One of those nice days

My day started off well. Jacob had spent the night and I got him off to school--can't believe I used to get four off, because I was so nervous about not having him ready when friends walked by to take him to school. As it turned out, he had a little TV time. But the little bugger plays possum for me on school mornings--lies there like the dead. Finally this morning, after turning on bright lights, I said, "Okay, I'll just go eat your waffles." He popped up and said, "No!" loudly, then confessed he'd been awake the whole time. Retribution is coming!
When I got to my computer I found a reprint of a nice review of The Perfect Coed (http://bookbrowsing.wordpress.com/2014/09/10/the-perfect-coed-by-judy-alter/) and a personal reply on FB from my favorite Texas chef, Terry Thompson-Anderson. She has another of her wonderful cookbooks out from the University of Texas Press, Texas on the Table, and I had written congratulations and said that I was still trying to get up nerve to try her quail with pepper/coffee gravy recipe. Got a lot of work done this morning--but no writing. Mornings seem to go to business matters, household chores...and I'm back at yoga. So far my back feels great, and I am so thankful to walk without a constant ache in my hip.
Jacob threw me for a loop this afternoon when two friends invited him to go home with them. I insisted he had to ask his mom, and a frantic time ensued. He went, which means I escaped homework and he has lots to do tonight. But Jordan and I agreed we don't like being on the spot like that. Jordan came by to get his book bag and occupied herself with "organizing" my closet.
Jordan's big news is that she's going on a "fam" (familiarity) trip to Florence, Venice, Milan, Rome, Lake Como, and the Amalfi Coast in November. She's culling my wardrobe for suitable clothing and reminding me I have lots of cute outfits I don't wear.
Topped the day off with supper at Winslow's Wine Café with my good friend Betty--crab cake and a cup of tomato basil soup. Crap bake was superb; soup okay but not the best I've had. House chardonnay good. Fun--priceless (though it is a noisy restaurant).
Now to write my thousand words for the night. I actually look forward to it.
One reason for this post (second today) is that somehow I really messed up my Judy's Stew page. This morning I thought it was fixed, except for a size problem with one image. When I tried to fix that, it messed up again. So now we'll see if it's fixed.

Back to routine

Routine, they say, is good for you, and I believe it. Now that school has started, I expect to be on a schedule and much more productive--don't ask me in a month. But gone are the days of sleeping late and long naps. It's the school year. 
I started what I hope will be a routine--morning errands to a minimum so I can work, a brief nap after lunch, and Jacob at three. Then work again in the evening. Already my schedule is going awry--dinner plans Monday through Thursday this week.
I did my yoga routine this morning for the first time in over ten days. Felt really good and energized--of course by now, at 8:30, I'm exhausted and ready for bed. But I honestly think a week away refreshed me--I am less anxious, more self-confident, less shaky, more sure-footed. Hope it lasts. Meantime my desk is overflowing with projects, and I'm behind each day before I even begin. Better than what I thought retirement was going to be--bo-ring!
All my chickens started school today. I have a cute picture of the Tomball Alter children, Morgan and Kegan, but somehow I couldn't save it. They started a new school today, in a new town where they have no friends--yet. From the smiles on their faces, I know they'll make friends soon. Morgan will be taking karate, Kegan playing soccer, and they'll be in the midst of things.
Jacob, eight, had his picture taken in the same spot he's had it taken for four years now. By the time he enrolls in fifth grade, his dad plans to have a whole album chronicling his growth. The Austin boys didn't want summer to end, but they were excited about school. That's Ford to the left, below Jacob, and Sawyer below that. Sawyer is ten and Ford is seven. Whoo! Hard to arrange these pictures attractively.

 

Why do I write mysteries

This is a question that bugs me off and on--why do I write mysteries? At 76, I've lived a full life, learned a lot, and look back on my 30s and 40s and wonder how naïve I was in those days. I can almost measure the wisdom (well, I think that's what it is) that I've gathered and learned over the last thirty years, and I truly feel I'm a better, more caring, more thoughtful--yeah, even wiser--person than I was. So why don't I write memoir or philosophical treatises to impart that wisdom to my fellow sisters who are following in my footsteps. I truly believe the tenet that is one of the justifications of an academic press: to contribute to the existing body of knowledge. Surely, in my own way, I could do that. Instead, I write mysteries.
I've often pondered the question of what mysteries contribute to the general body of existing knowledge--or whether or not they need to make that contribution. Maybe they are written for diversion, entertainment, an escape for the reader from the daily grind. Is that a good enough reason or should they still be contributing to that amorphous existing body of knowledge?
I find that my main characters are usually in their thirties, an age when I was particularly blind to the world and wrapped up in my own marriage and young children. So do I impart wisdom to my characters that I didn't have at that time? I hope so, but I can't be sure. Sometimes, almost against my wishes, they do the most foolish things. It's an old saw among authors--your characters tell the story, you don't. And sometimes mine, like those of a lot of other authors, get out of hand.
So how am I helping the world? I don't know, besides perhaps providing a bit of distraction and enjoyment. And maybe that's all they're meant to do. Maybe I don't have to worry so much about making the world a better place with every mystery I write. Did Nancy Drew improve the world or did she just enjoy grand adventures? Maybe helping readers--I'm sure most of mine are women--escape their daily lives for a few minutes is my contribution.
I have a lot of things on my mind and on my plate this week, so I treasure those few minutes late at night when I read the novel I'm on now. So perhaps that's what I do for others. And maybe it isn't all bad.

What keeps you reading a book?

Please welcome my Wednesday guest, Sheila Lowe. Like Claudia Rose in the award-winning Forensic Handwriting Mysteries series, Sheila Lowe is a real-life forensic handwriting expert who testifies in handwriting-related cases. She also authored the internationally acclaimed The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis and Handwriting of the Famous & Infamous, as well as the Handwriting Analyzer software. Finder her at http://www.sheilalowe.com and email her at Sheila@sheilalowe.com

 *****

I recently finished reading a book by “Big Name Writer.” I’m a relatively fast reader, but this one took weeks to get through. It wasn’t badly written. The plot was interesting. One issue was the annoying POV changes mid-scene that the rest of us are told are verboten. Another was the way the female protagonist was treated by her former lover, which really ticked me off. But still, the plotting was fine, everything was “fine,” and the book was easy to put down.

On the other hand, as usual, I devoured John Sandford’s latest Lucas Davenport story in a couple of days. And yesterday I picked up a book by Hank Phillipi Ryan and found myself spending a lot of time on the porch, wanting to keep reading.

So, I’ve been puzzling over what “it” was that didn’t keep me interested in that BNW book beyond the ten or fifteen minutes a day it took to eat lunch or dinner. What is that certain something between a “good enough” book and a “can’t put it down book?” I suppose it’s different for everyone, but I do believe that the relationship the reader develops with the characters is a major factor.

I kept wanting to yell at the protag in the BNW book and tell her not to be so stupid and allow her ex, who was now her boss, to treat her so cavalierly. Bottom line, I didn’t respect her. And that brings back the comments of my own first editor, who told me that, frankly, my character, forensic handwriting examiner Claudia Rose, was not likeable because she was too weak. She was constantly feeling guilty, which I never realized until it was pointed out (nasty shock!).

That editor said, (paraphrasing) “Your readers want a character who is basically strong. She can grow through her arc, but they want someone they can look up to and believe in.” Once I followed that advice and bucked Claudia up, Poison Pen finally sold. That was after seven years of sending it out. Well, cutting out the adverbs helped, too, but it was amazing and empowering to see how small changes could make a big difference in the way people saw Claudia.

I’ve kept that in mind as I wrote the next four books. With Inkslingers Ball, released on June 10^th, I did something new. For the first time, much of the book is written from the POV of Claudia’s love interest, Detective Joel Jovanic. Readers seem to like their relationship, so it will be interesting to see how they feel about getting to know Joel up close and personal. Will they keep reading past their lunchtime sandwich? All remains to be seen.

That last chapter

This seems kind of a BSP post (blatant self promotion) but I don’t mean it that way. I just finished proofing (again, for the umpteenth time!) a novel I plan to self-publish in October. As I proofed I dreaded getting to the last chapter. There is, I hope, sufficient tension all the way through the novel, but I know in advance that the last scene is scary, the main character nearly meets her maker, and it makes my teeth on edge. Even though I wrote it, and even though I know the ending. I wonder if other writers feel that way.

I have a short story, “The Art of Dipping Candles,” that has been reprinted many times, and I’ve been called on to read it publicly several times. Same thing: when I get to the end, it makes me cry. I can’t help it—it’s just so damn sad.

Beyond that I’ve had lessons in computer difficulty today. I could not download a mobi file from an email and save it, no matter what I did. Then it turned out I’d been downloading it all the time. I even dug out my generation one Kindle, found the cords, charged it and prepared to try to connect Kindle to  computer—though I had no idea what to do next. Fortunately that little dilemma was solved.

Then I thought I’d begin reading about how to download files to Create Space—not actually doing it, mind you, but just reading about the process. I soon found I’d already listed the book and found myself loading text, trying to load ISBN (International Standard Book Number) which Create Space rejected. I had purchased it from R. R. Bowker, so will have to call one or the other about what to do. Then I tried to upload the cover—I only had a jpeg and they wanted a pdf. A friend converted it for me. I knew this was going to be a long, slow process, so I feel good about even having a start. I want to have ARCs by June.

And I wrote 1150 words on the new Kelly novel tonight. So watch my dust—I’m on a roll! And come October, watch for The Perfect Coed from Alter Ego Publishing (no snickers, please—that was once on my rural mailbox). It’s both an adventure and an experiment for me. Come along for the ride.

The sagging middle

No, I'm not referring to my middle though, alas, it is sagging these days. But authors talk about the sagging middle--when you get to the middle of a work in progress and you sag, it sags, you don't know where to go. It happens to those who outline methodically and to us pantsers who have a rough idea of where we're going and leap into it.
Well, I have not even reached the middle, and I'm sagging. At 16,000 words. I think my method that I crowed about--1,000 words a day--is making it sag. I find myself thinking, "Well, what trouble can I get Kelly into in a thousand words today?" The result is an episodic work in which I'm not seeing the forest for the trees. There's no overall controlling sense in the story, even though I know there's a good basic story there to be told.
And in trying to get Kelly into trouble, I've let her become a victim, rather than the person she's been, ready to fight bear for her family and her neighborhood. At three in the morning the other night I decided that she's hopelessly passive, and I'm bored with this new Kelly--which means readers would be bored.
So I've got to start all over, give Kelly some life, work in Keisha's story, for I figured this would be Keisha's book, just as Ms. Lorna and Mike had their books in Trouble in a Big Box and the forthcoming Deception in Strange Places (due out at the very end of July).
So here I am, waking between two and four in the morning, because the dog has a new habit of wanting to go out then, and  lying awake wondering about Kelly and her current stalker and how I can work  it out. Oh, my.
For those who think writing is easy, I beg to differ. It's sometimes like pulling teeth. The words don't come easily nor do the ideas. And I admit I am fully capable of distracting myself with a manuscript I'm to edit, a newsletter to put together, Facebook, another mystery to read--hey, that's educational, right?
For those who haven't read any Kelly O'Connell Mysteries, this is probably pretty incomprehensible. I can only hope you'll decide you have to meet all these characters.

Why do we write? One answer

I've been mulling over thought on why authors write. For money? (Hah, lots of luck with that!) For prestige? (about as much luck with that.) For self satisfaction? To entertain others? Because we have stories to tell? Because we can't not write? How much ego is involved?
Well, today I had a partial answer. Two lovely ladies I'd never met before drove from Sulphur Springs and Dallas to have lunch with me because they like my books. They'd recently discovered them, through word of mouth (the best kind of publicity)--a friend of a friend told one of them. They thought it would be interesting to talk to me. I asked them what else brought them to Fort Worth, and they said nothing--I was the purpose of the visit.
Before we met, they had driven around "Kelly's neighborhood,"--Fairmount--and they were familiar with the architecture, etc., from pictures on my web page. Finding Old Home Supply was a special treat for them. We lunched at Lili's Bistro on Magnolia, in the heart of Fairmount.
 I answered questions about my books, tried to explain some things about writing and Fairmount and Edom (the real version of fictional Wheeler in the Blue Plate Mystery Series) that I thought might interest them. Conversation never lagged over a nice, lazy lunch. Afterward, they followed me in their car to see the house that inspired Skeleton in a Dead Space and I told them the story of how I'd been stopped at a stop sign, looked at the house, and suddenly thought "There's a skeleton in a dead space in that house." That was how the book began to take shape. They seemed to really enjoy that.
So what did I learn? I learned that I do entertain readers, that they liked my books and look forward to the next ones, which means I am, as I've always said, a storyteller. I also admit that there's a bit of ego involved--it's an amazing feeling to have people come all that way to talk to you. I hope they went away enriched, satisfied, and eager for my future books--and some backlist. I know I went away feeling good about my writing, and on down days, I'll remember them and the visit.
Thank you, Sarah of Sulphur Springs and Suzanne of Dallas. You gave me a boost--and a bit of insight into why I write.

Creative Writing on a cold day

Bone-chilling is the only way to describe today's cold in Fort Worth. Now at eight in the evening, I'm wearing  a T-shirt and sweater and am still wrapped in a warm shawl, wishing I had another shawl for my knees. The fire in the fireplace just doesn't seem to reach into my office. Supposed to be this way most of the week. Sophie has decided her mission in life is to jump and finally hurl herself at me in an attempt to get my attention. Her vocal range is absurd, barks, growls, yelps, yowls; my vocal range is pretty limited to one harsh word, "No!"
Today I spoke to the Creative Writing club at the Woman's Club. I was told to expect twelve women, but I think there were at least sixteen, and we sat around a long table which made for a nice, informal gathering. I decided to encourage them to write a mystery--choose their heroine, setting, etc. Didn't work. One or two were obviously experienced writers--one knew so much about publishing on Amazon that I should have let her lead the session. But most just looked at me when I prodded them to think of heroines and the like, but they took copious notes so they must have felt they were learning something. I'll try that format again when I speak at a retirement community later this month. I sold two books and when I got home couldn't remember what I'd done with the money and check--but I found them.
Betty went with me to the program--because I don't like the Woman's Club parking lot--and we had lunch beforehand at Z's Cafe--meatballs (more like meat cakes) with mushroom gravy, potatoes au gratin and steamed vegetables. We split an order, and it was plenty. So good. As owner Janet Capua said, "It's comfort food, ladies." She topped it with a tiny serving of snickerdoodle ice cream--yum!
All in all a good day, but I can't wait to crawl into my warm bed.

Revisions, agony, despair--and light at the end of the tunnel

It's no secret that I've struggled with the fourth Kelly O'Connell mystery--struggled, agonized, torn my hair, given up and gone back and decided it was all awful. You name it, I did it. But at long last I finished the draft, read it through a couple of times, revising, correcting as I went. Then I gave it to Fred--I keep explaining who he is, but Fred was the prof who saw me through graduate school when I wanated to specialize in western American literature. He taught genre fiction classes among other American lit subjects--westerns, mysteries, sci fi. And in the years since--would you believe 40?--he has remained friend and advisor. He reads everything I write--or almost everything.
I knew that after all that struggle I had sort of galloped across the finish line in a rush. Fred spotted that and made some suggestions, and throughout he saw things that I simply needed another pair of eyes to see. He sent one single-spaced page of suggestions, mentions of time warps that weren't meant to be, discrepancies, etc. I thought it would take weeks of work.
This morning, after a late start, I turned to Fred's list--and finished all but one huge major part. It went much more smoothly than I anticipated, and I had fun doing it. Now I have an important concluding scene to write...but I decided enough was enough for one day. Then I'll re-read a couple of times--but by now I'm afraid I know the thing by heart. It will take a brand new proofreader to catch errors.
While rewriting and correcting, I noticed a couple of things: I thought I had proofread this manuscript until it could not possibly contain an error or a typo--and yet today, even in casual glancing, I found all kinds of both. In one place, early in the book, Fred suggested that I pick up some information from previous books--for the reader who hasn't met Kelly. I went back and the best passage I found was in the very first book, Skeleton in a Dead Space, so I copied it, put it in place and went in to edit it to fit. I was amazed aat how my style has changed--dare I say improved--since that first book. After all these years, can it be that I'm learning to write? Fred says this is a more complex book than the previous ones, which surely is a step forward.
Being back in Kelly's world has revitalized me. I'm seeing ahead and finding more Kelly stories in my head. My editors had asked how many I planned, and I didn't have a clue. At the time I was struggling with number four and more seemed hopeless, but now I have several ideas. I like Kelly, and I like the people around her. I had even considered--sort of--giving up mysteries and writing about Scotland, perhaps a time travel novel (I know, Diana Gabaldon did it and can't be equalled) partly because I thought such a book would have more depth than my cozies. Certainly it would require more research. But Fred's use of the word "complex" made me think twice. Sure, I may write about Scotland some day--always a dream--but for now I'm happy with Kelly and her soon to-be-introduced counterpart, Kate, of the Blue Plate Mystery Series. Watch for Murder at the Blue Plate Cafe in Feburary.
Meantime, Kelly number four is tentatively titled Dogs, Drugs, and Death. I'd love your comments on the title.

Blogging--a personal history

Some months ago a friend who runs an academic press casually mentioned the possibility of publishing a collection of my blogs. Flattered, I thanked him but said I was in the midst of a novel. The idea however stayed in the back of my mind. Today, having finished the first draft of that novel, with many revisions along the way, I put it aside to send to a beta reader and probably won't go back to it until after the holidays. So it's a good time to start reviewing blogs.
I've been blogging since June 2006--over six years, which means I have a lot of blogs to review. Today there's controversy over whether or not blogs are good marketing tools and I admit I blog in hope that peole will like me enough to want to buy my books. But six years ago blogging was still new, and I only got into it because daughter-in-law Melanie said she thought I had a lot to say. When I protested I wouldn't know what to write about, she said, "Writing, cooking, grandmothering." And she's the one who come up with the name Judy's Stew. I didn't have books to promote, so I began because it turned out to be fun, not because it was a marketing tool. It will be interesting to trace the change over the years, but the early blogs I read tonight are highly personal.
My brother wants me to pull out the family blogs and compile them separately as long as I'm going through, and one of my surprises was how many of my posts have to do with grandchildren and family. I had thought they were mostly either random thoughts or a chronicle of a writer's journey toward mystery. So I'm trying to separate them into those categories. It's kind of daunting to keep the files straight in your mind--and on your computer, and I didn't get anywhere near through 2006 tonight but I'm ready to give up for today. I'm also trying to edit a bit as I go--excerpting relevant bits and pieces but not including an entire blog. It's work, I tell you.
But it's fun to think how much things have changed, how much my family has changed, in six years. My oldest grandchildren was still a child--now she's a sophisticated teen. My youngest wasn't even born. A family picture shows many fewer of us than when we last gathered for a reunion.
Of course my writing has changed dramatically too--I was working and struggling with my first mystery and now I have three in print, one more at the publisher, and one in draft form.  Six years ago I was still working and my daily life was very different--today it's all about writing and cooking and keeping Jacob and going to lunch with friends.
This is going to be an interesting--if long--project, and one I'll do in bits and pieces between other things. But if nothing else I should get a good family chronicle out of it. And I'm enjoying the nostalgia. It's like reading anything else you yourself have written--sometimes I think, "Damn, I'm good" and other times I shudder that I signed my name to something an idiot wrote.

OCD--do you suffer from it?

Compulsive behavior, or, less gently put, obsessive compulsive disorder. Who, me? Leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight? Never. Leave home in the morning with the bed unmade. Not my mother's daughter! My obsessive behavior carries over into lots of areas of my life. The other day three things were on my errand list on an already crowded day--buy printer paper, buy some back-up of the cosmetics I like, and get the car washed. There was absolutely no reason all had to be done that day. I had enough printer paper for the weekend; I probably had enough make-up and eye shadow for a month; and the car, while dirty, would run just fine if I didn't get it washed. Did they all get done that day? You bet--except the car, because the rear window on the driver's side suddenly refused to go up, so driving through an automatic car wash was not a good idea. I made an appointment to have it fixed this week and will get them to wash it when they fix the window.
But compulsiveness carries over into my writing. I was on a roll last week of writing 2000 words a day, come hell, high water, or my grandchild. I did that for four days, though I have doubts about the wisdom of writing to a certain word count. You may pad, write junk, anything to get those words down--and later have to delete half of them. Still, since I write short, one of my big worries is always that I won't make the minimum for a cozy novel--I aim for 70,000 words but often fall short. Anyway, after feeding my compulsion for four days I hit a wall. During a long, sleepless night, I worked out where the plot was going and got up early in the morning feeling elated, compulsively made notes. And haven't written a thing since--almost five days. Life gets in the way even of compulsiveness--the illness and death of my dog, a trip to visit one son and his family, company for dinner, a talk to prepare. But tonight my mind is on the 2,000 words I'll write tomorrow.

Fiction becomes reality--or is it the other way around

If I had something in mind to blog about tonight, it's gone--because I just got this wonderful cover for the third Kelly O'Connell Mystery, due out in August. Actually, I think I was going to blog about yoga and the piriformis muscle, but surely you can wait for that, in light of this new development. Kim Jacobs, publisher of Turrquoise Morning Press, did this cover herself and as always I think it's terrific. The top part looks like it could be Magnolia Avenue and the bottom is unmistakeably an out-of-place big-box store. Many thanks to Kim for yet anothergreat cover. There's a lot of talk these days about branding--and Kim manages to "brand" the covers of my books.

I particularly like this book (is it boastful of me to say I like my own book?) because it has to do with a big-box store moving into a neighborhood of mom-and-pop stores. Shortly after I finished the manuscript, fiction became reality when a WalMart was scheduled to open not in Kelly's beloved Fairmount but in the adjoining neighborhood, also an enclave of gracious older homes. As far as I know that store is going in, despite neighborhood efforts to stop it. And I have heard vague rumors of a big box wanting to move to Magnolia, which is the heart of Kelly's neighborhood.

My editor, who lives in Wales, didn't like the title of this book. She thought Kelly was going to find a big box at her front door. I assured her people in this country would know what a big box meant--please don't prove me wrong.

But recently, we've had some incidents where the crime preceeded the fiction, leading  one of my neighbors to say, "Stop the madness!" and another friend to say she needed Kelly in her neighborhood. In the first instance, a body was found in a vacant field near railroad tracks in our neighborhood. I actually wrote that into the work in progress. But then a  young girl was found shot in an upscale neigborhood in back of a house where the occupant did not know her. My neighbor was jokingly saying Kelly was causing the madness, but my friend lived just behind that house--her side patio adjoined that property, and she and her husband heard the gunshots. Shakes you to have violence come that close, but that incident probably won't make it into the fourth Kelly book. You never know though.

Then another friend wrote from far west Fort Worth that a body was found in her neighborhood that same night. She didn't ask for Kelly, however. Glad--that girl is getting stretched thin, and she's in the middle of finding her way through the as-yet untitled fourth story of her adventures. Wish her luck--and me as I try to write it.

Meantwhile, watch for Trouble in a Big Box, due in August.

Did I throw the baby out with the bath water?

My thoughts are on Kelly O'Connell Mysteries tonight, so here's a picture of another Craftsman house  from Kelly's Fairmount neighborhood. This one may figure in the fourth book in the series.

I've been struggling for some time to start the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery. I had ideas floating around in my head, finally wrote a synopsis on the basis of which Turquoise Morning Press issued a contract, and in the last couple of weeks got serious about writing. But I discarded start after start. Nothing seemed to work. I don't outline, but the general idea I had didn't seem to be going any place. And I thought the writing was wooden.
This morning, as I was doing my yoga, a great thought came to me: there was no mystery in what I was writing. A funny story, perhaps, maybe a short story or a subplot. But there was as far as I could tell no real threat to Kelly or her family, not much to call the police about. I suddenly decided I would have to shelve the whole thing--at one point, during all my revising and cutting and pasting, I had it slightly over 5,000 words. I think this morning, the main part was down to about 2,500 but all those other bits and pieces were saved in various files. What I needed was an entirely new plot.
So while I was bending and stretching and breathing deeply, I thought about possibilities--and I thought about current social issues. I came up with some ideas, so later in the morning I wrote the managing editor with an explanation of where I was, and she answered that they would not want me to keep at something that was not working but since they had contracted on the basis of one synopsis, I needed to come up with a new one. She urged me to take my time, which I fully intended to do.
But after lunch with a friend, I came back and batted out almost 600 words of a new synopsis.The words came quickly and easily, which encourages me to hope the story will too. I can see or hear the opening scene in my mind.
I'm too tired to work competently on the rest of the synopsis--or edit what I have--so that's tomorrow's chore after the grocery. Feeling really good about this too.
I did change the name of the file, Kelly #4, to Ghost in a Four-Square (the title I'd intended for the baby I threw out) and created a new Kelly #4 file, untitled as yet. Nothing is lost or irretrievable, but I feel I'm headed in the right direction.
Then tonight, after a nice dinner out with a friend, I had to answer a long bunch of questions from the reprint publisher about the two western historical romances (I use the latter word reluctantly) that are posted on the web. This writing life is exhausting. I'm going to read now.

The Week that Was

This has been the week that was--final edits, proofing a final draft, finding typos right and left, plus more major events like the death of my neighbor's mother--I devoted one day to cooking for that family. Then there was the book signing in Dallas, a luncheon speech (brief) today that was fun but took a chunk out of my day, my memoir class tonight, and I honestly can't remember what else. Tomorrow is the service for Susan's mother, and then I must make potato salad for 20-25 people--I'm a bit daunted by that task. And tonight I still have to empty the dishwasher, and early tomorrow start the laundry and run to Central Market. I feel like I'm on a treadmill.
Managed a half hour nap today between getting home from the luncheon and getting Jacob. Slept so soundly that I was really sleepy when the alarm went off. Got him home, fed him peanut butter and sparkling cider, homework done (didn't take long), and (Oh, guilty conscience) put him in front of the TV, his preferred place, and went back to bed until his mom came. She was in a hurry, so they rushed out the door--when I asked Jacob for a hug and a kiss, he said, "Kiss the top of my head." Indignantly, I said, "I will not." But they weren't out of the driveway until I was back in bed and stayed there until Linda came for supper.
Saturday is our big family reunion at my brother's ranch, Sunday brunch at Jordan's (I have to make a cinnamon pull-apart coffee cake), and then I guess they'll all head for home. I'll probably head for my bed.
Come Monday I'll tackle that growing "to be done" stack on my desk. Meantime, I look forward to the weekend so much. Just wish I didn't feel like my motor is running too fast. The hectic life is not for me!

Caught between two fictional worlds

I know some readers keep two or three books going at once, and even some authors work on more than one manuscript at a time. I know authors who read five or six novels a week, even while working on their own--do they sleep? I couldn't do it. I can't even read two books at once, and when I'm working seriously on a novel, I don't read much fiction. I immerse myself in the world I've created for my characters--their reality becomes a sort of reality for me, and I guess I don't want too many worlds colliding in my brain.
Last week I did edits on the final draft of what I hope will be the first of a new mystery series--Blue Plate Mysteries. This will sort of salve my urge to write a culinary mystery, though it's by no means gourmet cuisine. The Blue Plate Cafe is in a fictional small town in East Texas, and they serve chicken-fried steak, fried catfish, smothered steak, and the like--oh, and turnip greens, which figure in the story. For many years, my children and I visited friends Charles and Reva Ogilvie at their guest ranch outside Ben Wheeler, Texas, and we usually ate at The Shed in Edom. By small coincidence, the grandmother of son-in-law Christian owns the house right next to The Shed. We once drove all over Edom looking for her house; he was chagrined when he got home and asked her and she said it was next door to The Shed--we'd eaten breakfast there that morning.
But back to my story. I was finishing up the manuscript which will, I think, be called Murder at the Blue Plate Cafe, not very original but a good place to start. But in my head I was in Wheeler, Texas, with a cast of characers including two totally opposite twin sisters, one of whom runs the cafe, a financial planner from Dallas, lawyers, a police chief, etc. These people and that town were real to me.
But I had to yank myself out of their world when I got final edits on the third Kelly O'Connell Mystery, Trouble in a Big Box. The deadline for going through the edits was tight, so I was quicky back in the Fairmount Historic District with Kelly, Mike, their daughters, and a host of other familiar characters. I'm still in that world, because, having sent the manuscript off, I'm re-reading every line of it. But I keep waiting for Kate, wearing her Blue Plate apron, to pop up or that nasty mayor of the town or maybe Dave Millican who runs the nursery. Nope, they're back in Wheeler where I left them. In a way, it's like playing with dolls and putting them to bed for the night.
Now I'm going to put myself to bed for the night. Big day tomorrow with a trip to Dallas for a signing for Fran Vick's new book, Letters to Alice, an edited compilation of the letters of Richard Kleberg (of the famous South Texas King Ranch) to his beloved wife. Oops, another world--and a fascinating one, but this one real, not fictional.