Stomping out your story killers

So this week, instead of blogging about what I’ve been consuming (aka Diet and Exercise), I want to blog about what’s been consuming me.

And recently, I’ve been consumed by all things associated with writing.

No surprise there: today, Friday November 30th, 2007, is Deadline Day for the first draft of A KILLER WORKOUT, the Number Two Book in the Fat City Mysteries.

Not to bury the lead, but I already pressed the Send button that emailed the first draft of A KILLER WORKOUT to my editor in NY. But despite having met that milestone, so far there’s been no letup in my writing focus.

This is because, during the brief hiatus that I have between submitting First Draft and receiving Editor’s Notes, I must give presentations about writing to audiences in large southwestern states. (Does everyone know how large southwestern states really are? I once drove across the country. When I hit Texas, I reported home for several nights in a row, "I'm still in Texas." I grew up hanging around the puny state-doms of New England. So, really—I never knew what Panhandle states could be like, size-wise).

And like a fool, I'm driving to these appearances next week. So if you don't hear anything from me for a couple of weeks, I'm probably still in Texas.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I should say to these good folks in the southern-westest states about the writing process.

Basically, it’s this:

Don’t kill your story.

What does that mean, exactly? The answer depends on where you are on the writing continuum.An advanced writer on the continuum would be Shakespeare, (He’s a safe choice: no one will throw Schadenfreude darts his way, because he’s been dead for just under four-hundred years. And because he’s Shakespeare, dammit).

A less-advanced writer on the continuum would be someone who has written all her life, but mostly on bits of scrap paper. Personally, I come from a long line of paper-scrap writers.

For the less-advanced writers on the continuum, I have some suggestions:

Join a writing critique group

When you think you’re done with your draft, keep rewriting.

Avoid most adverbs at all costs.

Don’t have your main character’s description occur by virtue of gazing into a mirror.

Batch and separate different characters’ actions by separating them with paragraph breaks.

Vary your sentence structure. Repeated structures are boring.

When a beta reader explains, shyly, that a particular section didn’t work for her, nod politely and make a note. If you don’t agree with the feedback, nod and pretend to take a note. Don’t launch into an impassioned, tortured explanation of why this nonworking section must remain in your draft.

Be on the lookout for your personal “writing tic.” Every writer has a writing tic. Before I was published, my writing tic was to overuse dashes, until a much more experienced author pointed it out. I was—to put it mildly—the Queen of Dashes.

Have some kind of conflict on every page.

Don’t over-describe every action of your main character. We really don’t need to know that your heroine reached for her purse, pulled out her wallet, extracted her credit card, put the card back into her wallet, put the wallet back into her purse, zipped up her purse, slung the purse strap onto her shoulder, put her hand on the doorknob…

See what I mean?

These things are on my mind this morning because I’m preparing a workshop called “Stomping out your storykillers.” I’m looking forward to talking to other writers about the writing journey.

The one thing I’m not going to do is what some masters of writing do (I call them the Grand Pooh-Bahs), which is to lean back at the beginning of a talk or seminar and ask the assembled audience why they want to write. The only acceptable answer, ultimately, is this: a person writes because he or she must write.

And I say to that—Bull Puckey!

Knowing you “have” to write is like knowing you have to diet to stay thin: easy to know, hard to do.

It is hard to write every single day, come hell or high water. I write every day in the wee hours of the morning. (I just checked my computer clock; it’s 4:07 AM, Pacific Time). The only days I missed writing over the past two years was 1) when I was stuck in an airplane all day, thanks to Delta Airlines. (I can’t write in an airplane. If I could convince my husband to let us travel first class, that might change), and 2) when I was projectile-vomiting from a bout of stomach flu.

Anyway, I’m having a lot of fun thinking about writing this morning, now that the draft is done and I don’t have to be obsessed with doing it for the moment.

So what are your personal writing tics, or your least favorite ones in famous writers? I’d love to hear about them, just so that I’ll feel better about my own tics.

Write on!

The Joys of Research

We’re writers, which makes everything our business! That’s because writing is only part of the fun. Research is a wonderful perk that goes right along with it.

So what do we research? Anything and everything that we might ever write about. Of course our focus tends to be on what we’re writing now.

For one thing, I have lots of fun with locations, when I can. I set my upcoming (sometime) Silhouette Nocturne on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, which isn’t far from some property we own in Glen Burnie. It’s a kick researching the area. Not to mention werewolves. I’m considering a sequel that could take place in Alaska, which is also a great place to visit. And then there’s L.A. I live here, and it’s a great place to write about... so I do.

With me, in case you haven’t guessed, a lot of research is about animals... or, sometimes, quasi-animals. Unless, of course, you happen to believe that shapeshifters are real. I haven’t run across a real one in my research, but I’m keeping an open mind.

I’ve been plotting the seventh Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery. Each of the stories has featured different kinds of pets--dogs and cats, of course, and also ferrets, macaws, iguanas and even ball pythons.

So what’s next? Well, I’m relatively certain it’s potbellied pigs. One has already appeared in several of the Kendra books, but I’ve got an idea of how to focus on more piggies in a unique kind of way. And that gives me latitude to conduct some fun research.

I’ve been in contact with a really delightful local lady who both owns and rescues pigs, and I got to visit her home recently. I adored her household! And so far, it appears that pigs are every bit as intelligent as I’ve read, so I think I can use them the way I’d hoped in this upcoming story.

How? Well, I know I’m being cryptic, but I don’t want to give anything away. And if I say too much, it could spoil one of the subplots of Double Dog Dare, the sixth Kendra story, which will be available in June 2008. And that means that Kendra #7--and I’m still thinking about its working title--won’t be out until sometime in 2009. So, for now, I’m just hoping to pique your curiosity with my potbellied pig references. Could things change? Sure. That’s part of the fun of creating.

Meantime, I’ll continue to have fun with my research.

Stay tuned, pig lovers!

--Linda

INCONSEQUENTIAL SCENES

We writers think of them as character builders. They are anecdotes that tell the reader what kind of person or person you are writing about. The rule is, show rather than tell. If you want your reader to know something about a police detective, don’t write, for example, “He loved to play cruel practical jokes.” Write a scene in which he hires an extremely hard-bitten street walker to come into the station and ask if she can talk to her boyfriend Sergeant Wilcox for a minute. If he’s kind-hearted, write an amusing scene in which he stops traffic on a winding suburban road to keep a large snapping turtle from being run over. Snapping turtles crossing roads are almost invariably female. They are looking for a place to lay their eggs, or trying to get back to the pond after doing do. They do not want to be rescued, they want to be left alone. They cannot be herded and can bite through shoe leather. They can be pushed by a shovel – if you have one handy. Or, they can be picked up by the tail, if you are quick and careful. But then they must be carried at arm’s length or they will extend their sharp-beaked head on a surprisingly long neck and bite a surprisingly big chunk out of your thigh.

The thing is, these scenes, fun as they are to write, often don’t work toward solving the mystery. They are allowed only as far as they reveal more about the mind or character of the people in your novel. (In a short story, there is normally no time for these digressions.) I am beginning to think that the longer a series goes on, the more of this sort of thing there is, at least in my novels. I am at least as caught up in the personal lives of my “running” (repeating) characters as my readers, enough so that I’m no longer sure how much of this is character building and how much is gossip.

For example, my heroine goes three mornings a week to water aerobics – something I do myself. In Thai Die, I describe a visit based on something that actually happened. This is meant to reveal more about Betsy. Dave is never mentioned again. Is this scene necessary? Or do I just want to get it off my chest?

At six-thirty Betsy waded gratefully into breast-high warm water and began taking broad side steps, raising and lowering her arms in the water. The Courage Center’s Olympic-size pool had flat platforms that stepped down at wide intervals, rather than the sloping bottom of most pools. There were about nine other women there, most of them her age or older, and two men, all stepping sideways, warming up. Greetings were murmured as they passed one another. “Hi, Carol; hi, Rita; hi, Betsy; hi, Ruth; hi, Joe; hi, Ingrid; hi, Renee.” A collection of classic rock songs was playing, not too loud. Instructor Heidi stepped into the pool and called them to order. First head to toe stretches, then a slow jog, and pretty soon they were stepping lively, their heart rates at or close to where they needed to be.

Dave, whose occupation was serious and highly technical, had an amusing prelediction for gently nudging or splashing April and when April objected claiming loudly that she was picking on him. But April was home recovering from surgery. Betsy saw him look around, as if for another victim. He was a handsome man despite his balding head, with a strong build and a captivating North Carolina accent. He came to the pool because he was facing knee surgery and wanted to stretch and strengthen his leg muscles in preparation.

Dave’s eye settled on Irene, who had the most beautiful smile Betsy had ever seen. Her mouth was shapely and she had deep dimples, but it was more than that. When she smiled, somehow everyone around her felt warm and blessed. On the other hand, she was black and Dave was a southerner, so when Betsy saw him focus on her, she held her breath. Dave moved subtly out of his path to nudge her on the shoulder as they passed one another. It could have been an accident, they each murmured “Sorry,” and kept going.

But Irene evidently saw something in Betsy’s face when this happened. She flashed her smile at Betsy, and continued grape-vining placidly across the pool. On her way back, Irene deftly avoided another collision and flicked a few drops of water onto the back of Dave’s head as he went past. Dave shouted, “You saw that! You saw that! First April, now Irene! Can’t get a moment’s peace in this place!” Amidst the laughter Betsy was reminded that not all southerners were bigots – and that in her own concern for Irene, she was herself guilty of condescending racism.

Birds of a Feather

by Deb Baker

I’m an avid birder. My fascination with bird life is a fairly recent hobby, started about five years ago. I’m proud to say that I have 68 birds on my life list. The most recent was a pileated woodpecker sighted in Door County Wisconsin.

It all started with this book. Every year beginning on January 1st, another Big Year begins. It’s a full calendar year marathon to see who can sight the most birds. The Big Year follows three men in 1998 as they battle their way across deserts, bodies of water, and mountains to come in first. At the end of this particular year, one man (can’t tell you which one) counted 765 different species. The story is funny and nuts and thoroughly engaging.

Which brings me to another story told to me yesterday about a man who taught his yellow crested cockatoo to sit on his shoulder. One spring day, he forgot that the parrot was on his shoulder and went outdoors. The bird promptly flew off, ignoring the man’s special whistle. The summer went by without any sign of the cockatoo. Fall came and the man was outside when he spotted a flock of pigeons flying overhead. One of the flockers (is that a word?) had a yellow headcrest.

He whistled his special cockatoo call. The bird left the group of other birds and descended.
And that’s how the man got his bird back.

The Tragic Death of Megan Meiers

I know, I know. I'm supposed to be writing about scrapbooking or writing or something "post-Thanksgiving." But I can't. I'm too upset.

By now you might have read about the tragic death of Megan Meiers. She was a thirteen-year-old girl who had struggled with depression, been badly bullied, and started to turn around her life when Josh Evans “met” her on MySpace.

Now an adult might have thought Josh’s interest suspect, since he never divulged his phone number and only communicated online. But if you’re the parent of a teen, you know this generation is different. My son can text-message faster than I can type. Yes, he does talk with his friends, but that’s no longer the primary method for staying in touch.

Josh was the perfect boy: sixteen, homeschooled, nice looking, played an instrument, and most importantly of all, he liked Megan. Her confidence soared, and her life began to turn-around.

For six weeks, Josh and Megan chatted online. Megan’s mother monitored the relationship. Then one day, Josh decided to end it. He told Megan he’d heard rumors that she wasn’t a good friend. And according to Megan’s father, Josh said something to the effect, “This would be a better world without you in it.”

Twenty minutes later, Megan hung herself. Her parents found her; she died the next day.

Sounds like a sad, but typical story of tragic young love gone awry, doesn’t it? We can all think back to our first crushes, the broken hearts, the tearful partings. But this story has an odd twist: Josh Evans never existed.

He was a fantasy cooked up by a mother and daughter four houses down from the Meiers. The mother, Lori Drew, admitted to the FBI that they had created Josh Evans to monitor what Megan was saying about her daughter. And the Drews' involvement would not have come to light except…except that Mrs. Drew and her daughter bragged about what they were doing to another family, one they carpooled with.

According to the police report, Mrs. Drew “felt this incident (the online concoction of Josh Evans) contributed to Megan's suicide, but she did not feel 'as guilty' because at the funeral she found out 'Megan had tried to commit suicide before.'”

The Meiers family is destroyed. The parents have divorced and filed restraining orders against each other. Their other daughter (age 11) splits her time between the parents. The police in Dardenne Prairie are afraid of what will happen next. There is no law that covers what happened to Megan Meiers, so the citizens seem bent on taking justice into their own hands. The police are worried about public safety.

I’m more worried about Lori Drew’s soul.


To read more about Megan Meiers' death, go to
http://stcharlesjournal.stltoday.com/articles/2007/11/10/news/sj2tn20071110-1111stc_pokin_1.ii1.txt

A little late, or a year early

I seem to be a little behind in my recipe sharing. I posted my bloody finger recipe a couple of days after Hallowe'en, and now I'm presenting these special turkeys two days after Thanksgiving. Let's say I'm a year early for fall 2008.

The turkeys are constructed as follows.

Ingredients:
Ginger snaps
Bon-bons
Melted chocolate
Butterscotch morsels
Red hots
Candy corn

The close view shows how the ginger snap is the basic structure of the turkey. The glue that holds everything together is melted chocolate. The bon-bon is the bird's body, the candy corn its feathers (I'm sure there's a name for them, as well as the red thing under its chin). The nose (Linda, our pet person is now groaning at my pitiful animal vocabulary) and the feet are butterscotch morsels.

If you do it right, they'll stand proud; if not they'll lean over or have crooked feathers, but in any case they're fun to make in a group on the day itself [thus my excuse for not having photos ahead of time].

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving day, with food and crafts! I'm going to try to post Christmas crafts before December 25 -- what a concept.

[Photos by Ariana Stephenson Ramos, UC Santa Cruz student and seriously good photographer.]

After the Thanksgiving feast: now what?

Okay, we have eaten.

Odds are, we have overeaten.

So, what now?

If history is any judge, most of us will now segue into a syndrome known as “Holiday eating fugue.”

Holiday-eating-fugue syndrome, aka HEF, is characterized by the willful suspension of any recognition of the basic dietary law of the universe, which is: calories in taken must be balanced against calories expended.

When this law is not observed, weight gain ensues.

Some relevant facts:

Most people consume more than 3,000 calories on Thanksgiving Day.

The average 150-pound person burns approximately 325 calories in 90 minutes of shopping—a popular activity the day after Thanksgiving, which is what retailers refer to as Black Friday. This means that the average person would have to shop for dang-near the whole day on Black Friday, just to make up for the damage inflicted on Gobbler Thursday.

Historically, attendance at Weight Watchers meetings falls off at Thanksgiving, and doesn’t pick up again until after New Year’s Day. Whereupon, the membership drive becomes a Joining Jubilee.

The average American gains a pound between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day. (Actually, that’s good news. Most people assume that the average American gains more like eight pounds between the holidays.)

Gym memberships, which languish during the holidays, go into RRP mode (Rabid Renewal Period) post-January 1.

What to do?

Here are some things you can try to ward off the HEF blues:

· Put the one-day feast-fest into perspective. No matter how much you ate on Thanksgiving, it’s not going to impact your long-term weight journey—if you get right back on the healthy eating and exercise horse.

· Get physical. One of the major causes of weight gain during the holidays is lack of activity. Time is spent doing holiday errands, which makes us more tired, less motivated, and not wanting to stick to our routine.

· Don’t “diet.” Don’t launch an overly restrictive program during this period. Stick to your tried-and-true eating plan.

· Be choosy about your treats. Those siren sweets hang out on every rock during the holiday months. Go ahead, enjoy. But be selective! And don’t think the right approach is to replace your high fat, high calorie faves with lowfat substitutes. A teaspoon of real butter on a roll is more satisfying than a ton of fake buttercrap.

Whine of the week: The Biggest Loser loses Kae

Why, oh why did Kae get voted off The Biggest Loser?

Okay, I guess I know why: she didn’t lose quite as much as the others in a single week’s measurement, and the other contestants were afraid of her. But I think the algorithm of The Biggest Loser’s “win number” should factor in the weekly loss in the greater context of overall fat reduction and health improvement. Otherwise, it underscores a very unhealthy emphasis on daily progress on the scales, rather than the weight loss journey.

In fact, while we’re fantasy-tweaking the show, let’s make the weekly “win” based on an overall health index that includes weight loss, fat loss, and the other major barometers of health improvement. That would vault The Biggest Loser into the next (and needed) level—a true reflection of the contestant’s overall health improvement. You could “reveal” a health index score each week, just as dramatically as the number on the scale.

Because after all, weight is just a number.

And what audiences really want is to see the true winners win. And that’s what Kae is, a winner.
From the feedback I’m reading, I think that The Biggest Loser is going to have to kick it up a notch in this manner to maintain its popularity with viewers.

And yeah, I know: "It's only reality TV, Kathryn. Why are you wasting your time watching it?"

Sorry, but it's my guilty pleasure. As someone who graduated from a couple of diet boot-camp programs (you'll see fictionalized shades of those experiences in DYING TO BE THIN, and next year's A KILLER WORKOUT), I can't help rooting for the competitors, like a die-hard Red Sox fan during the World Series!

You can see The Biggest Loser's web site here at:

http://www.nbc.com/The_Biggest_Loser/episodes/

Thanksgiving Thoughts

I’m fortunate enough to be able to post my blog for Thanksgiving Day, so I’m going to resort to the not entirely original idea of giving an accounting of some of the stuff I’m thankful for.

I’m thankful for prepared food mixes that, with some additions and embellishments, help me to make a tasty Thanksgiving meal yet have time to write and visit with family on Thanksgiving Day.

I’m a little thankful that my part-time temporary law job that looked, yesterday, as if it might move and morph, is staying as-is. Maybe it’d be better if things changed enough to get me to leave, which would increase my writing time, but I like it enough for now to hang in.

I’m thankful for writing, since it’s so much a part of who and what I am.

I’m thankful for my good friends and my fellow writers, absolutely including my co-bloggers who invited me to join them here at Killer Hobbies. You're all great!

I’m thankful for my wonderful agent Paige Wheeler of Folio Literary Management, her interest in my writing career and her support, and all her efforts to make my publishing dreams come true. I’m thankful for my publishers and their hard-working editors, at Harlequin and at Berkley Prime Crime. By the way, Kendra Ballantyne, my pet-sitter mystery protagonist, joins me in these good wishes for Berkley and everyone there. She really likes it when her stories are told and looks forward to more to come. And, yes, I'm thankful for Kendra and figure she's thankful for me, too.

And of course we're thankful for our wonderful readers!

I’m thankful for all animals, those that are wild, and those that allow us to think they’re tame. For pets of all kinds. For dogs, and for Cavalier King Charles Spaniels. And at the top of that list, I’m thankful for my adorable Lexie. And Kendra says the same about her Lexie.

I’m really thankful for my family--those who remain in Pittsburgh, those who live in Phoenix, my extended in-law family in Ohio and Hawaii and here in L.A. And, most especially, I’m thankful for my two wonderful sons, Eric and Keith, and for my husband Fred, with whom I don’t always agree but I do always love.

I hope everyone reading this has a wonderful Thanksgiving. And please feel free to comment here to add the things you’re most thankful for.

--Linda

Blessed to Receive, Too

I have been a devout Anglophile (lover of things British) since childhood. When I was five, I was given a record that had several of A.A. Milne’s poems set to music. I probably drove my mother nuts by playing it over and over (“They’re changing the guard at Buckingham Palace/Christopher Robin went down with Alice . . .”). When I was in sixth and seventh grade, I used to hurry home from school because there was very often a showing of an English movie such as “The Cruel Sea,” and “The Lavender Hill Mob.” My mother and I would sit on the couch together and revel in the scenery and accents and attitudes and the weird sense of British humor. One thing I remember seeing in a war movie was just very brief: a sign on a brick wall that said, Take Courage. I found out later that Courage was a brand of beer, and that was their motto. I thought to myself then – and over the years – that I’d like one of those signs.

So last week I decided, for the upteenth time, to try to find one. And by gum, I found an e-Bay ad for a brass sign from before World War II, featuring a slim rooster embossed in the center, a fancy frame of embossed hops and barley, and, above and below the rooster the motto: Take Courage. It was about fifteen by twenty-two inches. Well, I just knew the thing would go for hundreds of pounds, but the starting bid was only twenty-two pounds. I was certainly willing to pay twenty-two pounds for that beautiful thing. Heck, thirty pounds! So I clicked on it and made my bid. The auction had three days to go, and when I checked back the next day I was still the only bidder. Encouraged, I looked at how much it would cost to get the thing to me. Ouch! It was overweight and oversize for their regular mail service and it would cost almost exactly twice what I was bidding to send it to the United States SURFACE MAIL (i.e. slow boat). To send it by air would double the rate. I began to hope for other bids. None came. On the third day, as the hours ran down, I was still hoping for one of those clever people who wait till the last minute to outbid me. None did. I won the auction. It cost me a little over a hundred dollars for a piece of dented brass.

But the next morning, as I was whining to a dear friend about my expensive mistake, she said, “In one year, you will have forgotten the money; but if you didn’t get it, in one year you would be crying that you let it go.” You know something? She’s right. In fact, it took less than a year. I looked at the picture of it again the next morning, and was so pleased I won the auction! I can’t wait for it to come, I have already have selected the wall it will hang on, and have told my husband that it’s my Christmas present.

So for all of you out there: Take Courage.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

A Ghost of a Chance

by Deb Baker

I did not, do not, will not, might—believe in ghosts.

I’m halfway through my fourth doll collecting mystery. The middle. Is it sagging? Not in the least. All due to a sudden mix of reality and fiction.

Gretchen (the protagonist) has an off-the-wall Aunt Nina, who is into anything new age and beyond. She’s causing all kinds of trouble for Gretchen and for me. Throughout the three books I’ve written so far, Nina has experimented with auras and their different colors, tarot cards, and ESP. Now she’s ghost hunting in an old house that the club is converting into a doll museum and she is pretty sure she has established contact with the ghost.

I don’t have a problem with her pursuit since its right in character. Even if she has just marched off the outline I was trying to make her follow. And the ghost’s appearance would be more appropriate if I was writing a paranormal mystery, which I’m not. In the end, I can always leave its existence in doubt. Let the reader decide.

No. My problem with it is more personal. You see, I think we might really have a ghost in our house.

It started last week when I began working on this scene where Nina has her experience.
Some time during this initial setup, I heard a bang in another part of the basement. It sounded very distinctly like a door slamming shut, and not that far away either although I couldn’t determine the exact location. Considering that we don’t have a door in that direction, I made a tour of the house. The cat was sleeping in the linen closet, the dog was snoring on a rug, and no one else was in the house. Just me. All alone in this old house out in the woods. Okay.

Since then, I’ve heard the same bang several more times and each time I use the same investigative techniques to rule out explainable possibilities. I wish I couldn’t do that elimination thing. I need an answer that fits neatly into my black and white view of the world

So what is it? Can someone please tell me why I’m hearing a door slam where there isn’t a door? It’s okay to suggest that I’m certifiable. I AM on a tight deadline.

Judging Books by Their Covers

Last Wednesday our Greater St. Louis Chapter of Sisters in Crime had Jane Henderson, book editor for the Post-Dispatch as our speaker. Jane shared with us the process she uses to go through the 300 books she receives a WEEK to review.

First she notes any local tie. A handwritten sticky note or a mention in the media page at the front of an ARC (Advance Reading Copy) will do. So will a letter accompanying the book. She’ll even flip over the book and read the back to see if there’s a local tie.

Second she asks herself if her readers will be interested in the book. If the book might be a better fit for another Post-Dispatch department, she forwards it.

Third she considers the quality of the book. “Quality matters in all aspects,” she explained. She evaluates the writing, storyline, characters and the quality of the publication. Of course, to check out the first three elements, she has to read a summary of the book. But to determine that last critical decision point, she peruses the product itself. If the book if obviously self-published, Jane has to weigh another factor: Will it be available to her readers? One of the biggest problems for self-published authors is distribution. Jane doesn’t want to cover a book that her readers can’t find.

Jane admitted that telling whether a book is self-published is getting harder and harder. One clue can be the cover art.

I have to admit, when I choose a book by an author new to me the cover matters a lot. Life’s too short for ugly books. Okay, I’m teasing. Some. When it’s an older book, I don’t mind the appearance so much. But for a new one? I care a lot. To be fair, I also care about the interior design. Recently I picked up a book where to make the left and right side margins flush with an imaginary margin, huge gaps appeared between words. Not only did it look awful, but it was terribly hard to read. And I read fast. This particular bit of erratic spacing slowed me down. I nearly tossed the book in the trash. But it was written by a friend. I really wanted to mention to her that the publisher had done her a great disservice. But as my husband pointed out, "What's the upside?"

Uh, none.

As Jane talked about quality, I bit back a smile. The cover for my new mystery arrived this week. You’re the first to see it. In my humble opinion, Midnight Ink has the best covers in the business. I love mine!

What do you think? Do you like my cover? Does the appearance of a book matter to you?

Nitpicks

My first series is set in the real city of Revere, Massachusetts, where I grew up. Besides making trips back there myself, I garnered great support from family and friends when I needed to know whether a particular avenue is one-way or what kind of trees line Tuttle Street.

I thought it would be easier to set a book closer to where I live now, so I set the fourth in the series in Berkeley, California, one city over. It wasn't that much easier. I still had to go there with a notebook and camera to get the details right. Ditto when I set the eighth book in New York City. I wrote a lot of it while I was visiting, taking pictures and writing a daily log. Still, I had details to research from a distance. How many ponds in Central Park? How many subway stops from Times Square to Bloomingdale's?

I take these details seriously, but even so now and then I make an error.

Mystery readers may be too picky, however. We are writing fiction, after all.

Here's an example: I set a crime in the Revere Public Library—a reader on a mystery list pointed out that I'd given the library a director and an assistant director, whereas the real RPL has no assistant director. Really!

And here's my favorite. You've heard it many times if you've ever been to one of my book signings. I "erected" a nuclear lab in Revere and staffed it with scientists to work with for the periodic table series. One reader never mentioned that amazing "error," but complained that I had a character stop at a Starbucks and Revere has no Starbucks. Go figure. (Is Starbucks more odious than nuclear waste?)

How fussy are you—writers and readers—about getting it right? Do you have any errors to share?

Thoughts about the "B" word (no, not the one that ryhmes with "witch"!)

Killer Hobbies received a double bouquet of great news this week.

I had the honor of being listed, along with fellow author and Killer Hobbies co-blogger Linda O. Johnston, on the IMBA’s Bestsellers list for October. (http://www.mysterybooksellers.com/bestsellers.html)

Now, as a relatively new author (I’ve actually been published many times before, but always under a pseudonym), I found myself awestruck—perhaps overly so—by the term “Bestseller.”

When my name turned up on the IMBA’s list just one month after the publication date for DYING TO BE THIN, I spent an embarrassing amount of my thought-time “dieseling,” as our Monica would say, over the following questions:

“What is a ‘Bestseller’, anyway?”
“What does it mean?”
“Why am I spending so much time thinking about the ‘B-word’ rather than doing what I’m supposed to be doing, which is finishing up the first draft for A KILLER WORKOUT?”

After misdirecting all that brain energy, I finally decided to observe an old adage (I’m probably misquoting it here): “God arranged man’s arms and legs so that it is hard for him to either a) pat himself on the back, or b) kick himself on the behind.”

Bottom line: I’ve got another book to finish!!!!!

Read of the week

When I’m not thought-dieseling or writing, I’ve been reading an interesting book called WRITING THE BREAKOUT NOVEL, by Donald Maass.

His advice for how write a “breakout novel”—in a nutshell, it’s this: open up your story. Make it bigger. Give it higher stakes, a larger theme, one that impacts many more people than you’d find in, say, the population of Cabot Cove.

I find myself instinctively doing that. In the second book in The Fat City Mysteries, A KILLER WORKOUT, there is an umbrella “theme” of mean girls grown up, but underneath that theme, there are other, larger issues at stake: child molestation and criminal activity in the national forests, plus environmental peril.

So I’m wondering—do you think that books need to “grow” their stories in scope in order to maintain a reader’s interest and loyalty? Authors, do you use any particular techniques to widen the scope of your follow-on works? To make them “bigger”? To achieve a “breakout” novel?

Writers Strike

Like the protagonist of my Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mysteries, I live in Hollywood Hills. Today, the surrounding area is home to the Writers Guild strike.

What do we think of it? Well, Kendra’s a lawyer as well as a pet-sitter. I’m a lawyer as well as a writer. But I’m a novelist, not a screenwriter. Despite the often awful reputation of attorneys, I believe in fairness. So does Kendra.

So what’s fair? I’ve been reading articles and op-ed pieces and ads about the strike. As with any issue, there appear to be two sides. Writers want their fair share of proceeds from the productions they help to create when they’re sold via current and yet-to-be invented technologies, including the Internet.

An ad in the Los Angeles Times from AMPTP, which I gather stands for Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, said there were offers to pay writers for stuff like that on the table when the strike struck. True? Could be. But if so, the union reps apparently didn’t consider the offers fair or far-reaching enough.

Ouch. I have to admit I just cringed as I wrote “union reps.” I grew up in Pittsburgh, former home of steel mills and other major industries. Notice that I said “former”? Can’t blame it all on unions or strikers, but I do blame at least some of the shaky economy on a whole lot of strikes I saw as I was growing up.

Still, individuals have little bargaining power and therefore sometimes wind up living with unfairness more than groups of people negotiating shoulder-to-shoulder for something. There truly is strength in numbers. And it sure would be nice to believe that my striking sister and brother writers--and my nephew--will come out the other end of this ugly situation with more than just a semblance of fairness. Let’s hope both sides will compromise sufficiently to come up with a win-win solution.

Right, Kendra?

--Linda

Being an Author

A few months ago I got into an Internet conversation about titling my books – I have a standard offer of a free book for anyone who can come up with a name for it. Someone suggested “Buttons and Bones.” What a great title! It went into my file, though I had no idea what kind of a plot it might cover.

Then I was handed story last week over at the Courage Center Pool, where I do water aerobics at the ungodly hour of six-thirty in the morning. I heard Rita say to Dave that she wanted to make one last trip up to her cabin in northern Minnesota. Just idly curious, I asked her where her cabin is. “It’s near Emily,” she said, “and Remer.” Seeing the blank look on my face, she added, “They are very small towns, about sixty miles north of Brainard. That would make the cabin about three hours from Minneapolis.” Gosh, I thought, that’s way, way up north. There’s probably snow up there by now – there was snow on the ground in Duluth the day before, which is straight across the state from where her cabin is, though we haven’t had anything but thin flurries down here in central Minnesota.

She told me the cabin is on a bluff overlooking a small lake. It is very isolated, set among huge old pines, with only one other cabin somewhat distant. Hers is small, a real log cabin, built over a hundred years ago from local trees. She’s spent a lot of time repairing it, as it sat empty for a few years after the last owner, a retired army colonel, died. She discovered a root cellar she didn’t know existed while working on the floor, and there’s a woodshed out back full of old logs and rubbish she intends to clean out one of these days. The well is a hundred and twenty-five feet deep.

There used to be a POW camp up the road where German soldiers were kept during World War II.

Anyone who can read the above and be flummoxed for a mystery story plot is no writer, especially given the title I have in storage. Thank you, Rita, and look for your copy of the novel in about three years – I have to finish Thai Die, then write Blackwork before starting Buttons and Bones.

The trip down to Mankato for the Deep Valley Book Festival was well worthwhile. This was only its fourth year, and it was extremely well organized. The booths were roomy, and there was electrical power available – and WiFi, so people like me could “stay in touch” via the Internet. The panels were interesting, and back in a far corner a series of musicians played (nothing loud or modern), including a two person jazz set that had the whole place bopping in time. In another corner was a children’s area, with face painting, stories, even a couple of pets to stroke. There was a very wide selection of authors. I had a great conversation with a man from Zambia, and wish now I’d bought one of his books. There was a silent auction (with a terrific selection), and prizes offered to people whose numbered tickets matched the numbers called from time to time. Food was for sale, soup and chicken salad croissants made fresh, and the prices weren’t enough to invoke the comparison to highway robbery that is common at this sort of thing. The building was just perfect, clean and attractive, not so big any individual author got lost, but big enough for plenty of authors. Many of the authors were privately published or even self-published, so you saw books you rarely saw elsewhere, impressively packaged. Small presses and self-publishing are getting better all the time. The one piece of advice I’d offer to authors going down: Step out and sell. The authors who did worst were those who sat shyly at the back of their booths. Once upon a time, publishers did the publicity. That is no longer the case. And when the author is also the publisher, it is imperative he or she do some marketing. We did well by simply greeting aloud anyone who ventured near, and having a short, snappy, humorous sales pitch ready. My fancy hat helped, and no one who came within range got away without a bookmark. It also helped that I brought someone with me, so we could switch off when one’s brain overheated.

I have a new book, Knitting Bones, whose pub date is December 4. It has a great cover; go take a look at it at Monica-Ferris.com. Here endeth the sales pitch, more deponent sayeth not.

By Deb Baker

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but more of us are left-handed these days. When I was growing up, I rarely met others like me. Now if I’m at a dinner party, several of us are jostling for table position. And while researchers look for an inherited gene, I’m here to tell you that the phenomenon isn’t genetic. No one else in my family as far back as my parents can remember is left-handed. My three kids aren’t either. When I interview other left-handed people, they rarely site other family members that are same-handed.


There’s no question in my mind, though, that lefties have different brains. We are wired differently. We have more schizophrenia, alcoholism, dyslexia, and autism than right-handers. On the other “hand”, we produce more creativity – music, novels, architecture, scientific discoveries. Are we quieter, more introspective than our fellow right-handers? Do we spend more time observing than acting? I’m not sure. Maybe.

Last year, on my first book tour, I joined fellow writers for lunch. We hadn’t met before, but we had the same dreams. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that all of us were lefties?

I’d love it if you’d weigh in on this topic. Are you a leftie? Are you shyer than your counterpart, more likely to sit in the back row? How about your family? Any other lefties?

By Deb Baker

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but more of us are left-handed these days. When I was growing up, I rarely met others like me. Now if I’m at a dinner party, several of us are jostling for table position. And while researchers look for an inherited gene, I’m here to tell you that the phenomenon isn’t genetic. No one else in my family as far back as my parents can remember is left-handed. My three kids aren’t either. When I interview other left-handed people, they rarely site other family members that are same-handed.


There’s no question in my mind, though, that lefties have different brains. We are wired differently. We have more schizophrenia, alcoholism, dyslexia, and autism than right-handers. On the other “hand”, we produce more creativity – music, novels, architecture, scientific discoveries. Are we quieter, more introspective than our fellow right-handers? Do we spend more time observing than acting? I’m not sure. Maybe.

Last year, on my first book tour, I joined fellow writers for lunch. We hadn’t met before, but we had the same dreams. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that all of us were lefties?

I’d love it if you’d weigh in on this topic. Are you a leftie? Are you shyer than your counterpart, more likely to sit in the back row? How about your family? Any other lefties?

Seeds of Self-Doubt Versus the Fruits of Confidence

Of all the tasks I face as a writer, the most arduous and difficult is guarding my confidence.

Without a certain amount of confidence, I can’t face the work I need to do each day. Without confidence, I can’t write. I can’t scrapbook. I can’t move forward in any creative endeavor.

I don’t mean I need confidence that my work will be published. Or confidence that anyone will like it. And certainly not confidence that it will sell. The confidence I need is the confidence that I can eventually meet my own (limited) expectations. Garrison Keillor once said he never expected to write “the Great American novel.” He knew that was beyond him. With a set of diminished expectations, he kept working. But no one can keep working if they are busy wrestling with the demons of self-doubt.

Self-doubt is the most destructive roadblock to any sort of creative endeavor; confidence gives one the ability to move past that self-doubt.

Without confidence, I spend my time thinking, “This won’t work…it’s a stupid idea…I’m no good…this isn’t coming out right…this isn’t good enough.” With confidence I turn my energy to thinking, “Okay, I can fix this…it’s coming along…I can work with what I’ve got here...I’m learning…I’ll get better.”

Confidence comes from the Latin “con” meaning “with,” and “fidere” meaning “trust” or “faith.” Working with “confidence” means having the faith to trust in my abilities. Occasionally that means moving ahead without any sign that I’m going in the right (write!) direction.

If you travel Highway 64/40 going west in St. Louis on a sunny morning, there’s a rise in the road. At that rise, the sun blocks out everything you can see. For a few moments, you drive blindly. It takes faith to keep the car steady, not to panic, not to drive off the road. But with faith, the glare dissipates and the road magically reappears. But to get to THAT point, you must move ahead with confidence.

This Sunday in the NY Times actor Mercedes Ruehl, said, “The ‘jealous guarding of the inner life’ is an artist’s necessity and instinct.”

Today, I’m having a little trouble getting back in the groove because I’ve lost traction by working on Forensic U. And I had someone laugh at something I wrote.

But I will prevail. I know I will. I’ll get back my confidence…possibly by simply throwing myself into my work and letting it rebuild my inner core of faith.

BREAKING NEW!

The Independent Mystery Bookstores have picked their October bestsellers. Contratulations to Katheryn AND Linda. They BOTH made it!

Check the winners out here http://www.mysterybooksellers.com/bestsellers.html

The hobby device

Here's a little more on that interesting thread on CrimeSpace last week, started by our own Kathryn Lilley ... about hobby/crafts mysteries, a sub-sub genre I've just entered. One poster worried that hobby/crafts writers might be using said hobby as a substitute for character development.

Quite possibly, but no more likely than any other writer.

It's true that we don't want a recipe or knitting instructions interrupting the action, but neither do we necessarily need a graphic sex scene to help us "understand the character." Think of all the cliché traits that have been used to define a character in crime fiction, such as alcoholism, listening to jazz, chain-smoking, and bar fighting. Any of these devices can be used well or as a cop-out for the hard work of creating a three-dimensional protagonist.

What a good hobby mystery writer should do is what any good writer should do: use the protagonist's hobby as a window into his/her worldview. How does the character see the world? In terms of the next bar, or as a tapestry to be woven? What metaphors is she/he likely to use for life? A pattern to be embellished, or the bottom of a bottle? Is studying an ancient piece of needlework less worthy than looking deep into a chest cavity, minus its protective covering?

The protagonist in my new series is a miniaturist. She looks at everything around her as potential material for modeling. A thimble becomes a wastebasket. A long bead becomes a vase or a lamp base. Her thinking is outside the box, since in her mind, the box is actually a refrigerator.

Does this help her solve crimes any better than a jogging-obsessed PI, a renegade cop, or a bed-hopping bounty hunter?

Sometimes.

Cozying up to Killer Hobbies: Part Two

First, a note to all my friends…

My web site, http://www.kathrynlilley.com/, was “down” earlier this week, due to some strange gremlin that infected the cyber layer of the atmosphere. My poor beleaguered webmaster tried to explain the whole thing to me. But I hear technical jargon the way a dog hears reproachful instructions; it’s all “Blah, blah, blah.”

Anyway, if the web site is down when you try to navigate to it, keep trying. I believe the god of cyberspace has finally stopped throwing thunderbolts my way.

Feedback about Killer Hobbies

I got feedback from last week’s question about what people like/don’t like about cozy mysteries that are set around a hobby theme.

Boy, did I get feedback.

The good news

Huzzah! People love hobby-oriented mystery series! Judging from the emails and chat, they are wildly popular.

The also-good news (but not for everyone)

Pity the poor hobby mystery-ist who commits any of the following sins:

· Overloads the book with hobby content, at the expense of a good story
· “Top loads” the book with too much information, like all-you-never-wanted-to-know about music boxes.
· Laces the tale with hobby jargon that the nonhobbyist can't understand,
· Bores the reader (this, I might add, is a global sin that is not unique to hobby-oriented mysteries).

Some quotes from the blog-o-sphere

A big THANK YOU to everyone who took the time to reply to my request for feedback! Here are some samples:

“I find that my reading needs are for de-stressing and relaxation, as well as pleasure. I (enjoy) well-written cozies. [I like…Linda O'Johnstons'-- she writes about a wide variety of animal pets [canines, felines, birds, ferrets, & iguana...so far],...want to read more of hers as well as a couple other authors' work I've been fortunate enough to read...]. I have a Monica Ferris book awaiting me. I look forward to another .”

“…I like Monica Ferris' and Maggie Sefton's books set in yarn/embroidery supplies shops, but it may be the manager aspects of running the shop is even more interesting than the craft.”

“…if I care about the protagonist, I enjoy reading about the things that are important in her (or his) life. I like Spenser's little descriptions of how he whips up a little omelet, for instance; and also enjoy Susan's questioning whether they can really mean you have to stir something "constantly" for THAT LONG. They don't intrude, but that's how people's lives really are in my universe. We eat, we work, we crochet, we solve mysteries. Except for the solving mysteries part, in my case.”

“…it is the story I tend to remember rather than the crafting, so for the sake of anybody who is not au fait with the hobby, it is best to keep the parts dealing with it to the minimum. Also, it is a good idea if the subject is presented as if to beginners for the same reason!”

New York, New York

I was out of town last week.

I started off in my hometown of Pittsburgh, visiting family and bookstores. Then I headed for New York for an annual event that serves as an excuse to visit the delightful city where so much book publishing occurs.

What’s the event? The Baron Funds Annual Investment Conference. Now, unlike my husband and sons, I’m not an eager aficionado of the stock market. But this is not just any annual meeting. First of all, you don’t have to be a huge investor to be invited to this free event. (Well, sort of free. You do have to pay for your own trip to New York.) Then, at the meeting, heads of some of the companies in which the funds invest discuss their successes and strategies. That could be bland, but we’re talking, this year, about Roger Penske, who happened to give away a car. Then there were the CEOs of some really interesting organizations, like J. Crew, Edwards Lifesciences and WebMD. But would I fly all the way to New York just to hear them? Nope. I come for the fantastic surprise entertainment.

This year, though, there was a problem. The number of attendees grows every year. This time, 4,000 people packed the Metropolitan Opera House. Yes, we all fit... there. But at lunchtime, we all had to file out at the same time to grab our box lunches, and by the time my family and I got outside, the area where we’d headed had run out of food so we had to backtrack. Worse, I soon stood outside eating my lunch from the top of a garbage can while I listened to Sheryl Crow, who was inside one of the lunchtime tents. I only got to see her at all because I begged a couple of the security cops to let me peer in through a window, and they let me... for 5 seconds.

But, yes, Sheryl Crow was one of the surprise celebrity guests. Michael Bolton was in the other tent, and I did squeeze in long enough to hear two songs from him. Even so, I was grumpy when I headed back inside the Met for the afternoon’s funds discussions, vowing to avoid the event next year since I wasn’t sure how the organization of the ever-increasing crowd could be fixed.

That vow lasted for about an hour, when the main surprise celebrity entertainer appeared: Bette Midler! The Divine Miss M was wonderful! So... will I go next year? Yeah!

Besides, it gives me an excuse to be in New York. This year, I had coffee with my Silhouette Nocturne editor. I lunched with my Berkley Prime Crime editor--only to learn she is leaving the company. She did, however, suggest a successor editor for me, and I spoke with my new editor yesterday by phone. She, too, is a delight, so all, hopefully, is well--except that I will miss my former editor. I also visited the New York office of my agent, Folio Literary Management, to speak with the marketing director about upcoming promotion. My agent now spends more time in the Washington, D.C., office, and I headed to that area next with my husband to visit the house he is building there and to have dinner with my excellent agent and her husband.

And now I’m back home, trying to catch up on all that was left behind. I did have a good pet-sitter taking care of Lexie in my absence, but of course I missed my baby. Did she miss me? Well, she woke me up at least five times my first night home by the thumping of her wagging tail, welcoming me back.

--Linda

Random Thoughts on Writing

What helps improve sales? Everyone trying to sell a book, whether a publisher or an author only hopes they know. Or that there are instructions out there somewhere, waiting to be found and downloaded. I do what I can. I do signings and interviews, I wear a fancy hat to create interest and stand out from the crowd without (I hope) looking like an idiot. I have a web site and I am part of this daily blog. I make my own bookmarks and carry a supply in my purse at all times, and will whip one out faster than an innocent passer-by can get out of range. I go to mystery conventions and speak on panels if invited. I subscribe to needlework magazines and catalogs. I read needlework news groups to keep up with what’s new and occasionally can make a contribution or ask an intelligent question. I try to be pleasant to people I meet. I take showers and brush my teeth and try not to use too much perfume. If anyone has any other helpful suggestions, please let me know.

I'm going to try something a little different this weekend. I'm going to a book event that is not centered on mystery fiction. It's just for one day, Saturday, and it's called Deep Valley Book Festival. It takes place in Mankato, MN. I'm bringing along copies of my books to sell. I hope I bring just enough, not too many or too few -- I don't know which would be worse. I will also bring along a immense poster of the cover of my next book, Knitting Bones, a gift from my publisher. I will have a couple of pieces of needlework, including a work in progress, to show off. I’ll be easy to spot, I’m wearing a fancy hat. Come too close and you’ll walk away with a bookmark.

Speaking of covers, I’ve seen a preliminary sketch for the cover of Thai Die. They got the depiction of the hand-woven silk panel I brought back from Thailand perfectly – the colors are rich and bold, the patterns are exactly right. There is a statue of the Buddha standing amidst the folds that is . . . well, it’s all right. But that’s all there is to it right now. There’s no drops of blood or a shimmery-bladed dagger or any of the other things that tell the casual browser that here be (cue scary voice effect) murder. My editor asked for suggestions, and I had one. I e-mailed the picture out and around and Ellen had one. Denise had one. My agent had one. We’ll see which one gets chosen. Or if they come up with another all their own. So far my covers have been wonderful, so I’m not worried.

Have any of my fellow writers had the “dieseling” effect? That is, you’re tired, you shut down the computer for the night, you brush your teeth . . . and the story keeps rumbling along. You get into bed . . . rumble, rumble, rumble. You know what dieseling really is, it’s when you shut off your car and it keeps running in a clumsy way for a little while. When I’m in full writing mode – as I am right now – it’s hard to get it shut off when the day is done. I have to get up early tomorrow morning (I’m writing this Tuesday evening), and I know that when I get into bed the story will continue unfolding. Less clearly both because I’m tired and because I don’t have my fingers on the keys to turn the notions into real English and make corrections as I go along. I keep a note pad and pencil (not a pen, a pen may not write and in the dark I won’t know that) by my bed so if an idea strikes me as particularly fine, I can write it down. For example, I came up with “dieseling” last night as I waited for sleep to come.

Talking Turkey

by Deb Baker

Today as I watch the wind swirl outside my writing window and see Wisconsin’s first brief snow flurry, my thoughts turn to family, Thanksgiving, and spending more time in my kitchen. So it was appropriate that yesterday I received the artwork for my third Yooper mystery, which will be out in April. I have to share the cover design with you. BTW, Gertie Johnson (woman with the gun) isn't hunting for dinner, she's after a different kind of turkey.
Anyway…
I’m dreaming of stews, soups, and anything involving mashed potatoes. My body wants to pack on pounds, store it away for the winter. I want to cook a turkey right now, not wait until later in the month. I’m scanning newspapers and magazines for new recipes and this weekend I’m doing a pre-Thanksgiving meal. Here’s the dessert I’m going to try, courtesy of local “Chef Thunder”.

SPICED PUMPKIN TIRAMISU

Italian Ladyfingers – 1 package
Frangelico – 2 Tablespoons
Mascarpone – 8 ounces
Pumpkin puree – 1 cup canned
Cinnamon – 1 teaspoon
Ginger – ½ teaspoon, ground
Mace – ¼ teaspoon
Powdered Sugar – 1 ½ cups
Orange Extract – 1 teaspoon
Heavy Whipping Cream – 2 ½ cups, whipped

Arrange ladyfingers in bottom of a 9-inch square pan. Pour Frangelico over.
In mixing bowl, blend together mascarpone and pumpkin puree. Add spices, powdered sugar and orange extract.
Fold in 1 ½ cups of whipped cream.
Pour over ladyfingers.
Spread remaining whipped cream over the top
Cover and refrigerate at least 2 hours or overnight.
Slice and serve.
(makes 9 servings)

Forensic University Starts with a BANG!

Last Thursday, nearly fifty mystery writers and fans traveled by limo to Bullseye Shooting Range in St. Louis. This was the unofficial start of Sisters in Crime's Forensic University. For many of us, this was our first experience with actually firing a gun--although quite a few of our number had written books with gun play involved.

Our instructor was a real pro, a man who'd been involved in several violent incidents and who regularly carries two firearms on his person. He explained, "When it absolutely, positively has to go bang--carry two guns." With great patience, he put each of us through a quick hands on demonstration of the "combat grip." He schooled us in gun safety: always treat every gun like a loaded gun, never point an empty gun at anyone, keep your finger trigger straight along the side of the gun above the trigger until you are ready to shoot, never hand a gun to another person (instead lay it down and let the other person pick it up), always turn the gun butt toward you before picking it up, and more.

We were each given safety glasses and hearing protective "ear muffs." To enter the gallery, you must pass through two doors that muffle the sound. The rule is "never let both doors be open at the same time." From there we walked a long narrow corridor--another safety precaution because you can't pass people while carrying a gun as you traverse the corridor.

I loaded my clip myself. My fingers shook a bit as I matched the bullets to the second slot and dropped them in. When I slammed the cartridge into the butt of the gun with the heel of my palm, I felt like a character in a movie. The noise of people shooting around me was surprisingly loud. Later Lee Lofland and my pal Rick McMahan would tell me that during a gun battle you don't hear the sound of the blasts, but right then, I was keenly aware how loud a gun is.

I took my stance: both hands wrapped around the gun, arms out, sighting down the barrel and lining up the notch and post, semi-squat position. I stroked the trigger.

My first shots were a little wide. I hadn't accurately lined up the notch and post--I was too scared. Yes, scared. I was so very conscious of the fact I was holding a lethal weapon, an inanimate object that I dislike on so many, varied levels. Seeing the target with the form of a human on it, well, it both sickened and excited me. The smell of gunpowder coated my nose and mouth like the smoke from a cigarette smoker, invading my being involuntarily. The random "pop, pop, pop" of other guns startled me. The knowledge my instructor stood at my elbow waiting made me uneasy.

I remembered a portion of a Jack Reacher book where Lee Child wrote about how important breathing was to the accuracy of a sniper. I began to time my breathes so I could stroke the trigger on that space between inhales and exhales.

Then I blasted the heck out of the red center of my target. By the time I moved to the bigger gun, I was deadly. True confession: I loved shooting. And I know I'll be going again.

Finger food

Hallowe’en is over for many people, but for mystery readers and writers, every day has potential for being spooky.

I made these eerie looking cookies this year for our local Sisters in Crime board meeting. You might want to consider them for your next book party, or plan ahead for Hallowe'en 2008, only 362 days away.

The Recipe

I cheated (which I usually do at cooking) and started with a roll of cookie dough that's in the refrigerator section of the supermarket. I chose peanut butter because it seemed closest to "flesh" color.

Step 1. Instead of cutting the dough as directed, lop off pieces and shape into long skinny "fingers." The first time we tried this we made the shape too wide and got very, very fat fingers. [You'd think I'd know about thermal expansion.] A roll about the diameter of a pencil works well.

Step 2. Place the fingers on an ungreased cookie sheet. Stick a slivered almond slice into one end of the finger, to be the finger nail.

Step 3. Squeeze red frosting (another cheat, using a tube of red frosting) on the opposite end from the nail, for a bloody look. (I know—eeew!) If you lay the fingers out facing the same way, you can just run a line of frosting down the sheet, capturing all the fingers with one swoop.

Step 4. Bake according to package directions and SERVE.

What's your favorite FUN recipe??

Cozying up to Killer Hobbies

I recently took it upon myself (along with co-blogger, Linda O. Johnston) to do a bit of research into hobby-oriented mystery series. We came up with some interesting information--in fact, we've prepared an entire discussion/presentation on the subject of hobby-oriented mysteries that we are taking "on the road" in the Southern Califonia area. If you would like us to appear at your book club, library, bookstore or discussion group, please contact one of us through our web sites. (We can also teleconference in to groups that meet in other locations).

But here's a little preview of some of what we talk about:

What’s a “hobbyist’s” cozy mystery?

· By a conservative estimate, about 60-65% of Berkley/NAL Prime Crime imprints are based on hobbies.

· Most cozies are geared toward a female audience.

· The story stars an amateur sleuth, usually a well-educated female.

· Her life experiences have given her special skills that she uses in the course of solving a crime.

· Her hobby can be very diverse (scrap booker, oenophile, B&B owner, art collector, quilting).

· The location of the story is usually a small town or confined environment. This makes it believable that all the residents know each other.

· She usually has friends, relationships, or family that can get her “uncozy” police procedural information (autopsy results, investigation updates).

· Most cozies are series.

· Most of the characters in the story are fairly likable, often quirky.

· Cozies are “kinder, gentler” stories—no overt violence or overt sex (okay, well, except for my series, the Fat City Mysteries. There you get a lot of sex and violence!).

· The story is fast-paced, with lots of red herrings.

· Often, two people die before the book ends, both offstage. The first murder often takes place before the story opens. The connection between the two people is what helps the sleuth solve the crime. She is able to make that connection in a way the police fail to.

(One more disclaimer about DYING TO BE THIN—it shows the murder victims splat on the page. I think I have a few uncozy "bones" as a writer!)

What are the current trends in cozy mysteries?

The current trend is to make cozies “educational” and include bonus information, such as patterns, diet tips, or recipes.

For example, DYING TO BE THIN has diet tips at the beginning of each chapter, like the following one:

There’s an old saying: Scratch a depression, and you’ll find an anger. Well, scratch an overweight woman, and you may find an angry one underneath. Many of us eat to repress angry feelings—over a rotten childhood, over a chintzy news budget that doesn’t cover wardrobe expenses…you name it, we’ve got plenty to be angry about. Learn to express anger in a healthy, assertive way. Which doesn’t include diving into a pint of Chunky Monkey.

—From The Little Book of Fat-busters by Mimi Morgan

What about you? Are there things about hobby-oriented cozy mysteries that particularly attract you? Are there things you wish were different about the stories? We'd really love to hear your feedback. Best, Kathryn