In the beginning was the drive—and in the end, as well—and it
was a drive of biblical dimensions. Billed by Mapquest as an 8 ½-hour drive, it
was stretched to 12 hours each way when we encountered severe road construction
all across the states of Illinois and Kentucky. Ben and I were glad we had our
friend, Julie, along to help with the driving and keep the atmosphere light.
When we finally burst through into Tennessee, it quickly became a favorite
state among us for its notable dearth of orange barrels, closed lanes, and
gridlock traffic standing still for miles and miles.
Nashville is a lovely city set in the midst of beautiful forested
mountains. Our raveled nerves healed and reknit as we drove through such
peaceful vistas. Soon we were at the conference hotel, and Julie was checking
in while Ben and I picked up registration materials and then found our way to a
writer friend’s house where we were staying twenty minutes from the hotel.
While our friends fed us healthy, delicious, homemade food, Julie was getting
snockered at the wine-tasting where she’d arrived late and tried to make up
time on an empty stomach. She gave that first program high honors next day,
though.
Molly Weston
What can I say? The panels and programs were great. I
cherry-picked ones featuring my good friends Chris F. Holm and Hilary Davidson
right off the top—and they were superb on writing the short story and on writing
dark. Then, Ben and I had lunch with Julie and our dear friend, Judge Debra
Goldstein, where much fascinating discussion and flat-out hilarity ensued. Back
at the conference, I checked in with Molly Weston who was in charge of the
Sisters in Crime table and reception later that evening. Throughout the
conference, I tried to take time to spell Molly at the table or keep her
company. I felt this was my responsibility as a local chapter president—and I
just love the chance to spend time with Molly. That evening, we all helped with
the Sisters in Crime reception, which was full of good food and drink and lots
and lots of great people. After which, Ben and I adjourned eight blocks to meet
our hostess, who runs the MFA in creative writing program at a local university,
and a handful of her students at Nashville’s Shakespeare in the Park for the
funniest, best version of Midsummer Night’s Dream we’ve seen (and with Ben’s
Ph.D. in theater and film, we’ve seen a lot of versions of that play).

Saturday offered workshops with law enforcement
professionals (one of the great features of Killer Nashville—tons of chances to
work with and meet ATF, TBI, and other law enforcement pros). We even had a
wonderful presentation by a former federal black ops agent who offered great
detailed explanations of how he was recruited and trained and how he operated
in the field—and the human toll it took on him and his family. D. P. Lyle, a forensic
consultant for major crime writers and crime TV shows and movies, gave a great
presentation, and bestseller Anne Perry gave such great and inspiring
presentations that she warranted a standing ovation. (I’m still resonating from
her talks and finding more and more to return to all the time.)

Sunday, I was scheduled on a panel, but first I had to
attend Debra’s panel, “Order in the Court,” with her (a federal judge), a state
judge, and a prosecuting attorney.  I
knew it would be excellent, just by virtue of Debra’s  presence on it, but it was fun and funny and
full of useful information for writers. Right after hers came my panel, “Fiction
on the Fringes: Writing Other Cultures, Closed Communities, Countercultures.”
(I’ve written in more detail about this great panel and the remarkable audience
we had on my blog here http://lindarodriguezwrites.blogspot.com/2013/08/fiction-on-fringes-and-great-question.html
)
Then, it was goodbyes all around and drive into and through
the night (or stand still for miles at a time in Illinois and Kentucky). We
finally arrived exhausted in the wee hours of Monday morning, and poor Julie
had to get in her car at my house and drive another hour to her own. Valiant
and stalwart woman that she is!
It was worth the horrible drives, and I had the chance to
see folks I missed at Malice this year and made new friends. And Anne Perry’s  remarkable, passionate presentation is going
to keep unfolding inside me until I write something about it, I’m sure. If you
have the chance to go to Killer Nashville, I’d advise you to take it. It was
worth even twelve hours of driving with 3 ½ of those pretty much standing
still.
And that’s how Killer Nashville ate my blog. I promise I won’t
do it again. Have I redeemed myself?

(Thanks to Kaye George for the top two photos and to Julie Tollefson for the last one.)

Interview Anxiety

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Interview Anxiety
By Linda Rodriguez
Last week, I interrupted my frantic dash toward the novel deadline
from hell to do two phone interviews. After all, unrealistic deadline or not, I
still have to promote my brand-new book, Every
Broken Trust. So I spent 1 ½ hours one day being interviewed by a reporter
for The Kansas City Star and slightly
more than 1 ½ hours another day being interviewed by a reporter from Cosmopolitan. Yes! Cosmo has done a profile on me!
Of course, I welcome a feature article in the Star, the largest newspaper between
Chicago and California. Last year, they did one on my debut novel, Every Last Secret, and gave me a whole
page with a big color photo of the book and me on the front page of the Arts and
Entertainment section. That’s the kind of publicity you can’t buy—and can’t
usually get even with a paid publicist. And as for Cosmo with its audience in the hundreds of thousands—guess I don’t
have to say much else but that, do I?
I’ve had nightmares about each of these interviews ever
since I did them. I always do with interviews. I go into them promising myself I’ll
be careful and remember the disaster I once encountered, but then I get involved
in the conversation and tend to forget. After it’s over, I suddenly remember
that I wasn’t careful, and I try to remember everything I said and how it can
be twisted and misused against me. And there’s a good reason for my fear.
Before I got sick and had to leave my job of many years
(which opened the doors for my writing), I was the director of a university
women’s center, one of the oldest in the country. I often had to give radio,
TV, and print interviews or was asked to write opinion pieces by newspapers and
magazines on women’s issues. I’d become sort of an old pro at it. One day the brand-new
network TV station in town, Fox, called and asked for an interview the next day
about pornography’s effects on women. I agreed and set about research to be
able to give an up-to-date, informed opinion on the matter and to back it up
with facts. (Fox hadn’t developed the reputation it now has. It was still
flying under the radar at that point.)
The next day I’m dressed in my nice red suit (better for
TV), and the Fox reporter and I are sitting in my beautiful women’s center’s
library with built-in walnut bookcases full of books surrounding us while a
cameraman films us. We talked for over an hour. To my surprise, the reporter
was very knowledgeable about the issue and some of the latest research, and his
questions were appropriate and insightful. He told me at the end that they
would need to edit it down drastically, and I said, “Of course.”
When it appeared on the newscast a week later, it became
clear that another reporter had wanted a junket to a porn-maker’s convention in
Las Vegas, and that was what the whole thing was about. It ran ten minutes and was
like an infomercial for porno films. I was the only woman in the segment who
was over 30, fully clothed, and not surgically enhanced, and they gave me one
line, which was not only ripped out of context, but edited, snipping the middle
out of it, to make it sound like the dowdy, old feminazi had condemned all porn
(which I hadn’t). Of all the times I’d been on TV or radio or in the paper,
this was the one the most people saw—my neighbors, my son’s gastroenterologist,
my hairdresser, the checker at the grocery store, strangers everywhere I went. And
then, because it was a highly rated segment, they replayed it six months later
during sweeps.
So I’ve learned the hard way to beware of interviews,
especially those where we’re having intelligent, nuanced discussions. I know
how it can be turned against me. I really don’t expect the Star’s article, which will be out Sunday, June 30, to be horrible.
They’re ethical journalists, and they’ve always been good to me. And the Cosmo interview was done by a person I
know whose work I respect. But I have to admit I had some bad nights over that
one. I’d remember some of the things we talked about and worry, “Oh no, think
what he could do with that statement if he took it out of context.” And then,
of course, there’s the fact that it’s Cosmo.
Would this be another case of being made out to be the stodgy, old feminazi
sandwiched in among the sexy girls?
Actually, I am sort of sandwiched between “The Joys of
Hangover Sex” and “Hot Sex Tips,” but the Cosmo
profile is very nice—and I’m grateful to have that opportunity to connect with
all those potential readers. Nothing was taken out of context, and the reporter
did a lovely job. http://www.cosmopolitan.com/cosmo-latina/blog/author-linda-rodriguez-interview
 
 But I never forget
what it could have been. Fox-TV scarred me for life when it comes to
interviews.
Have you had sad or maddening experiences with interviews or
being misquoted or misrepresented somehow? How do you feel when someone wants
an interview (other than a written Q and A where it’s so much easier to have
some control)?

Pharmaceutical Dreaming

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A few weeks ago, I had a bout of bronchitis, which ended up
triggering my asthma. That meant coughing, lots of big, loud coughing spasms. I
mean, coughing that rattles the windows in my house and those of my neighbors.
(I have been known to break ribs from coughing before.) Antibiotics had the
bronchitis under control quickly, but the asthma—and the coughing—was another
matter. Consequently, I’m still inhaling and nebulizing as I try to shake the
last of it, and in order to sleep at night without hacking my lungs out, I’m taking
codeine cough medicine.
This means weird dreams. That phrase seems redundant. Dreams
are, by nature, non-rational, of course. But these drugged dreams are something
else. Much more vivid and bizarre. The dead walk and talk again in my dreams
right now. My children, the youngest of whom is about to turn thirty, are babes
in arms and toddlers again in these dreams, even as I’m still a child myself, a
sibling to my own kids. Every morning I wake in wonder at the strange, technicolor
movies I’ve just experienced.
Since I’m a writer, I write them down in my journal. Each
morning I sit with my cup of tea and record another outlandish dream—a house
suddenly filled with feral cats and I can’t figure out how they’re getting in
or how to keep them out, a strange conference at an unknown university where I’m
responsible for one of the programs when hundreds of ninjas attack, a ballroom
dancing scene where I’m Ginger Rogers in chiffon and stilettos and only my unknown
partner’s hand keeps me from floating off to join all the other people living
on big multicolored clouds.
Last night, I had a dream in which an editor from Random
House visited me in Kansas City to tell me that Random House had published a
book in my Skeet Bannion series written by someone else, the first of many, and
had sold it for a television series, leaving me protesting that they couldn’t
do that since Random House is not my publisher and crying to my agent and my
actual editor at my actual publisher, “What can we do? They’re stealing my
books!”
I’m a writer, so you’d think some of these dreams would
spark stories or books. I have had the germs of stories and books come to me in
my dreams before, but not in medicated dreams like these. I know from sad
experience that none of these will offer me anything more than a moment’s entertainment
and wonder. I suppose that, if I wrote literary short fiction in the surreal
school of writing, I might find them useful, but for someone who writes mystery
novels and thrillers that must make sense to the average reader, these dreams
are a waste of my unconscious’s creative skills.
What they do for me as a writer, however, is remind me that
I have at my disposal an incredibly creative partner in that very unconscious.
I simply have to find ways to guide its creativity and to ground it in the
details of reality. That inventive part of my mind works constantly coming up
with all kinds of stories, good, bad, bizarre, and humdrum. It’s up to me to
harness and channel all that imaginative energy. Still, it would be nice if it
could just toss up a nice, usable, Academy-Award-worthy story now and then.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my nightly excursion
into the world of flying cars and dogs and Nazi storm troopers chasing me at a
writers conference and other exciting adventures.

Things I’ve Learned Along the Way

/in /by

I’ve been around for a lot more than a few years. And,
stubborn as I can be, I’ve learned some things along the way. Oddly enough, it’s
not the big lessons that have made a difference in my life, but a series of
small rules for happy living that I’ve learned to make a part of my daily life.

1 Do at least one thing a day that gives you pleasure.

2 Live your life in chapters. Focus on the chapter you’re in now. You don’t have to do/have/be it all now!

3 Don’t get overwhelmed. Break everything into baby steps. One page a day is a book in a year. Fifteen minutes a day on any overwhelming or distasteful task adds up and eventually will lengthen on its own. The ordinary kitchen timer is your friend.

4. Always clean up your messes.

5 Be kind to yourself and others.

6 Give something back.

7 Use it, appreciate it, or lose it. Your body, mind, belongings. Remember, unapplied knowledge is wasteful (f not tragic).

8 Make time to do often what you do well and enjoy. Spend time with people who think you’re great. When the world isn’t noticing you, notice and reward yourself. Give others recognition, in turn.

9 Make quiet time for yourself alone every day. And a corollary is have a place, even merely a spot, that’s just for you. Use it for devotions, meditation, journaling, or just reading. Give yourself 10 minutes of silence every day.

10. Pay attention to your breath. Conscious breath control can help you control stress, worry, and fear and replace them with calm and peace.

11. You create the path you’ll walk on in life with your words. Think before you speak. Remind yourself that, to a great extent, you are creating your reality when you speak.

12 Pay attention to your own emotional needs and desires.

13 Decide what you want your life to look like. Write it down. In detail.

14. Act “as if.” Imagine if your desired life were here now, if you could not fail. What would you do? Do it.

15 Conserve your energy. Rid your life of energy thieves—negative people and habits.

What about you? What rules would you add to my list?