Word smiles

Here are some smiles for Sunday. They're from Steven Wright, one of my favorite stand-up comics. I love the way he plays with words.

1. What's another word for Thesaurus?

2. You can't have everything. Where would you put it?

3. It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to have to paint it.

4. I've been doing a lot of abstract painting lately, extremely abstract. No brush, no paint, no canvas, I just think about it.

5. Curiosity killed the cat, but for a while I was a suspect.

Who's your favorite comic?

Have a great Sunday!

Oops

I just remembered my blog. It came down to write something or go to the gym. I'm afraid the gym won. More next week.

Slumdog Millionaire

Spoiler Alert. If you haven't seen Slumdog Millionaire, this post might give some things away. I'll try not to, but just been warned.

I've just seen Slumdog Millionaire. It's good. It's hard to watch. And it reminded me that that in order to have a truly happy ending, one that satisfies and fits the characters, those characters must go to hell and back.

We're nice people. We try to protect the ones we love from harm. Particularly as women, we seemed to be hard wired to make sure everyone is comfortable, fed and watered, with their emotional needs met. And that includes our fictional people. It's hard to put your favorite characters in peril, over and over again. But that is the only thing that will make your book worthy of being printed.

It's not that your protagonist has to have a gun to her head every other page, but the stakes must be high, must be real and must be out of reach. Your character must come this close, only to have her dreams snatched away. Again and again. She must betray and be betrayed, hurt and be hurt, lie and be lied to. It’s watching characters get out of the messes that make fiction interesting.

There were times during Slumdog that I had to put my sweater over my head until the worst on screen was over. Jamal Malik wasn’t so lucky. He had to lose everything in order to get the one thing he wanted. And the audience wanted him to succeed. If we hadn't seen Jamal swim in a cesspool to get to his hero or come this close to being blinded, we wouldn't have cared so much about him.

What trials and tribulations do you put your characters through?

Pet Publications

Since I write about pets, and am obsessed with them, I take great pleasure in reading about them. I was aware of some local publications focusing on pets, containing articles but also filled with ads for all kinds of pet-related stuff like food, grooming, adoptions, whatever.

With our younger Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Mystie now on a restricted diet because of her fortunately former health issues, I sent my husband to a local shelter with some food we had bought for her that she now would never eat. I wanted to be sure that the food wouldn’t go to waste, and I hoped the shelter would be able to use it for its residents. While there, he picked up some copies of additional local pet magazines, some I‘d never seen before. I’ve had a great time going through them and hope to find them other places as well. Now I’m aware of at least 3-4 different pet publications in the Los Angeles area.

Of course there are nationally distributed magazines that feature pets, and I enjoy them, too, reading them as often as possible, although I don’t always maintain subscriptions. Their pictures are often adorable, glossy photos of the featured animals, and also interesting articles. But I can’t always find things that are of specific interest to my own backyard in them.

What about in your area--have you found pet publications? What about other local publications dealing with your favorite interests?

By the way, I was also excited by a segment on The Today Show today--all about a couple who had their beloved golden lab cloned. It was expensive, and wasn’t done in this country, and I know there are plenty of reasons not to clone a pet, no matter how beloved. Even so, I was enthralled by it, especially after my own Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery DOUBLE DOG DARE. Oh, and the couple had other pets as well--including a tricolor Cavalier King Charles Spaniel peering at The Today Show camera from the background.

--Linda

Random Thoughts

Remember that really awful piece of crochet that was on my blog entry last week? Well, you should see me now! Ever so much better! I can now single, double and triple crochet and have the result look a whole lot like the illustrations. Next: Potholder!

Is there a helpful person in the Twin Cities area who really, really knows how to crochet? I would like to show him or her a pattern for a throw rug and get some comments on it. Thank you.

I’ve been going a little bit crazy the few weeks. My editor has been reading the manuscript of Blackwork since the beginnng of January, and my agent has been looking over the synopsis of Buttons and Bones for over a week – and I’ve heard nothing from either of them. I actually sat down and started Chapter One of Buttons, then thought better of it. I need to know if it’s right, if my agent thinks the story is in the right shape to be submitted to my publisher as first in the next set of Betsy Devonshire stories. Then yesterday she e-mailed to ask me to call her today, and we’ll talk. When an agent says that, it can mean anything. I hope this time it means she’s pleased. Or at least that I have hold of a good idea. I find I'm a little less anxious about the waiting - LOL!

Meanwhile, I’m working on rewriting a short story. It was written for an anthology that didn’t jell and on hauling it out for a look the other day, I think it’s too long. I’m cropping it down, but gingerly – the magazine I want to send it to pays by the word. I remember reading a long time ago that a lot of fictional private eyes were very bad shots because, at a nickel a word, it paid to have gunfights go on till the last bullet.

Did you know that in the Middle Ages, the man appointed by the king to enforce his laws in a county was called a shire reeve? And that if you say "shire reeve" fast and slurry enough, you get our modern work Sheriff?

Sometimes someone will ask me to read a manuscript and, if I can, I say yes. Sometimes I am rewarded with a first look at a fine writer. Sometimes there is only a hint of promise. And now and again the manuscript is awful, lacking even the basics of spelling and grammar, much less interesting characters caught up in a compelling story. I have found that you never know by just looking at or even talking to the person what kind of storyteller they are. It’s hugely fun to tell a writer that I loved the story, and exciting to see it later in print. The hard part of doing this is trying to find a way to tell the awful writer that I just couldn’t find anything to like in the story. Any suggestions?

Had a cup of dark chocolate hot cocoa last evening. Wow. Life can still be sweet, even when it's dark.

I love coffee

I love coffee shops—a great source of enticing pastries, plus food for thought.

Last week, I sat behind a young man who was clicking away on his laptop. Across the aisle, two young women chatted, until the young man looked over and caught their attention.

"I'm a writer," he said, without being asked.

"What are you writing?"

"A screenplay. It's almost done, then I'm going to send it to Will Smith."

"How did you decide to be a writer, anyway?" asked one of the women.

The young man sat up straighter and stared out the window, a reflective posture. "You don't choose to be a writer; it chooses you."


Words of wisdom? Or a pick-up line?

Being Creative on the Cheap

Last month I bought a handful of "special" holiday cards to accompany gift cards for my family members. When the cashier rang these cards up, I nearly fell over. I'd spent nearly $20 on greeting cards. Umph. I'm far too cheap for that. I vowed, "Never again!"

So last week I was in Target. (That's TAR-GZEY in case you're sounding it out.) I found a package of 50 blank, brightly colored cards with matching envelopes for $14 and change. Now I can easily make cards, but I hate making envelopes. This packet was right up my alley.

To make the whole shooting match even thriftier, I decided to challenge myself. I decided I would only use materials from my "extra" stash box. (At least, I'd start with my extras and then add to them, as I needed more loot.) See, I keep a cheap plastic container on my scrapbooking table, and when I make an extra embellishment or cut too many letters or whatever, I toss the extra in my stash box.

Over the course of an hour, I was able to create 8 fun greeting cards using my new blank cards and my "extras." Even more fun, because I'd challenged myself to start with the old homeless pieces, I had to really be creative. I had to look at all the old stuff with new eyes.

The cards don't have sayings on the outside of most of them, but that's fantastic. I can customize them for whatever occasion comes up!

And not only do I now have a fun new set of cards, but I also cleared away some of my old odds and ends.

What do you think? How about challenging yourself? Use up your leftover materials and stretch your creative muscle.

What Dreams Become

Earlier in the week I went up to Northern California to refresh my memory for the fourth crochet mystery that I’m currently working on. The specific spot is called Asilomar Conference Center and it’s located on the outmost edge of a peninsula situated between Carmel Bay and Monterey Bay.

Asilomar is somewhere between a resort and a camp and is set in a forest of Monterey Pines and bordered by plant covered sand dunes. The beach is a short walk away. The sand is silky and white and the waves are huge and sea foam green.

My first trip there was also the first writer’s conference I’d ever gone to. The California Writers Club used to sponsor a yearly long weekend there. All together I went three times. As I walked through the grounds this visit, I was filled with memories of those conferences. I passed the wood framed building where I’d heard some guy speak about a blueprint for writing the best selling novel. If only it was that easy. As I walked the grounds thinking of what I’m writing now, I saw shadow memories of myself sitting in the living room of the Scripps building listening to Ruth Cohen talk about finding an agent. Another shadow of me was in Merrill Hall, the auditorium, hearing Olivia Goldsmith describe her bitter story of how she’d gone from living off her credit cards to being the best selling author of books like First Wives Club. I pitched agents and yawned through a late night session on the inside dope from a Hollywood producer.


As I was taking photos of the dining hall and taking notes about the pine scent in the air and the way the wind feels on your face, I was suddenly stuck with the wonder that the dreams of that yesteryear me had come true. My young adult mystery found a publisher. Two crochet mysteries out already, with another due out in June, and another I’m busy writing, and more after that.

All I could so was smile.

Retreat

I'm off to quilt retreat for two days. Down to a hotel in Santa Cruz, located near two quilt shops, a beading shop, and the ocean. Not too bad.

Retreats are hot these days, and not something my mother's generation did. I think it has something to do with the fact that my mother's friends met in their neighborhoods or through their kids or married into the family. She saw them casually all the time. Over the clothesline or at the grocery store.

My friends are people I met as an adult through my interests: writing and quilting. And while I have friends all over the country and thanks to Facebook and email, I'm able to stay connected to them, my local friends are scattered over the county. No one right in my hood. Consequently, we make dates to hang out.

We get together at the local quilt shop to sew for the day. We make dates for movies, lunch, walks. We go on retreat.

Even though it's a pain to gather all my sewing tools, notions, fabrics, patterns, portable design wall and set up in a hotel room, it's well worth it. For two days, I'll be hanging with my friends, sharing jokes, and sewing tips and life experiences.

No clothesline in sight. Unless M decides to make more of her fabric bowls.

Where Am I?

Can you believe that we’re already into the second half of the first month of the year? I can’t, but here we are.

As I think I mentioned before, I met my three deadlines that ended on January 15. Right now, I’m working on the next manuscript for which I have a deadline--April 1.

And what else? It’s idea time! I’ve got one more manuscript under contract, but it’s time to work on more stuff. I’ve already started on more mystery proposals, a thriller and some additional Silhouette Nocturne ideas. Plus, I’m hoping to resurrect some stories that I put aside some time ago that might have a better shot at selling now.

Do they all involve animals? Well, no, although quite a few do--real and paranormal sorts. And my Cavaliers are doing well at hugging and inspiring me no matter what I’m writing.

I have to admit I miss my former juggling act. At the moment, I’m also looking for law jobs or projects, but since my expertise is in real estate--and not relating to fixing finances--I haven’t yet found great leads. As a result, my focus, when I’m not pounding the pavement for a law gig, is nearly all on my writing--certainly not a bad thing! But since I would miss having dual dueling careers at the same time, I’m going to keep seeking law stuff, too.

So how is your year going so far?

--Linda

A Noble Purpose

I am going to try again to insert a picture in my column today. It might make you laugh, it certainly is an occasion of great humility for me. I am trying to learn to crochet. I went to a friend’s house, who believes in the principal of "tossing you off the dock" as a method. I can barely control the hook, and she’s insisting I begin by making an afghan square. The result – well you either have to imagine it, or see it right there in front of your eyes. The only good thing I can say about it is that it is, more or less, square. I stopped at a Michael’s on my way home and bought a book on crochet, three balls of yarn, and a set of crochet hooks.
Why am I punishing myself like this? Well, I need to learn about crochet for Buttons and Bones, the next Betsy Devonshire novel. You can’t fake knowledge of needlework. You don’t have to do it well, but you do have to know how it’s done. And you learn how it’s done by at least trying to do it.
This Sunday I am scheduled to give a short class at my church on the connection between the Medieval "Mystery Plays" and modern mystery novels. Is there a connection? Yes, I think so. In part, I am going to argue:
Okay that just about exhausts my knowledge of the Wakefield Cycle. So why do I say they are in some way in a league with modern mystery novels?
Reason one: Because they are about fallen human nature. In the plays humans are constantly falling into league with the devil. It’s mostly because they want power, or don’t want to lose the power they have; or because they want something they shouldn’t have and are determined to do whatever necessary to get it. And they always, always fail. The ruse of the stolen lamb is found out, Herod’s wicked plan to kill the Christ Child does not succeed. The traditional, or cozy, mystery deals very much with this sort of thing. Someone, out of fear or greed or in need of revenge, murders another. Always, always, in the end the sleuth/hero reveals the wickedness of the culprit.
Which leads us to reason two: The reason they fail in the Plays is because a good human plays a Christ-like figure and thwarts them. Or – and this is how they aren’t like modern mystery novels – Christ Himself, or his Father, thwarts them.
I didn’t realize this second reason until I read The Construction of the Wakefield Cycle, by John Gardner, Professor of English at Southern Illinois University. He points out how various characters in the play are Christ-like – not in the religious sense, but in the literary sense. They stand apart, they assume authority, they cause the action to either change direction or to stop. The traditional or cozy novel deals very much with this sort of thing. Only one person, a good and honorable person, can understand what is really going on and avert the threat to the other characters by revealing the culprit. This person stands apart, acts with authority, and causes the action to change direction. This person is the sleuth.
Now I feel all high-class and noble.
Did you know that Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a big mystery fan? There was a mystery novel on his nightstand throughout his Presidency – and he actually gave an idea for a plot to Ellery Queen!

A Noble Purpose

I am going to try again to insert a picture in my column today. It might make you laugh, it certainly is an occasion of great humility for me. I am trying to learn to crochet. I went to a friend’s house, who believes in the principal of "tossing you off the dock" as a method. I can barely control the hook, and she’s insisting I begin by making an afghan square. The result – well you either have to imagine it, or see it right there in front of your eyes. The only good thing I can say about it is that it is, more or less, square. I stopped at a Michael’s on my way home and bought a book on crochet, three balls of yarn, and a set of crochet hooks.
Why am I punishing myself like this? Well, I need to learn about crochet for Buttons and Bones, the next Betsy Devonshire novel. You can’t fake knowledge of needlework. You don’t have to do it well, but you do have to know how it’s done. And you learn how it’s done by at least trying to do it.
This Sunday I am scheduled to give a short class at my church on the connection between the Medieval "Mystery Plays" and modern mystery novels. Is there a connection? Yes, I think so. In part, I am going to argue:
Okay that just about exhausts my knowledge of the Wakefield Cycle. So why do I say they are in some way in a league with modern mystery novels?
Reason one: Because they are about fallen human nature. In the plays humans are constantly falling into league with the devil. It’s mostly because they want power, or don’t want to lose the power they have; or because they want something they shouldn’t have and are determined to do whatever necessary to get it. And they always, always fail. The ruse of the stolen lamb is found out, Herod’s wicked plan to kill the Christ Child does not succeed. The traditional, or cozy, mystery deals very much with this sort of thing. Someone, out of fear or greed or in need of revenge, murders another. Always, always, in the end the sleuth/hero reveals the wickedness of the culprit.
Which leads us to reason two: The reason they fail in the Plays is because a good human plays a Christ-like figure and thwarts them. Or – and this is how they aren’t like modern mystery novels – Christ Himself, or his Father, thwarts them.
I didn’t realize this second reason until I read The Construction of the Wakefield Cycle, by John Gardner, Professor of English at Southern Illinois University. He points out how various characters in the play are Christ-like – not in the religious sense, but in the literary sense. They stand apart, they assume authority, they cause the action to either change direction or to stop. The traditional or cozy novel deals very much with this sort of thing. Only one person, a good and honorable person, can understand what is really going on and avert the threat to the other characters by revealing the culprit. This person stands apart, acts with authority, and causes the action to change direction. This person is the sleuth.
Now I feel all high-class and noble.
Did you know that Franklin Delano Roosevelt was a big mystery fan? There was a mystery novel on his nightstand throughout his Presidency – and he actually gave an idea for a plot to Ellery Queen!

Money talks

I was a little stumped for a blog topic today since I'm not among the 52% of Americans with "high expectations" (ABC World News) nor the two-thirds who are "optimistic" (NBC Nightly News).

So instead of waxing on about those numbers, I took a poll and asked a few people an entirely different question: when you have the opportunity to talk to an author, what's the one question you'd like answered?

The results of this unscientific, small sample survey: "How much do you make?"

Huh? Curiosity about money is above interest in the development of characters, and the choice of leit motifs? Above issues of good and evil in mysteries? And even above what time we start our writing day?

Yes, it's about money.

It got me wondering why most of us are so secretive about our money—how much we earn, how much things cost, how much we have in the bank. For example, maybe it's just my little corner of the publishing world, but we don't readily share the amounts of our contracts.

Occasionally an audience member at a reading will ask about money, and I have heard and given many variations of hand-waving. "Well, we're not on welfare," is one; "I'm not wearing Prada," another. "It varies," is still another non-response.

I work at a formerly government-run laboratory where everyone's salary was in the public domain. Once a year, you could go to the company store and buy a thick printout with the salaries of all approximately 8000 employees—for one dollar! Need I say that the lines were long, that the rest of the day was spent with a ruler and highlighter, and that grunts and groans were heard throughout the plant.

"How much do you make" is considered a rude dinner table question, possibly even more so than "how often do you have sex?"

Why do you think this is? Is it because we feel our worth is tied up in the dollars we receive and if we give a low amount people will think less of us? Or are we reluctant to give a high number, lest everyone hit us up for a loan?

What's your experience? And how much do you make? (kidding!)

Living in Interesting Times

"May you live in interesting times." (Old Chinese blessing)

Actually, we all live in interesting times. But most of us don't stop to notice history as it happens.

I've taught family heritage journaling now for years, and I'm often astonished by how people concentrate on the past--and how easily they forget to record the times they live in. People tend to underestimate the changes that they've seen.

To point out how fast life is moving, I ask them to consider how telephones and telephone services have changed in their lifetimes.

For example, I remember growing up with a wall-mounted black Bakelite rotary-dial phone in our kitchen. We were on a party line. If you picked up the phone quietly, you could overhear your neighbor's most private conversations! Push-button phones were an amazing and modern upgrade, as was a private line. The first mobile phone I ever saw had to be carted around in a large bag that you wore over your shoulder. Then we upgraded to a phone in the car that was bolted to the floorboard. And my first cell phone was, well, large.

You see? It's so easy to convince ourselves that THESE times--and our reactions to them--don't matter. That our insights are insignificant. But, just imagine if Samuel Pepys had felt the same!

Tomorrow our nation will inaugurate its first black president. I challenge you to record this historic time--if only for your own eyes.

Here are some questions to get you started:

Will you be celebrating?
How will you spend the day?
Will you watch the ceremony?
Did you watch or listen to the gathering today on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial?
What are your hopes and dreams for this new administration?
What are your fears?
In your opinion, are we one? Has our country come together?
Or are our divisions too deep?
Can we overcome the prejudices and problems of our times?
Did you vote for Biden and Obama? If not, why not? If you did, why did you?

And don't forget to record your emotions: What will cause you to despair? What will move you to tears? What will lift your heart?

History isn't just about the distant past. It's also about what happens in our lives right here, right now.

Email and the Author

In the old days if you wanted to contact an author it was a whole production. I wrote a letter to Herman Wouk once. I had read and reread Marjorie Morningstar a number of times, but the letter was actually about The Winds of War and War and Remembrance. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember that I stayed up all night reading to finish one of them. That is a high compliment. When I’m tired, I’m tired and usually nothing will keep me from hitting the pillow.

I had to send the letter in care of the publisher. I assume he received it, but I never got a response.

Fast forward to now. What a change thanks to email. Since most writers seem to have website that allow you to send an email, it’s a snap to contact them. Or contact me, in the case of my website.

Since I only have the two crochet mysteries out and the YA mystery, I am relatively new to hearing from readers. The emails have mostly been fun. Someone sent me a picture of an amazing crochet bedspread she’d made that looked like a quilt. Someone else sent an email insisting you couldn’t crochet with string (something from Hooked on Murder).

Lots of people emailed just to say they liked one or both of the books – always nice to hear. A few of the email writers seemed to believe that my characters are real – those were a little spooky. I mentioned a crochet diet book in Hooked on Murder and someone emailed me saying she’d been looking everywhere for a copy and wanted to know where it was available – I had to tell her it existed only in my imagination.

The best email story involves someone who lives in my area. She’d been inspired by the books to take up crochet again and wanted to know if I knew any groups she could join. I sent her the details on the one I go to. Actually I haven’t been to the group since before the holidays thanks to my long bout with a flu bug and a hair cut appointment. But several days later I got an email from the same woman thanking me. She’d joined the group and seemed very happy with the people in it. It will be fun to meet her when I finally make it to a Thursday meeting.

I suppose someday I may not be able to answer each email personally, but for now I do, always thanking people for taking the time to email me. It’s easier to do than what I went through with Herman Wouk, but it still takes some effort.

Pet Safety and Barkfests

I just ordered a pet safety pack from the ASPCA. I learned about it from The Pet Place, from which I receive a newsletter almost every day--a fun newsletter that often contains links to cute YouTube posts and other sites with animal clips.

As to the pet safety pack, I’m certain that all my neighbors know I’ve got pups in the house, but the pack contains some stuff to inform emergency responders about who’s inside.

I already contribute to a number of pet and wildlife rescue organizations, and I’m sure this will put me on another ASPCA list besides the one I’m already on. That’s fine. I enjoy hearing from all the organizations, although I can’t possibly contribute to every one each time I hear from them. I have fun, though, with the return address labels, notecards, calendars and other gifts I get from them that encourage me to contribute even more--which is, of course, their point.

Do those of you who have other kinds of interests and hobbies hear often from the organizations that support your activities? What kinds of information do you receive?

Oh, and by the way, today I thumbed through a catalogue of Bonhams February dog art auction: The Dog Sale. Adorable! And potentially very expensive, some pieces with very high reserve prices. Of course I loved the items depicting King Charles Spaniels, created in a lot of different historical eras, but there were all sorts of dogs represented. Even nicer, they’re holding a Barkfest--a celebration of the dog in art--at the Bonhams Charity Brunch to benefit the AKC Humane Fund.

I’ll bark to that!

--Linda

An Amazing Author

An update: The exhibit on German POWs in Minnesota I wanted badly to see closed in November. But it still exists in traveling form, and I’ll go see it in March. I talked with the docent and he told me enough about it that I feel comfortable starting Buttons and Bones.

We’ve been getting serious about clearing out our storage room, and have found the best way to get at it is to bring some of the stuff into our own apartment where it keeps calling attention to itself (translation: we stumble over it) until it is handled. We had floor to ceiling bookshelves installed in our living room and are filling them with books from boxes in storage – or selling books we no longer want to keep. One book I intend to sell is possibly one of the worst novels written by one of the worst writers of the twentieth century: James Corbett. I discovered Mr. Corbett through a speaker and mystery fan, the late, great Bill Deeck. (Some of you out there are already nodding and smiling, I know.) Bill used to come to Malice Domestic, a short, plump, mild-mannered fanatical lover of mystery fiction. Once he was invited to give a talk on his favorite mystery author. In his mildest voice he gave one of the most hilarious talks I have ever heard. He declared he has discovered this amazing and marvelous author, James Corbett, who wrote back in the thirties. Corbett’s extraordinary talent for description – "He sat up like a full-blown geranium," was given as an example. His plotting devices were held up as shining examples – when Corbett’s hero was found flying in a slower model of airplane after a villain in a faster; Corbett merely switched the two planes in midflight. His lyric description of a beautiful woman – identical in novel after novel – were declared laudatory examples of economy. "You may laugh," declared Deeck in his most scholarly tone, apparently not noticing that we were helpless with laughter, "but I am prepared to argue that James Corbett’s talent is unparalleled in the history of mystery fiction." That is a true statement, and an example of the blindness of some publishers. The result of his talk was that vendors began seeking out and selling Corbett’s novels at premium prices. I was lucky enough to get one, called "Murder without Motive." But I’ve had my fun and now it’s time to sell this book to some other sucker – er, someone else prepared to admire the talent of this amazing writer.

I hope today’s entry is coherent. I’m down with a bug of some sort that has my digestive system singing the blues. I’m serious. Yesterday evening I had a lengthy and fascinating conversation with a man who has connections in the movie industry. He is going to read some of my novels to see if any might be salable in that arena. I sat as far away from him as I could without having him think me rude, but still had to keep apologizing for my hiccups and other noises. I took a pill with codeine in it before bedtime last night but the chorus continues this morning. If I could record the sounds, I’m sure I could sell the recording as an example of very modern music. I’d call it "Bubble and Squeak."

Social unconcern

I read a blog recently by creativity coach Eric Maisel about the traits of the Creative Personality: Confidence, Depth of Knowledge, Patience, and Social Unconcern.

The first three seemed obvious. But, social UNconcern? Was that a typo? Once I read the anecdote I understood.

A man known for his creativity came upon a group of people who appeared to be dancing. As he got closer, he saw that they were swatting at a swarm of gnats tormenting them. “Help us!” they cried. The man approached but kept sufficient distance that the gnats ignored him. “We’ve tried everything!” they cried. “But we can’t keep these gnats off us!” The man studied their situation and noticed that in the midst of the suffering assembly was a pile of dried dog dung, dried out from the recent hot weather. The man knew that in other cultures people used the smoke from smoldering dung to keep away flies, mosquitoes, and gnats. “Light that dried dog dung!” the man shouted. “Its smoke will repel the gnats!” “Ugh” the crowd cried as one. “We would never touch dried dog dung! Ugh! What would people think of us if they saw us picking up poop!” The man repeated his message. Again the crowd refused, citing how others would view them. Finally the man shook his head. “Then the gnats win,” he said, turning away and wandering off to attend to his creative work.

Wow. What would I have done in that situation? Made a speech about the ends and the means, offered to build a machine to do the job without touching the poop, offered to spend a Saturday helping clean things up ... I never know when to show UNconcern. I always do my best to answer a call for help, but what I don't do is accept when it's time to move on.

Do you know when to quit "helping" or do you sacrifice creative time by hanging on too long?

The Way Forward

Back in 1982, my husband and I were among the music dealers invited by the Kimball Piano Company for a trip to Hawaii. The special guest was to be former President Gerald R. Ford. And as part of his appearance, we were allowed to submit questions. However, there was one question Kimball didn't want us to ask and that was, "Why did you decide to pardon former President Dick Nixon?"

My husband refused to be discouraged from asking this all-important question. So David wrote it over and over on the index cards we were given. I did, too. Sure enough, the folks at Kimball weren't diligent enough in their vetting process, and in the midst of the other innocuous queries, Ford pulled out a card and read, "Why did I pardon President Richard M. Nixon?"

He rubbed his chin and paused. I held my breath. I figured David and I were going to be dog-paddling our way home from the Big Island. Instead, President Ford said very gently, "You know, the job of a president is more than a 24-hour-a-day/seven-day-a-week job. It's enormous. And to tell you the truth, there was so much to do, so much healing to be done, that...I just couldn't see spending the time on Nixon. We needed to move forward."

(Okay, that's a paraphrase, but you get the point.)

Fast forward to this week, the week of the inauguration of President Barak Obama.

I think back to Gerald R. Ford--and the decision he made not to spend time on problems with the previous administration. The decision he made to give a nation in crisis his full attention. I hope Obama will do the same. The focus needs to be on fixing our problems instead of fixing blame.

Another Lost Week

I thought the bug I had was gone last week, but it was only playing possum. Then I heard there was something going around that lasted two weeks. And I thought, bingo that’s what I have. Only I got a bonus of a few extra days.

I think it’s really gone this time. I certainly hope so. I’ve had my fill of watching television. I think if I have to watch Tom Cruise on one more talk show, I’ll scream. I watched Regis, Martha, Ellen, Oprah and too many entertainment news stories. I watched the four o’clock news, the five o’clock news, that national news, and the eleven o’clock news. And movies. One night I watched three.

I wanted to start putting the stamps and labels on the postcards for Dead Men Don’t Crochet, but only got as far as the mail merge to make the labels before my stomach started feeling ucky.

I worked on the fourth crochet mystery, but I couldn’t take looking at a computer screen, so it’s all handwritten. I was grateful to discover I could write even when I felt horrible, though there’s a good chance it sucks. I guess I’ll find out as I type it into the computer.

I did finish a scarf I started a long time ago. The yarn is a soft shiny pink and made from bamboo. I’m not sure if I like the scarf - it’s kind of heavy - but at least it’s done.

And with the exception of Wednesday night when I thought I might be dying, I managed to walk my dog every night. I always walk her at night and last night I saw something shadowy moving in the street. When it passed the lights on a fence, I saw it was a coyote. Thankfully it skittered past us. My dog Goldy didn’t make a peep. I’m sure the coyote saw us, but maybe when it saw the LED flashlight on Goldy’s collar, it got scared.

Then when we got home and I was just settling down to drink tea and watch more television, there was an earthquake. At first, I thought it was my cat Rocky who was sitting on the top of my chair, but then the news came on and it was the top story.

So how was your week?

Library People

Sorry for the delay. I need to figure out my internet issues.


I'm one of the speakers at the grand opening of the new Milpitas branch of the Santa Clara Library system. This is my local branch and I'm very excited by the new wonderful space. The project used an existing historic building, the Milpitas Grammar school, built in 1916 and added to it, enhancing it while still retaining it's original beauty. A courtyard becomes an indoor reading area with the feeling of being outside. The auditorium features the original proscenium and stage that generations of local residents have performed on. The architect did a good job of blending the old and the new. The city of Milpitas funded the project.

My talk tomorrow will cover my life as a library user. I realized there has never been a time in my life that I didn't have a library book on loan. I've learned so many important things from books, many of them from the library. How to parent. How to write. How to quilt. Libraries have given me knowledge, solace, peers and a home. I'm so grateful.

Time Travels On

It’s Thursday, my day to post. It snuck up on me this week.

I think that’s because I’ve been in the throes of three deadlines. One, I fortunately met, but it was given to me only last week and involved some extensive edits that I hadn’t been expecting. The other two were known and anticipated.

More likely, though, is that this new year is marching along much faster than I’d like. We’re already a week into it!

Plus, I’ve been dealing with my younger dog Mystie’s mysterious ailments. I think we finally have them under control--maybe. Do you hear me knocking on wood here?

By the way, one of the things I requested as a holiday present was a book I’d seen on Luck. Knocking on wood is discussed in it, along with lots of other superstitions of many cultures. The book itself has a cover that resembles wood, so I can knock on it in the absence of any other wood. Do I feel luckier now? Could be!

So, where am I? I’m about to e-mail the manuscript for my next Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter mystery. I’m also about to e-mail a revised proposal for a Silhouette Nocturne that is a sequel to my January 2009 release ALPHA WOLF. I’ve already snail-mailed the edits for the other manuscript. Am I done? Nope--but some of the pressure will be off, at least.

How has the new year been treating you so far?


--Linda

Random Thoughts

I haven’t been sledding since my early teens. But I have a friend who is terrified of anything new, especially if it involves letting go – which sledding does, big time. Once you allow gravity to start you on that slide down the hill, there isn’t a great deal you can do to stop. It took her five trips down to let loose a loud cheer, but she did it. It did wonders for her self-confidence. And I rediscovered the old truth that the slide down is fast and fun but the hike back up is tedious and tiresome. Fortunately, we were using a big old inner tube encased in a thin canvas shell, very lightweight to haul around. Nice to discover I can still do it, and that I still find it’s fun, even if the climb back up goes a little slower than it once did.

If I’m slower at climbing hills, I’m wilier at playing poker. We held out annual New Year’s Eve Poker Party and since the players were all good friends, I found it easier to catch what the professional players call "tells." Those are the subtle changes of expression or pose or voice that tell the watchful what kind of hand the player has drawn. The most obvious one is a larger raise than normal. The bluffer will smile and shove money in enthusiastically, while the player who has just drawn that third ace will feign reluctance. (If he really hesitates, looking around the table at everyone else’s face, he has two pairs and isn’t sure that’s good enough.) Professional players will give themselves away by the widening of their pupils – that’s an involuntary reaction and a reason why so many pros wear sunglasses at the table. We play once a year for pennies and are hardly professional. Besides, most of us are old enough now not to be able to see the pupils of the eyes of the player across from us.

Did you know there were 400,000 prisoners of war in the United States during World War II? 380,000 were German. Four hundred of them were up in Cass County in Minnesota. Research is so interesting! I’ve run into one problem already, however: The book is to be called Buttons and Bones, and a skeleton wrapped in the rags of a German POW is found in a root cellar. I thought they stayed in uniform and as soon as the Nazi insignia were noticed on the buttons, they’d quickly figure out what they had. But looking at old photographs, it appears they were put into denim trousers, chambray shirts, and short jackets of some dark material, all held closed by plain buttons. The fact that PW was painted or stamped on the clothing is small comfort. But stay tuned, there is a small exhibit in St. Paul that has, I’ve been told, some examples of the clothing worn. Maybe . . . well, we’ll see.

Now boarding

"Never argue about religion or politics" was a watchword in my youth.

But there's a third topic that brings out even more of an emotional response—pets!

I'm one of about four people on the planet at the moment who doesn't have or want a pet. (Fortunately, my husband is one of the other three.)

I like to keep myself isolated from the animal kingdom. I don't own one; neither would I hurt one, hunt one, or eat one or any part of one. I don't hate them, I just don't want to be friends with them. I barely have enough time for lunch with my human friends.

So, imagine my distress when my recent red-eye flights to Boston were filled with them. Dogs, mostly. The flights were fully booked with people in the seats and at least six dogs under them in my immediate vicinity.

They yapped all night. Wouldn't you, if you were in a cage under a seat for 8 hours?

I don't get it. I'm assuming the passengers with the dogs are pet-lovers. It seems funny to me, because as a non-pet lover, I would never put an animal through such an ordeal. Even though they put me through the ordeal of 2 sleepless nights.

I wonder which sub-genre of cozy mysteries allows offing a pet-owner.

Recently an owner of two dogs, who keeps the dogs in cages in the house while she and her husband are at work all day, told me that actually dogs like cages. "They like to nest and be cozy," she told me. [I find that confusing, since they have twice as many legs as we do, and we don't like to be in cages.]

Is that true? Were those yapping dogs on my flights full of joy and contentment? To me, it sounded more like "Get me out of here!"

A Resolution You Can Live With

Poor Santa, he just finished his "to do" list and keeled over! I know exactly how he feels! That's why I have a suggestion...

Instead of a long list of “New Year’s Resolutions” designed to make you feel tired, irresponsible, and inept, why not focus on one attribute you’d like to achieve over the coming year? (Okay, over-achievers, TWO attributes? There, are you happy?) Cull down your expectations and marshal all your energies toward one bird in the hand instead of chasing a flock of starlings that’ll wing their way skyward and out of your reach.

Start by playing it forward. This time NEXT year, how would you like to be different? What would you want to change about yourself or your life?

Or consider, what has driven you to the brink of hair-pulling aggravation this year? What has bothered you? What has kept you from your goals? What has hounded you and made your life more complicated and less enjoyable?

Or think of how you’d like to improve. Pinpoint an area that’s a “someday I’ll” (read: “Someday Isle”) for you. What would that be? What do you keep meaning to change? When you stand in the grocery check-out lane, what article on the magazine covers always draws your attention?

Now, distill that change, that goal into a word. What would that word be?

Hit the “pause” button. Is that really the right word? Does it resonate? Don’t choose a politically correct word. Or a current hot button. Choose a word that can serve as due North for you and you alone.

Write that word on an index card or piece of stiff paper. Put it somewhere you can see it on a daily basis. Or, go through magazines and tear out photos that seem to support your special word. Glue them onto a sheet of paper. Write your special word smack-dab in the center of your collage.

While chaos reigns supreme around us, we can choose move along a straightforward path toward our goal. As long as we keep it simple, we’ve got a fighting chance. I just know it!

PS Thanks, Camille, for posting this while I’m in New York City!

The award goes to ...

What a surprise to start the new year with an award!

Thanks to Chris Verstraete, sister miniaturist and mystery writer for naming our blog among her "Best of … " today. Visit http://candidcanine.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-blog-award.html to see the rest of her list and to enjoy "all the dog, miniatures, and book news fit to bark about."

To our readers: let us know how we can do even better in '09 to make our blog one you love to visit.

Yay, Crochet

I finished probably the ugliest crocheted item I’ve ever seen. I got the shawl pattern from the wrapper on a skein of yarn. The photo just showed the front - a dainty edge hung a little below each shoulder. If I’d seen the back, I never would have started it. I had figured the finished product would be a triangle. Not exactly. Not even close. The back came to a point, but it took so long to get there it looked saggy and droopy and like nothing anybody would ever want to wear.

But the shawl still served a purpose. I’ve had some bug that is going around since before Christmas. It wasn’t your usual head cold or stomach flu. Whatever it was, it would come and go and come back with an upset stomach and a feeling I can only describe as being claustrophobic in my body. The only thing that helped was crocheting. I had a feeling the shawl was going to turn out badly long before I finished, but the repetition of the stitches was so soothing, I kept on. I usually don’t watch much television, but I was glued to the set. All through sit coms I crocheted. Through reruns of Sex and the City, and movies - The African Queen and You Can’t Take It With You, I did row after row.

No problem of eating too many holiday goodies for me. I either didn’t want to eat anything or I ate rice. I did discover that I really love tea.

And all is not lost with the shawl. Now that I am finally beginning to feel better, I realize if I rip it back, I can make it into a nice little shoulder wrap. So in the end, I’ll actually end up with something positive from my sick time.

A new perspective

I'm working on edits for my next quilting mystery, OCEAN WAVES. I haven't seen this manuscript since I emailed it to my editor in July. It's fun returning to it. I can easily see what needs fixing and why. Time away from the words helps tremendously.

I'm also enjoying spending the time with Dewey after months with April and her crew in INKED UP. And time with Buster, of course.

Hope your new year brings you plenty of new perspective!

Happy New Year!

Yes, I’m late posting today. But it’s New Year’s Day, and I slept in! Now, I have the Rose Parade on the television as I start my new day and new year.

Last night, we celebrated the start of 2009 with some dear friends and attended a fireworks display in Marina Del Rey to usher in the year. The only problem was that the area was socked in by a marine layer--which means very thick fog along the Pacific Coast. We saw a dinner cruise ship sail by. At midnight, we heard lots and lots of fireworks, and the fog glowed alternately red, blue, green, white... but see any typical fireworks lights in the sky? Nope!

It had a certain surreal feel to it. And the thing is, it was definitely memorable. I’ll always remember the beginning of 2009 as my foggy adventure.

What did you do that was memorable to welcome 2009?

And have a wonderful, prosperous (no more economic crises!) and healthy New Year!

--Linda