Thoughts on fiction and fictional thoughts

 

There’s a new website, shepherd.com, where authors are encouraged to post about their favorite books in categories of their own choosing. Some choose books by topic, others by author. There’s a page, for instance, for the best five books with quirky detectives from around the world, and another for novels that get you inside the minds of historical figures. How about a page for books on good and evil? Or the best books for yoga teachers who feel stuck in a rut? Something for everyone, and a great site for browsing.

I submitted a page (five books plus one of my own, per the rules) on outrageous cozies, and it went live this week. Traditional mysteries have many sub-genres--the sci-fi mystery, the thriller, the hard-boiled/noir, the police procedural, the historical, and of course the cozy. Even within the cozy, there are subdivisions, like the noir cozy which is a real contradiction in terms. So why now the outrageous cozy?  I don’t know that it is yet a recognized sub-genre, but I’m working to make it so. The graphic above is for my page, and the link is https://shepherd.com/best-books/outrageous-cozy-mysteries. I hope you find some outrageously good reading in those books. Of course, I included the first of my own outrageous series, Saving Irene.

A friend in a small, online writer’s group recently commented that it amused her that I speak of my characters are though they are real people—sort of like they’re in the same room with me. It’s true, I feel that way about them. Irene and Henny, the narrator, live with me all the time when I’m working on one of their books.

Currently, Irene and her French entourage—Chance, Jean Claude, and daughter Gabrielle—are in Fort Worth for Christmas, visiting Henny’s family. The mere idea of putting the diva chef, with her faux French ways, in the middle of Cowtown is alive with possibilities, and I’m having fun. In line with my political beliefs, I supported a fund-raising campaign titled, “Mystery Loves Democracy.” (Two years ago, “Mystery Loves Georgia” contributed a hefty amount to the campaigns of senators Joel Osoff and Raphael Warnock.) As part of my commitment, I auctioned the right to name a character in my work-in-progress. The woman who bought the right chose to name the character after a friend, and so Kathy Fenton entered my story.

I was about to introduce Kathy as a character when I realized her backstory had already been told. All I had to do was go back and change her name. Once that was done, Kathy added yet another complication to the plot and another name on the list of possible murder suspects. (For me, that’s sort of how writing goes--as I write, ideas pop into my head, and they generally work better than if I had planned them ahead.)

But honest to gosh, when I renamed that earlier character, I thought to myself, “I must remember to tell Henny that I’ve made that change.” I had to slap myself upside the head to remember Henny is a fictional character and only knows what’s on the page. She won’t remember that first name at all. But that’s how real Henny had become to me.

This morning Jean sent me a link to an article about the reading habits of Ken Burns. His reading is so wide and so deep that it’s humbling. I realized once again it’s a tiny, tiny corner of the book world that I inhabit. Burns has a great familiarity with the Russian writers, refers casually to people I’ve never heard of, and cited a long list of those that I have never read but should have, such as Gabriel García Márquez. I was more comfortable with his admiration for Mark Twain and Willa Cather—he was getting closer to my comfort zone. I can’t help recalling that my first adult novel, Mattie, was panned by one reviewer because Cather had told the story better. I didn’t know enough to know my work was derivative, but I still think any comparison to Cather is a compliment.

And speaking of American greats in the literary field, this is a bonus week, with new books due from Cormac McCarthy (The Border Trilogy, No Country for Old Men--it’s been a long time since he had a new book), mystery writer Lee Child (the Jack Reacher books), Jude Deveraux (historical romance, including the many volumes about the Montgomery/Taggert family), and Patricia Cornwell (crime writer best known for books featuring medical examiner Kay Scarpetta). Surely something for every taste from these literary lions.

 

 

A Quiet Saturday

Weekends are often the quietest days of my life, and today was no exception. My family was busy, to put it mildly: a football game for Jacob, two weddings, a party, and a Dallas get-together for the adults. When I saw Jordan this morning, I said, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” but she did sneak out for a quick minute late this afternoon. And Jacob has promised promised promised to check in with me when he comes home from ice skating at ten. I remember days that busy fondly, not sure if I miss them or not. Maybe that's part of the identity I am giving up for elderhood.

Meantime I had a pleasant day doing two things I enjoy: writing and cooking. Yesterday I cleaned out the odds and ends left in the freezer—a bit of something tomato-based I didn’t recognize, some beans (not sure of seasonings on them), some cooked chicken, a seasoned lamb patty, and a half-full container of beef broth. From the fridge I got caramelized onions—should have cut the strips into small pieces, because they were stringy and hard to deal with but so good. I added chicken broth and canned tomatoes, and voila! Soup! I let it simmer all day and had a cup for supper. All that simmering meant you couldn’t distinguish anything in it, but it was good--a touch of that lamb flavoring came through. Now I have this large pot of soup I’m wondering what to do with.

I wasn’t really hungry by dinner, because I’d had a cranberry/orange scone from Central Market for breakfast—I had no idea how big those were. For lunch I had a twice-baked potato, also from Central Market. But with my soup, I managed a small sirloin slider and a small salad with Cardini’s Caesar dressing—my latest favorite of prepared dressings.

As for writing, today was the day I vowed to get back to what I laughingly call the work in progress—there’s been no progress for too long. I abandoned it at 2600 words because other matters kept pressing in. Tonight, I have it up to 2800 words but the strangest thing happened. It isn’t going at all like I planned—the characters are not doing what I thought they would, and the good guys are being stubborn, the bad guys acting nice.

I remember the late Elmer Kelton, great Texas cowboy novelist, talking about the writing of The Wolf and the Buffalo. He set out to write about the life of a Buffalo soldier at Fort Concho after the Civil War, but this Comanche chief kept crowding in, demanding to be part of the action. Ultimately the novel became the story of two lives—a Buffalo soldier whose fortunes were rising, and a Comanche chief whose world and way of life were disappearing. Elmer won awards for the book, and it is considered one of his best, out of a long and prolific career. If you haven’t read any Kelton novels, rush, do not walk, to get your hands on one. You’ll be richly rewarded

The message of course is an age-old one for writers: listen to your characters, and they’ll tell you where your novel is going. I’m listening, but I’ll be darned if I can tell what Kelly and Keisha are telling me. (I’m working on a Kelly O’Connell Mystery.) I’ll get back to it tomorrow, and see if I can figure out what’s happening.

A really pretty day, but I didn’t venture out of the cottage. I often don’t if I’m alone. I can open the French doors and have the lovely day come inside with me. Now, at nine at night, the air is getting, as a former nanny used to say, “airish,” just a touch cool.

Don’t forget to watch for the super moon tonight.