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.

Snow--or lack thereof--dictates

I woke this morning with a schedule in my head. I'd work a bit in the morning, go to the Planned Parenthood Luncheon downtown, have a nap, and do a late grocery run. Once again, snow--and the weather forecast--changed my whole plan. Between a half inch and an inch was forecast from ten in the morning on. I made a speed run to the grocery, wimped out on the luncheon because it would be just when the snow hit, and settled down for a long day of work. You guessed it--I saw not one snowflake. Streets are dry except for patchy ice, and all is well with the world. I should have gone to the luncheon. I missed a good menu and, worse yet, good friends.
I do not want this to repeat again tomorrow, because I have to go to the store for fresh fish for company tomorrow night. The weather forecasters assure us the snow is over, but at this point I'm not sure about them.
Staying home for a long day of work was not bad. Once again I did a lot of little things that needed doing, including some outside chores I'd neglected the day before. And I did my yoga, which went a lot better today--my muscles seemed to be remembering the pattern or rhythm.
But the big thing for me, was that I am getting back to work as a writer. I'd had the intent ever since Christmas but kept getting distracted--which tells me my heart wasn't really in it. Several things have combined to renew my enthusiasm, and I can feel work--and enthusiasm--rising in me like a great tide (oops, I think that's hyperbole). Several people have told me how anxious they are for the next Kelly O'Connell Mystery--now even if my reputation and "fame" are purely local, that's a good feeling. Then the other day I received first edits on Kelly #5--Deception in Strange Places--and set about working on them today. A tip of my hat to my editor, Suzanne Barrett, who "gets" my writing and makes it oh so much better, while making me adhere to some rules of grammar I casually cast aside--alright is not a word. It's all right.
Yesterday, at Suzanne's request, I spent much of the day revising the synopsis for Kelly #6--don't know the title but it will have something to do with revenge. So now, ideas for that one are crowding my brain, and I'm anxious to get back to it. In a flurry of inspiration (?), I actually wrote 10,000 words in January and then many other things, including kids visit and taxes, took me away. But I think I'm about to settle down to a good routine of writing and daily yoga, and I'm happy about that. So snow days...and even non-snow days...aren't all bad.
I have the opening ceremonies of the Olympics on, muted, and frankly, except for one wonderful display (maybe China?) I find it boring. It's going to be a long two or three weeks.
Stay safe and warm everyone--it's still going down into the twenties here tonight. But a brief warm-up is headed our way.

The Dreamcatcher

I bought a dream catcher in Santa Fe, a small one because they were cheaper and because I thought a larger one might be too showy (actually I bought it in Chimayo, which is a great place for magical beliefs because of the healing dirt found in its sanctuary). For those who don't know, a dream catcher is a leather-bound circle, with a web in the middle and a central open space. Feathers and beads hang from the outside circle. Clearly a reproduction of a plains Indian artifact.
I thought it would catch my creative dreams and save them for my writing. After all, the other night I dreamt the opening of the sixth Kelly O'Connell novel--it's just that it wasn't really a dream. I was only half asleep and I was recalling actual events.
I figured dream catchers were kind of trendy because my daughter-in-law said my oldest granddaughter had one for a while. What? She got rid of it? I may have to discuss that with her, but my list of things to talk to her about grows. For instance, she didn't like To Kill a Mockingbird. To me, that's unpatriotic or something.
Today I read the tag on the dream catcher--it catches bad dreams in its web and holds them, while good dreams escape through the hole in the middle--wait! the good dreams are the ones I wanted to hold on to. Anyway the legend goes that with daylight the sunshine disintegrates the bad dreams, which is all to the good. I'm a heavy dreamer, sometimes dark, and I almost always remember my dreams, though I may forget them shortly after I wake. On the other hand, some stay with me for a long time. Once I came to the office and reported one to Melissa, my colleague, who has ever after said to me, "I hated being peed on by that possum." It's true--it was in my dream. I think we had discovered a family of possums in the building's courtyard the day before.
Anyway, today I hung the dream catcher in the window. Jacob looked at it and demanded, "What is that?" When I told him, he walked over to examine it and then said, "You don't really believe that do you, Juju?"
"Yes, I sort of do."
"It doesn't make sense. It's not true." Ah, a practical child of the 21st century. I refrained from reminding him that he still believes in elves at Christmas...and Santa too!
"Well, is it okay if I kind of believe it? I'd like to."
"I guess so," he said with a sigh as he walked away. I continue to have faith. Jacob sometimes thinks his grandmother is crazy.

Cabin Fever

This is day three of a self-imposed stay in the house for the storm that a whimper and not the expected bang. I just set my mind to staying home Saturday through Monday but by tonight my own company is wearing thin. Even Sophie is bored with me. Not that I haven't accomplished things.
I've unpacked the Christmas decorations and got the house in fairly good shape--ready for Jordan's inspection and oh-so-tactful suggestions. Most of it is the same as it is every year, but this year I wanted to do something different on the dining table. This is what I've tentatively come up with:

His name is Santa Mac, because my father, a good Scotsman, was called Mac, although I doubt Dad ever wore a kilt. Friend Jeannie Chaffee happened on him on a shopping trip somewhere and knew I had to have him. Jordan may well object to the absence of candles--we'll see. The table stymied me for two days--waiting for inspiration to strike. I had put Santa Mac in his usual place on the bookcase and just happened to glance at him tonight. Voila! I don't think all my decorations made it out of the attic but since I need Santa's helpers to get them, I won't complain--my helpers did a good job. I can't go search for missing items because I'm not allowed to go into the attic--one of the few rules of living alone that I'm happy about.
I know you're not supposed to decorate before Thanksgiving--whose unwritten rule is that?--but this year Thanksgiving is so late that when it's over, Christmas will be upon us.
I've written a guest blog, assembled the neighborhood newspaper, and am almost done with a last trip
through the fifth Kelly O'Connell novel before I send it off to the editor. I think its title is Deception in Strange Places. I've made a pot of soup, which I froze, and served dinner to guests. It hasn't been an unproductive time at home, but I've had enough, thank you very much.
I could have gone out today because of the storm that wasn't, but I had no plans, nowhere to go unless I spent money, and the damp cold didn't inspire me. By the time Jordan invited me to come for wine, I was set in my at-home mode.
Getting out tomorrow for lunch and dinner--it's about time! And by this weekend it will be sixty!

The excitement of a new book

 

Just got the cover for the new Kelly O'Connell Mystery (fourth in the series) that debuts next week in ebook form, with print to follow. I like it a lot, with the dripping blood. It's a bit darker than my previous cozies, so this works perfectly. Here's a blurb that tells  you a bit about the story.

Kelly O’Connell’s husband, Mike Shandy, insists she has a talent for trouble, but how can she sit idly by while her world is shattering. Daughter Maggie is hiding a runaway classmate; protégé Joe Mendez seems to be hanging out again with his former gang friends and ignoring his lovely wife Theresa; drug dealers have moved into her beloved Fairmount neighborhood. And amidst all this, reclusive former diva Lorna McDavid expects Kelly to do her grocery shopping. In spite of Mike’s warnings, Kelly is determined to save the runaway girl and her abused mother and find out what’s troubling Joe, even when those things lead back to the drug dealers. Before all the tangles in the neighborhood are untangled, Kelly finds herself wondering who to trust, facing drug dealers, and seeing more of death than she wants. But she also tests upscale hot dog recipes and finds a soft side to the imperious recluse, Lorna McDavid. It’s a wild ride, but she manages, always, to protect her daughters and keep Mike from worrying about her—at least not too much.

Now that I have the cover, I can start serious marketing. Please help me by spreading the news by word of mouth. I am still excited about Kelly's misadventures...and still thrilled to bee the author of published mysteries.

Current events--state, national and personal

I am much less upset about domestic spying than I am by the law the Texas legislature is trying to pass, dooming many women to back-alley, coat-hanger abortions and depriving poor women of affordable, available medical care. One person on Facebook suggested they don't care about individual women, they just want to please their base. I can't figure out what base the Republicans have left since they've alienated Hispanics, black Americans, women, and most thinking people. Who's left? Old, angry white men. Enough to vote them back into office and to re-elect Governor Perry, who supposedly called this special session over--what was it? taxes? budget?--Whatever it was, it got dumped and the session has been devoted to abortion legislation. And now Perry's talking about another special session--which will cost taxpayers tons of money--did I read #30,000/day. Our fiscally conservative governor. I love Texas, but too often I'm ashamed to live here.
On to the matter of domestic spying, which doesn't particularly upset me. Wasn't the program started under President Bush? Why were there no outcries then? Because no Snowden came forward? Since there's been testimony that some 50 terrorist attacks have been averted, I think it's well worth keeping. If you're trying that hard to hide something, it's probably something you shouldn't be doing. I don't think whoever's doing the wire-tapping, etc., pays much attention o us ordinary citizens.
As for the Snowden person, I think he's getting far too much more attention (and sympathy in some quarters) than he deserves: if he had a security clearance, I would presume he took an oath not to reveal what he knew. He violated that and caused his country all kinds of trouble-is that really patriotism. Besides, his background doesn't exactly support him with credibility. But that's all another matter.
Though I did have an eye-opening encounter with the FBI today. I got an email on a writers listserv that pointed out that bookos.org was posting pirated books. I've asked them to cease and desist before and they've done so, but I checked today and several of my titles were listed, including Mattie, which is my bestseller on Amazon. So the os in their name, which undoubtedly means out of stock, is not true. The email alert gave instructions for reporting them to the FBI, with the caveat that the FBI gets a gazillion tips a day but if enough of us complain, they might do something. So I clicked on the FBI tip site, filled out my name, and lo and behold! the site automatically filled in all my other information. Now I realize that may be a computer function, but it was, as I said, eye-opening to even think the FBI had it that accessible.
Two cooking magazines arrived in the mail today, but I resisted and finished reading galleys on my next Kelly O'Connell Mystery. Danger Comes Home will launch as an e-book the week of July 22--a nice birthday present for me--with print to follow. So now I've read galleys, typed the list of my corrections, and sent it to the editor. I can have the guilty pleasure of reading recipes the rest of the evening.

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.

Anticipating a birth

If you read this blog much at all, you know I have four children. And many of you know that I've never given birth. All of my babies (now ranging in age from 44 to 38) are adopted. Every once in a while I had a pang of regret that I didn't have that period of anticipation, of waiting for a birth. Most of them arrived unexpectedly on the scene, only to be greeted with great joy.
But now I feel another kind of birth coming on--I'm getting ready to birth another Kelly O'Connell Mystery. I know it's ahead of me. I've signed a contract. I have a sort-of synopsis, and fleeting thoughts about it go through my mind, little ideas that I mostly try to jot down. One important thing is that I know the first two lines: Keisha says to Kelly, "Someone's trying to kill Miss Lorna," and Kelly says, "Did you just say the coffee is ready?" Not sure what comes next--it will happen when it happens. Sometimes I'm anxious to get on with it, and other times I put it aside in my thinking. Is that like pregnancy? You will have to tell me. My deadline (or due date) is still quite a way off, so I know I'm early. I have time to procrastinate.
And I have a novel by someone else to edit, at least one guest blog to write. Plus it's amazing how much time yoga, lunch with friends, etc., can take out of my day. School is out in two days, and Jacob will not be spending his afternoons with me, which will I think make a whole different work schedule. On the other hand now that I'm not so rushed on school days, I've made several luncheon appointments so I may be shooting myself in the foot.
I know to the mothers amongst you comparing the birth of a baby to that of a novel is ludicrous, and I'm sure the discomfort of pregnancy and difficulty of birth can't compare, but I will say birthing a novel is not easy. The process leading up to it can be filled with doubt, anguish, despair--it's seldom pure joy, though there my be moments of that. And you'd think once you've given birth to it--sent it off to the publisher--it's all easy. But not so--there are revisions and marketing and waiting for reviews.
I  think ultimately I'll produce a novel I'm proud of, but nothing like the pride I feel in those four grown children! They are wonderful human beings; my novels are always going to be genre fiction.
 

Come visit my neighborhood

Lily B. Clayton Elementary School

across the street from my house

Picture by Polly Hooper

Several years ago, my younger son who lives in a big house in a suburb north of Dallas, said to me, “I want to live in a neighborhood like you do.” I do live in a neighborhood, with all that implies, the kind Mr. Rogers meant when he asked, “Won’t you be my neighbor?” The houses are old (mine was built in 1922) and probably the red brick bungalow dominates, but we have two-story houses and even a McMansion or two with zero lot line (working to stop that trend); our houses also come in tan brick, stucco, painted brick, some with arched windows and vaulted ceilings, others with tall ceilings and crown molding.. But they all have charm. We always hope add-ons will be done tastefully to fit in with the décor; similarly, we hope each home owner will maintain his or her property to the level of the neighborhood.

From my front porch

Tall trees arch over our streets, forming a canopy that seems to shelter us. When I sit on my front porch, I can block out traffic and pretend I’m in a tree house, surrounded by oaks, crape myrtle, pecan, the great elm in front of my house (which is very old and worries me every time we have a storm). And I can listen to a railroad train a couple of blocks away—many would complain about that but I love trains and find the sound comforting.

We have an active, even pro-active neighborhood association with monthly meetings and a monthly neighborhood newsletter. Recently a national chain has started producing a slick magazine for the neighborhood, but I’m prejudiced—I like our traditional newsletter (maybe because I’m about to become editor). Our neighborhood association deals with the issues of buildings that don’t fit into the neighborhood “style,” from an office complex on the edge of the neighborhood to contemporary houses built in the middle, or the narrowing of the main road that runs through the neighborhood, a commuter route for many in our city, and the zoo, which is on the edge of our neighborhood. It sponsors everything from Easter parades and ice cream socials to Christmas gift baskets for shut-ins and the elderly. We also have a busy email list where people post about lost dogs and cats and stray dogs seen wandering. Neighbors looking after neighbors.

I live across the street from an elementary school, the building so old and beautiful that it’s on one or the other register of historic places, with its art deco touches and a goldfish pond in one of the basement kindergarten rooms. That school anchors the neighborhood and is the focus for many activities. I am lucky that grandson Jacob goes to school there. Every day I walk across the street to get him, and we spend our afternoons together doing homework.

My house in the snow

Photo by Susan Halbower

It’s the kind of neighborhood where a small group gathers each Tuesday night at the local café for supper. I love it for the camaraderie and because Tuesday night is meatloaf night.  A few years ago, when we had a heavy, wet snow, my neighbor across the street sent her teenage son to shovel my walk. When I tried to pay him, he said, “Oh, no, thank you. This is what neighbors do for each other.”

Last night my grandson and his playmates “discovered” a hole in my fence where my dog could escape. One of the little boys’ fathers came promptly to fix it, saying the boys hadn’t just discovered the hole—they made it and then tried to block it when they (probably Jacob) realized that Sophie might get away.

So, thank you Berkeley and Margaret Johnson and son Atticus and Jason Brown who mended the fence and Mary Dulle who encouraged me to go to dinner (and made me newsletter editor) and the Barrs and the Harrals and Lyn and others who join us on Tuesday night. And thank you to Jay and Susan, Greg and Jaimie, terrific neighbors who kind of watch after me. I can’t think of a better place to live.

My Kelly O’Connell Mysteries are set in a neighborhood, but it is not Berkeley—it’s Fairmount, which is just adjacent to us. But in writing of that neighborhood and the community spirit, I very much had Berkeley in mind. The houses in Fairmount are a bit older, with lots of Craftsman homes, and the streets are wonderful and wide, like they used to make them. But Fairmount and Berkeley share many characteristics.

Nope, I don’t want to live in a development or a high-rise or a condo in assisted living. When people ask if I’m considering selling, I say, “No. Not until my kids make me.”

First draft blues--or is it relief?

With the first Blue Plate Mystery, Murder at the Blue Plate Cafe, just uploaded as a digital book to various platforms, I just yesterday finished the first draft of the second in that series. So far I'm calling it Murder at Tremont House, but that's tentative. (Kelly O'Connell fans, don't worry: A Kelly O'Connell Mystery, titled Danger Comes Home, will come between the two in the new series, next July.)
Meantime I'm trying to analyze how I feel about finishing that draft, after many nights of lying awake with plot threads going through my mind. Most writers feel great joy but I didn't. I think the biggest feeling I had was relief, as if a weight was off my shoulders. I knew how it would work out--and it did. I think it's okay but such a decision is far down the road. I also feel a bit blue, like I'm saying goodbye to characters I've lived with for a long time. Of course, that's silly--I'll be going back to them a whole lot in the months to come. But it's a funny feeling, almost like I should start the third book in the series right away--which is of course the last thing I want to do.
Next step is to send it to my favorite beta reader. His critiques are thorough, to the point, and offered without mercy. He always finds the good, and then digs in and tells me what bothers him in a work. He's priceless. But he's out of town, so I can't whisk it right off to him.
Besides, I have one final scene in the epilogue to write--no, please don't get me involved in a discussion of whether there should be epilogues or not. I like to end the book on a fairly dramatic note and then tie up the loose ends. And I've done all but one "loose end"--it maybe the hardest scene to write because it will irrevocably change the direction of the next Blue Plate Mystery. At any rate, I find myself dragging my heels about the scene. Tonight, I've promised myself.
I read a Facebook post tonight by a writer who had cut her first draft from 115,000 words to 107,000 but still had scenes to write. She said she doesn't know how anyone writes a 65,000-word novel. I do. This one, in draft, will probably come out about 62,000 words. I long ago faced the fact that I write short. When others moan that 450 words isn't enough for a book review, I sometimes wonder whatever I can say to take up 450 words. Maybe it's a blessing. I've know writers who, when asked for four pages submit twenty and act wounded when you request cuts.
Meantime, the age-old question: what am I going to do with myself while waiting for the critique? Maybe go back to the book of blog posts that an editor suggested. It's my fall-back project, and I can't be without a project.
A TCU English major was assigned the duty of interviewing an author and her teacher suggested me. She came by tonight--a delightful young woman--and one of her questions was, "Why do you write?" My answer? "Because I can't not write."

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.

Writer's Insomnia

Last night I woke at three-thirty and could not go back to sleep. My body was tired and comfortably snuggled in the covers, unlike some sleepless nights when I toss and turn like a washing machine. But my mind wouldn't turn off. Sometimes those three-o'clock-in-the-morning thoughts are pretty dark, and to distract myself from the dark side, I often think about what I'm writing. I can deal with the dark side better in the light of day. Last night, I roughed out a pretty good plot for a new novel--the first Blue Plate Mystery will debut in February--new settings, new characteers (no, I'm not abandoning Kelly O'Connell). But unexpectedly last night I found myself thinking about the second Blue Plate book. Mind you, I'm knee deep in writing the fourth Kelly O'Connell Mystery and that's where my mind might better have been, but there I was in Wheeler, Texas, sending Kate Chambers pellmell into a new advenutre. Actually I was pretty pleased with it, but I still could not turn my mind off.
All this has an upside and a downside--I emerged from that sleeplessness with a pretty good start on a plot for the next book I'll begin. The downside was by five-thirty I gave up all thought of sleep, knowing it wouldn't come. By six-thirty I was up and getting ready for the day--six-thirty? I wanted to shout, "What am I doing up so early." But I was to be out the door at nine, had to greet Jacob at 7:55 on his way to school and had to get my house running for the day. But I also knew that I had to write down the notes from my doze-induced plotting. And I did. It worked out pretty well on paper, as opposed to some schemes that I come up with during a long night.
The late Dorothy Johsnon, an award-winning author, wrote to me that if her muse was speaking to her, the writing flowed. But if the muse wasn't talking, she might as well give it up for the day. I'm a firm believer in that, and I always welcome the muse. But why does she speak at three-thirty in the morning? 

Two new Tag! entries and a great marketing experience

Two more blogs from the Tag! You're It! blog game are up: at http://teacherwriter.net/2012/10/11/name-that-book, Suzanne Lilly is asking for help with a title and describing the basic plot of her work-in-progress, a young-adult novel with elements of magical realism. Help her out and  you'll be in the dedication. At http://tarynraye.blogspot.com, effervescent Taryn Raye is full of plans for the romance she'll begin November 1 for National Novel Writing Month--and she even has a title.

This morning I had a unique marketing opportunity. I talked briefly to a small group of realtors--highly appropriate since Kelly O'Connell, heroine of my series, is a fictional realtor working in the same communities these people do. My son-in-law Christian is marketing person for a local title office, and he had arranged a small breakfast for them and asked me to talk. (Christian even made an egg/cheese/green chili casserole to take to them--they had already cleaned the platter when I got there!) One of the realtors is a particuar fan of Kelly, so she whipped up enthusiasm. Christian introduced me, and I was able to surprise him with the news that the latest mystery, Trouble in a Big Box, is dedicated to him for his patience in teaching me about title searches and real estate. He didn't know because while Trouble is available in e-book, the print version isn't out yet. Then I briefly described cozy mysteries, why I chose to write about a realtor in the particular neighborhood I did, the three books in the series, and asked for questions--there were plenty. And I sold 17 books, passed out bookmarks and fact sheets, and garnered new names for my mailing list. I'd call that a success in 45 minutes. Four of the realtors even ordered my cookbook which I showed mostly because it has Jacob on the cover.
Christian now has big plans for similar breakfasts at other real state offices. Great marketing niche for me! And he doesn't even ask for a commission!

The Village Gaarden--a free short story

No, that's not a typo. "Gaarden" is how Norwegians would spell "garden," and my short story features Kelly O'Connell in what may be the closest thing to a fantasy tale that I'll ever write, fantasy not being my natural bent. Short stories are hard for me--either a crystal clear idea suddenly strikes or I stare at a blank computer screen. But when I realized a lot of mystery authors write short stories I decided to try my hand at it. This one that feature Kelly from my Kelly O'Connell Mysteries, still in her Fairmont neighborhood, just sort of came to me. I'm not sure I can even tell you where the idea came from, but I shaped and worked it until it was became a story that incorporated a family story and recipe. So, sit with Kelly in The Village Gaarden, leave the real world behind for a moment, and enjoy kjottkaker or, as we call them, Norwegian hamburgers. So good. You can download the story and the recipe here free:http://www.judyalter.com/files/shortstory.pdf. If you haven't met Kelly yet, I hope this will give you a slight idea and make you want to know her better; if you have met her, enjoy this different glimpse of her.
I have written fewer than twenty short stories in what has been a relatively long writing career. Fourteen of them, previously published, are in my collection Sue Ellen Learns to Dance and Other Stories (available on Kindle and Smashwords for ninety-nine cents). But this is not a plug for that book. It's about mysteries and short stories and The Village Gaarden," which is special to me. I hope you enjoy it.

Writing: and the angst goes on

I am 30,000 words into my work-in-progress, but the remaining 40,000 loom before me like a great chasm. I'm not sure who's behind all the bad stuff that's going on in the novel, and I've got one character who is so enigmatic I don't know if she's one of the good guys or bad, a victim, a martyr, or--maybe--a heroine. Hey, I like that idea. Kelly seems to be waiting for things to happen, but she has to be pro-active if she's to be the protagonist. I have scads of notes, but no outline--that's not my style. My mentor/beta reader/good friend/whatever-he-is has read the first 10,000 words--I gave them to him when I was desperate, but now I've moved on beyond that, changed a major plot element, and made lots of other changes. We're to have lunch next week, and he'll give me his comments--always sharp and incisive, written out so that I can study them. But it's changed so much I now think I was hasty--or panicked--in giving the first bit to him. I keep remembering the words of a fellow mystery writer that the point of a first draft is simply to get to the end.
Last night I read sixty fives pages of Polly Iyer's Murder Deja Vu. (A note of explanation: Polly is a friend; I've never met her, but she's a fellow member of Sisters in Crime and fairly active on the Guppies sub-list; we've exchanged Facebook comments, and I definitely feel she's a friend.) The tension in the opening pages of this novel was terrific, and I was mesmerized, only put it down because I knew I had to be up early. The story has a much harder edge than what I write, and for a few minutes I beat myself up because I don't write like that. But then I explained to myself, with fair success, that each of us write what we write, the way we do it. I suspect it has something to do with the way we see the world. That may make me a Pollyanna type, but so be it. I started out as a  young-adult author way back when and later so tired of agents reading adult manuscripts and telling me they thought they were for the y/a audience. But another friend, commenting on a post on "Judy's Stew" wrote "You made me care about your characters, so you are doing something right. Buck up!" So I will.
But not tonight and not this weekend. I'm taking a brief holiday. Sunday is my birthday, and I'll spend the weeked surrounded by family and friends. I'll read a lot, while grandchildren swim, and put all thoughts of Kelly O'Connell and her unsolved mystery out of my mind. Monday, when I get back to work, I will check the first round of edits on another author's manuscript that I'm editing. So maybe after a break, I'll go back with renewed enthusiasm.
The motto for all writers is, I suspect, "Persevere." There's a lot of advice out there, but that one word seems to sum it up.
Happy weekend everyone.

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.

My impression of the Impressionists

Next week is the last week of the Impressionist exhibit at Fort Worth's Kimbell Museum. These are works from the Carter Collection, about which I know little. But I like Impressionists, wanted to see the exhibit but told myself I had no one to go with, it was always so crowded, it was expensive, yada, yada yada. Last week good friend Jeannie Chaffee said she's take me on her membership and assured me it had never been crowded when she was there. We planned to eat lunch at the museum restaurant which always has an innovative menu--sometimes great, sometimes not so great. When we walked in, the place was wall to wall people. First decision: eat lunch elsewhere. We later asked a guard about the crowd and she said Tuesdays are half price. Lesson learned: don't go on Tuesday.
In spite of people everywhere, we were able to view the paintings, read the signage. Jeannie had seen the exhibit several times already, so she could tell me which paintings had interesting stories and which bits of signage I could skip. The exhibit began with Coret, who really paved the way for Impessionists, then moved on to Monet, Degas, Renoir, Toulouse-Latrec, and a few artists I'd never heard of, ending with Gaugain, whose works of the South Pacific don't do much for me. But it was interesting to watch the freedom of technique develop in each artist, and the clear move away from posed portraits of nobles to ordinary people caught going about their lives. I'm on shaky ground talking about art, but it seemed to me that Impressionism has all to do about brush strokes and freedom (not thefirst time I've thought that but it struck me again today).
What struck me even more forcibly was that these artists from the late nineteenth-century were part of a larger cataclysmic change in the social structure of the world. As the Industrial Revolution standardized life and made objects impersonal, artists of all kinds worked to create works that celebrated the individuality of mankind. It wasn't just an experimental period in art--that spirit carried over into architecture, literature, clothing, all aspects of life. I'm particularly interested in it because that same era gave rise to the earliest Craftsman architecture--the subject of my Kelly O'Connell Mysteries. But in a previous part of my life I studied the exploration and conquest (bad word!) of the American West during that same period, and I could even fit that into the pattern--a search for new freedom, new opportunities, a casting off of the old ways. If I could live in another period, I would choose the late nineteenth century, though Jeannie pointed out that the sixties in the twentieth century brought about similarly cataclysmic changes--look at music, clothing, protests, etc. Still, it's about 1875-1900 for me.
Many thanks to Jeannie for a really interesting lunch hour. We left and ate at a favorite local cafeteria and then checked out the summer sale at Williams Sonoma--sort of a prosaic comedown but fun.
A postscript: I used to have a really long print of Monet's water lillies--maybe three feet or more--in the two-story dining room of what I now call "my doctor's wife house." Wondering what ever happened to that--the print, not the house.

This, that, and a gullywasher

Cousins are your first and best friends forever!

For the second night in a row, the gods were bowling in the wee hours of the morning. Then came sheets of rain. About seven it cleared but remained dark, and just in time for the school rush across the street the heavens opened again. Jordan called for a big umbrella and I put it out; then she called wonderig what to do about her feet--she didnt want to spend the day with wet feet. She finally did what was for us a first: she let him out right by the door next to his classroom. Always the anxious grandmother, I asked if we should call and be sure he was in class. "Mom, I watched him go in the door, and then I watched to be sure no one carried him out." I suppose child-snatchers weren't out in the storm anyway.

This afternoon was my last day to pick Jacob up, and he's staying late, so I decided I had to do my yoga with him here. He suggested I do it in the front room so as not to disturb his TVwatching; I suggested he watch TV in my office so as not to disturb my yoga. That didn't please him, so he watched me do my yoga, imitated me some. When I was in the meditation phase at the end, he demanded, "Juju, are you doing yoga or are you just sleeping?" I'm going to miss him in the afternoons. Then again, maybe I won't have to watch any more Bigfoot videos.

I've been too social this week--Monday night playing catch-up from a weekend away, Tuesday night dinner with the neighbors at the Grill--a chunk out of the evening; Wed. night dinner with friends at a wine cafe--a bigger chunk out of the evening and my wallet both. Tonight I'm staying home, eating a BLT, and working. Was all ready to start tht next Kelly O'Connell novel, but I got final proofs for the third one today. Sigh. The weekend doesn't offer lots of work time. I imagine I'll be running errands, etc.

Retirement sure is fun!

The Writerly LIfe

I'm feeling like a writer today, a feeling I don't always have. Some days I think I'm pretending, and someone will catch me in my hoax. But yesterday, my editor, Ayla, sent the third Kelly manuscript back for one last read--which she wanted today or tomorrow morning at the latest. I panicked, said I had too much else to do, etc., but of course I did it. By the time I went to bed late last night, bleary-eyed, I had read sixteen chapters. Finished the last three at lunchtime today and sent it off. The whole point was for me to cut down descriptions of food--more about that in a minute--and find typos. In the best of circumstances, I can't find typos in my own work--and I'm not terrific at it in other people's writing. But in my own writing, I know what it's supposed to say and that's what I see
Ayla is constantly after me to cut down on the descriptions of food, but I maintain that what we eat says a lot about who we are and what kind of person. My good friend Jim Lee, folklorist par excellence, once wrote, "One of the lessons that we have learned--or are beginning to learn--from the study of folklore is the importance of food and eating customs in unravelling the history of a people. . . . The foods we eat, the way we eat them, and the imagination we bestow upon their preparation will tell [much about us] to historians, folklorists, and anthropologists of Buck Roger's twenty-fifth century." I sent that quote to Ayla today. Not sure of her response. Kelly O'Connell of my mysteries is a so-so cook, often so busy that she takes her girls out or orders pizza. But  she tries, and I include her disasters (creamed tuna on toast, a spur-of-the-moment hamburger casserole that sort of came out like soup) and her triumphs--a baked ham with potato salad, a perfectly roasted chicken. I think that--and her restaurant meals, from puttanesca to a reuben--tell us a lot about Kelly. Of course, Mike, the man in her life, is terrific at cooking on the grill--that doesn't help Kelly's cooking ego at all.
May is Mystery Month, and tonight I signed books, with four other mystery authors--Laurie Moore, Paula LaRocque, Carole Nelson Douglas, and Wendy Lyn Watson--at Barnes and Noble. The community relations manager had a list of questions, and the discussion was pretty interesting. We all had a good time and signed a few books. Plus we left stacks of signed books behind.
A nice evening, but I'm yawning. Have to be up at six tomorrow morning for a seven o'clock signing. Peter at the Old Neighborhood Grill says that's when his Saturday readers come for breakfast, and it worked well for Skeleton in a Dead Space, so I'll try it again tomorrow for No Neighborhood for Old Women. My sweet daughter Jordan will meet me at the restaurant at seven--that's above and beyond, even for a daughter, and I'm grateful. Going to do a raffle for a three free copies of the third Kelly O'Connell novel, due out in August--Trouble in a Big Box.