When writing goes well....and Kindlegraph

A couple of weeks ago I received two pages of critique from my mentor/beta reader/friend. He was merciless--I had too many balls in the air--and he was right. So I set about the arduous task of cutting, though eventually I was able to save many passages in the work-in-progress and put them in a different order. I slashed, but I also added new material as I went along. It was a long process, and then I was stumped--where did I go from there?
So I reread the existing draft. I am a pantser, write from the seat of my pants rather than from an outline. So when I come to a halt, it's really a crashing halt. But rereading helps, gives me new ideas--and it did this time.  I began to forge ahead, adding new material, incorporating bits of the old.
At first, when I started the rewriting process, I lost 10,000 words--I hate to write to word count, but I confess that sometimes I do because I'm always afraid I'll write short. 75,000 words is a good count for a cozy mystery--65,000 is okay. But I was back down to 40,000--a way to go.
This week I've been on a compulsive writing kick--2,000 words a day for three days. If I can keep that up for two more days,  I'll have made up for all the lost text and be well on my way to working this one out. Always fun to see how a mystery will come out. I know the villain, and I have a general idea of what will happen--but it's all that in-between stuff that bothers and worries me. Seriously, that's when three o'clock in the morning thoughts come in.
Today I fully intended to get right to the manuscript--after emails, Facebook, the newspaper, and yoga. But something came up that took priority and I had to deal with right away. Guess what? I still wrote my 2,000 words. Some of the saved passages I thought would speed me along proved not to be as lengthy as I remembered them. New material seemed to flow as though I was not even thinking about it. When writing goes well like that, I really hate to quit--but lunchtime, school's out and other deadlines followed. Tomorrow is another day, and I hope to write all morning--my best time--without interruption. Oh, after emails, Facebook, the newspapr and yoga. One has to have priorities.
Notice anything new on Judy's Stew? I've added the kindlegraph link--you can get autographed e-copies of my books. I've had this for some time but I figured nobody knew about it. All around me, authors were posting this widget on their blogs, but  I was like the really slow learner in the class. Finally figured it out, with the help of the Kindlegraph creator, and I couldn't be more proud! Hope some of you will take me up on it. And,  yes, it's my signature--just neater than if I'd scrawled it on a book myself.

Reason #67 that I haven't written the Great American Mystery

I had lunch today with my beta reader, mentor, whatever you want to call him--the wonderful man who reads and critiques everything I write. I'd gotten his comments earlier by email--too many balls in the air was the basic one--but I wanted to talk to him and get the manuscript back. Besides we always have fun at lunch and the talk ranges widely about his projects, mine, and other unrelated subjects--even politics on which we agree. I came home from lunch determined to start revisions right way, but by the time I dealt with emails and some other business details, I just had time for a much-needed nap before I got Jacob.
Then I realized I had to get the neighborhood newsletter to the designer, so there went the one last calm hour of the day. Jacob watched TV and I worked on the newsletter and sent it. After that, chaos reigned--but a wonderful kind of chaos.
Jordan arrived and then my former neighbor, Meredith, with four-year-old Abby and Grayson, who is not quite two. Jordan had planned and prepared elaborate snacks for the kids, some of which they ate. She put out popcorn which they ate by the handfuls, and I put out some small oatmeal cookies that fascinated Grayson. He wanted to carry more and more in his hands. It's amazing how quickly you forget how much watching a two-year-old requires. Grayson is adorable but typically boy-busy. The girls and I tried to visit but spent a lot of time kid-monitoring, although Jacob is good about watching the younger children, and he did, at Meredith's request, do his Michael Jackson routine. This was a long overdue visit, and we all enjoyed it. As they left, Meredith met Sue, who had lived in the house next door before her and was now coming for a happy hour visit. When Christian heard that Sue ws here, he said, "Pour me a glass of wine. I'll be right there." So the four of us sat in the living room (mosquitos really bother Sue on the porch) and had a high old time, full of laughter (maybe the wine helped). Sue left, but Jordan and Jacob had to play with Sophie, and they were so cute we all had to take pictures It was seven before they all left and almost seven-thirty by the time the kitchen was tidied and I could re-heat that leftover lasagne from lunch. Finally I settled down to dinner at my desk, red pen in one hand, the manuscript in front of me, and Fred's notes beside it. I've actually rewritten one chapter--pretty good accomplishment, I'd say. But the first chapter didn't need much--it will get a lot harder as I get into it. May get one more done tonight.
Long story short: the reason I haven't written the Great American Mystery is that I have a life, one filled with family and friends, and I feel so blessed.
 

Yoga and writing

Yesterday I woke up in a funk. The prospect of lunch with one good friend and supper with two others didn't jolt me out of my blues. It took me a while--and a yoga session--to figure out what was bothering me. The novel I'm working on wasn't going well; in fact it wasn't going. I'd been reading a wonderful mystery mentioned in a previous blog--Mr. Churchill's Secretary. I got so thoroughly engrossed in it that it's been hard for me to start another novel, though my iPad is loaded with two new ones by authors whose work I usually enjoy. What set Mr. Churchill's Secretary apart was partly the significance of the backdrop--Hitler's march across Europe, the Luftwaffe bombings of London. But more than that, it was the unexpected. No one was who you thought they were, and good guys turned out to be villains, and those you had pegged as villains were good guys--or at least had a soft streak. My novel, on the other hand, was predictable--at least in my mind.
I figured all this out while stretching and pushing and doing all those yoga things--and counting to ten seconds for many poses. But I truly went back to work with renewed enthusiasm and have since written about 3500 words--okay, I know some authors write ten hours and 10,000 words a day--not me. But I finally feel that I'm headed in a better direction, and that's exciting.
I have enjoyed my social life--lunch with Melinda who, apart from having been my favorite employee at TCU Press, remains a good friend now that I'm not at the press; supper with Carol and Kathie, two book cronies I've known for years. We share each others triumphs, tragedies, and small concerns. Today I had lunch with several members of a book group I've spoken to three times--discovered one of them is a "field editor" for a cooking magazine--right up my alley, and I may have more to say about her later. But she gave me sample copies of Taste of Home and I had fun learing through them this afternoon. My favorite find: strawberries stuffied with a mix of cream cheese and blue cheese, and topped with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette (I'd leave out the chopped pecans). Would that be salad or dessert? It was a real boost to my ego to hear these ladies say again how much they liked my books, and one had read one of my historical novels and ordered another.
An aside; we deliberatel went to the Frank Kent Honda dealership for lunch. Good friend David Rotman who used to own Cafe Aspen now works there, and they asked him to spiff up their food service for customers and employees. He's brought some of the old Aspen recipes, and you can have a great lunch in the attractive chrome setting of a new car dealership. David wasn't there today, but we had a good lunch and good time. One salesman told us lunch was free if we bought a car; he told one of the other ladies if she paid his price for lunch, she'd get a free car.
Tonight was neighbors' night at the Old Neighborhood Grill and I had my meatloaf fix--the cashier looks at me and asks, "The usual?" When I nod, she pours a generous glass of Kendall Jackson chardonnay and orders up a piece of meat loaf and a side of green beans. I don't know--is it good to be that predictable? As we were leaving, one neighbor asked, "Are you going home to write?" I said I was, and she said, "Good. I need another mystery to read."
So all in all, writing is looking pretty good to me--and when I reread what I had done on that novel, it really wasn't all that bad. I think I'll run it by my mentor/beta reader/whatever next week and maybe get a critique partner through Sisters in Crime's Guppy program. Funk gone at least for now. Oh, and I've done my yoga faithfully. I think it helps both mind and body--and that funky right hip that's been bothering me.

Sleep while you solve problems--yours and others

Mystery author Sandra Parshall (Under the Dog Star, The Heat of the Moon, and others) recently wrote about her method of working on knotty plot problems. Before she goes to sleep, she fixes her mind firmly on the problem and often wakes aware of the solution, the direction the plot should take. Well, I had recently written myself into a corner in the broken middle of my novel--I was moving along with the crime, only I didn't know who was the villain or why he or she was doing things. Major problem at 50,000 words. I've always had vivid dreams and remembered them clearly the next day, so I thought Sandy's method was a shoe-in for me. Years ago I used to dream articles and novels and short stories, but I rarely remembered them or the "perfect" way they worked in my dream. Unlike a lot of people, I don't keep a pad and paper by the bedside--I'm afraid what I write would be gibberish, and I don't want to wake up enough to turn on the light and write intelligibly.
Sandy's method was not a shoe-in at all. I tried it for two nights and woke as puzzled as ever. Then I got a stomach bug in the evening which kept me awake and in and out of bed for too much of the night. In between trips, I'd doze and found myself writing the entire end of the book, inventing characters--one really great one, sketching out scenes. Next morning, I got up, wrote it all down, and it really held together. Sleep therapy or whatever had worked. Of course, after I fed the dogs, checked my email and took a quick look at the Sunday paper, I was back in bed by 8:30.
But I was so elated by my success that I didn't write for two days. Then, yesterday, I began to write and the story came tumbling out of my brain and onto the computer. I've now written the climactic scene and simply have the wrap-up to do. Granted, it's a first draft, and I have a lot more work ahead of me, but I am so relieved to know how the story works out.
As my mother always told me, all things work to some good end. In this case, there was a plus side to having a stomach virus. Not that it's going to become my preferred way of plotting. But sleeping might be.

My day started with marching drums about 7:30 in the morning. Sophie got so excited we had to go out on the porch early and listen to the drums--which can get rather repetitive, especially before you've had coffee. But there's something really neat about an elementary school that puts on a neighborhood walkathon instead of selling candy to raise funds--there was so much school spirit. The majority of parents marched with their children, and the Paschal HIgh School Band led the way, behind police cars with flashsing lights. Parents and children alike wore their red Lily B. Clayton T-shirts, and you could feel the excitement in the air. Jacob is lucky to go to this very special school. It was a long day for him, because tonight was family fun night, complete with hot dogs, face painting, bounce house, super-high slides, and all that kind of thing. His mom is out of town on business and pouting about missing all the fun.
I on the other hand had a relatively easy day--after I could get my car out of the driveway, when the parade festivities were over, I ran a couple of errands, did odds and ends, ate an early lunch and had a good nap. Jacob spent the afternoon at the neighbors' playing with three-year-old Abby. They created sidewalk art, of  which he was very proud. I got to stay home and clear stray junk off my desk. By the time his dad arrived to take him to family night, I was able to settle down and get some good solid writing time. Just wish I knew where this novel is going.

Oh, wat a beautiful morning!

Actually it was a beautiful morning, so cool I couldn't put the top down on my car. But what I really meant, with all due respect to Oklahoma, is "Oh, what a beautiful weekend." Last night I went to a reading and book signing--it pleases me that TCU Press is still publishing books I acquired (it may not please the current director as much, but he hasn't squawked). This was C.W.Smith's novel, Steplings, which I really think is good. We published four of Charlie's novels. Although I knew the passages he read, it was fun to hear it in his voice. Afterward went to dinner with Charlie, his wife and daughter and the guy who filmed his video trailer, plus his publicist who is a friend. We go way back and have lots of ties in common, so it was especially good to visit with Lisa Taylor.

Today I worked--ran some errands but was home by 9:30 and applied myself to the computer--sent out invitations to the next Bookish Frog event, roughed out a speech to book clubs, finished rereading what I've written on mystery #3 and even wrote about a thousand new words. Hooray for me.
Tonight I had dinner with Kathie and Rick, two dear friends, and an added bonus was that we went to Lucille's where they're having Lobsterama--all kinds of lobster dishes at reasonable prices. I had a whole Maine lobster with drawn butter and a salad with blue cheese dressing--but not the house blue cheese vinaigrette that I thought I was ordering. Kathie refused to fight with taking a lobster out of the shell and had a lobster roll, but Rick and I both had the whole thing. Somewhere along the way I learned to deal with lobster fairly easily, and I do love it. I would always order the whole thing just to get the claw meat--so succulent and sweet.
Tomorrow I'll meet Jordan at church and then we'll come home for chicken salad for lunch. Then I get to nap and work on the novel again. And I plan to experiment and fix myself a spinach souffle for supper. The real reason that I went out this morning was that I forgot to bu spinach.
My kind of weekend.

Some good writing, a long nap, rain and homemade pizza

Today was a holiday, even for me--no school for FWISD students, which frees me to my old schedule of working in the early afternoon and napping in the late. I wrote almost 2000 words and felt good about what I'd done--as opposed to yesterday, though last night I reread all that I had so far and it didn't seem that bad to me for a first draft. But I worked away this afternoon, and the ideas seemed to flow. Love that feeling. I took a late, long nap and then lay in bed, daydreaming--sometimes great plot ideas come to me when I do that. But I realized I smelled rain--my greenhouse window vents in the kitchen were open and sure enough,  the streets were wet. As I write it's raining pretty steadily--what a blessing. Yes, it's humid, but who cares.
Tonight I did something I haven't done in years--made homemade pizza. I'm not particularly a pizza fan, having overdosed on it in high school when we used to eat it cold for breakfast the morning aftre a party. When my kids were little I would spread dough in a jelly roll pan and section off parts, so each child could put on favorite toppings. But now when the kids suggest ordering pizza--or as Jamie often does, going to the pizza parlor which has sentimental value from high school--I either pack a sandwich or eat what passes for a salad. Make pizza nowadays? Never.
But Jacob announced he had a special recipe. You put it (I had to ask what and was told chicken) in the oven for 20 minute,s take it out, put pepper on it, and you have pizza chicken (piece of chicken?). I promised him we'd make pizza tonight, so today I pulled a sauce recipe off the web and let it  simmer so long I burned it--luckily it didn't taste but once again I'm scrubbing and soaking. Bought a Boboli 8" crust, cooked some lean ground beef with salt, pepper and garlic powder. Had Jacob spoon on the sauce, then sprinkle the ground meat, and top with shredded mozarella. I despise buying shredded cheese but it's a lot cheaper.
Result was pretty good--knife and fork pizza because it was piled so high with ingredients. We ate maybe a third, so Christian has good leftovers. Trouble is Jacob doesn't really like ground meat so he didn't eat much.
Now I've got everyone to bed except Sophie--and I'm dreading taking her out for her evening excursion in the rain. Hope I have to get used to that.

Grandsons and sports

Kegan, four-and-a-half, had his first Little League practice, and as the picture shows, he was deadly serious about it. He's a bit small for his age but he makes up for it in determination. His dad says he was really dialed in to what he was doing while the other kids were goofing off.  That's okay--I remember the days his dad used to stand and watch a soccer ball roll by him. But good for Kegan.

And Jacob got his soccer outfit yesterday. Nothing would do but he put it on immediately when he came in from school.

And this is how Jacob starts his school day Sophie insists on going out to the porch even before they arrive. Not sure how I'll explain to her that there is no school tomorrow. That's sort of how my days go--dogs and puppies and Jacob. This morning it was errands; tomorrow morning the grocery store plus I have to take my car in--the top is not going back down as it should. I never seem to get a block of time to write, but I did manage 1400 words this afternoon and may get another bit done tonight. The novel hasn't quite taken off in my mind yet, but the idea is to get that first draft down on paper.
A lovely day--high of 82--made it hard not to sneak out to the front porch with a book. I have a rather "deep" book to review: True Confessions: Feminist Professors Tell Stories Out of School. Got to dig into it.
And to think I worried about retirement, afraid I'd wake up in the morning and wonder what I could do with my day! I am now a big fan of retirement and wondering how I ever found time to work.
Ooops. Just ended the day with a water disaster. I was at the dining table in the back room, three feet from the back door, keeping an eye on Jacob and Sophie in the back yard--but not close enough. He turned the hose on her, then brought a muddy, sopping wet puppy in the house. Confession: I lost my temper. Jacob said I hurt his feelings. Well, forgive me, but I had to towel the puppy (who is still damp) and mop the floor. Now all is quiet--Jacob and family have gone home, Scooby's in his bed, and Sophie is definitely winding down, poor damp thing. Some days I'm more ready for sleep than others.

Back to work

A fuzzy picture of Sophie patiently waiting for her morning hug from Jacob as he goes to school. She devils me to take her outside when she realizes it's about time. When Jacob hugs her, he gets the most blissful look on his face. Tonight he and I had a theological discussion. I told him Wywy had died and he asked if she (he, it) was in heaven. I said, "Well, cat heaven." He launched into an explanation of how God is invisible to us but in heaven you can see him so Wywy can see him and then he decided that she's up there playing with Pecos, the dog my neighbors Jay and Susan lost a few months ago. The simple faith of a child is a most comforting thing.
Today I got the tentative (I guess it's tentative--it's a bit scary) publication schedule for my next novels. Skeleton in a Dead Space is the first Kelly O'Connell mystery; the second, No Neighborhood for Old Women, is written, under contract, and as of tonight, in the hands of the editor. It will be released in April. The third novel, however, is untitled and essentially unwritten--I have about 5,000 words which only leaves me at least 65,000 to go. It's scheduled for release in August, which means I have to put my shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone, and all those other cliches. Life keeps getting in the way but I really have to buckle down now, and I couldn't be happier about it. I went back to the third novel this morning and did get caught up in it. I'm working on carving myself big blocks of time to work. All of this is pretty exciting for me, and I feel fortunate.
Megan read Skeleton and I asked if she recognized her nieces. She said, "Oh, I recognized a whole lot of stuff." When my mentor Fred first read it, I said something about it being in some ways autobiographical, and he said he would never have asked but he wondered. So there, dear reader, it's for you to figure out what came from my life and what didn't. By the second novel, Kelly has definitely established her own life and there's no autobiography--except my two darling granddaughters.
Feels good to have goals and deadlines and be working.

Writer's Block

Every writer suffers from it sometime--the almost desperate feeling that you have no idea where this project, be it novel, short story, non-fiction, even corporate report, is going, no idea how to push forward on it. The classic wisdom says "Write through it."
I've been stymed on the new novel I started.Wrote what I thought was a pretty good first chapter and then lost steam. I dealt with it by ignoring it. I could keep myself most busy with blogging, writing guest blogs, emails (suddenly people got long answers from me), Facebook, and reading. I thought about the novel a bit, with guilt, but kept busy. Last weekend I forced myself back to it, but Saturday was a day when I'd worked so hard by nine in the morning I was ready for a nap. Instead Jacob and I headed for Central Market and then met his folks at Smashburger's for a cheeseburger. End result: I was tired and full, and I was so sleepy when I sat down at the computer that I coiuld barely think. Still, I remembered "write through it" and I wrote. Later, after a nap, I realized that I had been just puting words on paper. They were lifeless and didn't get the story anywhere. Too much telling and explaining.
Sunday I started over and found some scenes flowed nicely--I was dealing with the delemma which with I had opened the novel, but I sure couldn't keep that ball in the air for another 60,000 words or more. Truth was, I had one idea but not a novel in mind.
Some of you may remember I dream vividly and frequently and usually remember those dreams. Last night I dreamt that I was a neighborhood activist. Some people wanted to move a development into a historic neighborhood and I was fighting it. Bad guys were threatening me, and in a bit of over-the-top drama planned to kidnap and murder me. I was out in the street, appealing for neighbors to help but none did., none believed me. Well, I don't think things will get that extreme in my novel, though maybe close. But there was my idea for Plot B.
Kelly, my protagonist (do read Skeleton in a Dead Space), is a realtor who rennovates Craftsman houses and is passionately dedicated to preserving historic neighborhoods. So what could be better than a developer who wants to put a big-box store on the lovingly restored main street of her neighborhood.  That's as far as I'm going with a spoiler.
Unfortunately today, what with car repairs--trips to the dealership and a body shop--plus a lunch date, then Jacob after school, and a dinner date, I haven't had time to develop the idea more in my mind. Still it's firmly fixed there and I hope to work on it in the next couple days--if not, over the weekend. I'm feeling good about writing again tonight. And all those distractions--dogs and cat, Jacob, friends--I wouldn't trade for them.

The Magic of a Mentor

I've written 3000 words on a new novel--barely a drop in the bucket--but I felt that I was wandering around in the story. Yesterday, at lunch, I handed the pages to Fred, my mentor, and then I put it aside from my mind. I'm reading galleys on the first novel, due out August 29, and I need to concentrate on that. But I'm a great believer in the "back burner"--I think things simmer in the back of your mind when you're not consciously thinking about them. If I sit myself down and say, "Now I'm going to plot this novel," I come up with zip. But if I wait and let it come when I'm at the keyboard, ideas flow.
Late last night I wrote Fred an email that simply said, "There has to be a murder." I am what they call a pantser--I write by the seat of my pants and not with an outline, though I have a general idea of what's in a story.
Today I got Fred's  response--as always, he told me to slow down, write in more backstory. This time he said I had packed so much emotional intensity into six pages that it threatened to wear a reader out--spread it out (another version of slow down). He suggested some possible plot scenarios--I think I'll take some, omit others. Even as I proof another book I can feel ideas for this new one simmering in my mind, and I itch to get back to that manuscript--a good and positive feeling. I think that's why I keep writing, since I'll obviously never become rich. I have long said working things out in words is for me like the satisfaction a mathematician gets from working out a complex problem.
110 officially today--and it makes me feel 110. Picked up Jacob at 4:30--the hottest place I ever go is the side of that gymnasium as I walk to get him. Home to juggle a five-year-old boy, two dogs who had to pee but couldn't stay out in the heat, dinner, then feed the animals, take the garbage carts down and, in a fit of compulsion, bathe the puppy. It was Sophie's first bath and she didn't enjoy it much but I guess it wore her out as much as me. She's sleeping at my feet right now. Of course, after bathing her, I had to shower to get rid of eau d' puppy.
Supposed to be even hotter tomorrow. I think I'll stay in all day--no errands, no lunch out, just me and the animal kingdom.

Cats and diets and writing

For those who were kind enough to express concern about my cat, I'm glad to announce that he's doing much better. A visit to the vet this morning showed that he's gained 6 oz. in the last two weeks, and everything about him is better, except that he still has just a bit of his bladder infection. In general, the vet said he's doing well and I may get to keep hydrating him for two years. My second attempt, done without moral support from anyone, was relatively easy--I arranged everything (like an OR or something) before I went to get him. Occasionally while the IV flowed, I'd feel him tense to jump, but I just held firm and talked softly to him. We made it through 2 cc. I did that yesterday, feeling it wasn't fair to inflict on him the traumas of an infusion and a vet trip in one day. Is he grateful? Who can tell? He's a cat.
I promised some time ago not to keep blogging about dieting, but I can't resist saying this: I have gone off Weight Watchers. I told my doctor I was worried about my weight (even though I'd lost weight the day I saw him) and his advice was essentially to quit obsessing about Weight Watchers. So I quit. I joined a free site called LiveStrong (sponsored by the Lance Armstrong Foundation) that counts calories, exercise, and how much water you drink. I haven't learned to enter my exercise or water consumption, but the calorie lesson is a whole new thing. Raspberries and bananas were point-free, but they're sure not calorie-free. Eggplant is close to being calorie-free. But I'm not going to obsess about it. Tonight I had an antipasto plate with a side of asparagus risotto--and I have't checked the calories. Who can figure out an antipasto platter, and I'm sure I don't want to know about the risotto--but it sure was good. And wine and chocolate? They're really high in calories--there is no justice in this world! Honestly feeling a weight off my shoulders. I'll report from time to time.
I'm in a writing quandry. My desk is clear of projects--oh, yes, there's that second novel to revise. But in the next few weeks several family things will take me away from desk time, so should I start revising now, knowing I won't finish? I've been waffling, reading novels, doing busy stuff, but I think I'm going to get serious about starting the revisions. Of course then there's my memoir class tomorrow night, and Jacob the night after, and Mother's Day. But I'm tired of being without purpose--it makes me antsy. (Yes, it's a compulsive nature.) And besides, I would really like the second novel to come out on the heels of the first.

More about mysteries

Mary Higgins Clark is still scaring me. I think what's frightening about her novels is that she makes you face the possibility of the existence of pure evil in human beings. I remember writing a college paper on Iago, the villain from;Othello. The moral dilemma was whether or not Iago was purely evil or was driven to evil by circumstances and those who conspisred against him. I have always chosen to believe that pure evil does not exist in human beings, but Clark makes me doubt that long-held opinon.
Recently one of the Sisters in Crime lists or sub-lists has had a discussion on meaningful deaths. If you're writing about murder, the victim cannot, should not be a throw-away character. Whoever he or she was, they were (ok, pronoun mix--I recognize it and don't know how to get around it) were meaningful people with lives and hopes and dreams and fears. Someone has to feel the impact of their deaths. In Pretend You Don't See Her, the first victim dies six months or so before the novel opens; the second, in the opening pages but almost off-screen as it were. The reader hasn't had any time to build up identification or sympathy or compassion for that person. On the other hand, through the course of the novel, the reader  comes to know--and at least for me, to like very much--Lacy Farrell who is being stalked and hunted. If she dies, the impact on the reader will be overwhelming. In my Skeleton in a Dead Space, the first victim is, obviously, a skeleton. Hard to work up much sympathy for an unknown person who has been dead for many years, and yet so that the death has some impact, I have had Kelly O'Connell, the main character, create almost a fantasy life for the skeleton, so great is her need to know who that body is. In another novel I'm working on (and have put aside for a long time) the first victim (off-screen) is the central figure's grandmother who raised her--the impact of that is easily portrayed. But there are other deaths--of  scoundrels, each in their own way. How do you work up reader sympathy for that? I think it must come from the impact on the central figure who never expected to come close to murder.
Last night, in editing Skeleton, I had an "aha" moment. One of the things we're told about writing any kind of story is that you have to create characters the reader will care about. But another maxim, for mysteries, is start the suspense right away and keep it going. I realized I'd been so occupied with characters--Kelly O'Connell and her two daughters--that I'd spent lots of time on Kelly picking the girls up from school, what they ate for dinner, homework in the evenings and getting them to bed but I'd left the mystery in the background. I'm working on remedying that. And though I've read that manuscript carefully a least a dozen times, I'm all of a sudden seeing lots of extra words--"I seemed to feel" could be "I felt," and that kind of thing. I wonder how many times one can rewrite and revise. No, I don't want an answer.
Nice day. I had lunch with my friend Charles' daughter, Marsha. It was the first time we visited since his death, and we both talked about him a lot. Marsha is blind, and she has taught me about helping a non-sighted person and, I suspect, about helping people in general. We were going to the Flying Fish which she said she liked a lot but when I mentioned Carshon's she said she really liked that, so there we went, which always suits me fine.
Tonight I was expecting Sue and her parents for cocktail hour. What I wasn't expecting was Jacob, but his mom brought him about 4:45. He settled in to watch TV minus a shirt, and I told him he'd have to put it on when company came. When they arrived, he promptly appeared in the kitchen with his shirt. We got it buttoned and then he was off to watch TV--we didn't see another thing of him, so the shirt didn't really matter. Sue's parents are from Canada but they winter in south Texas, and I do enjoy visiting with them. So it was a pleasant evening. More of the holidy spirit, which I feel strongly this year. I'm convinced 2011 is going to be a good year!

Stuff--including more rain

We bought this pillow for Megan thirty-five years

ago or more at a farmer's market. Its survived four children and seven grandchildren, though lately it had begun to lose its stuffing from seams that were coming apart. Such stitchery is not one of my talents, so I took it to a company called Clothes Carpenter where they fixed it for just over $20. I mentioned that its really dirty, but I don't know what to do about that. The woman at the counter said yes, she'd thought about it too, but she had no ideas. Jacob will be delighted to have it back--he likes to put it sidewise behind his head at the end of the bed while he watches TV. I think he thinks its his now--hope his Aunt Megan doesn't want it back.
This morning I got up at eight and turned on the TODAY show as I wandered into the kitchen. They were about to air Matt Lauer's interview with Elizabeth Edwards. Her book, Resilience, has just come out in paper, and she''s added a chapter to the new version about her decision to end her 32-year marriage to John Edwards. So I did what retirement allows you to do--I stopped (okay I did feed the clamoring cat) and watched. Usually the TV is sort of in the background while I go about the morning but I wanted to hear what she had to say. I have enormous admiration for the way she's handled a series of body blows--the death of a child, terminal breast cancer, and the news of her husband's affair, which she gradually figured out was not the one-night stand he'd led her to believe but a long-standing affair that produced a child.She has maintained, at least in public, a grace and dignity, and she still says she married a mrvelous man--he just changed over the years, as people do. We've all seen that in our lives. I was touched beyond words when she said she hoped for eight more years of life so she could be there for her younger children--who of us wants to face, head on, the fact that we may not be here in eight years?
As for John Edwards, she says co-parenting is going well. He is an assistant coach at one of the children's softball games, she goes to the games, and he comes over to talk to her. That they can maintain a camaraderie after all that's happened to them is remarkable, and I admire both of them for that. I'd like to think that in his own way he still loves her but has accepted the consequences of his own actions. Classy lady.
It's raining here again today, after a cool day. We can't complain--rain in the summer is wonderful. But tonight it feel steamy again, even though the temperature is relatively low (in Texas in summer, temperature is always relative--I get so tired of hearing the heat index that I wish they'd never invented or discovered it--it just makes you feel hotter!).
I had a pleasant lunch today with two friends from TCU's Human Resource Department. They both knew I was going home for a nap, so when I said, "Have a great afternoon, ladies," they chorused, "Shut up!" But I actually came home and wrote 2400 words, part of my memoir for the memoir class I teach. I meant to write about parenting but 2400 words never got me past the adoption of my four babies. Meantime my agent is encouraging about getting my short stories on Kindle and sent me some good correspondence he had with a legendary editor about my first mystery--she promises to read it soon.
As usual, life is good.

A really good dinner, if I do say so

Tonight friends Jean Walbridge and Jim Clark came for supper, and I made a recipe from the Star-Telegram series of burger recipes. I used to get great recipes from the newspaper until it cut back dramatically on its food section, so this was a special find. The recipe was for Japanese chicken burgers, which led Jean to say she'd never had a chicken burger. I have several other recipes for them, but this was really unusual and turned out to be terrific. Obviously I can't give the exact recipe for copyright reasons, but I'll say that the burgers had, along with ground chicken, grated fresh ginger (I thought that was going the extra mile--I needed two teaspoons but you can't find small pieces of ginger, so now I have a large piece left in the fridge), garlic and soy sauce. You pan fry them in vegetable oil and serve with cucumber-shallot pickles, made with picked ginger, rice vinegar (okay, I got home with rice wine instead of vinegar so used the chardonnay vinegar I had in the cupboard and will return the rice wine), sugar, water, peppercorns--an English (seedless) cucumber and a shallot. Great with the burger, but the cukes still tasted a lot to me like the ones my mom used to make in cider vinegr and water. The burgers were also served with wasabi mayonnaise--mayo mixed with wasabi powder, which turned out to be white (even though the powder was white I somehow expected it to magically turn green when I mixed it with the mayo; it didn't, so now I'm wondering why wasabi in sushi places is so green). Great combination of tastes. That, with some corn on the cob and a terrific salad Jean brought, was dinner--with hummus and pita chips for an appetizer. Okay, I was mixing cultures, but it worked. Also a good visit. Jim prowls through my books and ignores Jean and me, while we visit. I'm afraid someday he'll have run the gamut of my books--he likes illustrated books of the American West--and won't want to come to dinner any more! But a pleasant evening.
Nice email correspondence with my agent today, mostly about how to get my old books on Kindle, especially since I have no digital copy of the ones fro the '90s--who back then thought to save digital copies once the book was in print. He asked me for my last emails with the editors and again I said, "Duh. I don't have them." Clearly I've cleaned my mailbox out many times since then, and my files on those books have gone to the archive at the Southwest Writers Collection at Texas State University-San Marcos. I do have digital files of my short story collection and permission to turn them into ebooks from the publisher, so maybe that's the place to start. I hear if you sell books for 99 cents to $1.99 on Kindle, you get a lot of orders. What fun! My goal is to have all my older novels, about women of the American West, in Kindle format. Meantime, I'm working away on the new novel--and having fun with it.

Being crabby and staying home

Sometimes I find myself being crabby and then I'm ashamed, but tonight a strange red SUV drove into my driveway as if it had every right to be there--and the driver trotted off to the house next door. When she came back and began to maneuver like she was going to jump the curb, I became alarmed. If she manuevered back and forth, she could easily decimate my decades-old crape myrtle trees. I went out on the porch and said, as politely as I could, "Pardon me, but this is a private driveway." If Jordan had been bringing Jacob over and found another car in the driveway, she'd have been incensed to say the least. The woman looked up in amazement and explained she was just jumping the battery of the car in the next driveway. It belongs to the owner, who is trying to sell the house and with whom I've tangled about upkeep before. (Now that she's trying to sell, she keeps it the lawn and outside in great shape, and we have begun to speak to each other again.) Still, I think the woman in the red car should have knocked on my door and asked if it was okay!
Today was a stay-at-home day--the sprinkler repair people came and fixed my stubborn sprinkler so fast they said there would be no bill; Lewis Bundock, for whom I had a list of small things, came by--the biggie is replacing the bathroom sink, and he promised to be back tomorrow, with a plumber in tow. I've about decided to put a picket fence around the front yard--a grandchild barrier, and we talked about that, my difficult commodes, the piece that does indeed belong on the round oak table (thank you, Colin, for finding that)--and he took away the computer keyboard I'd ruined, smelling it for Chardonnay as he went.
I actually wrote almost 1400 words today and may yet write more tonight. I had the heroine experience a flat tire on the highway because someone stuck a lot of small nails in her tire. Jay suggested that I have the brake line cut, and I rewrote the whole section--which led to an unexpected new scene. When I sent it to Jay for technical approval, he wrote, "Unfair teaser. I want to read the whole book!" Neighbors are great.
In the last week or so I've wanted tuna cakes for dinner--I make them like my mom's salmon croquettes but using that good tuna ordered from Oregon. But each time dinner rolls around I'm too lazy to fix them, so this morning I made tuna cakes and summer squash casserole. Had myself a great dinner, with cooked fresh spinach added.
Since our heat spell continues and it was 100 today, it was good to stay home. I watered my porch plants once and will give them a drink again tonight. I do hope this won't last all summer!

Writing Your Life

Tonight, my class on Writing Your Life met on my front porch--I think this was their fourth meeting, and they are really coalescing into a tight-knit group. I've found this happens with other small groups of women who meet regularly--they bond as sisters. It happened with the contributors to Grace & Gumption: Stories of Fort Worth Women and to the cookbook that will follow in a month or so. But it probably happens more often with this group where we share intimate details of our lives. I contributed an essay for general consumption tonight called "The Horseless Carriage," about how I felt about being single at 71 and the men I've loved in my life. One longtime friend praised me for my openness but said, "This just isn't the Judy Alter I've known as director of TCU Press." Others shared equally unknown secrets, and we laughed over the cookbook chapter of one member who recalled the '60s when we all drank cocktails--remember Gimlets and Manhattans and Salty Dogs (if you served my brother a Manhattan, he used to say, "Say good night to me now."). My parents drank a lot of Manhattans when I was young, but I am sure one would do me under the table now. And Old-Fashioneds--my, how I loved them. Haven't had one in years. At the end of the session, we always have a circle and ask how each person is feeling--some said "Better," some said "Tired," and I said, "Freedom." It's a really rewarding experience, and the ladies seem to enjoy it a great deal.
I've also written 700 words on my mystery today, which feels like an accomplishment. When I read it last night, it wasn't as dull as I thought, and today I inserted an incident in earlier text to heighten the suspense and then went on to write the 700 new words, which I feel is a pretty good accomplishment for a day.
Had a thoroughly enjoyable lunch with Elizabeth, usually my co-partner in this evening's class, though she asked to be excused tonight because she really wanted to write on her memoir project and had some things she wanted to get down on paper. I know that feeling and willingly agreed. I hope she'll share with us next week. I should mention that the class is inspired by the Story Circle Network (look for it on Google) although not many members have joined the network.
The Sisters in Crime listserv has had a lot of posts in the last few days about gender language and discrimination--I think the general conclusion is that pronouns and whether God is he or she don't matter much, but the condition of women in  underprivileged countries matters a lot. I thought about that tonight, with a group of educated, middle-class, economically comfortable women sitting around me telling their life stories. Some of us do indeed have hardships to recount--the loss of a child, physical abuse, physical ailments--but these all pale in the face of what women in other cultures face. We should be grateful. But it also occurs to me that men wouldn't be involved in a group like the one that met on my porch tonight--okay, this may be a generalization,but I am drawn back to the now-old book, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus, which contends that women want to talk about things; men simply want to solve the problem. I still believe it.

Blatant Self Promotion

My cookbook/memoir has been in print a year now, and I decided it's time for what the Sisters in Crime listserv calls blatant self promotion (on the listserv it's strictly forbidden, but hey this is my blog and I can do what I want). Since the number of hits on my blog increases nicely at a good rate, I figured I might have gained some new readers in that year who didn't know about the cookbook, and, golly gee, I should tell them. Besides, the sales people tell me the cover is misleading, as adorable as Jacob is--people think it's a book about teaching kids to cook. So please spread the word--tell all your friends who like to cook and those who read memoirs, that this is not at all a kids book. For one thing, there are a lot of recipes with wine in them. Oh, and please forgive the slightly crooked image--I'm still new at scanning and was actually proud of myself that I was able to scan the cover. I got a new review today on email from a Web site, womensmemoirs.com, and the review, written by Matilda Butler, calls my book "an incredibly charming memoir/cookbook." Apparently Matilda and I have a lot in common such as childhood memories of the "inevitable fried liver" and tongue (I apparently liked it better than she did). But she wrote that we read memoirs in part to evoke memories, and mine connected with her on many points. She concludes by saying that she and I were old friends sharing life stories and recipes, so I hope you--and new readers--feel that way too.

Today was a funny day. I worked all morning, got dressed to go to a luncheon and went by the office, only to discover none of my former office mates were going and they weren't serving lunch--just dessert, which I definitely don't need. So I came home, ate tunafish salad, and reread my mystery for the twenty-twelfth time. Funny thing about writing--sometimes when you write it you think it's awful, but there's that old, tried and true piece of advice--just get the words down on paper. So far I find the first five chapters hold up well. I quit and took a nap when I came to a place in Chapter Six where I need to insert a new incident to increase the tension. It is after all a mystery, and even though it's a cozy, it needs some sense of danger and suspense.

I finished the third Stieg Larsson book and find I need some light reading, after reading the trilogy in fairly rapid succession. It's intense. I have a Pat Conroy novel on my shelf, but I think I'm ready for something lighter right now, maybe that book on the joying of eating at home or the Jim Butcher novel Fred loaned me.

Patrizio's, work, and gardens

For years, Patrizio's at Highland Park Village was my favorite restaurant in Dallas, and I ate there every chance I got. I loved their appetizers, Megan loved the bellinis, and Jamie, the crab claws. Now, Patrizio's has come to Fort Worth. Betty and I ate there tonight and considered it a winner. She had a penne pasta dish, and I had a chopped salad, both excellent. Service was good and so fast it almost made my head spin, atmosphere good. I couldn't talk Betty into dessert, so I had to forego the double chocolate mousse, which would, of course, have required a second glass of wine. I'm not forgetting it for next time, and we've already settled on our menu next time--splitting crab cakes and the hearts of palm salad. The restaurant is one of several in a new very sophisticated high-rise develoment area that includes lots of condos, gyms, a movie theater, etc. The only drawback is that parking is really really difficult. We never could locate the valet parking for Patrizio's, though last week we used the valet service at Bailey's. We decided tonight was one of our better adventures--and the prices are reasonable.
I worked today, though this morning I ran errands--to the office to drop off a manuscript, to Coldwater Creek to check out the 70% off sale (nothing grabbed my attention, and I doubt it was all 70% off), and then to Albertson's for groceries. But after lunch I wrote about 770 words on my novel (now that's become my daily standard--I had an older colleague who said a page a day is a book a year, but I figure I'm outdoing that--and some days I get in more words as I may tonight but then other days I get none written, so it's probably a wash).
Tonight I had my usual evening stint of reading on the porch with a glass of wine and glorying in all the greenery. Boy, do I have a list for Greg tomorrow--I discovered that a fern-like plant in the planter box is overshadowing a struggling oregano plant (and I don't think the fern is edible--Greg know what it is, but I think it needs trimming). My fig tree has more figs than you can imagine, some of them enormous. I watch them carefully because I want to get to them before the birds and squirrels do, but they're just not quite ripe yet. Greg is supposed to put down grass in the way back part of the back yard, where it had all died, and I need to call his attention to the weeds and sprouting trees in the narrow space between my house and my neighbors. It seems every time I go out in the yard, I find something else that needs attention.

Trying to write after reading Stieg Larsson

Last night I finished the second in Stieg Larsson's trilogy--The Girl Who Played with Fire. And today I resolved to get back to my own novel, after a weekend of dilly-dallying. Do you know how hard it is to write a cozy after reading the compellingly noir Larsson books? I felt like a ninny, and in truth I wrote almost 600 uninspired words and quit. I know the story needs to be more than dialogue, even if I am fairly comfortable writing dialog and moving the action along that way--maybe it's time for another rewrite to insert more description. But anyway I gave up, worked on paying bills, all the kinds of things you do to avoid writing. I always remember Erma Bombech, who said she would rather scrub floors than face a blank sheet of paper in her typewriter--that was her day. Today it's a blank computer screen.
Took a nap and went to visit Charles at Trinity Terrace, told him about my uninspired writing, and he said, "Tomorrow is another day." Later when I said I was going home to eat supper and try to write some more, he said, "I'll inspire you." Well, I don't know if he did or not, but I erased part of what I had written earlier, changed the scene, and ended up writing 1200 words. Inspired? No idea until I read it tomorrow.
I ordered the third Stieg Larsson book today for my Kindle--The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. Amazon always sends  you a thank you and says you can begin reading immediately, but that was at 11:00 this morning; by seven tonight, I still didn't have it, though I checked my bank account, and it had been charged. Finally I turned the Kindle off and back on, but I still didn't see it, so I called. Well--red face--by the time I got the technician he said they showed it had been delivered ten minutes earlier and suggested that if I ever had that trouble again to turn it off and back on. At first I thought since these books are so intense I'd take a rest before reading the third one but I'm afraid I'm irresistibly hooked. And unlike many sequels that jump to new action, this one takes up right where the last one ended--in fact, the very same evening. Okay, I have to go read now.