Writing Class

Every English major thinks they have the Great American Novel buried somewhere deep within them. If only they had the time to dig it out! If only they followed their muses, were willing to live in an artist’s garret, to write away with the monastic dedication of the truly possessed, they could do it! These many artiste wannabees, artist-manqués, dab hands, ersatz and erstwhile geniuses, these would-be chroniclers of America in this brave new century believe that if only they were possessed with writing and only writing, were more interested in portraying society than living happily within it, if they were truly obsessed (and also alcoholic, depressed, violent, misanthropic, childish, churlish and needy in the way many writers apparently are?) with violating the sanctity of the blank page with their humble (OK, not so humble) words, they could catch the big brass ring and write the next MOBY DICK.

It’s comforting to think you could have done something, that you have an untapped reservoir of talent that you will someday dip into when you are done doing all those other things that are getting in your way, after you have met all your deadlines and fulfilled all your commitments, which of course you will never do (meet the commitments or write the novel). To imagine you could have been a writer, a contender, a star is more pleasant than doing the hard work it takes to be one only to find out you don’t have what it takes. I read somewhere that 90% of people think they are better than average drivers. I think 100% of the attendees of writing classes, either in MFA programs or in places like Skidmore’s Summer Writers’ Institute, think they could be great, if only they didn’t have to pick up the dry-cleaning, and the leaves in the damn yard would rake themselves.

Writing classes presently thrive, for both memoir and fiction. Some commentators see them as a kind of portal to self discovery, and even a means to mental health. I believe that about as much as I believe in Pyramid Power, but let’s leave that for later. Others see them as a sign we are becoming increasingly narcissistic, telling ordinary stories about mundane lives in prosaic ways, believing that the lives we chronicle or create are more interesting than they truly are. I will leave that question for cultural critics more learned than I. One thing these classes can do is make you feel like you are more dedicated to writing than perhaps you actually are. For another, they help perpetuate the above-mentioned delusions of grandeur. Still, I am pretty sure some people benefit from them. They are, after all, merely tools, and tools used properly can perform a function. And anyway, writing classes can be great fun, a place to meet like-minded souls, especially in those times of year when they don’t have new episodes of THE BLACKLIST or BETTER CALL SAUL on the boob tube.

At a time when it is harder and harder to make a living as a writer, to actually sell your writing to anyone, more and more people are ponying up the bucks to learn how to write. And although many of them will tell you they are doing so merely as a recreational activity, to joyously reactivate their long dormant literary muscles, most of them secretly harbor dreams of greatness. Including me, to tell the truth, even though I know most writers, even good ones, even if I am a good one (which of course is open to debate), will never be published, although some of them may become writing teachers. That is the weirdly incestuous thing about the present state of writing—it is easier to make a living off the dreams that other people have of being real writers than to be one yourself.

Are the people who pay for these courses (the ones who truly work hard and try to learn what is being “taught”) getting their money’s worth? Can writing be taught? Can instruction make a mediocre writer good, or a good one great? The prevailing wisdom about artistic endeavor is that effort is more important than talent, and that the truly virtuosic must spend 10,000 hours or more becoming virtuosos. While it is true that most people don’t have the drive to put in those hours, are those with the will to do so guaranteed elite status? If this is true, does it hold true regardless of the potential for verbal acuity nature blessed you with at birth? Putting aside for a moment the subjective nature of writing as an art, and the fact that even a great writer can remain unpublished, I just can’t imagine virtuosos can be made without first possessing virtuosic gifts. Some of writing is indeed perspiration, the application of your butt to the seat of your writing chair for long periods of time, and yet inspiration is part of the process too. Some people are never going to create a truly interesting metaphor or simile in all the many tedious pages they write. Their words are flightless birds. I wanted to be a great basketball player when I was a kid, and at some point had to face the facts—I did not have the size and athletic ability required, and I never would. The untutored six-foot-six guy that could dunk the ball behind his head had an advantage over me that no amount of training was ever going to erase.

But then there is more room for delusion in writing than in basketball, isn’t there? If the man I am guarding drops 40 on me, and blocks every shot I attempt, it is clear that I have been outgunned and outmanned. But writing greatness is not so clearly defined. The incoherent can claim to be too far ahead of the intellectual curve to be understood, and the mundane can put there boringness down to the short declarative style of a Hemingway, even as they fail to grasp that Hemingway managed to say more than was written on the page, while they are managing to say less.

Like me with basketball, it would appear there are some hopeless cases. Those with a kind of writing aphasia, who were born with the writing part of their brain missing, and who don’t know it. Because that is another way that writing is unique, and uniquely beguiling—we all use language and we all manage to say something interesting every now and then, like the broken clock that is right twice a day, so it is easy to fool ourselves into thinking we can produce deathless prose. But what of the person who has some facility with the language—not a prodigy, but a journeyman, not particularly well-read, but somewhat read, who doesn’t have a huge capacity for reflection and hard work, but rather has a somewhat better than average one? Can this person become better with instruction? Or will, as some people claim, writing class be the death of all possibility for true originality for this every man, every writer?

To put it simply—some things about writing are more easily taught then others. True originality and verbal invention are not teachable, writing class can make you more aware of things like problems with reasoning or structure, tense, missing links in a chain of argument, and it can make your work more accessible and coherent, but also more bland and ordinary, by taking all that is polarizing or controversial in it and smoothing it over or taking it out in order to please everyone in the class who has some kind of complaint with it. You can get better with help—not great, but better. But you can also get worse. Knowing who to listen to and who to ignore is essential in writing classes, which brings us back to a version of the original question—can knowing who to listen to be taught?

It breaks down along the lines of art and craft. Craft can be taught. Technique can be transmitted from one human being to another. Invention, originality, voice—these cannot. And one without the other makes for only half a writer. And the more important part is the talent—a writer with talent will eventually teach herself craft. There was an excellent movie called FINDING FORRESTER, starring Sean Connery as a JD Salinger type of misanthropic and reclusive writer. He takes a young black kid with great talent under his wing. The kid is bedeviled by a teacher at the preppy high school he gets into, and he asks Forrester, who knows the guy, what the man’s story is. Connery replies—he knows everything there is to know about writing and he still can’t do it.

Next week—my adventures in writing workshops, classes, symposia, and salons along with my thoughts on the efficacy of instruction manuals.

© 2015 Mike Welch

My Writing Style

Donna Lagone is a fellow member of SinC's Upstate chapter, the Mavens of Mayhem. She's a Displaced Brooklynite like myself who lives with her husband and daughter in the Stockade District of Schenectady. She was for years a nurse at the Schenectady County Jail, as she was in Iraq during the War. REFLECTIONS, her first novel, got great reviews, so she's taken it on a world-wide Book Tour.

Tomorrow, by the way, is her birthday.

Robert Knightly

---

Every writer approaches his or her computer, tablet, typewriter, or yellow legal pad in a uniquely different manner. I have always been interested in how a writer writes.

The idea for the novel Reflection to be truthful came from a writing prompt placed on a table at the creative writing workshop I was attending by our instructor. There stood an assortment of photos, theatre tickets, shoes, a silver hand mirror, along with a large ornate hair comb. Seeing the hand mirror, I was captivated, the seeds were planted. Then again having an idea for a story is only the beginning of the journey.

Time, place, and characters, get to know them the easiest way for me is by creating a storyboard advice given by a dear colleague, I make lists;

Characters: I do a complete personality study not only for my main characters but also secondary as well. Appropriate names that fit into the time and place of the story, you do not want to name your protagonist Tippy if she was born in Mexico in the year 1881. What are their likes, dislikes, hair color, eye color, types of clothing, foods, careers, important times in your characters’ lives. I also do a physiological study (state of mind, reactions in certain situations, introverted, short tempered, or weak willed etc.)

Time: A timeline is very important, dates of birth, marriages, deaths and in addition what historic events were occurring during that era. Day to day occurrences especially in a murder mystery are extremely important, even hour to hour as the murder stalks his victim. Reflection, takes place from the year 1915 through to 1999 almost a century so the timeline line had to be spot on.

Place: Where is the story-taking place, real time in your neighborhood, or Mexico in the year 1915. It matters not where you place story, what matters is you the writer becomes at home with, the country, neighborhood or planet for that matter your story is set in. I was fortunate to live in Mexico but not during the time of my story. I had to re-familiarize myself with the culture, travel, religion, and Mexican family life a century ago.

Research: Research, research, research if your information is flawed you will lose credibility with your reader and do not think you may creak by unseen. Some reader will know if your facts are correct no matter how obscure the topic. Research is fun still it must not become your focus, it is the means to an end, hopefully. This information is tacked on the storyboard and not all material is used in the story. It is there for my thought process only.

Now is the time to put pen to parchment and write.

I puke write, now I know that is not a lady like term yet that is what I do. I write whatever I have planned for the day if it is two or four chapters I write them. Ideas and creativity, conversation with characters and yes we chat, mostly they are telling me how to write their story, I find let lost in the mechanics of editing. I am disciplined and write up to six hours a day with Wednesday and Sunday off for good behavior. After puking for six hours the next day I go back with a fresh eye and edit, still trying to keep at bay the opinions of my characters. Editing and revisions are ongoing and good example of that is; I thought I knew the ending of my novel until it came time to write it. I woke up in the middle of the night and said no it cannot end that way, I tend to get my ideas at odd times and places more than I like to confess. I knew the ending now and went down to my office at three o’clock in the morning to write it. The next day I realized the new ending had been alluded to throughout the whole story without my knowledge on the other hand my protagonist obviously knew cheeky devil.

I am comfortable with my style of writing, it fits my chaotic life yet I am always open to change and finding new ways of putting pen to parchment and weaving an intriguing tale.

Donna Lagone

“Fast Talking Woman”

I’m a fast talking woman,

Tough, Strong,

Hey Mom, Hey Hon,

Cut to the chase.

A healer to the wounded and broken,

Fighter, counselor to the forgotten,

It’s OK, need a place to stay?

I am a fast talking woman.

 Perfect, flawed, young, old,

“Woman with Yellow Hair”

 Spirit from long past, a Crone,

A traveler who loves a cheerful hearth,

Come on let’s go, time is on loan,

I’m a fast talking woman,

With a heart that flies

And tears in her eyes.

Angela Zeman — One of MWA's New York Treasures!

Angela, charming, talented, gifted mystery writer, is also one of the pillars of the illustrious New York Chapter of the Mystery Writers of America. Widely known for her popular Mrs. Risk (the witch) stories, Zeman's series, "The First Tale of Roxanne", debuted in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, as the May 2013 issue's cover story. Her book, The Witch and the Borscht Pearl, is now a collector's item.

A former gemologist and Scuba Divemaster, Zeman has worn many hats at MWA: Editor of the Edgar Awards Annual, Chair of Best Short Story Committee, Chair of the Edgars Symposium, NY Regional Board of Directors, to name a few.

She is also a member of Private Eye Writers of America, International Association of Crime Writers, International Thriller Writers and the New York Friars Club.

Her favorite current crime writers include Robert Crais, Val McDermid, Elmore Leonard, Michael Connolly, Lee Child, Carol O'Connell, Daniel Silva. She likes series authors, dark suspense thrillers, Golden Age, Pulps, Noir, Harry Potter, Tolkien, graphic novels and comics!

Living in New York City is her idea of a dream life!

"What is your strongest talent as a writer?" I asked her recently.

"Story, Although some say character, which to me is story."

"What is your worst feature?"

"Rabid perfectionism — which means I'm a slow writer. Frustration — at time stolen from writing."

Please welcome Angela Zeman and her intriguing replies and leave your question or comment at the end.

T. J. Straw

---

Thelma: You have served MWA in so many important ways… Editor of the Edgar Awards Annual for the 2001 Banquet; Chair of Best Short Story Committee; twice as Chair of the Edgars Symposium; National Board of Directors; NY Regional Board of Directors; co-author with Barry on award-winning non-fiction articles about the mystery field, to name a few.

You were also one of the founders of MWA-NY. We'd love to hear more about this… MWA-NY has become a rock to so many of us… we'd love to know how you put it together…

Angela: Well said! NY and all the chapters consistently outdo themselves, continually evolving to fill authors’ ever-changing needs in the publishing landscape. MWA always was, and is now even more so, a formidable Professional Organization. I’m proud to be a member. I joined in 1985.

Still, this may be the hardest question you could have asked me. Growing pains are never easy. Newer members may not be aware that for decades, pre-NY Chapter, no regional chapters had automatic representation on the National Board. All MWA business was conducted at the monthly National meetings, followed by a dinner meeting that any MWA member could attend if they wished to pay the fee. All MWA Board Directors were chosen from a nationwide slate of Active status candidates, but a majority had to come from the NY region—which included NY, NJ, CT, the Mid-Atlantic states and DC—so that each meeting would have a quorum in order to properly conduct MWA business, mostly by snail mail. Can you imagine? In later years, when somebody invented Teleconferencing, we leaped for it!

The work load was immense. To be a National Director then was to agree to work hard and man committees—plural—no excuses. The Edgar Awards were, and still are, awarded in NYC. The Symposium at that time ended with a free (very nice!) cocktail party, and MWA often offered extra events for socializing.

The regions, however, came to view the situation as if NY had some kind of special advantage. I personally don’t understand where that idea originated, but nothing about it was true. Still, letters began arriving voicing concerns that they weren’t being fully represented. This occurred around ’89 or ’90. After a period of time it was decided that a NY regional chapter should be established and more representation on the Board should come from each regional chapter. With great results.

Alice Orr volunteered to head the committee to create the NY Region Chapter. She drafted my husband, Barry, and me to help, among a handful of others. Somehow I became Treasurer. You can see how it operated! Alice has a forceful personality. Fortunately, she and the rest of us operated from a place of good humor about it all. I wish I could name all the other initial Directors. I don’t remember. I believe Bill Chambers was one. Annette and Marty Meyers for sure. Maybe Al Ashforth, I’m not sure. (I welcome corrections!)

It was a great move. Look at all the new, wonderful functions that have grown in every region! Sleuthfest, NE Clambake, mentoring programs, newsletters expanded (although I miss Annette and Marty’s column, “All the Noose”). MWA has continued to grow as the Professional Organization I believe the founders had in mind since its birth in 1945. Which inspires me to announce that I should post Barry’s and my award winning account of the birth of MWA. Look for it in my website blog (www.AngelaZeman.com “Murphy’s Blog”). Soon.

Back to the NY Chapter: after two years of being Treasurer (and serving on a multitude of committees) I begged to be replaced. Jim Weikart, a professional accountant, stepped in. Poor guy, he worked for years at that job. Then he went on to do the same for National. He was so good nobody wanted him to stop!

Thelma: PW has called your work "magical". Tell us about the origin of your famous character, Mrs. Risk, well-known to readers of the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and the MWA Anthology, The Night Awakens, edited by Mary Higgins Clark.

Angela: Mrs. Risk is still with me, which feels as odd to me as it probably sounds to you. One day, I entered my home office and even before I sat, ‘Poof!’ She appeared in my head, fully fleshed out in every aspect of personality, appearance, some of her cohorts, and location. I froze in amazement. I have no explanation for it. At the time, we lived on Long Island in a village much like Wyndham-By-The-Sea. And the stories began. Alfred Hitchcock published the first one in 1993. My FIRST sale! Editor Cathleen Jordan even phoned me to buy it! Can you imagine? A phone call! (I had sold another story, in 85, which qualified me for Active status, but that magazine folded. Eight years is a heart-rending gap between sales.)

Cathleen then added, “Wouldn’t it be fun to make her a witch?” I answered, “Um…sure!” (Flummoxed. But who’s going to argue with Cathleen?) I had no idea of the difficulties of making her a believable witch, a subject about which I was completely blank. I read book after book. I did my best. Then one day, after a nice AHMM series run, in her column at the beginning of the magazine, Ms. Jordan revealed her suspicions that maybe Mrs. Risk wasn’t a witch after all. And after that, I had to sell Mrs. Risk elsewhere. My agent, Don Maass then told me it was time I wrote a novel about her. So I did. The reason I picked the subject of stand-up Borscht Belt comedians is written about in several places, so I won’t repeat it here.

Thelma: As a fan of your charming book, The Borscht Pearl, I'd like to know more about how you weave the Jewish Borscht Belt background into your stories.

Angela: I guess I will repeat it here! Ok. The personality of Mrs. Risk, witchy or no, was difficult. She had firm opinions, shall we say? So she had few friends as a result. However, to be her friend was to possess her unswerving devotion. And her friend, ‘Pearl’ (Velma) Schrafft, a formerly world-renowned comedienne who desperately needed to stage a come-back or go bankrupt, landed in enormous trouble. Her beloved husband had died, plus she’d suffered a serious heart attack. Her stage name, the ‘Borscht Pearl’ came from her early years doing the rounds in the Catskills, the Borscht Belt comedy circuit. She decided to stage her return as a televised Thanksgiving Evening at the most beloved of venues, Kutsher’s Country Club, which is a genuine resort in Monticello, NY. Every detail in that book is genuine, folks. I can even name who each character is in reality, but I won’t. Mrs. Kutsher, the owner and a woman legendary for her kindness, allowed me to interview her at length. She gave me (and my family) the run of her resort over the weekend. My daughter, around ten at the time, was agog at all the amenities. While I was poking behind doors and backstage, she tried to do it all, which is impossible. It’s still one of her favorite memories.

Ironically, late Saturday night, the booked show suddenly backed out. So she phoned Alan King, who was in the middle of a golf game, to help. He ditched his clubs and came. The first thing he said was… ”What am I doing here? I’m RETIRED.” And then he explained how much he owed to Mrs. Kutsher—a launch into his entire career. A formidable lineup of performers owed much to Mrs. Kutsher. He held up his hands and said, “How could I say no?”

And how could I not write about it?

Freddie Roman, the Dean of the East Coast Friar’s Club, allowed me to interview him, leading to my admission to the Friar’s Club. A genuine ‘booker’ of talent for the Catskills talked to me, as did others in the field. A great experience that will never leave me. So… in the book… Pearl’s only asset, a magnificent gift of love from her husband: a South Sea (Borscht colored) pearl necklace. (Mikimoto helped me ‘design’ it! It was real!) Her manager, who had literally created her vocation of comedian, is murdered. The cops (another great experience with the Suffolk County Homicide Department) consider Pearl their main suspect. There’s more. All was at stake. Mrs. Risk, as was her method, bullied her way into the situation and… but I won’t spoil the story for you. Mysterious Press has re-issued the book. And also a companion book of Mrs. Risk’s stories in a first ever collection.

She was a great success. I have reams of new plots about her, and another finished novel I never tried to sell. I suffered burnout. I rebelled. I wanted to write other things. Frankly, I wanted to write everything mystery, not just Mrs. Risk. Even within her stories I experimented with voices, and POVs. Writing is difficult, but a joyland! How could I not explore?

Thelma: How does your writing fit into your activities as a member of the famous Friar's Club?

Angela: My activities? They consist of me sitting around schmoozing with whoever shows up. It’s a Club of extroverts who treat the club as a second home. A warm place, welcoming people, a staff who behaves like extended family. Pretty good food, too. I’ve taken many people there as my guest. The Club occupies a fabulous well-maintained brownstone so I include a tour when I bring visitors. Yeah, I work hard there ☺

Thelma: What inspired you to place Long Island into your writing?

Angela: Because my village was cute. Port Jefferson as it was then, was pretty much as described in the book, with some liberties taken. As my stories appeared, my friends clamored to be included. So I put them in. I used real names and occupations, even descriptions. They loved it! When my then-agent Don Maass found out he was horrified. Another agent got a tv producer interested in her IF I moved her to Charleston, SC. No problem! I worked like a maniac to put together a package for him. Tom Sawyer, a famous former show-runner and MWA buddy, helped me do it in professional style, because I knew nothing about tv series! The producer kept it for about two years before rejecting it. I came up with a plot for the series pilot, and then about twenty additional plot ideas for more shows. Later, I took her deeper into the Charleston idea, making her very dark. The same agent said, “Whoa, back up.” So I crafted the idea for a graphic novel, which, without an artist, still resides in my computer. No, joke, I want to try everything!

Which, by the way, all shows MWA in action. Mystery writers, I’ve discovered early, are notorious for lifting each other up. We succeed by way of each other’s helping hands. A feature not known in other genres, I’ve heard. I have a list of ‘heroes.’ People who willingly and generously gave me help. Here’s an example: I first joined MWA’s Midwest Chapter when I lived in Indianapolis, in the 80’s. Scared to death, unpublished, shy, I arrived at my first Dark and Stormy weekend in Chicago. Early, nobody else there yet, except the janitor. He was busy setting up chairs and tables, but kind and easy to talk to, relieving some of my nerves. Then the meeting started. The janitor went to the podium up front and introduced himself to newcomers as the Chapter President, Stuart Kaminsky. He stayed my good friend and mentor ever since, and I miss him terribly. This is not a rare occurrence in MWA.

Thelma: Have you written suspense novels?

Angela: I’m writing one now. It incorporates a bit of horror, also, which is fairly new for me. I’ve written suspense stories which sold and reviewed well. That encouraged me to try this novel.

Thelma: What led you into writing mystery stories?

Angela: My mother was a war widow, a working single mother. So on Sunday, we’d go to church, then pick up a Whataburger (heard of those? I’m from Texas.) Then we’d hit the library and split up at the door. I’d read all afternoon upstairs in the children’s section—the red, green, yellow, etc, ‘fairy books.’ The Grimm brothers’ work. Serious horror, believe me! And then at home I read whatever books my mother had around—always mysteries. Thrillers, suspense, noir, the classic Golden Age mysteries, she had them all. So, it was no doubt her influence. Plus, think about it—a story has to contain conflict (aka ‘mystery’) or there’s no story, no matter the genre.

Thelma: What in your background prepared you as a suspense writer?

Angela: No idea. Well, except I possess what my husband considers a highly irritating trait: I want to know WHY about everything. I analyze. I want explanations.

Thelma: When you begin a story, do you map out things in advance? What comes first—character? plot? Other?

Angela: I plot every story in stream of consciousness style, but it closely resembles a movie treatment more than a synopsis. And I must know the end before I start. What comes first? Maybe something I read—I read everything. Sometimes a name I feel drawn to, like Roxanne, a series I just started in AHMM. And in her case, since it drives me NUTS not to find the order/pub date of authors’ works in Amazon, I titled Roxanne’s story, “The First Tale of Roxanne.” Nobody will have any questions about the order of her stories.

Thelma: What is your ultimate goal as a writer?

Angela: I just hope to live a long long life. I have so much to write. Piles of ideas, plots, characters.

If someone comes to me aspiring to write, but they don’t sit down and actually write anything? They’re not writers. Then there’s the ones whose goals are quick fame and riches, well, good luck. It’s rare, but it happens. However, if you MUST write, if you just have to! You are a writer. I’m a writer.

Thelma: In this iffy climate, what advice do you have for both new and experienced writers?

Angela: This climate get iffier all the time, so nothing is for sure. The main rule, to me, is: Keep your rights. NEVER sell ‘all’ rights to anything. EVER! Plus, right now? Market like a maniac, and explore every venue to find your place. Self-publishing is no longer maligned as in the past. Although, do your homework to guard yourself from cheats. I’m lucky, I came from art AND advertising backgrounds. Although I wish I didn’t have to market so much. Time consuming. However, I’ve worked many jobs. Every job has something in it that you don’t like. It is what it is.

The Cocoon

Matt Coyle presents Yesterday's Echo

A board member of MWA-Southern California, Matt Coyle reminds us he owes part of his writing career to Raymond Chandler. But insiders know it is the inner starch and talent that makes a good writer.

In his debut novel, Matt pulls us right in with his first sentence: "The first time I saw her, she made me remember and she made me forget."

How could we not read on?

Then he gives us a picture of his future writing with his last sentence: "Now strangers come to me with their problems and I try to solve them. I do it for money, not for love. it's easier that way. Fewer people get hurt."

This writer will want you to do what I'm going to do when I finish this intro… run out and buy his next book!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

---

Last May marked the long awaited (by me) launch of my debut crime novel, Yesterday’s Echo. It was a lifetime goal achieved and never would have happened without the help of many people, most of whom I mentioned in the book’s acknowledgments. But I never would have had the chance to thank anyone if I hadn’t been willing to break out of the comfy confines of the Cocoon.

I knew I wanted to be a writer ever since I was fourteen when my dad gave me The Simple Art of Murder by Raymond Chandler. The hard part was actually doing the writing and that didn’t really start in earnest for about thirty years. I’m a slow starter. However, even when I buckled down and consistently put my butt in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard, I still had a lot to learn.

Being a fledgling author is a fun and exciting time. You’re finally doing something you really enjoy and, dammit, you’re pretty good at it. You start each day reading over the literary gold you spun the day before and realize that you’re home. You’ve found your niche. If you stay with it, you’ll have a draft in around a year, give or take. Then it will only be a matter of time before your brand new novel is on the bookshelves between Connelly and Crais.

Or so I thought. But why wouldn’t I? I read what I’d written every day and it was genius. The couple members of my family whom I’d let read the book even agreed with me. Now they might have just been happy that I’d finally started writing instead of just talking about it, but they wouldn’t lie. Would they?

Still, I’m Irish and with that comes self-doubt. So, I decided that before I quit my day job and found an agent to get me the big contract, I’d better vet the work with a professional. Let someone outside the warm, snuggly, cocoon of my family and myself read what I’d written. That is the point of being an author, isn’t it? To have strangers read your work?

So, I took some night classes at UC San Diego taught by Carolyn Wheat, mystery author turned writing teacher. Well, apparently Carolyn wasn’t that good of a teacher because she failed to recognize my genius. I was shocked and disappointed. I’d paid good money and I got some flunky as a teacher. It was a beginner’s novel class and most students never really began writing so my stuff was on the whiteboard each session. It was ugly. Carolyn asked me questions that I’d never thought of, like what does your character want in a scene and what is he thinking.

It took a while, but I started to realize that Carolyn wasn’t stupid and I wasn’t a genius. It hurt. I’d jumped out of my cocoon and let strangers see my work and been slapped in the face. Hard. I lost some of that confidence earned writing in anonymity. Maybe I couldn’t do this. Maybe I wasn’t good enough and never would be. But after I stopped feeling sorry for myself (in just a few days… okay, a month) and started revising through the Carolyn’s prism, the book got better.

Then I joined a writers group and exposed my work to other writers. Like Carolyn, they tore the work apart and helped me put it back together. Stronger. After years of tearing and mending I finally felt that my manuscript was ready for an agent and then a publisher. Ten months later Yesterday’s Echo was on the bookshelves somewhere between Connelly and Crais.

Writing in a cocoon will make you feel good. Breaking out of it might get you published.

Matt Coyle

The Development of Samuel Craddock

Terry Shames, a Talent to Watch!

Mystery writers play in a highly competitive league. Some make it to first base, some to second, fewer to third. Terry Shames has scored a home run with her debut novel, A Killing at Cotton Hill, and the second, The Last Death of Jack Harbin.

When Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek comes off the press, I predict Terry will be a Triple Crown Winner!

So, who is this Terry Shames? A Board member of both Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime in Northern California, she absorbed life in a small Texas town as a child. She has been getting high praise from esteemed mystery writers, such as Carolyn Hart and Bill Crider, as well as in Publisher's Weekly.

I agree with Bill's comment: "Samuel Craddock [her protagonist] is a man readers are going to love!"

Sam grips you and grows on you. A man with deceptively simple wisdom, sensitive knowledge of homo sapiens, attractive to women, but faithful to his recently deceased wife, astute, likeable, the kind of guy you and I would want in our corner if we were in trouble.

Shames is one of the few writers who held my attention at every phrase. I did not skip over a single line in A Killing at Cotton Hill!

Library Journal writes, "The plotting will dazzle readers!"

Please give a warm welcome to Terry Shames!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

---

The first time I saw Samuel Craddock he was sitting on his porch in a rocking chair, thinking his life was more or less at an end. His beloved wife had died some months earlier and he saw no future for himself. An ex-chief of police, he had been retired for many years. As I “watched,” a friend of his from down the street walked up the steps and told him that an old friend of his had been murdered last night… a woman who had called when he was already in bed to tell him she thought she was in danger. I followed Samuel where he led me and that first glimpse of him became a full-fledged story of a man in his 60s who regained a purpose in life—to find out who was responsible for killing his friend.

No sooner had I finished A Killing at Cotton Hill, Samuel’s reawakening story, when another story came to my mind. In The Last Death of Jack Harbin, Craddock uses his reawakened skills to track down the killer of a former high school track star whom Samuel had known his whole life.

When time came to write the next book, I realized that this truly was going to be a series and I had some decisions to make. Would Samuel become a professional lawman again or remain an amateur with police skills? Samuel is a man who has a strong sense of justice and responsibility and I couldn’t see having his skills stay in the background. At the same time, he is a “geezer.” How much longer will he be able to call on his physical skills? I could always take the course of not having Samuel age—have him remain pretty much the same man he’s always been. There is a strong tradition of that course in crime fiction and I don’t mind reading it. But I actually prefer reading writers like Louise Penny and Michael Connelley, whose detectives age and have to rely on different skills as their physical prowess wanes.

So I decided in my third book to move Craddock into a position of greater responsibility. I don’t know how long it will last. I don’t know what kinds of crimes and criminals he will face. But I do know he is up to the challenge as a strong and capable person.

With that decision made, I had to face the hard part: If Samuel is to become a “real” lawman, I would have to know how that feels and to know more about the skills he will need. In order to do that I signed up for a course I haven’t thought I needed in the past—the Writer’s Police Academy. I look forward to learning a little bit about being a cop. So far, I’ve been able to wing it—after all, Samuel is a quasi-amateur. The series will never be a police procedural, with all the minutiae about the details of how cops work and their equipment and processes—it will be a series of stories more in line with talented and smart amateurs. But Samuel Craddock is an amateur with a gun.

The other major decision I had to make was whether Samuel was going to find a love interest. I’ve had friends whose mates died who have never had interest in finding someone else; and I’ve had friends who were the opposite. I don’t think Samuel is the kind of person to remain alone, if for no other reason than the fact that there are ladies all too eager to be “that special woman.” You’ll have to continue to read to find out what my decision was about this.

I look forward to Samuel growing and changing. He may become a different person than he was at the beginning of the first book and I have to accept that change. I hope my readers will, too.

© 2014 Terry Shames

I Get Ideas

---

Richie Narvaez Takes Helm of MWA/NY

Richie follows a truly distinguished line of New York MWA Presidents since 2000… Barry Zeman, Andy Peck, Bob Knightly, Jane Cleland, Chris Grabenstein, Alafair Burke, Rosemary Harris and Patricia King. As recent Chair of the Member Events Committee, he is familiar with what makes the wheels go round in this professional group.

A native of Brooklyn, he has worked as a journalist, teacher, and college professor. An award-winning short story writer, he brings a new and exciting voice to the organization.

Welcome to Crime Writer's Chronicle, President Narvaez!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

---

I do some of my best writing in the shower. This apparently is true for many people. There are scientific reasons for this, involving dopamine, the symbolism of water, and whatever they put into Irish Spring.

But that’s not very good advice for a writer. You’ll get visited by a great new story premise, the sentence wording that’s been worrying for weeks, and plots for a trilogy — all before you’ve soaped your naughty bits. And what do you do then? Use waterproof ink or intricate soap carving. You rush out, of course, and try to get it down before it disappears, and hope that your wet hands don’t make your inspiration indecipherable.

Ideas, it seems, often sneak up on us like the Weeping Angels in Doctor Who: not when we’re looking. Like love, death, and relatives, they like to show up when we don’t expect them to. I have found myself thunderstruck by entire stories while rushing for the train, preparing to teach a class, getting a haircut. Oh, this inspiration is a lovely thing when it happens — and when I can capture that thunder. But that is only a small part of writing. For the most part, most writing is grunt work: Sit, write.

I have endeavored to be the stereotypical writer who writes in bars, notebook out, pens aplenty, awaiting the call of the Muse amidst the heady company of Jack and Daniels and Sam and Adams. But when I have tried this at my favorite bar in Manhattan — it’s called Shade, come by some Friday night and let’s hang — the next new beer often comes before the next new idea, and then after a while I’m not trying to write, I’m just trying to remember my name. Indeed, ideas are like the prettiest girls in class. They do not respond well when you throw yourselves at them.

Sit, write. The ideas may come like subway cars, late and overcrowded. But you will still appreciate them.

After that, of course. comes more work, the real craft. That sitting with your mise en place, the legal pad or at the keyboard — that is just the churning it out, the piling on of the clay, the putting on the table of all the tiny model airplane parts. All the real writing happens later, when you edit, revise add this, delete that, and make something beautiful out of that Messerschmitt.

And then is possible the time will come, a sad moment, when that miraculous idea — which encountered you in the shower, at the dentist’s, or just before you slipped into dreamland — has to be cut out because it no longer fits with the rest. Be grateful for its time with you. You’ll always have the shower.

Richie Narvaez

Homicidal Humor

Susan Sundwall is a veteran freelancer, blogger and mystery writer. She lives in upstate New York with her husband and newly adopted stray cat, Sister Agnes. Her first Minnie Markwood Mystery, The Red Shoelace Killer, is available at Amazon, Untreed Reads, Barnes and Noble and from the publisher, Mainly Murder Press. Visit her blog at www.sundwallsays.blogspot.com and chime in if you’re so inclined. 

---

Okay, the first thing that comes to mind when you find out someone has been murdered is probably not a comedic moment from an old Seinfeld episode. No, you’re more likely to draw back in horror, mouth open, nothing coming out, and then, for weeks, there are nightmares with you in the starring role – victim of the week. Not a single thing funny about it.

So imagine my dilemma when I wrote my mystery, The Red Shoelace Killer, (hilarious title, huh?) and called it a comic-cozy. Nothing in the title even hints at humor so I really had to put my nose to the grindstone to make my definition true. Add to the mix that a cozy is restricted in ways an all out brawl of a crime novel isn’t. Meaning?

Well, it means I won’t be using foul language, or graphic sex scenes or anatomically specific gooey guts violence. But that kind of fits in with my prudish nature anyway (oops – a brief moment of “coming out” there). You see, I know about foul language but prefer a good old Yosemite Sam cuss – ya ring tailed varmint – to copious use of the F-bomb (or any other consonant bomb that’s out there). I know about graphic sex. Been there, done that, three kids. And I’ve watched enough CSI through my fingers to know about gooey guts and all the “splorking” sounds you hear when brains hit the wall. Alas, I don’t visit any of these themes in my books. So now you’re thinking, “Huh, then how could it possibly be any good?” Right? That’s what you’re thinking, I just know it.

Pay attention, Lucy’s going to do some ‘splainin.

You have to do it with characters. Fun, quixotic, fully animated, and slightly dysfunctional characters. My protagonist, Minnie Markwood, is plump, old fashioned and just a whisker away from Social Security. Great. Now you’re thinking boring, boomer, chick lit. Hang on. I thought the same thing. Then I realized if my Boomer Babe had a youthful element for balance, it could only be a good thing. So I gave her a sidekick, Rashawna. She’s Minnie’s bubble headed, twenty-one-year-old ex-swimsuit model, co-worker. And I gave Bubble Head a boyfriend, Joel. Now, if that isn’t a dynamic trio destined for the New York Times bestseller list I don’t know what is.

The humor enters subtly when we experience these characters reactions to a horrible murder. The kind of reaction any ordinary, trying to pay the bills and keep the weight off, kind of person you probably are. And with a couple of degrees of separation from said horrible murder a brief relief moment intercedes when those reactions are shown.

For instance, while contemplating the nature of a killer, Minnie muses, “A killer doesn’t usually ask someone to accompany him to his killling ground, for heaven’s sake. Usually he stuffs your face full of old chloroform rags, and bam, you're toast in the trunk.”

Or Rashawna, brow furrowed, trying to understand someone using a red shoelace as a murder weapon. “Who would buy them, anyway? Like who and why?” Rashawna asked, palms up. The tone of her voice screamed fashion police.

Of course, once you’ve got your homicidal humor all figured out, you must weave it into a compelling plot and then, the penultimate challenge, sell it. From inception to acceptance can be a long, rough road. It took Minnie and me almost ten years. She started out older than me but by the time I sold her she was a few years younger. I had to revise – a lot. I endured many critiques (my mother did not like it so much – God rest her soul). I was crushed with each rejection one of which was a third of a sheet from a yellow legal pad stating “you write with facility” but they were no longer publishing fiction. Sheesh. They had it for a year. And who got the other two thirds of the pad? A staff member needing something to wrap a leftover tuna sandwich?

I’ll compare the course to publication to the course of true love. In your carefully examined life you look at all the possible suitors for your talents; NASA, llama whispering school, water polo training, and it comes down to this. You’re a writer, plain and simple. You have stories to tell,and by Sam, you’re going to set your cap for all those readers out there. And if you choose to add some homicidal humor as part of the deal, I’m right there with you, honey.

© 2014 Susan Sundwall

First-Draft Terror

Suzanne Chazin was our Guest Blogger a couple weeks ago. When I asked her for one, she sent me two. The other, describing how she starts a new novel, is a howl. Who hasn't suffered this way?

Robert Knightly

---

I’m about to start the first draft of a new novel. This instills in me all the self-confidence of two virgins in a MINI Cooper. I’m sweaty and awkward. I don’t have a clue where anything goes. And I’m already questioning whether this was the right vehicle for attempting this in the first place.

I don’t know why first drafts scare me so much. It’s not as if I don’t know by now that I’ll be rewriting it all in a few months anyway. You’d think, with three published novels and a finished fourth manuscript behind me, I’d be like Larry King at the altar: ring in one pocket, attorney on speed dial in the other. I know what’s coming—the revisions, the tossed scenes, the killed characters, the discoveries I won’t make until I’m practically finished with the draft. And yet I will do almost anything to delay the process. This past week alone, I have:

1. Transferred all of my children’s baby pictures to DVD
2. Volunteered to be on the interview committee for the new principal of my daughter’s middle school
3. Filled out my bank’s customer satisfaction survey (probably a first in the history of my bank)
4. Actually listened to the Jehovah’s Witnesses who came to my door.

I’m so desperate I called up GEICO to see if I could save money on my car insurance. (Don’t let the Cockney accent fool you; the lizard is a liar).

I’m really starting to panic.

I’m stalling by researching stuff I will never, ever need to know. The Internet is great for this. I can start off with a simple question about common Honduran surnames for my new mystery series about a Latino detective in suburban New York and end up two hours later reading the history of the Indian ruler Lempira who fought the Spanish and now has the Honduran currency named after him. (Pause to reflect: would the U.S. be in any better shape if our bills were called “Geronimos”?)

My first mystery series, set in the New York City Fire Department, provided loads of fun researching how to start fires and blow up things. There is nothing like watching a video of a room turning into a solid wall of flame in under three minutes to give one an Old Testament appreciation for how fast things can go wrong. Makes that unexplained clunk in my car and the untraceable leak beneath my kitchen sink feel like good Karma by comparison.

Here’s where a well-conceived outline would come in handy. I love outlines. I really do. Wish I could write one. Typically I start out with three pages of notes for the first chapter and by chapter five, I’m down to descriptions like, “someone dies here” and “they have good sex.” (Is there any other kind in fiction?) The truth is, I just don’t know what’s going to happen until it does. I write great outlines for my second drafts. But that’s like waiting for the medical examiner when what you really needed was the doctor. It’s so much more convenient to catch the problem before the patient stops having a pulse.

I know what I have to do. I have to write something awful—something I would only show to my mother when she was alive, and only then, after she’d had a couple of glasses of good red wine. And then I have to believe that it will get much, much better as I lay down more of the story. To build a smooth road, you always have to start with a pile of rocks.

Chinese Fortune-cookie stuff, I know. But it also happens to be true. I had an art teacher at Northwestern University named George Cohen who once instructed every student to paint the “best” painting he or she could create. In the second class, Cohen asked every student to paint the “worst” painting. Then Cohen papered the room with all of our artwork and asked students to vote on the best pieces. About 75 percent of the pieces voted as “best” were the ones we had painted as our “worsts.” (Makes me wonder about my other decisions in life.)

So I will try to be fearless and not worry about what’s “best” and what’s “worst.” I will try to have faith that over time, there will be a road through the wilderness.

Then again, I could always start another blog…

Suzanne Chazin

How Mystery Writers Can Use Pacing as a Tool

"Who's Got the Money?"

Morgan St. James has the answer… Did you know federal prison factories manufacture $800,000,000 of merchandise every year? Read this amusing crime caper by Morgan and her co-author Meredith Holland, and find out how some sharp women make the bad guys pay.

The authors toured prison factories and military warehouses, then wrote this amusing novel. The book is fiction, but a former FBI Agent and NYT bestselling author wrote that "It really could happen."

This book tells us about million dollar greed and ironic justice in an industry few of us know even exists.

Please welcome mystery writer, speaker and columnist, Morgan St. James.

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

---

Pacing is a tool for aging characters or holding them at certain places in their lives, showing how events impact the plot or how timing affects a particular event. How fast or how slow should parts of the story unfold? What does it take to pull the readers through the events, hold their interest and keep them turning the pages? When have you revealed enough and when is it too little?

Think of pacing as the act of changing gears. If you’re driving a manual shift car or watching the gauges, the car tells you when it’s time to shift from second to third or gear down. The same holds true for fiction. The story is moving along and you become aware that something has to slow down or speed up to maintain the effect you envisioned.

SPEEDING IT UP

Cliffhangers

If you leave something unresolved or hint at something yet to come in the next chapter, that’s called a cliffhanger. It is one of those devices that naturally picks up the pace and compels the reader to turn the page. After all, they have to find out if something happened. One good way to accomplish this if the scene ends with dialogue is to have a character say something cryptic that foreshadows eminent danger, fulfillment or any other number of events. If you are using an omniscient or third person narrator, the same opportunity exists. Example: If Martin had even a slight suspicion of what awaited him, he might not have taken that fateful step into Joan’s house.

Tools for speeding it up

As a writer, your arsenal is filled with many tools proven to speed up the action. Action is best written in short and medium sentences that move the story along. Some of those sentences might be as short as one word like Run! or Stop! You get the idea. The short bursts heighten the anticipation and, if appropriate, the fear or elation.

When writing action, long descriptions or expository speeches just don’t work. All they do is distract the reader from the purpose of the scene. They rarely resonate as real. That doesn’t mean the scene should be bland—not at all. But stay on point. For example, the person must get from here to there to find the bomb and defuse it. They aren’t going to stop to look in a store window and admire the merchandise. They are going to do anything and everything possible to get there, and that establishes a heart-pounding scene. Obstacles are good because they increase the tension.

Keep it entertaining or heart-pounding

In my upcoming Silver Sisters Mystery Terror in a Teapot, the protagonists, twins Goldie and Godiva, are desperate to get to a house where their mother and uncle are in danger. Stuck in a traffic jam, Godiva tries to change lanes and hits a truck in the next lane. This delays the action (getting to the house), induces tension (they are trying to do whatever they can to get back on the road), and creates the fear that something will happen to the oldsters before the twins can reach them.

One tool is to draw from things that happened to you and make them fit your scene. We used this: Several years ago Phyllice clipped a car at a strategic point that caused our front bumper to fly off, sail over the truck next to us and land on a median strip. Seeing how upset we were, after Phyllice and the fellow we hit exchanged information, he retrieved the bumper of the rental car from the median strip and fitted it into our back seat so we could be on our way. It was hanging out the windows on both sides, but we were back on the road! When we turned the car in, eyebrows raised when we said they would find the front bumper in the back seat. In Terror in a Teapot, a version of this happens to the twins.

Keep it real

By all means don’t put long thoughts in your character’s head when they are working on sheer willpower. Think of what you would do in a life threatening situation. Would you have the presence of mind to think in beautifully constructed sentences and map out what you had to do point by point? Of course not, unless you are one of the few who actually think like that. More often, thoughts are static and disjointed when faced with these situations.

Using scene cuts

Scene cuts are sometimes called jump cuts. Without explanation, the story is moved to a new location or time, and the characters might even be different ones than in the previous scene. This has to be done carefully so the reader is not confused. The main purpose of a scene cut is to speed up the action. Back in the days of heavy movie censorship, the actor Andy Griffith put out a comedy album and in one track he summed up scene cuts neatly. He said something like: He kisses her with passion and just when he is ready to make his next move, time passes and the scene changes. In this case, the viewer was expected to fill in the details between the cuts with their own imagination.

SLOWING THINGS DOWN

While it is great to have a story that keeps zooming along, sometimes it makes good sense to slow it down—let the reader catch their breath and put everything into perspective. This technique will also serve to build tension. Slowing down the pace is one way to let it layer, leading up to the maximum payoff.

After the cliffhanger

Okay, assume the last chapter ended with your version of “The Perils of Pauline,” or the pretty woman tied to the railroad tracks as the train speeds toward her. What next? How do you slow something like that down unless Superman puts out his hand and stops the train? The answer is to prolong the outcome. If you stretch it out instead of giving the instant outcome, the end result is that it actually speeds up in a way. The reader rushes ahead to find out what happens, reading as fast as possible but not wanting to miss a word. So, how do you slow it down?

Some types of scenes that could benefit from a slowdown:

Romantic interludes

Everything has been happening at breakneck speed for your male and female protagonists. Maybe the detectives are attracted to each other, but who has time to find out? We see this all the time in TV shows. The tension is kept alive with the “will they, won’t they” question. All of a sudden it happens. Do we want to speed past this as well? If the plot calls for it, slow things down. Let the reader enjoy the scene where they kiss...and more.

Emotional decisions

Give your characters ups and downs. Vary the scenes so intense emotions don’t dominate every single page. Let them be confused, afraid or undecided about something. Are they reluctant to take the next step? Why? Does something stop them in their tracks? All of these things can slow the pace but leave the door open for picking it up again anytime you want to. If you give the reader some low moments, they will savor and enjoy the high ones even more.

Descriptions

Descriptions are good devices, but there is a narrow path to be walked here. Too much description and it becomes snooze time. Too little, and the reader might feel cheated. Like they were just beginning to get a sense of the overall picture, but it wasn’t completed. Evaluate how much description you need, and where. Ask others to read these scenes and listen to their reactions. You have lived the scenes over and over and have probably become jaded, but they will read it with fresh eyes.

Flashbacks

Flashbacks always slow the action, either in a major or minor way depending upon the content and how long the scene lasts. Again, just as with descriptions, be careful with flashbacks and moderate how you use them. Good flashback scenes will fill in the details and help deliver the backstory, but too many or too long, and you might lose the reader. They begin to flip pages to revisit some of the things they’ve read, because they might have lost the thread of the story. Flashbacks are like having a franchise to peek into the past, but franchises can only be exercised a certain number of times.

Let your protagonist make mistakes

You’ve heard the often-used expression: One step forward, two steps back. If circumstances undo some of what the protagonist has accomplished and another way has to be found, the story is going to slow down for the period of time they are getting back on track. It can be short or drawn out. In either case, mistakes work. The same goes for unexpected events. The protagonist approaches their destination holding a paper with the address. But the building has been torn down. Where do they go from there? Whether pursuing a lover, an opportunity or a killer, this is an opening where you can choose the pace.

Morgan St. James

www.morganstjames-author.com

Maybe There's a Lesson Here

I’m going to miss Smash. In spite of itself.

Writers need a break from the reality of their writing lives. As most any writer will tell you, when you commit to writing, you don’t get many diversions. Deadlines (self- and publisher-imposed), your family, the chores, and the other career (the one with the 401k and health insurance) don’t leave much room for other activities. You don't get to read for pleasure or see friends as much as you’d like. You go out less; you entertain less. Sometimes, it feels like you don’t do much except work and the laundry.

At times like that, I need a reboot. I need to shut down the creative part of my brain for an hour. When I start it up again, whatever froze my imagination and enthusiasm has usually disappeared. In addition, my eyes spend so much time going back and forth across my computer screen or printout that, if the reboot diversion also gives me a chance to roll my eyes for a while, so much the better.

And Smash was a worthy diversion on both counts. In the beginning I watched in sofa-lolling relaxation an undemanding melodrama with excellent singing, and then I watched – my eyes circling my sockets – plot twists so contorted that I just had to see what the next bizarre pretzel-turn would be. Which isn't necessarily all that easy with your eyes rolling around in your head.

Smash was (actually still is, for the rest of the month) about getting a musical to Broadway. Maybe I should have been warned when a series has enough, dare I say, hubris to give itself a title like Smash. And to think there was much left to be said about Marilyn Monroe.

But hey, I wasn't looking for art. And as a bonus, I got to hear some terrific Broadway voices, performers who know how to interpret a song, and don’t think that as-loud-as-I-can-belt and as-long-as-I-can-hold-this-note are the hallmarks of singing. And I got to see some pretty fair dancing for a TV series (at least in the first season).

I was charmed by Christian Borle. In awe of Megan Hilty. Eager to see what Jack Davenport would get up to next. And I was certain Anjelica Huston’s facial muscles would eventually move.

And I could pair the show with a wonderful blog by Broadway actress/dancer Sharon Wheatley called SMASH: Fact or Fiction, a valentine to Broadway, full of fascinating tidbits and insight about what it’s really like to create a show on the Great White Way. And, unlike so many entertainment bloggers, Sharon doesn't seem to have a snarky bone in her body. But eventually, the parade of implausible plot points and absurd motivations forced even Ms. Wheatley to give up on Smash. 

Sigh.

Maybe Smash never really had a chance. Ultimately, its premise was deeply flawed: that there could be a believable competition for the role of Marilyn between the characters of Karen and Ivy. It says something about network-TV desperation, the lure of cross-marketing and the demands of “media-ready” casting that American Idol runner-up Katherine McPhee (as Karen) was thrown mercilessly into the ring with Broadway vet Hilty (as Ivy). Yikes, what alternative universe have I wandered into that this fight could be fair?!

Even if one accepted the premise that a woman with no Broadway experience who looked and sounded nothing like Marilyn could be a contender, the show swung off the rails a few times in season one. Then the swinging turned to careening in season two. Karen quit the lead (the lead!) in the Broadway show Bombshell – a role in which she was called “brilliant” by other characters though the TV audience was never granted the privilege of seeing these on-stage moments – for a role in a black-box theater downtown because…  Oh, it doesn’t matter, it made no sense. The renowned Broadway director Derek (Davenport) leaves Bombshell, too, in a huff, then agrees to direct the downtown show, which isn't really finished and was created by a couple of guys who've never had a thing produced before. And Bombshell’s composer (Borle) is suddenly, with no experience, Bombshell’s director. Whaa??

And although I could have gone on rebooting my brain with Smash, NBC has pulled the plug.

What can I salvage? As with any failed relationship, one asks: Is there at least a lesson to be learned here? Can I find any bits of wisdom to pass on to, say, a reader of this blog who’s an aspiring writer? One working on a mystery novel and not, say, a network TV show?

No square pegs in round holes. In mystery novels, you don’t get cut much slack for these. Your characters aren't allowed to go off and do something that makes no sense because, you know, you need them to. Your protag can’t just decide to investigate a crime because, well, she found a body and you need her to be an amateur sleuth; and she can't do dumb things because you need her in peril. She can't go into the house when she finds the front door open; continue into the deserted parking garage even though she thinks she’s being followed; or agree to meet a mysterious informant in a place not flooded with light and witnesses. When your writing starts to feel like hammering, it’s time to stop, rail at the wall for an hour, then admit your needs aren't really important here. What does your character need? A better motive.

Obnoxious does not equal a character readers love to hate. Smash didn't learn its lesson in season one with the character of Ellis Boyd, the uber-obnoxious assistant. They doubled down in season two by making uber-obnoxious a main character, Jimmy Collins (played by Jerome Jordan exactly as the writers/producers/directors must have wanted him to play it, because he’s capable of nuance and charm). They chose to make Jimmy not only a ^%#*, but a callow ^%#*. And callow and ^%#* are pretty much impossible to make compelling. They made poor Karen his doormat, so maybe we were supposed to hate him while at the same time intuit that there was a good man underneath all that because, uh, Karen fell for him and he's cute. Doesn't that count? Not in mystery novels. Not unless you want the reader to throw your book across the room. Readers see people who are uninspiring, unintriguing and unbearable every day. They probably work for one. They don’t want to read about them when they get home.

And so Smash will be gone soon. What will I do for a reboot? Where can I find another show that will render me alternatively brain flat-lined and yelping at the TV?

I mean, other than Castle. (My devotion to Nathan Fillion is not unmotivated. Since Firefly, a woman is justified in following him practically anywhere.)

Other suggestions for reboot candidates are welcome.

Sheila York

Julia Pomeroy: Actress, Restaurateur, Author

Yesterday I listened to Julia describe how she lost her publisher as her second series mystery, COLD MOON HOME, was about to hit the streets. Her first, THE DARK END OF TOWN, from the defunct Carroll & Graf, got fine reviews and decent sales, but alas as we all know… Julia and I are fellow Mavens of Mayhem, the Upstate Hudson Valley branch of Sisters In Crime (SinC). After a suitable period of mourning, she came to appreciate the new-found freedom, she said, beginning her first thriller, NO SAFE GROUND, the protagonists a pair of middle-aged men residing in the Hudson Valley region of Columbia County. The male point-of-view is new for Julia, whose series heroine Abbe Silvernale waitressed while solving crimes in the fictional upstate Town of Bantam, not unlike where Julia and her family reside and once owned a restaurant. Julia Pomeroy is, from my innocent male perspective, a Woman of the World, having lived in Japan, Somalia and Italy, where her dad’s job as a Foreign Service Officer took them. On returning to the U.S., she became a Hollywood actress, among other things. NO SAFE GROUND is out this month from Five Star.

Robert Knightly

---

MURDER MOST FOWL

I was on a panel this last Saturday, the topic: Food in Crime Fiction. Actually, it was called Murder Most Fowl and it was part of the Roger Smith Cookbook Conference in Manhattan. When I was asked, I thought, what do I know about food in mysteries? And do I care? My new standalone thriller, coming out this weekend, has some raw meat, a couple of cheeseburgers and some burnt spaghetti sauce in it.

My fellow panelists were to be Katherine Hall Page, who writes a wonderful series about a caterer; Marilyn Stasio, reviewer for the NYT, who has probably read more crime fiction than a Bouchercon banquet-load of fans; and your own Annamaria Alfieri, who is of Italian blood, and therefore gets a special papal dispensation to talk about food. My claim to food is that I once owned a small town restaurant, and my protagonist, in my first two books, is a waitress in a similar small town restaurant.

The day before the panel, the big storm Nemo blew into town, and on Saturday Katherine couldn't get out of Massachusetts. Annamaria, jet lagged from three weeks in Italy but still game, showed up. I came, nervous and feeling highly unqualified. Finally, Marilyn and the moderator arrived, and we began.

Luckily Bruce Kraig, our moderator, (who has written a tabletop book on hotdogs!) had asked us to prepare talks about our books and the food in them. Marilyn Stasio, thank God, went first. She had done her homework and read a bucket of food-related mysteries. She had wonderful points to make about food and its uses in crime fiction. Food used well and food used poorly. She talked about dozens of writers and she was lucid and interesting, and after a particularly stirring question or comment by one of the audience, she stopped and said, "I should write an article about this."

Then it was my turn. I explained my train of thought as I had prepared for the panel. I mentioned my two first books briefly, and how I'm more interested in the restaurant as a theatre-like setting, with front of the house and back of the house, than I am in the food. And that I rarely think about food or remember food in the novels I like. What does Harry Bosch eat? Nothing. At least, nothing memorable. Maybe a taco from a street vendor. But what does that say about an obsessive driven detective? When you think about it, quite a lot.

I told the audience how I delved into the internet, digging around to see what other people thought about food in mysteries. Someone described food, in the classic mysteries, as a sign of elitism in characters like Nero Wolfe, Maigret and Poirot. Not a bad point. There was definitely a class distinction in those books. Also, food as death! Think of all the poisonings in Agatha Christie. Roald Dahl's famous story, Lamb to the Slaughter, about a woman who beats her husband's head in with a frozen leg of lamb, then serves it, roasted, to the detectives.

Which made me think, if it can represent death, then isn't food in fiction something like sex in fiction? Both should work to enhance character, setting or conflict, and shouldn't feel artificially stuck on.

Finally, Annamaria gave a wonderful explanation of how food in historical mysteries works to place the reader in the writer's world, reminding him/her, through the description of particular food, of that time and place. And it also makes the protagonist truly human, with mouth, gullet and stomach, just like the rest of us mortals.

And then it was over. The time had flown by.

As I write this, I think once again about my new thriller, and what part, if any, food plays in it. And it just comes to me that, yes, when it's there, food in my story is about family. Safety. Even if it's just a simple spaghetti sauce.

So, even though I have never thought of myself as someone who writes about food, I learned that I was wrong. We all are, us crime fiction writers. Either through inclusion or omission, we are all food writers too. And that's what I got from going to a cookbook conference. Life's funny that way, isn't it?

Julia Pomeroy

So, How Did You Learn to Write Thrillers?

Our guest today is James (Jim) Hayman. When I read this post of his about learning to write thrillers on the Maine Crime Writers blog, I invited him to share it with our readers, not only because I make no secret of my own devotion to Maine–Prout's Neck, a tiny village on the coast near Portland, is one of my favorite places on the planet!–but because it's a thought-provoking and informative piece.

Jim Hayman began life in New York City, was educated at top schools in New England, and after a highly successful professional career in Manhattan moved to Portland, Maine, just before 9/11.

The Big Apple provided years of training that now serves him well as he pens spine-tingling crime novels. A star on Madison Avenue, as well as in TV production, his experiences in creative direction on famous accounts like Procter and Gamble, the U.S. Army, Lincoln/Mercury, as well as superb credits in The Sopranos, Law and Order and Murder One, provided this talented writer with material that brings out the fear and trembling in his increasing hordes of eager readers.

When I read his first book, The Cutting, I thought, "This guy HAS The Touch!" Then The Chill of Night made my little grey cells clamor for more! Now I anticipate Darkness First!

Thelma Straw

---

Whenever I give a reading in a bookstore or a library, I usually mention that when I began writing the first McCabe thriller, The Cutting, I had no prior experience writing fiction. I’d never written so much as a single short story. Not even as an exercise in a college creative writing class.

When I say this, someone in the audience, often an aspiring mystery writer, inevitably asks, “So, how on earth did you manage, first time out, to write a thriller that someone wanted to publish?”

“Well,” I respond truthfully, “I started by reading a bunch of how-to books on the craft of writing mystery fiction.” These included James Frey’s How to Write a Damn Good Mystery, Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel by Hallie Ephron and Write Away by Elizabeth George. All were helpful in teaching me the basics. How to structure a plot, how to build tension, how to shift point of view and a number of other writerly techniques. “But,” I tell the audience, “I can’t honestly say they gave me the skills I needed to write and publish The Cutting.”

“Okay, so what did?” my questioner asks.

“Well,” I say, “I’ve been a writer all my working life and managed to make a living so I guess writing comes naturally to me. It’s about the one thing I think I’m genuinely good at.”

The questioner still looks dubious. “What kind of writing did you do?”

I then describe how, for the ten years prior to sitting down to write The Cutting, I churned out an almost endless stream of brochures, newsletter and business press articles, web content, speeches and white papers that were written mostly for companies in the healthcare and financial services industries. I also mention the two non-fiction books I wrote, one a history of Banknorth Group, the other a history of Maine Medical Center.

“Do you think writing that stuff gave you the skills you needed to write thrillers?”

“Well, some,” I reply honestly, “But not all.”

At this point, my questioner usually gets a determined look in his or her eye. “Okay,” they ask, “so what did?”

“Advertising.”

“Advertising?”

“Yes. Advertising. Specifically television advertising. More specifically television advertising for clients who, back in the eighties and nineties, wanted and could afford to pay to produce big-budget movie-like commercials shot on location by top-notch directors like Michael Bay, Joe Pitka, Tony and Ridley Scott, Eddie Bianchi and others. Before going freelance, I worked as a copywriter and creative director at one of the top agencies in New York writing and producing those kinds of commercial for clients like the U.S. Army, Lincoln/Mercury and Merrill-Lynch.”

At this point there’s usually a joke from the audience. “Advertising?” some wag will say, “I thought you said you’d never written fiction before.”

Having just lived through a political campaign where nearly everything the candidates claimed in their TV commercials was exaggerated to the point of being flat lies, I can’t do anything but smile, nod and agree.

“However,” I add, when the laughter finally dies down, “that’s not really my point. The truth is writing mini-movies like TV commercials is great training for writing not just thrillers, but any kind of fiction.”

I believe that to be true, for three distinct reasons.

First, writing TV commercials teaches you to write dialogue. A lot of aspiring writers find creating believable dialogue to put in the mouths of their characters is difficult. But because so much of writing for film requires writing dialogue, that eventually, if you have any kind of ear for how people speak (and I think I do), it starts to become easy. All three of my books are dialogue-heavy. Most of the story is told through conversation. One character telling another what I want the reader to know. I imagine the same can probably be said about most of the books written by most of the other writers who have come out of ad agency backgrounds–James Patterson, Stuart Woods, Marcus Sakey, Ted Bell, Chris Grabenstein and many others.

The second important thing writing for the camera teaches you is to think visually. You have to know where the camera is in your scene and mentally write down exactly what it’s seeing. For example, when I was writing commercials, I might write a camera direction like: “Open on a a long shot of a white sand beach on an overcast morning in September. We can see a calm ocean behind it. Camera moves in to reveal two people, a man and a woman, walking along the waterline. They’re both wearing white. Continue to move in on their faces to medium close-up. Finally they stop walking and look at each other. Continue move to tight close-up of their two faces.”

In my first book, The Cutting, this kind of camera direction was translated into the opening two paragraphs of an important chapter: “Had anyone been watching, the two figures would have appeared almost spectral. A man and a woman, both dressed in white, moving together across a translucent, nearly monochromatic emptiness, where sand blended into sea and sea into overcast sky without perceptible delineation.

For a time, they seemed lost in thought, each looking down, each noting the prints their steps left behind in the sand. After a while they stopped and the woman turned toward her companion. She took one of his hands in hers as if willing him to move closer. He didn’t. She let go. A wisp of blonde hair blew across her face. She brushed it away.” Seeing the scene in your mind as clearly as if you were watching it in person or on a screen, then writing what you see helps the writing succeed.

Finally, the third thing writing TV advertising teaches is to write tight. In a sixty second commercial you get a maximum of roughly one-hundred-and-twenty words to tell your whole story. Beginning, middle and end. In a thirty second commercial, you get sixty words. In either case, every word counts. Not a single one can be wasted. It’s an important discipline that serves one well when writing fiction. Or, frankly, when writing anything else.

Those are the primary skills advertising gave me that helped me write all three of my books, The Cutting, The Chill of Night and my upcoming thriller Darkness First. You don’t need to spend twenty years in an ad agency to get them. Just listen to how people talk, imagine what your scene looks like and don’t get wordy. Having said all that, I have to add it doesn’t hurt to have an active imagination and a natural affinity for the English language.

James Hayman