I was planning on blogging about something erudite about my writing this week... until I got yesterday’s newsletter from Dr. Jon.
Now, Dr. Jon e-mails out a nearly daily newsletter relating to pets, primarily dogs. He’s affiliated with Petplace.com, which advertises a lot of pet-related goods and services, especially health insurance. But a lot of his newsletters are well worth reading. And yesterday’s was particularly interesting to me. It concerned which dog breeds were the most popular in the country... and which were most popular by major city.
The results were based on a survey by the American Kennel Club. Unsurprisingly, Labrador Retrievers remained at the top of the entire popularity list. The top 10 all-over breeds were:
1. Labrador retrievers
2. Yorkshire terriers
3. German shepherds
4. Golden retrievers
5. Beagles
6. Boxers
7. Dachshunds
8. Poodles
9. Shih Tzus
10. Bulldog
Of course I had to check out whether Cavalier King Charles spaniels made any of the city lists. They did! They made it to the top 10 in several different cities--but not Los Angeles, where Lexie and I live. Those smart cities are Atlanta, Dallas, Honolulu, Milwaukee, Minneapolis-St. Paul, New York, and Seattle.
Also, Cavaliers came in 25th in numbers registered by the AKC last year. That’s a lot of Cavaliers! And there are probably more Cavaliers registered by the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Club USA, the original Cavalier club in this country, not affiliated with the AKC.
Okay, do you think I’m obsessed by Cavaliers? Count on it. Maybe it helps that Lexie is lying on my lap at the computer as I write this. She’s always an inspiration to my writing, and maybe she used doggy ESP to get me to use this topic today.
But I also had to see if Pulik (that’s the plural of Puli) were mentioned anywhere. My older son recently got a Puli puppy--a Hungarian sheepdog--and I think they’re even rarer than Cavaliers used to be when I got my first one, many years ago. On a list of 157 breeds recognized by the AKC, Pulik were number 141.
So will I use any of this information in my writing? Could be. My next Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery had quite a few Labs as characters, and I thought perhaps they would be featured on the cover which, as #1, could help with the book’s popularity. But I recently got the wonderful cover for the June 2008 release, and it instead has three adorable Akitas on the cover--51st on the AKC list, but also important to DOUBLE DOG DARE.
--Linda
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What a Character!
Last week I mentioned motive. So how about this week I blog a little on Character?
Today we are often described as living in “the second golden age of the mystery,” the first being the period between the two World Wars, when Dame Agatha, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy Sayers and others ruled the mystery bookshelves. It is also often said (often by the same people) that today’s mysteries are more “character driven” than the old ones. I’m not sure that’s true, especially when I haul out the Sayers for a trip down memory lane. Lord Peter Wimsey was (is) a complex character, as was (is) his true love, Harriet Vane. Even Lord Peter’s vague, stupid brother and vain, impossible sister-in-law were interesting, I think. And his mother was a dear, diplomatic, far-sighted person.
Okay, Agatha Christie seemed to have a japaned box of perhaps fourteen characters, and when she’d start a new novel she’d open it and select six or eight of them: the retired army colonel who’d spent years in India, the shockingly-modern young thing, her ineffectual brother, the over-sexed wife, the bankrupt husband, the pair of women (one very masculine) who lived together, etc. But these are “types” who existed in her world, and so have a kind of reality. Still, Dame Agatha was more interested in keeping us guessing her solution than in showing us something new about human nature. A great deal of what we find trite or cliché about mysteries were INVENTED by this grand mistress of us all.
Today’s mysteries do, by and large, have more complex, more interesting characters, some of whom live uncommon lives in unusual locales. Hurrah for us!
I want to mention here my writers group, Crème de la Crime, because they are always pushing me to dig deeper into myself and my characters to make them behave in more realistic ways. Betsy Devonshire has depths I never thought to plumb before they got on my case, and all my characters react more realistically to what I'm putting them through. And it has improved my books tremendously. One of my favorite compliments is, “When I read one of your books, I feel like I’m visiting old friends.” I thank Crème de la Crime for helping me earn that compliment, and I will continue to do so, even when they are coming down hard on me.
I recently read a short interview with an author who admitted that he frequently used people he knew as the models for his characters. But only people he didn’t know well. He said that when you get to know someone really well, they become too complicated to translate into literature. Literary characters should be painted with a broad brush. The more I think about that, the more I agree with it. Unless you are writing a biography, a character needs to be summoned in a kind of shorthand: “He was a short man, and therefore peppery in nature, making up in noise and bounce for his lack of inches.” We all know people like that – and there, you see? We are back to Agatha Christie’s “types.” Every person is unique, true. But also there are quiet people, bad-tempered people, sullen people, dangerous people, kind people. When writing about a fictional person, the author can’t spend pages introducing the reader to a character. So especially the first meeting must be shown in simple, recognizable terms. More and more can be revealed as the book moves along, but the descriptions must not get in the way of the story, especially in a mystery novel – which is, by definition, centered on the mystery. On the other hand, there are some amazing, fascinating people walking through the pages of today's mystery novels. They are as complex and "real" as the ones who live in classic literature.
Advice for the novice writer: Don’t make yourself crazy about developing wildly "different" characters. People love to recognize themselves in books, too. Follow the First Rule of Writing Fiction: Write what you know. Write about people you are familiar with – and include some people you like. You’re going to spend a lot of time in their company, don’t set yourself up for hours of pain. A long time ago I was told that the afterlife for an author is spent in a small room in the company of your characters. You can make that seem like heaven or hell, your choice.
Today we are often described as living in “the second golden age of the mystery,” the first being the period between the two World Wars, when Dame Agatha, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy Sayers and others ruled the mystery bookshelves. It is also often said (often by the same people) that today’s mysteries are more “character driven” than the old ones. I’m not sure that’s true, especially when I haul out the Sayers for a trip down memory lane. Lord Peter Wimsey was (is) a complex character, as was (is) his true love, Harriet Vane. Even Lord Peter’s vague, stupid brother and vain, impossible sister-in-law were interesting, I think. And his mother was a dear, diplomatic, far-sighted person.
Okay, Agatha Christie seemed to have a japaned box of perhaps fourteen characters, and when she’d start a new novel she’d open it and select six or eight of them: the retired army colonel who’d spent years in India, the shockingly-modern young thing, her ineffectual brother, the over-sexed wife, the bankrupt husband, the pair of women (one very masculine) who lived together, etc. But these are “types” who existed in her world, and so have a kind of reality. Still, Dame Agatha was more interested in keeping us guessing her solution than in showing us something new about human nature. A great deal of what we find trite or cliché about mysteries were INVENTED by this grand mistress of us all.
Today’s mysteries do, by and large, have more complex, more interesting characters, some of whom live uncommon lives in unusual locales. Hurrah for us!
I want to mention here my writers group, Crème de la Crime, because they are always pushing me to dig deeper into myself and my characters to make them behave in more realistic ways. Betsy Devonshire has depths I never thought to plumb before they got on my case, and all my characters react more realistically to what I'm putting them through. And it has improved my books tremendously. One of my favorite compliments is, “When I read one of your books, I feel like I’m visiting old friends.” I thank Crème de la Crime for helping me earn that compliment, and I will continue to do so, even when they are coming down hard on me.
I recently read a short interview with an author who admitted that he frequently used people he knew as the models for his characters. But only people he didn’t know well. He said that when you get to know someone really well, they become too complicated to translate into literature. Literary characters should be painted with a broad brush. The more I think about that, the more I agree with it. Unless you are writing a biography, a character needs to be summoned in a kind of shorthand: “He was a short man, and therefore peppery in nature, making up in noise and bounce for his lack of inches.” We all know people like that – and there, you see? We are back to Agatha Christie’s “types.” Every person is unique, true. But also there are quiet people, bad-tempered people, sullen people, dangerous people, kind people. When writing about a fictional person, the author can’t spend pages introducing the reader to a character. So especially the first meeting must be shown in simple, recognizable terms. More and more can be revealed as the book moves along, but the descriptions must not get in the way of the story, especially in a mystery novel – which is, by definition, centered on the mystery. On the other hand, there are some amazing, fascinating people walking through the pages of today's mystery novels. They are as complex and "real" as the ones who live in classic literature.
Advice for the novice writer: Don’t make yourself crazy about developing wildly "different" characters. People love to recognize themselves in books, too. Follow the First Rule of Writing Fiction: Write what you know. Write about people you are familiar with – and include some people you like. You’re going to spend a lot of time in their company, don’t set yourself up for hours of pain. A long time ago I was told that the afterlife for an author is spent in a small room in the company of your characters. You can make that seem like heaven or hell, your choice.
What a Character!
Last week I mentioned motive. So how about this week I blog a little on Character?
Today we are often described as living in “the second golden age of the mystery,” the first being the period between the two World Wars, when Dame Agatha, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy Sayers and others ruled the mystery bookshelves. It is also often said (often by the same people) that today’s mysteries are more “character driven” than the old ones. I’m not sure that’s true, especially when I haul out the Sayers for a trip down memory lane. Lord Peter Wimsey was (is) a complex character, as was (is) his true love, Harriet Vane. Even Lord Peter’s vague, stupid brother and vain, impossible sister-in-law were interesting, I think. And his mother was a dear, diplomatic, far-sighted person.
Okay, Agatha Christie seemed to have a japaned box of perhaps fourteen characters, and when she’d start a new novel she’d open it and select six or eight of them: the retired army colonel who’d spent years in India, the shockingly-modern young thing, her ineffectual brother, the over-sexed wife, the bankrupt husband, the pair of women (one very masculine) who lived together, etc. But these are “types” who existed in her world, and so have a kind of reality. Still, Dame Agatha was more interested in keeping us guessing her solution than in showing us something new about human nature. A great deal of what we find trite or cliché about mysteries were INVENTED by this grand mistress of us all.
Today’s mysteries do, by and large, have more complex, more interesting characters, some of whom live uncommon lives in unusual locales. Hurrah for us!
I want to mention here my writers group, Crème de la Crime, because they are always pushing me to dig deeper into myself and my characters to make them behave in more realistic ways. Betsy Devonshire has depths I never thought to plumb before they got on my case, and all my characters react more realistically to what I'm putting them through. And it has improved my books tremendously. One of my favorite compliments is, “When I read one of your books, I feel like I’m visiting old friends.” I thank Crème de la Crime for helping me earn that compliment, and I will continue to do so, even when they are coming down hard on me.
I recently read a short interview with an author who admitted that he frequently used people he knew as the models for his characters. But only people he didn’t know well. He said that when you get to know someone really well, they become too complicated to translate into literature. Literary characters should be painted with a broad brush. The more I think about that, the more I agree with it. Unless you are writing a biography, a character needs to be summoned in a kind of shorthand: “He was a short man, and therefore peppery in nature, making up in noise and bounce for his lack of inches.” We all know people like that – and there, you see? We are back to Agatha Christie’s “types.” Every person is unique, true. But also there are quiet people, bad-tempered people, sullen people, dangerous people, kind people. When writing about a fictional person, the author can’t spend pages introducing the reader to a character. So especially the first meeting must be shown in simple, recognizable terms. More and more can be revealed as the book moves along, but the descriptions must not get in the way of the story, especially in a mystery novel – which is, by definition, centered on the mystery. On the other hand, there are some amazing, fascinating people walking through the pages of today's mystery novels. They are as complex and "real" as the ones who live in classic literature.
Advice for the novice writer: Don’t make yourself crazy about developing wildly "different" characters. People love to recognize themselves in books, too. Follow the First Rule of Writing Fiction: Write what you know. Write about people you are familiar with – and include some people you like. You’re going to spend a lot of time in their company, don’t set yourself up for hours of pain. A long time ago I was told that the afterlife for an author is spent in a small room in the company of your characters. You can make that seem like heaven or hell, your choice.
Today we are often described as living in “the second golden age of the mystery,” the first being the period between the two World Wars, when Dame Agatha, Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy Sayers and others ruled the mystery bookshelves. It is also often said (often by the same people) that today’s mysteries are more “character driven” than the old ones. I’m not sure that’s true, especially when I haul out the Sayers for a trip down memory lane. Lord Peter Wimsey was (is) a complex character, as was (is) his true love, Harriet Vane. Even Lord Peter’s vague, stupid brother and vain, impossible sister-in-law were interesting, I think. And his mother was a dear, diplomatic, far-sighted person.
Okay, Agatha Christie seemed to have a japaned box of perhaps fourteen characters, and when she’d start a new novel she’d open it and select six or eight of them: the retired army colonel who’d spent years in India, the shockingly-modern young thing, her ineffectual brother, the over-sexed wife, the bankrupt husband, the pair of women (one very masculine) who lived together, etc. But these are “types” who existed in her world, and so have a kind of reality. Still, Dame Agatha was more interested in keeping us guessing her solution than in showing us something new about human nature. A great deal of what we find trite or cliché about mysteries were INVENTED by this grand mistress of us all.
Today’s mysteries do, by and large, have more complex, more interesting characters, some of whom live uncommon lives in unusual locales. Hurrah for us!
I want to mention here my writers group, Crème de la Crime, because they are always pushing me to dig deeper into myself and my characters to make them behave in more realistic ways. Betsy Devonshire has depths I never thought to plumb before they got on my case, and all my characters react more realistically to what I'm putting them through. And it has improved my books tremendously. One of my favorite compliments is, “When I read one of your books, I feel like I’m visiting old friends.” I thank Crème de la Crime for helping me earn that compliment, and I will continue to do so, even when they are coming down hard on me.
I recently read a short interview with an author who admitted that he frequently used people he knew as the models for his characters. But only people he didn’t know well. He said that when you get to know someone really well, they become too complicated to translate into literature. Literary characters should be painted with a broad brush. The more I think about that, the more I agree with it. Unless you are writing a biography, a character needs to be summoned in a kind of shorthand: “He was a short man, and therefore peppery in nature, making up in noise and bounce for his lack of inches.” We all know people like that – and there, you see? We are back to Agatha Christie’s “types.” Every person is unique, true. But also there are quiet people, bad-tempered people, sullen people, dangerous people, kind people. When writing about a fictional person, the author can’t spend pages introducing the reader to a character. So especially the first meeting must be shown in simple, recognizable terms. More and more can be revealed as the book moves along, but the descriptions must not get in the way of the story, especially in a mystery novel – which is, by definition, centered on the mystery. On the other hand, there are some amazing, fascinating people walking through the pages of today's mystery novels. They are as complex and "real" as the ones who live in classic literature.
Advice for the novice writer: Don’t make yourself crazy about developing wildly "different" characters. People love to recognize themselves in books, too. Follow the First Rule of Writing Fiction: Write what you know. Write about people you are familiar with – and include some people you like. You’re going to spend a lot of time in their company, don’t set yourself up for hours of pain. A long time ago I was told that the afterlife for an author is spent in a small room in the company of your characters. You can make that seem like heaven or hell, your choice.
View from the stage
Remember the awful storms that hit LA over the weekend? They made the national news, with roads closed, flooding, high winds, and record precipitation.
That's when I headed down there from San Francisco with two author friends, Ann Parker (The Silver Rush Mysteries, http://www.annparker.com/)
and Hailey Lind (Art Lovers Mysteries, http://www.haileylind.com/).
Armed with several pounds of chocolate, snacks, and emergency equipment, we piled into Ann's Pilot and drove on through, nearly 450 miles down route 101. All to keep a date with the "Mystery on the Menu" program at the Cerritos Library.
Was it worth it? No question!
The Friends of the Cerritos Library and the Library staff, led by Padmini Prabhakar, outdid themselves, organizing a day of mystery that was attended by 170 readers, some of whom can be seen in the photo (Click to enlarge). Tables were set up for each of 15 authors, with a group of readers to share a catered lunch. Every place setting included an attractive, informative program and a See's candy bar (you can see what impresses me).
From 11 am to 4 pm, attendees heard us on panels, asked questions, received door prizes, and browsed in the outstanding ad hoc bookstore set up by Linda Bivens of Crime Time Books (crimetimebooks@aol.com).
The library itself is an architectural wonder. Ann has a link and a description on her blog site. (www.theladykillers.typepad.com)
Another bonus: Thanks to Linda Bivens, I got to see and sign the first copies of Murder in Miniature.
On several trips to LA, I've found the most welcoming and enthusiastic readers and booksellers. I'm going back for the LA Times Festival of Books in April. Rain or shine.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Unexpected Delights
Life is full of unexpected delights. Last week I was in California, by way of Dallas, visiting colleges with my son and attending a business meeting with my husband. Along the way, I had some experiences that will keep me smiling for months to come.College Visits for Michael
The colleges we visited were SMU (Southern Methodist University) and USC (University of Southern California). The folks at SMU were incredibly welcoming. The admissions director had read through Michael’s application and told him he was a “great candidate.” (Isn't that nice?) At USC, Michael was able to interview with an admissions director. Our goal was to get him “on their radar.” Frankly, I was overwhelmed by USC’s size. But I’m keeping my mouth shut. This is such an important decision, and I want Michael to make it without hearing my concerns. What may seem overwhelming to me might be perfectly comfortable for him.
Michael wants to be a civil engineer, and he wants to attend college in a warm climate. I don’t blame him. The cold is hard for me in every way. In fact, I always feel poor when I’m cold, perhaps because when I grew up we had a coal furnace. That gaping maw in the basement had to be fed, and coal was a precious resource. We woke up each morning cold, and I’ll never, ever forget that. No matter how much my life has changed, cold still strikes a chord with me at a deep, emotional level.
Steinway Dealers Meeting
After our college visits, we went to the Balboa Bay Club for the annual Steinway Piano Dealers meeting. It’s always wonderful to connect with old friends—dealers, representatives, and artists. Steinway does it right. Everything is always first-class. We’ve known the new President of Steinway Americas Ron Losby for literally decades now—and Steinway couldn’t have chosen a finer man as a leader. It was also fun to see the Steinway owners Kyle Kirkland and Dana Messina. Dana’s wife gave birth to their second child, a daughter, this week and Dana was obviously a thrilled parent.
At the annual dinner, Steinway always has a guest Steinway artist as entertainment. One year it was Roger Williams, the greatest selling pianist of all time, another it was Randy Newman. This year we sat at a table with legendary artist Leonard Pennario, and Roger Williams dropped by to say that Leonard was the reason he’d become a pianist. How cool is that? By the way, Roger Williams is a real charmer.
Introducing Joja Wendt
This year, Steinway introduced us to Joja Wendt. He was extraordinary—young, amazing and personable. He reminded us all of Victor Borge. I was especially taken by his piece Asterius feat Dieter Falk. In fact, I loved it so much, I’ve downloaded it on my IPod. You have to imagine how fast his fingers moved as he played. You can hear it for yourself at:
http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=201693802
A lovely independent bookstore
I also found time to take a long walk over to Balboa Island. There I found Martha’s Bookstore on 308 ½ Marine Avenue, Balboa Island (marthasbookstore@balboaisland.com) and chatted with their manager Carol Crecelius. Carol loves mysteries, especially cozies. For any of you authors out there, make a note of her name—she’s a great contact.
So…while my trip was hectic, it proved delightful. I hope you’ll check out Joja and Martha’s Bookstore. They’re a couple of real gems I uncovered on my travels.
So…while my trip was hectic, it proved delightful. I hope you’ll check out Joja and Martha’s Bookstore. They’re a couple of real gems I uncovered on my travels.
I'll be at Love Is Murder
I'll be at Love Is Murder on Dark and Stormy Nights in Chicago, Friday February 1 through Sunday February 3. On Friday, I'll be hosting a session called "How to be a Better Panelist." Here's the description: How to be a better panelist. Or presenter. Or guest speaker. Do your knees knock when you speak in public? Are you scared you will make a fool of yourself? Would you rather die than appear before a group? We can help. (With the speaking part. The dying on the platform stuff is up to you.) Public appearances are an important promotional tool for authors. We’ll share proven ideas used by the top professional speakers. These ideas will make your presence memorable, enjoyable and profitable. Don’t miss the handout: Top Tips for Presenters.
Please stop by and say, "Hi!" (I'm bringing cookies!)
Saturday, January 26, 2008
My First Blog
Thanks to the ladies at Killer Hobbies for inviting me aboard. It’s going to be a fun ride!
So who am I? I am Terri Thayer, the author of Wild Goose Chase, a quilting mystery, available now. The second in that series, Old Maid’s Puzzle, will be out in September. Also available in September will be Stamped Out, the first in the Stamping Sisters series.
You can learn more at my website, www.territhayer.com. While you’re there, register to win a FREE quilt. That’s right, I’m giving away a reproduction of the Wild Goose Chase Dewey receives. It was machine pieced and designed by me, and fabulously machine quilted by Jenny Michaels of Finally Finished!.
Who am I really?
I am a quilter. When I say that at parties, eyes generally glaze over. People think they know what this means. After all, who hasn’t had a quilter in the family? I’m forever hearing, “My grandmother was a quilter. She made me the most darling.…” That’s when my eyes start to glaze over.
So what is a quilter? We can all picture the women in the toilet paper commercial – gray-haired, plump sweeties gathered around a frame poking needles into a scrappy 9-patch. And while I know many quilters who fit that bill, I know many more who don’t.
In Lancaster County, after talking to the Amish women, it was quite clear that I was not a quilter. They wanted to compare our stitches-per-inch count. After all, a quilter was someone who patiently sewed the finishing stitches bringing the three layers together with the tiniest stitches possible. Not me.
Quilts are more than just blankets. I once offered to fix a 4-year old boy’s blankie that had been loved so much, it was shredding. I suggested cutting off the worn couple of inches. His horrified expression stopped me in my tracks. Frayed edges or no, I was talking about loping off his blankie. He left with an admonition to his mother that they never talk about fixing his blankie again.
Quilters are more than just sewers. They’re people, too. Doctors, and grandmothers, and mothers of twins. Fiber artists, and landscapers and pattern designers. Mystery writers. They’re traditional, avant-garde, modern, old-fashioned. Democrat, Republican. Christian, Jewish, Mormon, agnostic, atheists.
Sometimes, they are men.
So what makes someone a quilter? The inability to pass a bolt of fabric without touching it. The craving to cut cloth in little bits and make something new. The desire to create a piece that will touch someone’s heart, whether it be the new grandbaby or the attendees at the gallery. The chutzpah to call a spare room a studio.
I’m not sure, but it might just be the need to sew until your eyes glaze over.
So who am I? I am Terri Thayer, the author of Wild Goose Chase, a quilting mystery, available now. The second in that series, Old Maid’s Puzzle, will be out in September. Also available in September will be Stamped Out, the first in the Stamping Sisters series.
You can learn more at my website, www.territhayer.com. While you’re there, register to win a FREE quilt. That’s right, I’m giving away a reproduction of the Wild Goose Chase Dewey receives. It was machine pieced and designed by me, and fabulously machine quilted by Jenny Michaels of Finally Finished!.
Who am I really?
I am a quilter. When I say that at parties, eyes generally glaze over. People think they know what this means. After all, who hasn’t had a quilter in the family? I’m forever hearing, “My grandmother was a quilter. She made me the most darling.…” That’s when my eyes start to glaze over.
So what is a quilter? We can all picture the women in the toilet paper commercial – gray-haired, plump sweeties gathered around a frame poking needles into a scrappy 9-patch. And while I know many quilters who fit that bill, I know many more who don’t.
In Lancaster County, after talking to the Amish women, it was quite clear that I was not a quilter. They wanted to compare our stitches-per-inch count. After all, a quilter was someone who patiently sewed the finishing stitches bringing the three layers together with the tiniest stitches possible. Not me.
Quilts are more than just blankets. I once offered to fix a 4-year old boy’s blankie that had been loved so much, it was shredding. I suggested cutting off the worn couple of inches. His horrified expression stopped me in my tracks. Frayed edges or no, I was talking about loping off his blankie. He left with an admonition to his mother that they never talk about fixing his blankie again.
Quilters are more than just sewers. They’re people, too. Doctors, and grandmothers, and mothers of twins. Fiber artists, and landscapers and pattern designers. Mystery writers. They’re traditional, avant-garde, modern, old-fashioned. Democrat, Republican. Christian, Jewish, Mormon, agnostic, atheists.
Sometimes, they are men.
So what makes someone a quilter? The inability to pass a bolt of fabric without touching it. The craving to cut cloth in little bits and make something new. The desire to create a piece that will touch someone’s heart, whether it be the new grandbaby or the attendees at the gallery. The chutzpah to call a spare room a studio.
I’m not sure, but it might just be the need to sew until your eyes glaze over.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Reflections on a dynamite year
Breaking News!!!
I'm the guest author today over at the Bookends Literary agency's blog. Stop by for a visit at http://bookendslitagency.blogspot.com/2008/01/bookends-talks-to-kathryn-lilley.html
Now back to our regularly scheduled blog....
It’s been a year to die for.
Okay, so it hasn’t exactly been a whole year since my first book was published.
DYING TO BE THIN, the first novel in the Fat City Mysteries series, hatched a little more than three months ago. Maybe it’s because I just wrapped up Book 2, A KILLER WORKOUT, and immediately dove into writing Book 3, FINAL CUT, that I’m feeling in a reflective mode.
I was extremely lucky that DYING TO BE THIN became an IMBA Bestseller in its first month. For that, I owe a big debt of gratitude to the independent booksellers, who know their customers and hand sell the books that they think their readers will enjoy.
Of course, not all the feedback is wonderful. I recently had my first “flame” review over at Amazon, from a woman who felt personally offended that the cast of characters included heavy people, and thought my heroine was snarky—which, come to think of it, she is. Because this Dear Reader managed to cast personal aspersions on me as well as on the book, Amazon quickly removed the review.
The show must go on
The panel took place at a wonderful independent bookstore called Vroman’s in
There was a good-sized crowd, and things were going along swimmingly—until the lights and power went out, and everyone had to evacuate the building.
We reconvened outside, and the show went on, despite sirens screaming in the background and helicopters circling overhead. (I heard later that the meltdown was caused by a fire at a Taco Bell down the street).
The show must go on II
Another time, I had a signing scheduled, but woke up that morning feeling sick, and getting sicker by the minute. But I was determined not to pull a last-minute cancellation.
Twenty minutes before the signing was supposed to start, I was sitting in the car with my husband, projectile vomiting into a plastic bag. I made an emergency call to a friend of mine to appear at the table with me, in case I had to make a sudden dash to the ladies room.
The appearance went off flawlessly. I had a surge of adrenaline that magically suspended the illness for precisely one hour. The instant I got back into the car after the signing, I resumed vomiting, and continued do so, all the way to Urgent Care.
Writing is a full-time job
It felt slightly surreal this week when I opened a file and started Book 3 in the Fat City Mystery series, FINAL CUT. (A tale of murder and plastic surgery). Some of the people I started writing with, years ago at UCLA Extension writing classes, have yet to finish their first books. The fact that I’ve made it to Book 3 drove home the point that writing has to be an every day, many-hour occupation—even if you have a full time job, as I do. I get up in the wee hours of the morning, write until 8 a.m., then start my day as an editor. Every weekend, every vacation, you’ll find me tapping away before the cock crows.
But it’s so worth it.
Today, I'm hopping on a plane to Las Vegas, where I'll be appearing on Amie Jo Greer's radio show, called Corner4Success with Amie Jo on KLAV, 1230 AM. You can listen to her show on www.klav1230am.com.
Then on Saturday, I'll be meeting folks and signing books in Las Vegas at a great new bookstore called Cheesecake and Crime, at four p.m. Check my web site for details.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
My Mysterious Disappearance
I didn’t blog last week. The previous week, I just posted a short message about how I didn’t have time to blog. Which was true. I was on the other side of the world, on a cruise around Australia and New Zealand, and although I sometimes had Internet access on the ship, it was slow, expensive and unreliable. Ashore, I spent my time sightseeing, so unfortunately I still hadn’t sufficient time to blog.
I’m back now. The trip was wonderful--especially for an animal aficionado like me. I’d been to Sydney, Australia, once before, but this time I visited several ports where I got to see many different kinds of animals that are only occasionally visible in the U.S., in zoos and wildlife parks.
We started out in Sydney, where I once again visited Taronga Zoo. There was also a new wildlife exhibit right in downtown--Sydney Wildlife World in Darling Harbor. Both were great fun. I got the biggest kick from hearing the laugh of kookaburras at the zoo, most of whom happened to be visiting, not inmates! I absolutely had to visit the dingo exhibit, which housed two wild dogs who were eating lunch. And that’s only some of the animals I enjoyed.
We also took a tour in Sydney of the Royal Botanical Gardens, where there was an abundance of fruit bats hanging upside down in the trees, trying to sleep since it was daytime and they’re nocturnal. Every once in a while some would stir and fly from one tree to another. There are about 8,000 residing in the park. I also saw a lot of ducks, including a mother with babies, and some white ibis. And of course, outside the gardens, there were ubiquitous seagulls, different varieties but abundant everywhere we went. Pigeons, too, and sometimes sparrows.
Then there were the beautiful lorikeets, all around the town--smaller than parrots but just as colorful. Sometimes, they flew around outdoor cafes in search of leftovers.
In Melbourne, we did the Melbourne salute--swatting some kind of small flies, which were everywhere and loved to swarm anyone who happened to be there. Fortunately, the wind kicked up and they disappeared.
My favorite visit was to the Bonorong Wildlife Park near Hobart, Tasmania. There, I got to pet a blue-tongued skink (lizard), a koala, and a young wombat that would eventually be released into the wild. I fed wallabies pellets called “kangaroo poo” which the Cape Barren geese and emus also enjoyed taking from my hand. One wallaby had a large joey whose head emerged from her pouch, and they munched on leaves in unison. A couple of spiny echidnas waddled by in their enclosure, some kookas laughed and watched us back, and Tasmanian devils, which of course we could not pet, dashed around in their enclosure.
We soon cruised to Fiordland, New Zealand, and I spotted some whales on our way from one fiord to the next, and someone else pointed out a seal swimming near our ship. Albatross soared around our ship, even when we were not close to shore. From Dunedin, NZ, we took a small boat tour to Stewart Island, where lots of shags (a sea bird) nested, and so did albatross--and seals. A few people also got a glimpse of a yellow-eyed penguin but it was shy and disappeared before I got to that side of the boat.
We had too little time on our tour in Christchurch due to unnecessary delays. My appetite to see the International Antarctic Centre and the Willowbank Wildlife Reserve was just whetted. Even so, I got to watch little blue penguins being fed in the Antarctic Centre, and hurried through Willowbank to the nocturnal exhibit where I viewed kiwis strutting and drinking. Despite the New Zealand nickname of “kiwi,” the birds are rarely seen in the wild, although one of our shuttle drivers who was also a mountain climber described hearing, then seeing, a kiwi one night on a climb.
Once interesting, though non-animal, sidelight: We viewed the casket of Sir Edmund Hillary, New Zealand’s national hero, lying in state in the church where his televised service was later held, which--as one man visiting from Sydney whom we talked with on the hop-on, hop-off tour bus in Auckland--said, it’s something we’ll always remember: being in New Zealand at that time.
We had a number of sea days, on which I had the fun of giving two “Scholarship @ Sea” presentations on writing. They seemed to go over well, even though the second was opposite a naturalist’s talk on Fiordland. Another author onboard, Christine McKellar, gave presentations on alternate sea days from me, and I think we complemented each other. I was able to edit and write on those sea days, too, and some of the time after returning to the ship on shore days--not as much as I’d have liked, but at least I got something done. And, oh yeah, I sold another book while I was traveling--a Silhouette Nocturne about a Valkyrie!
As you can tell, it was an exciting and memorable journey for me. The only bad thing: I missed Lexie. And despite having a really nice live-in pet-sitter around to spoil her, she acted as though she missed us, too, when we got home. It’s delightful to once again bask in doggy kisses and hugs!
--Linda
I’m back now. The trip was wonderful--especially for an animal aficionado like me. I’d been to Sydney, Australia, once before, but this time I visited several ports where I got to see many different kinds of animals that are only occasionally visible in the U.S., in zoos and wildlife parks.
We started out in Sydney, where I once again visited Taronga Zoo. There was also a new wildlife exhibit right in downtown--Sydney Wildlife World in Darling Harbor. Both were great fun. I got the biggest kick from hearing the laugh of kookaburras at the zoo, most of whom happened to be visiting, not inmates! I absolutely had to visit the dingo exhibit, which housed two wild dogs who were eating lunch. And that’s only some of the animals I enjoyed.
We also took a tour in Sydney of the Royal Botanical Gardens, where there was an abundance of fruit bats hanging upside down in the trees, trying to sleep since it was daytime and they’re nocturnal. Every once in a while some would stir and fly from one tree to another. There are about 8,000 residing in the park. I also saw a lot of ducks, including a mother with babies, and some white ibis. And of course, outside the gardens, there were ubiquitous seagulls, different varieties but abundant everywhere we went. Pigeons, too, and sometimes sparrows.
Then there were the beautiful lorikeets, all around the town--smaller than parrots but just as colorful. Sometimes, they flew around outdoor cafes in search of leftovers.
In Melbourne, we did the Melbourne salute--swatting some kind of small flies, which were everywhere and loved to swarm anyone who happened to be there. Fortunately, the wind kicked up and they disappeared.
My favorite visit was to the Bonorong Wildlife Park near Hobart, Tasmania. There, I got to pet a blue-tongued skink (lizard), a koala, and a young wombat that would eventually be released into the wild. I fed wallabies pellets called “kangaroo poo” which the Cape Barren geese and emus also enjoyed taking from my hand. One wallaby had a large joey whose head emerged from her pouch, and they munched on leaves in unison. A couple of spiny echidnas waddled by in their enclosure, some kookas laughed and watched us back, and Tasmanian devils, which of course we could not pet, dashed around in their enclosure.
We soon cruised to Fiordland, New Zealand, and I spotted some whales on our way from one fiord to the next, and someone else pointed out a seal swimming near our ship. Albatross soared around our ship, even when we were not close to shore. From Dunedin, NZ, we took a small boat tour to Stewart Island, where lots of shags (a sea bird) nested, and so did albatross--and seals. A few people also got a glimpse of a yellow-eyed penguin but it was shy and disappeared before I got to that side of the boat.
We had too little time on our tour in Christchurch due to unnecessary delays. My appetite to see the International Antarctic Centre and the Willowbank Wildlife Reserve was just whetted. Even so, I got to watch little blue penguins being fed in the Antarctic Centre, and hurried through Willowbank to the nocturnal exhibit where I viewed kiwis strutting and drinking. Despite the New Zealand nickname of “kiwi,” the birds are rarely seen in the wild, although one of our shuttle drivers who was also a mountain climber described hearing, then seeing, a kiwi one night on a climb.
Once interesting, though non-animal, sidelight: We viewed the casket of Sir Edmund Hillary, New Zealand’s national hero, lying in state in the church where his televised service was later held, which--as one man visiting from Sydney whom we talked with on the hop-on, hop-off tour bus in Auckland--said, it’s something we’ll always remember: being in New Zealand at that time.
We had a number of sea days, on which I had the fun of giving two “Scholarship @ Sea” presentations on writing. They seemed to go over well, even though the second was opposite a naturalist’s talk on Fiordland. Another author onboard, Christine McKellar, gave presentations on alternate sea days from me, and I think we complemented each other. I was able to edit and write on those sea days, too, and some of the time after returning to the ship on shore days--not as much as I’d have liked, but at least I got something done. And, oh yeah, I sold another book while I was traveling--a Silhouette Nocturne about a Valkyrie!
As you can tell, it was an exciting and memorable journey for me. The only bad thing: I missed Lexie. And despite having a really nice live-in pet-sitter around to spoil her, she acted as though she missed us, too, when we got home. It’s delightful to once again bask in doggy kisses and hugs!
--Linda
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
But Why?
Motive: the engine that drives a good mystery. Method is important, of course. Finding clever ways to murder a victim is kind of fun. I think it’s also one of the less-recognized marks of the traditional or “cozy” mystery. Noir mysteries have plenty of violence, but it tends to be with obvious weapons, such as knives, bombs and guns. Traditional mysteries go for obscure poisons, fishing line tied across the top of a staircase, or the disabled gas line.
But motives tend to be the same small handful: hatred, money, revenge. I finished and shipped a draft of Thai Die on Saturday, and normally at this point I’d take some time off. But I feel all anxious about the next one, in a good way, so I’m fooling around with it. I have a great murder method (obscure but not poisonous), a terrific clue that directly involves needlework, but only the vaguest idea of a motive. That is, there are a lot of possibilities, but not one that immediately jumps up and shouts, “Here I am, take me!” My victim is, like a lot of victims, a very not-nice person. (How else to generate a lot of suspects?) I will need a motive like several other people have (so the reader doesn't leap on it with a glad "Ah-ha!"), but one that leads to a hidden motive, a blockbuster motive.
Meanwhile my editor should be starting to read Thai Die, and – I’m sure – wrinkling her nose here and there.
We had company over on Sunday, a couple I’ve known for many years. We don’t see each other as much anymore, but it was warming to notice how easily we fell into good conversation, as if we were still practically neighbors. They were the ones who introduced me to the Society for Creative Anachronism, and it was in that organization that I met my dearly-beloved husband. Sweet people, very brainy, too.
And that’s all I have to say today.
But motives tend to be the same small handful: hatred, money, revenge. I finished and shipped a draft of Thai Die on Saturday, and normally at this point I’d take some time off. But I feel all anxious about the next one, in a good way, so I’m fooling around with it. I have a great murder method (obscure but not poisonous), a terrific clue that directly involves needlework, but only the vaguest idea of a motive. That is, there are a lot of possibilities, but not one that immediately jumps up and shouts, “Here I am, take me!” My victim is, like a lot of victims, a very not-nice person. (How else to generate a lot of suspects?) I will need a motive like several other people have (so the reader doesn't leap on it with a glad "Ah-ha!"), but one that leads to a hidden motive, a blockbuster motive.
Meanwhile my editor should be starting to read Thai Die, and – I’m sure – wrinkling her nose here and there.
We had company over on Sunday, a couple I’ve known for many years. We don’t see each other as much anymore, but it was warming to notice how easily we fell into good conversation, as if we were still practically neighbors. They were the ones who introduced me to the Society for Creative Anachronism, and it was in that organization that I met my dearly-beloved husband. Sweet people, very brainy, too.
And that’s all I have to say today.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Help! Help!
I'm at the end of my rope. I mean that literally. I might end up hanging a character.
It's that time in the writing of the third book of my new Miniature Mystery series when my crime-solving protagonist, Geraldine, needs a threat to her life. What can I use that I or a dozen other traditional mystery writers haven't already worked to death, so to speak.
A note under her windshield? Slashed tires? A vandalized apartment? A dead animal on her doorstep? A tailgating SUV on a windy mountain road? Her brake lines cut?
Done, done, done.
And there's that final confrontation scene between Geraldine and the killer. Geraldine is not going to die; we know that. Not in this subgenre. But that doesn't relieve me of the obligation to make the scene suspenseful.
Where should the scene take place? In an underground parking garage? (No, no, don't go there alone at night!) In her own home? (No, no, don't switch on the lights and stand in front of the window!) In a deserted office building after hours? (No, no, don't refuse the security guard's offer of an escort!) On a jogging trail in the park? (No, no, --- see "underground parking garage"!)
After ten books, it's hard to come up with something fresh. I think my personal best for a confrontation scene was at a hazardous waste pit, which fit the story very well. That's the ideal, to have the last scene the likely outcome of the story.
I can't help wondering what readers think of these devices. It's certainly worth an ARC and a set my books to the person who comes up something I can use next time around. Any ideas?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Some People are Just Plain STUPID
Monday is Martin Luther King's Birthday. It's also special for another reason: It's the day we brought home our rescue dog, Rafferty.
Two years ago, I told my husband I wanted another dog to keep our prissy Miss Victoria company. Of course, David said, "No," and later relented. "But it has to be a Bichon," he said. "I don't want fur all over the house."
My son and I checked out the local humane society. There we saw a three-legged dog. "A three-legged dog would be soooo pimping," said Mike. But that particular three-legged dog did not play well with others, so he wasn't an option. "Think about it, Mom," said Mike. "Who wants a three-legged dog? Nobody. So we have to give a three-legged dog a home."
Okay, our new family member had to be a Bichon, had to have three-legs, and he had to be young. We'd just lost our dear pet of 15 years. We couldn't go through that again.
My husband smirked. I'm sure he was thinking, "Right. Good luck finding a three-legged, young, Bichon."
But I had the power of the Internet at my disposal. I discovered Small Paws, an animal rescue agency. They had 119 dogs who needed homes. All of them were at least part-Bichon. Many were full-blooded. And there he was...Rafferty.
So that's how Raffi came to live with us. In the weeks that followed between finding him on the list and having our application approved, I worried that someone else would take him. But I needn't have been concerned.
"You're the only one who asked about him. He'd been on the list for months," said the volunteer.
I wondered why.
"Most people who want Bichons, want them to show off. Because they're pretty. I guess a three-legged dog doesn't fit their definition of pretty," said the volunteer.
Well, here's what I think. Those people are just plain STUPID. Rafferty is beautiful. And I love him. He's a wonderful, wonderful guy.
Two years ago, I told my husband I wanted another dog to keep our prissy Miss Victoria company. Of course, David said, "No," and later relented. "But it has to be a Bichon," he said. "I don't want fur all over the house."
My son and I checked out the local humane society. There we saw a three-legged dog. "A three-legged dog would be soooo pimping," said Mike. But that particular three-legged dog did not play well with others, so he wasn't an option. "Think about it, Mom," said Mike. "Who wants a three-legged dog? Nobody. So we have to give a three-legged dog a home."
Okay, our new family member had to be a Bichon, had to have three-legs, and he had to be young. We'd just lost our dear pet of 15 years. We couldn't go through that again.
My husband smirked. I'm sure he was thinking, "Right. Good luck finding a three-legged, young, Bichon."
But I had the power of the Internet at my disposal. I discovered Small Paws, an animal rescue agency. They had 119 dogs who needed homes. All of them were at least part-Bichon. Many were full-blooded. And there he was...Rafferty.
So that's how Raffi came to live with us. In the weeks that followed between finding him on the list and having our application approved, I worried that someone else would take him. But I needn't have been concerned.
"You're the only one who asked about him. He'd been on the list for months," said the volunteer.
I wondered why.
"Most people who want Bichons, want them to show off. Because they're pretty. I guess a three-legged dog doesn't fit their definition of pretty," said the volunteer.
Well, here's what I think. Those people are just plain STUPID. Rafferty is beautiful. And I love him. He's a wonderful, wonderful guy.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Yes No Maybe
I thought it was a simple question: can an ordinary citizen find out who posted bail for someone? I'm finishing up book three of my Miniatures Mysteries and needed this information.
I emailed a very trusted, competent source in law enforcement who's a retired homicide detective, now an investigator on a DA's staff. I expected a yes or no answer but instead got a promise to ask around and get back to me. That was my first surprise. This guy usually immediately has an answer, four stories, and a joke to go with every query I send him.
Later in the day, he didn't have an answer, he had a pot pourri of answers, garnered from several attorneys: sometimes yes, sometimes no, in some counties, for some citizens, maybe the press can find out, maybe not. In his county no one has ever asked, so there's no case law. Imagine that!
I decided to do more research. I asked friends in law enforcement, browsed on the Internet, and posted to various bulletin boards. Same result: ambiguous all around.
I also wanted to know if someone could post bail for another person anonymously. More agreement there—you have to show ID. But, there are ways around it, one of which I intend to use in my book.
In my career as a physicist, I would have been upset at a result like that, but as a fiction writer, I'm thrilled. This means I can pick my way through truths and facts and work out a story line that is plausible.
It's like the way we used to look for a priest for confession as kids to find one who'd declare our actions not sinful. (Usually it was the latest arrival from Italy, who didn't understand English well yet.)
Have you ever done that? Not the sin part, but searching for the answer you wanted?
Friday, January 18, 2008
Mirror, mirror...
It’s official. I’ve finished the second draft of A KILLER WORKOUT, which frees me up to start working on the next book in the Fat City Mysteries. The working title is FINAL CUT.
The mystery of FINAL CUT will involve plastic surgery (and murder, natch).
So I’ve already started researching the world of cosmetic procedures. I should also mention that, as a card-carrying resident of LA LA Land, I have already had “a bit of” cosmetic work done. Several bits of work, in fact.
All of which should prepare me to better understand some things I’m learning about life under the beauty knife:
According to the Consumer Guide to Plastic Surgery ™, the top ten plastic surgery operations in 2006 (for women) were:
Breast Enhancement
Nose job
Liposuction
Eyelid surgery
Tummy tuck
For men, nose reshaping was number one, hair transplants were in the top three, and breast reductions in the top five.
Women had 9.9 million cosmetic procedures in 2006, a number that jumped 55 per cent from the year 2000 to 2006. We spent more than two billion dollars on Botox treatments. Two billion!
Those numbers don’t really surprise me. In Los Angeles, we practically have a botox spa on every corner.
It’s a fascinating world to explore for the new book—our obsession with youth, plus our willingness to pay big bucks and risk multiple operations to hang onto it.
How about you? Are you okay with the idea of having cosmetic surgery? Against it? Myself, I was always against it.
Until the day I saw the first crow’s feet in the mirror.
Breaking news!
Join us for a fun panel, "Sassy Sleuths," on Saturday, January 19, 3 - 5 PM
The mystery of FINAL CUT will involve plastic surgery (and murder, natch).
So I’ve already started researching the world of cosmetic procedures. I should also mention that, as a card-carrying resident of LA LA Land, I have already had “a bit of” cosmetic work done. Several bits of work, in fact.
All of which should prepare me to better understand some things I’m learning about life under the beauty knife:
According to the Consumer Guide to Plastic Surgery ™, the top ten plastic surgery operations in 2006 (for women) were:
Breast Enhancement
Nose job
Liposuction
Eyelid surgery
Tummy tuck
For men, nose reshaping was number one, hair transplants were in the top three, and breast reductions in the top five.
Women had 9.9 million cosmetic procedures in 2006, a number that jumped 55 per cent from the year 2000 to 2006. We spent more than two billion dollars on Botox treatments. Two billion!
Those numbers don’t really surprise me. In Los Angeles, we practically have a botox spa on every corner.
It’s a fascinating world to explore for the new book—our obsession with youth, plus our willingness to pay big bucks and risk multiple operations to hang onto it.
How about you? Are you okay with the idea of having cosmetic surgery? Against it? Myself, I was always against it.
Until the day I saw the first crow’s feet in the mirror.
Breaking news!
Join us for a fun panel, "Sassy Sleuths," on Saturday, January 19, 3 - 5 PM
Vroman’s Bookstore 695 E. Colorado Blvd.Pasadena, CA 91101
Featuring: Sisters in Crime/Los Angeles Author Members with Patricia Smiley, Harley Jane Kozak, Sue Ann Jaffarian, Kathryn Lilley; Moderator G.B. Pool.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Winding Up
Would you believe I’m still not feeling well? (As in having occasional attacks where I seem to be trying to cough my lungs up.) I finally went to the doctor and she said bronchitis and gave me prescriptions for an antibiotic and some cough syrup with codeine in it. Ahhhhh, codeine! But it makes me sleep, and that's why this post is getting up later than usual. Plus, I'm not going to water aerobics until this runs its course.
I am on the final scene of Thai Die. If the climatic scene reads like a fever dream, that’s because I wrote it while under the influence of several cold medications. Actually, it may have improved the writing. I was once in the presence of a bad man wielding a handgun, and perceptions alter when danger is that proximate. Images sharpen, but it’s in a kind of tunnel vision. Time slows down but it’s hard to make a decision: run or stay? Talk or scream or sit silent? I conclude that these decisions should be made ahead of time. I have been much intrigued by the new instructions for what to do when accosted by a man with a gun: run! Most people are terrible shots at distances greater than a few yards, especially when the target is moving; and by the time he reacts to your running, you’re farther away than that. And chances are, even if he shoots and hits you, it won’t be fatal. Whereas if you go with him, you almost certainly will end up dead. Same with carjacking. Keep your doors locked and if someone comes up and shows you a gun, drive off. He very likely won’t shoot – he’s after the car, not out to kill someone – and, if you do go along, he’ll make you empty your bank accounts for him. But remember, your doors have to be locked for this to work.
Tomorrow we close on the sale of our old townhouse. It took nearly six months to sell, an indication of the slump in the housing market in the Twin Cities. But sell it did, after we cut the price – twice – and now we can pay off the “bridge loan” we took out when we found ourselves obliged to pay for our new co-op apartment while still the owners of a very nice three-bedroom townhome with a tuck-under garage and functional fireplace. I like our new place very much, but it’s smaller than the old place. Which is good as far as house keeping goes – I can mop the smaller bathroom floor in half a minute. And it’s all on one level, for which my knees are very grateful. But when I set out my Fontanini Christmas pieces, I discovered that I have too many of them for the new place. I’m not sure what that means, whether I’ll set out some one year and others another. Or if I’ll have to sell some of them. We’ll see. Right now they’re all back in the cabinet allotted to them, so the problem doesn’t have to be addressed until December.
There’s one resolution I should have made for the New Year but didn’t – but there’s no reason I can’t make it now, is there? To become more organized. For me, that means getting rid of stuff. My office is already silting up, and I’ve decided I really don’t like that. It didn’t use to bother me, but now it does. I get impatient with the clutter, especially when I look at my spouse’s vast, clean space. So I resolve to do something about it.
Life will be better when that’s accomplished. And, already, life is good.
I am on the final scene of Thai Die. If the climatic scene reads like a fever dream, that’s because I wrote it while under the influence of several cold medications. Actually, it may have improved the writing. I was once in the presence of a bad man wielding a handgun, and perceptions alter when danger is that proximate. Images sharpen, but it’s in a kind of tunnel vision. Time slows down but it’s hard to make a decision: run or stay? Talk or scream or sit silent? I conclude that these decisions should be made ahead of time. I have been much intrigued by the new instructions for what to do when accosted by a man with a gun: run! Most people are terrible shots at distances greater than a few yards, especially when the target is moving; and by the time he reacts to your running, you’re farther away than that. And chances are, even if he shoots and hits you, it won’t be fatal. Whereas if you go with him, you almost certainly will end up dead. Same with carjacking. Keep your doors locked and if someone comes up and shows you a gun, drive off. He very likely won’t shoot – he’s after the car, not out to kill someone – and, if you do go along, he’ll make you empty your bank accounts for him. But remember, your doors have to be locked for this to work.
Tomorrow we close on the sale of our old townhouse. It took nearly six months to sell, an indication of the slump in the housing market in the Twin Cities. But sell it did, after we cut the price – twice – and now we can pay off the “bridge loan” we took out when we found ourselves obliged to pay for our new co-op apartment while still the owners of a very nice three-bedroom townhome with a tuck-under garage and functional fireplace. I like our new place very much, but it’s smaller than the old place. Which is good as far as house keeping goes – I can mop the smaller bathroom floor in half a minute. And it’s all on one level, for which my knees are very grateful. But when I set out my Fontanini Christmas pieces, I discovered that I have too many of them for the new place. I’m not sure what that means, whether I’ll set out some one year and others another. Or if I’ll have to sell some of them. We’ll see. Right now they’re all back in the cabinet allotted to them, so the problem doesn’t have to be addressed until December.
There’s one resolution I should have made for the New Year but didn’t – but there’s no reason I can’t make it now, is there? To become more organized. For me, that means getting rid of stuff. My office is already silting up, and I’ve decided I really don’t like that. It didn’t use to bother me, but now it does. I get impatient with the clutter, especially when I look at my spouse’s vast, clean space. So I resolve to do something about it.
Life will be better when that’s accomplished. And, already, life is good.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
2008 - Year of the Snake
by Deb Baker
Whew! 2007 was a fabulous year, personally and professionally. I wrote two-plus mysteries. Not to mention blogging with Killer Hobbies and Midnight Ink authors over at Inkspot. I turned in Dolls & Guise on January 3rd, then sat back to relax. And noticed the pain. Of course, this isn’t the first time my chronic sciatic has reared its ugly head. But suddenly, I have time to notice my excruciating back pain, especially when I sit.
That’s why this is the year of the snake. In Chinese zodiac lingo, I’m a snake. In 2008, I’m going to work on a few ailments. Yesterday, after months of going from one medical doctor to another without relief, I had my first acupuncture treatment. Jury’s still out, although the pain is duller, less intrusive. This isn’t going to be a one-stop-cure-all. I have another appointment on Thursday.
Oh, and a bunch of little black Chinese pills. “Take 12 each day.” “Okay.”
Then I bought an inversion table. It took a while to find. Most stores were sold out. It’s a hot item. Son and husband will put it together for me. Friends and family are in line to try it out.
Next, as sad as it is, I have to spend less time at the computer. No more surfing mystery listservs or googling my titles in the wee hours of the morning and night.
Dear readers and friends, I’m also taking a hiatus from blogging. Camille will move to Tuesdays and Terri Micene, author of two exciting new series (quilting and rubber-stamping) will blog on weekends.
I’m not gone, since I’ll still guest blog and read all your posts from my up-side-down position. Not sure how I’m going to accomplish that, but I’m working on it.
See you later. Maybe we can “hang” out together again soon.
Hui tou jian (see you later),
Deb
Whew! 2007 was a fabulous year, personally and professionally. I wrote two-plus mysteries. Not to mention blogging with Killer Hobbies and Midnight Ink authors over at Inkspot. I turned in Dolls & Guise on January 3rd, then sat back to relax. And noticed the pain. Of course, this isn’t the first time my chronic sciatic has reared its ugly head. But suddenly, I have time to notice my excruciating back pain, especially when I sit.
That’s why this is the year of the snake. In Chinese zodiac lingo, I’m a snake. In 2008, I’m going to work on a few ailments. Yesterday, after months of going from one medical doctor to another without relief, I had my first acupuncture treatment. Jury’s still out, although the pain is duller, less intrusive. This isn’t going to be a one-stop-cure-all. I have another appointment on Thursday.
Oh, and a bunch of little black Chinese pills. “Take 12 each day.” “Okay.”
Then I bought an inversion table. It took a while to find. Most stores were sold out. It’s a hot item. Son and husband will put it together for me. Friends and family are in line to try it out.
Next, as sad as it is, I have to spend less time at the computer. No more surfing mystery listservs or googling my titles in the wee hours of the morning and night.
Dear readers and friends, I’m also taking a hiatus from blogging. Camille will move to Tuesdays and Terri Micene, author of two exciting new series (quilting and rubber-stamping) will blog on weekends.
I’m not gone, since I’ll still guest blog and read all your posts from my up-side-down position. Not sure how I’m going to accomplish that, but I’m working on it.
See you later. Maybe we can “hang” out together again soon.
Hui tou jian (see you later),
Deb
Sunday, January 13, 2008
The News from My Corner of the World
Sometimes, life just isn't fair. And the most talented among us get overlooked. For example, my good friend Tony Hooper emailed me last week with this lament:
Dear Joanna,
Walter Bargen narrowly edged me out to become Missouri's first Poet Laureate. I probably should have steered away from controversy in my poems, one of which began:
I think that I shall never see
A state so fair as Missouri,
I love her highways, streets, and roads;
Some have potholes, some are closed.
Next time I'll send something from my nature series, like:
The doe stood boldly on my lawn,
Munching hostas with her fawn.
Two shots ripped the still of dawn
Now the bastards both are gone.
Were it not for your encouragement, I don't know how I'd carry on writing.
Tony
I share his pain.
Last Monday the "powers that be" closed down a five-mile stretch of the main East-West corridor in our city for two years. Eeeek!!! What a mess.
And the deer? No exaggeration, we have 100 deer per square mile in the suburb where Tony and I live. At any given time, a dozen of them are in my yard eating the lawn, flowers, shrubs, and trees. This photo is one I took of two babies sporting their winter coats. When I first saw them last Spring, they were--seriously--knee-high. I thought they were stray dogs!
Unfortunately, the deer have no natural predators. Each week there's a new carcass at the side of the road. One municipality decided to "airlift" the animals and take them to a new location. They died of terror.
Truly, I believe the herd should be culled. It's not fair to them. There's not enough to eat, they get hit and maimed by cars, and their interbreeding is causing birth defects like the buck we saw two years ago with the misformed leg. Yes, they also drive us homeowners nuts. Tony's wife trains guide dogs, and Suzanne has to keep dosing them for parasites because the pooches eat so much deer poo. Our lawn and flowers get torn up on a regular basis. My husband wants a tee-shirt that says, "Kill Bambi" on the front.
And yet...and yet...we all rush to the windows to watch the parade as the herd wanders through the yard. The sight of the little ones causes my heart to soar. As does the sight of their white flags bouncing into the woods behind the house.
So...Tony isn't poet laureate, and the deer still roam freely. Life doesn't lend itself to neat packages tied up with ribbons. Sigh. That's the news from my corner of the world.
Dear Joanna,
Walter Bargen narrowly edged me out to become Missouri's first Poet Laureate. I probably should have steered away from controversy in my poems, one of which began:
I think that I shall never see
A state so fair as Missouri,
I love her highways, streets, and roads;
Some have potholes, some are closed.
Next time I'll send something from my nature series, like:
The doe stood boldly on my lawn,
Munching hostas with her fawn.
Two shots ripped the still of dawn
Now the bastards both are gone.
Were it not for your encouragement, I don't know how I'd carry on writing.
Tony
I share his pain.
Last Monday the "powers that be" closed down a five-mile stretch of the main East-West corridor in our city for two years. Eeeek!!! What a mess.
And the deer? No exaggeration, we have 100 deer per square mile in the suburb where Tony and I live. At any given time, a dozen of them are in my yard eating the lawn, flowers, shrubs, and trees. This photo is one I took of two babies sporting their winter coats. When I first saw them last Spring, they were--seriously--knee-high. I thought they were stray dogs!
Unfortunately, the deer have no natural predators. Each week there's a new carcass at the side of the road. One municipality decided to "airlift" the animals and take them to a new location. They died of terror.
Truly, I believe the herd should be culled. It's not fair to them. There's not enough to eat, they get hit and maimed by cars, and their interbreeding is causing birth defects like the buck we saw two years ago with the misformed leg. Yes, they also drive us homeowners nuts. Tony's wife trains guide dogs, and Suzanne has to keep dosing them for parasites because the pooches eat so much deer poo. Our lawn and flowers get torn up on a regular basis. My husband wants a tee-shirt that says, "Kill Bambi" on the front.
And yet...and yet...we all rush to the windows to watch the parade as the herd wanders through the yard. The sight of the little ones causes my heart to soar. As does the sight of their white flags bouncing into the woods behind the house.
So...Tony isn't poet laureate, and the deer still roam freely. Life doesn't lend itself to neat packages tied up with ribbons. Sigh. That's the news from my corner of the world.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Guns or roses?
"Why don't you write romances?" my husband asked me the other day. "Don't you love me?"
He didn't put it quite that way, but you get the idea.
It's a good question (the first one; the second one is easy), one that comes up often on conference panels.
Usually we say we want to bring order to a disorderly world, or we like puzzles and we're building and solving them in our mysteries. Some say we want to handle the stories with high stakes or expose the evil in the world or show how the good guys will always win.
How about you? Why do you write mysteries? Why do you read mysteries?
Friday, January 11, 2008
Exercising my angst
Like Linda, I'm on a deadline too! Plus, I gave a workshop this evening to some writers at a wonderful independent bookstore in Westwood, called The Mystery Bookstore. Ooh, it's such a bizzy bizzy time these days.
Right now I'm finishing up the second draft of A KILLER WORKOUT, working on the part of the book that’s always toughest for me—the diet and exercise tips that go in the front of each chapter.
The tips are challenging because I am not an exercise enthusiast, but I have to get inside the head of someone who is.
To accomplish that, I’ve been doing a lot of research about fitness, and I've learned a few new things along the way. I’ve learned enough, in fact, to make me renew my commitment to getting regular exercise in 2008.
Among my discoveries:
Women who exercise more than two hours per week can drastically reduce their risk of sudden cardiac arrest.
Yoga massages your inner organs, and lubricates your joints. It can even reduce chronic pain.
Smoking makes your skin wrinkle prematurely.
The tiny acai berry from the Amazon rainforest may be nature’s most perfect food.
Women who exercise regularly have much more sex than women who don’t. (Women who don't exercise think about sex more, but don't get as much.)
People rate you as more attractive when they think that you exercise.
You can build stronger muscles by simply visualizing yourself doing exercise.
I'm hoping that I'll start acting on all this new information, by starting the day with an acai-berry shake, taking up yoga, and making sure I get aerobic exercise several times a week. If nothing else, I should be able to visualize myself a set of six-pack abs while lying on the couch.
I do get feedback from some readers that the tips in DYING TO BE THIN helped them in some small way, by providing information and framing the message of getting and staying fit.
So that makes it all worthwhile. Who knows, I might even brush the cobwebs off my gym card and venture inside for a Spinning class.
But first, I think I need to attend a few meetings of Couch Potatoes Anonymous, just to recover from my very inactive holiday season...anyone got their number?
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Blogless
My blog today is... no real blog! I'm under deadline and have lots exciting going on, so keep reading. I'll have lots to tell soon.
--Linda
--Linda
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Killer Cold, Light Reading
I have that killer cold thing that’s going around. I got my flu shot, so it’s not the flu, but it’s about the worst cold you can imagine. Not pneumonia, I got a shot for that, too. But I’m wheezing and coughing and blowing hot then cold, and feeling what the English used to call “seedy.” I wonder where that term comes from, anyhow. Is it a form of “gone to seed”?
Anyhow, my writing is desultory and I’m doing what I often do when ill, reading old, familiar, comforting books. Right now, that’s Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. Written in the late 1880s, it is a witty, funny, insightful, comic look at a boat trip up the Thames taken by Jerome and two male friends and a fox terrier. It was a huge best seller in its day, and is still fun to read. He describes the towns and scenery, tells funny stories about life in a boat, and wanders off into philosophy now and again.
In one chapter he he riffs on how “our art treasures of today are only the dug-up commonplaces of three or four hundred years ago. . . the pink shepherds and the yellow shepherdesses that we hand round now for all our friends to gush over, and pretend they understand, were the unvalued mantel-ornaments that the mother of the eighteenth century would have given the baby to suck when he cried.”
He continues, “Will it be the same in the future? Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day before? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimney pieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species unknown) that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer light-heartedness of spirit, be carefully mended, and stood upon a bracket, and dusted only by the lady of the house?” Yes, indeed, Mr. Jerome. You were a prophet.
And how about this: “The ‘sampler’ that the eldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as a ‘tapestry of the Victorian era,’ and be almost priceless.”
Well, we don’t consider them as “tapestries,” but a nineteenth century schoolgirl sampler in good condition can cost a twenty-first century collector a very tidy sum. They’re so prized they’ve even been turned into patterns for stitchers to copy.
Jerome’s feelings about people who own waterfront property and put up No Trespassing signs are amusingly strong: “The sight of those notice-boards rouses every evil instinct in my nature. I feel I want to tear each one down, and hammer it over the head of the man who put it up, until I have killed him, and then I would bury him, and put the board up over the grave as a tombstone.
“I mentioned these feelings of mine to Harris, and he said he had them worse than that. He said he not only felt he wanted to kill the man who caused the board to be put up, but that he should like to slaughter the whole of his family and all his friends and relations, and then burn down his house. This seemed to me to be going too far, and I said so to Harris; but he answered: ‘Not a bit of it. Serve ‘em all jolly well right, and I’d go and sing comic songs on the ruins.’
“I was vexed to hear Harris go on in this bloodthirsty strain. We never ought to allow our instincts of justice to degenerate into mere vindictiveness. It was a long while before I could get Harris to take a more Christian view of the subject, but I succeeded at last, and he promised me that he would spare the friends and relations at all events, and would not sing comic songs on the ruins.”
And then, to show what he’s saved the world from, he gives a hilarious description of Harris attempting to sing a comic song at a party.
Ah, Jerome K. Jerome, just the right thing to read when you’re not feeling well.
Anyhow, my writing is desultory and I’m doing what I often do when ill, reading old, familiar, comforting books. Right now, that’s Jerome K. Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat. Written in the late 1880s, it is a witty, funny, insightful, comic look at a boat trip up the Thames taken by Jerome and two male friends and a fox terrier. It was a huge best seller in its day, and is still fun to read. He describes the towns and scenery, tells funny stories about life in a boat, and wanders off into philosophy now and again.
In one chapter he he riffs on how “our art treasures of today are only the dug-up commonplaces of three or four hundred years ago. . . the pink shepherds and the yellow shepherdesses that we hand round now for all our friends to gush over, and pretend they understand, were the unvalued mantel-ornaments that the mother of the eighteenth century would have given the baby to suck when he cried.”
He continues, “Will it be the same in the future? Will the prized treasures of today always be the cheap trifles of the day before? Will rows of our willow-pattern dinner-plates be ranged above the chimney pieces of the great in the years 2000 and odd? Will the white cups with the gold rim and the beautiful gold flower inside (species unknown) that our Sarah Janes now break in sheer light-heartedness of spirit, be carefully mended, and stood upon a bracket, and dusted only by the lady of the house?” Yes, indeed, Mr. Jerome. You were a prophet.
And how about this: “The ‘sampler’ that the eldest daughter did at school will be spoken of as a ‘tapestry of the Victorian era,’ and be almost priceless.”
Well, we don’t consider them as “tapestries,” but a nineteenth century schoolgirl sampler in good condition can cost a twenty-first century collector a very tidy sum. They’re so prized they’ve even been turned into patterns for stitchers to copy.
Jerome’s feelings about people who own waterfront property and put up No Trespassing signs are amusingly strong: “The sight of those notice-boards rouses every evil instinct in my nature. I feel I want to tear each one down, and hammer it over the head of the man who put it up, until I have killed him, and then I would bury him, and put the board up over the grave as a tombstone.
“I mentioned these feelings of mine to Harris, and he said he had them worse than that. He said he not only felt he wanted to kill the man who caused the board to be put up, but that he should like to slaughter the whole of his family and all his friends and relations, and then burn down his house. This seemed to me to be going too far, and I said so to Harris; but he answered: ‘Not a bit of it. Serve ‘em all jolly well right, and I’d go and sing comic songs on the ruins.’
“I was vexed to hear Harris go on in this bloodthirsty strain. We never ought to allow our instincts of justice to degenerate into mere vindictiveness. It was a long while before I could get Harris to take a more Christian view of the subject, but I succeeded at last, and he promised me that he would spare the friends and relations at all events, and would not sing comic songs on the ruins.”
And then, to show what he’s saved the world from, he gives a hilarious description of Harris attempting to sing a comic song at a party.
Ah, Jerome K. Jerome, just the right thing to read when you’re not feeling well.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
First Lady Doll Collection
by Deb Baker
Say hello to Martha Washington and Helen Taft. If you have the opportunity to travel to the Smithsonian, don’t miss the First Lady doll collection. The project began in 1975 when a small group got together and decided to commission Phyllis Park, a doll sculptor, to create first lady heads to look like their portraits. By the time the project was ready for exhibit, 200 volunteers had worked on the display. Each sawdust-filled cloth body took 15 hours to assemble. Costumes are replicas of actual dresses worn by the first ladies. Freda Davis spent 105 hours sewing beads on Mrs. Taft’s costume.
Our first ladies have been remarkable women, strong in their own rights. We’ve shared their successes, failures, sorrows, and joys. We’ve seen them make history. Some have shaped our national character in unbelievable ways. All are remembered in this fascinating display.
Say hello to Martha Washington and Helen Taft. If you have the opportunity to travel to the Smithsonian, don’t miss the First Lady doll collection. The project began in 1975 when a small group got together and decided to commission Phyllis Park, a doll sculptor, to create first lady heads to look like their portraits. By the time the project was ready for exhibit, 200 volunteers had worked on the display. Each sawdust-filled cloth body took 15 hours to assemble. Costumes are replicas of actual dresses worn by the first ladies. Freda Davis spent 105 hours sewing beads on Mrs. Taft’s costume.
Our first ladies have been remarkable women, strong in their own rights. We’ve shared their successes, failures, sorrows, and joys. We’ve seen them make history. Some have shaped our national character in unbelievable ways. All are remembered in this fascinating display.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
The Best of British Scrapbooking Contest 2007
Since 2004, I've been running The Best of British Scrapbooking, a contest I started in the UK to spotlight new talent. When I began the contest, people wondered if there was really enough talent – and enough scrapbookers – in the UK to support a competition. As the days ticked down closer to the contest deadline, I worried a bit. But I shouldn’t have. There was a huge stack of entries, and my judges and I worked all day to make our selections.Two of those judges Mary Anne Walters and Shimelle Laine went on to work as Design Team Members for ScrapBook inspirations, a UK magazine. And ScrapBook inspirations went on to host the contest, announcing it, collecting the entries, coming up with the prizes, showcasing the winners.
But I’m still the judge. And choosing a few winners was really hard because the field was so terrific. My “Overall Winner” was Klara Wilson. Her “Reaching 18”
page was phenomenal. She put her heart and soul into the layout, describing how after an illness she'd finally reached a BMI (Body Mass Index) of 18, which meant she was once again on the road to health.
But I’m still the judge. And choosing a few winners was really hard because the field was so terrific. My “Overall Winner” was Klara Wilson. Her “Reaching 18”
page was phenomenal. She put her heart and soul into the layout, describing how after an illness she'd finally reached a BMI (Body Mass Index) of 18, which meant she was once again on the road to health.Her Grandma Olga page was equally impressive. Economical with words, Klara wrote, "Grandma Olga used to say, 'Make the most of opportunities in your life.'"
By mixing patterned paper with stitching and flowers, Klara told us a lot about her grandmother.
Over the next months, I’ll share more of the winners’ work. Prepare to be knocked out. I always am!
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Go Team, No
I promise this is not a blog about politics per se, but about the power of words and metaphors.
My complaint is with the media. I know, they're a likely and overused scapegoat, but here's a different tack. I'm a political junkie, so I don't object to the 24/7 coverage even when it begins more than a year before a national election. I've watched every debate of both parties more than once.
I'm such a junkie, that I made a miniature roombox representing what the campaign headquarters of the candidate I'm supporting might look like, down to mini bumper stickers and banners. [Private individual email attachment showings only, for anyone who would like to see it.]
What I object to are the metaphors used to describe political campaigns. During the mid-term elections, one major network called the campaign "a horserace." Another news channel is calling this year's primaries a "bowl," and even uses the circles and arrows that we see (well, not me) during football games.
Words are powerful and sports words always imply winner/loser, which is not how democracy is supposed to work. In basketball or hockey, there is no shared winning. If team one loses by only a 2% margin to team two, they don't get a proportional part of the ring or the trophy. That's appropriate in sports. But in a representative democracy, it's supposed to work differently.
Using sports metaphors allows a "winning" candidate, with maybe only 51% of the vote to act as winner take all and too bad for the other candidate who got "only" 49%.
So that's my anti-sports metaphor speech for the day.
Do I have a better idea for how to portray elections in a democracy. Not yet, and I could use some help.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Welcome 2008...and other thoughts on authordom
So here we are, in 2008.
I’m not so sure that I’m ready for a brand spanking-new year. The year 2007 was an auspicious one for me—the first book in the Fat City Mystery series, DYING TO BE THIN, made its debut on October second, 2007. In its first month in bookstores, DTBT became an IMBA Bestseller.
Currently, I’m finishing up the second draft of the next book in the series, which is titled A KILLER WORKOUT. Life, as they say, is good.
So why am I anxious about 2008?
Going into 2007, my only focus was on the process of launching my first book. Going into 2008, I’m becoming aware of the challenges of improving the place where my work floats in the vast Sea of Books.
Swimming above me are the Writing Whales—the Big Kahunas. These are the Major Authors, the brand-name, New York Times Bestselling behemoths whose books get snatched up by the reading public, no matter what.
Below me are layers of Other Worthy Writers. Writing merits and awards aside, the Amazon numbers for OWW can sometimes languish in the six-and-seven-digit range.
Between these two groups is an anxious school of writing guppies known as Promising New Authors.
In that school of author fish, I’m a newbie Nemo.
My theory is that, to advance to Writing Whaledom, guppies need to significantly advance their writing craft and reach with each new book.
So here’s the bottom line—I’m finishing up the second draft of A KILLER WORKOUT, working hard to deliver a kick-ass second book.
The themes in A KILLER WORKOUT are bigger, the stakes are higher—and my character, Kate Gallagher, puts more of her character chips on the line.
The readers, of course, will be the ultimate judges.
How about you? Do you reach for “more” with each book? As readers, do you expect more from an author with each new novel? Or am I being a typical type-A Wellesley graduate by putting so much pressure on myself?
I’m not so sure that I’m ready for a brand spanking-new year. The year 2007 was an auspicious one for me—the first book in the Fat City Mystery series, DYING TO BE THIN, made its debut on October second, 2007. In its first month in bookstores, DTBT became an IMBA Bestseller.
Currently, I’m finishing up the second draft of the next book in the series, which is titled A KILLER WORKOUT. Life, as they say, is good.
So why am I anxious about 2008?
Going into 2007, my only focus was on the process of launching my first book. Going into 2008, I’m becoming aware of the challenges of improving the place where my work floats in the vast Sea of Books.
Swimming above me are the Writing Whales—the Big Kahunas. These are the Major Authors, the brand-name, New York Times Bestselling behemoths whose books get snatched up by the reading public, no matter what.
Below me are layers of Other Worthy Writers. Writing merits and awards aside, the Amazon numbers for OWW can sometimes languish in the six-and-seven-digit range.
Between these two groups is an anxious school of writing guppies known as Promising New Authors.
In that school of author fish, I’m a newbie Nemo.
My theory is that, to advance to Writing Whaledom, guppies need to significantly advance their writing craft and reach with each new book.
So here’s the bottom line—I’m finishing up the second draft of A KILLER WORKOUT, working hard to deliver a kick-ass second book.
The themes in A KILLER WORKOUT are bigger, the stakes are higher—and my character, Kate Gallagher, puts more of her character chips on the line.
The readers, of course, will be the ultimate judges.
How about you? Do you reach for “more” with each book? As readers, do you expect more from an author with each new novel? Or am I being a typical type-A Wellesley graduate by putting so much pressure on myself?
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Hello, 2008!
I'd intended to blog today by talking about New Year's resolutions that may be applicable to pets--like not overfeeding despite how much they beg (Are you reading this, Lexie???), and giving them lots of hugs while making sure they know who's in charge, since your control is for their own good (Now I know Lexie isn't reading this!!).
I can't help adding, though, that I'm really saddened by a situation reported in the news on New Years Day. In San Diego, south of where I live in L.A., a man being pursued in his vehicle who might have been DUI got out of his car on the Coronado Bay Bridge and appeared as if he wanted to jump. A police dog named Stryker was released to stop him. Stryker initially succeeded by getting the man down on the ground, but the man picked Stryker up and jumped. The man survived. Stryker didn't. In my opinion, if someone wants to end his own life, it's a terrible thing but at least it's his own decision. In this case, poor Stryker was just doing his job.
Okay, enough of such awful stuff. It is a new year, filled with lots of time to read, to write... and to love our pets.
Happy New Year, to all of you and your families, including the animal members!
--Linda
P.S. One of my old rug hooks mysteriously appeared on my washing machine this week, and no one in the family owns up to putting it there. Is that a sign that I really should take up the craft again this year???
I can't help adding, though, that I'm really saddened by a situation reported in the news on New Years Day. In San Diego, south of where I live in L.A., a man being pursued in his vehicle who might have been DUI got out of his car on the Coronado Bay Bridge and appeared as if he wanted to jump. A police dog named Stryker was released to stop him. Stryker initially succeeded by getting the man down on the ground, but the man picked Stryker up and jumped. The man survived. Stryker didn't. In my opinion, if someone wants to end his own life, it's a terrible thing but at least it's his own decision. In this case, poor Stryker was just doing his job.
Okay, enough of such awful stuff. It is a new year, filled with lots of time to read, to write... and to love our pets.
Happy New Year, to all of you and your families, including the animal members!
--Linda
P.S. One of my old rug hooks mysteriously appeared on my washing machine this week, and no one in the family owns up to putting it there. Is that a sign that I really should take up the craft again this year???
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Happy New Year!
I don't know whether to post something now, unprepared, or to post later. But since I'm sitting here typing this, I guess I've decided to try this. Had a great New Year's Eve party, playing penny ante poker with a small group of friends. No booze, lots of laughs, I think I'm up about a dollar.
The book is still moving along. To coin a cliche, the end is in sight. I've deliberately withheld that final climax, to tempt me to hustle toward it. The temperature outside is a little below zero, which will be the temperature for this final scene, so that's good. I'll walk around in it a little bit and it will inspire me.
It'll also make me grateful to be indoors again. I'm a great history buff and used to wish for time travel so I could actually experience the past times. But the older I get the less I want to live "back then." Disease, fleas, spoiled food, what if I break a leg or get a toothache? What if they conclude I'm an enemy spy or, worse, a witch? So let me pop in for a brief visit, then it's "who was that masked lady?"
The book is still moving along. To coin a cliche, the end is in sight. I've deliberately withheld that final climax, to tempt me to hustle toward it. The temperature outside is a little below zero, which will be the temperature for this final scene, so that's good. I'll walk around in it a little bit and it will inspire me.
It'll also make me grateful to be indoors again. I'm a great history buff and used to wish for time travel so I could actually experience the past times. But the older I get the less I want to live "back then." Disease, fleas, spoiled food, what if I break a leg or get a toothache? What if they conclude I'm an enemy spy or, worse, a witch? So let me pop in for a brief visit, then it's "who was that masked lady?"
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy New Year!!
This whimsical creation is Annalee.
Annalee Thorndike makes felt and wire Annalees for every holiday occasion. Visit them at http://www.annalee.com/
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