Winning on the Internet

What I wanted to talk about this morning is how the Moguls of the Internet hold all the cards in this game.

I'm not here to whine about it. Young folks whine about stuff. At my time of life I'm supposed to strike a philosophical attitude. If you live long enough you see that nothing changes. No point in complaining.

But here's the scoop. The Facebook Moguls are in charge of Facebook. Any benefit you derive from being on Facebook is secondary to the benefit that Facebook derives from exposing you to advertising, messing with your friend list, denying you access to disapproved YouTube videos, shutting down your fan page for no discernible reason and doing all the other weird unexpected stuff that gives them pleasure.

Blogger, same thing. Okay, maybe not quite so blatant, but still. The Blogger folks suggest to you that you can "monetize" your blog by letting them put ads on it, in case anybody actually reads your blog. I say that's just crass. In the case of my personal blog (kategallison.blogspot.com) hardly anybody views it anyhow, except for a strange cadre of Russian spambots that keep trying to leave comments in Cyrillic, with links to counterfeit shoe sites and the like. Lotsa luck gaining any advantage by exposing these entities to advertising.

And yet Blogger also offers to link you to Amazon.com in case anybody wants to buy a book or product you happen to mention. Amazon will give you money if anybody clicks on the link and buys the item.

When I saw that, I thought, view halloo. Maybe the Crimewriters could pick up enough change to treat themselves to a latte from time to time. So I signed up for it.

And I mentioned a book on last Monday's blog. It was Harold Davis's   An International Community on the St. Croix (1604-1930), and if you want to buy it, go ahead and click. It's an intensely sentimental item to me, probably not of much interest to very many other people. If I didn't already have my own copy, tattered, held together with duct tape, an heirloom passed down to me from my father, I would want it, and I would gladly pay $75 for it, going without food for a couple of days to pay for it, or going without new shoes for maybe a month. But you probably don't want it. Anyway if you do we get a cut of the proceeds. Just to let you know.

Unless Amazon decides to mess with us somehow.

Kate Gallison

Looking for the Real Eva Peron

I'm about half through the first draft of my third South American historical mystery. Research continues, but one aspect of the history—the most difficult one—is becoming a bit clearer: who was the real Evita?

The little girl, born a bastard child who grew up with her Mother's maiden name—Ibaguren, later took her father's name, Duarte. At the age of fifteen, she left the small, sad, remote town where she had grown up, and moved to Buenos Aires to pursue her dream, born of childhood trips to the movies and an addiction to movie magazines: to become an actress. After some minor roles in plays and movies that barely kept her alive, she finally achieved some success as an actress in radio soap operas. Then, she met Juan Peron, and eventually became the first lady of Argentina and the most famous woman in the world.

Depending on where one looks, one finds very different Evitas. I have found three. Two are extreme:

Evita the Whore: the young woman who slept her way into roles in the theater and movies. In this characterization, she is the embodiment of an ambitious bitch, without morals, who will do anything to get ahead and stay ahead. She ultimately reached the pinnacle of Argentinean fame and fortune by becoming the mistress of Juan Peron, the most powerful man in the country. This is the Evita one finds in contemporary accounts in places like Time Magazine, in British anti-Peronist polemics, and in the famous Andrew Lloyd Webber/Tim Rice musical: Evita.

Evita the Saint: This is the Eva, great benefactress of the poor, who worked tirelessly once she became First Lady. She kissed the sick, even lepers, who came to her for charity. This is the passionate supporter of the man she thought the only hope for the lowest level workers. She was a she-wolf, a relentless enemy of the oppressive oligarchy and all members of the idle ruling class.

Which one of these two extremes was the real historical Evita?

To me, it's beginning to seem as if they are both real. There is no doubt that Eva Duarte lived with Juan Peron for almost two years before they were married. It is also quite possible that she slept with directors or producers of plays and movies when she was a teenager, desperate for a break. I imagine such a thing was often required of a starving girl with stars in her eyes. Though cohabitation out of wedlock is hardly considered a reason to call a woman a whore these days, and few would call the casting couch a form of prostitution, in the 1940's and 50's, lots of people would have thought so. Her real behaviors would have been an excuse for anyone who hated her enough to discredit her.

Nor is there any doubt that Evita spent huge amounts of her time listening to and trying to ameliorate the problems of the poorest in Argentina. She did kiss them, even if they were sick. That she died a very painful death of cancer when she was only thirty-three made it easy for those who wanted to canonize her to make their case.

But a third Evita is also emerging from the pages of the books I am studying. An energetic, dynamic, ill-educated young woman with a chip on her shoulder about how the upper classes treated her and her family when she was a child. A dreamer without any reason to hope who, against all odds, wanted to be somebody. A girl whose powerful (from her poverty-stricken point of view) father had abandoned her family, who longed for a truly powerful man to take care of her (and the rest of the poor). A politically naïve, but charismatic young person with a talent for mass-communication who was easily manipulated by a cool, withdrawn, massively ambitious politician who, at the moment when he met her, sorely needed an attractive mouthpiece.

Evita’s story is fascinating. And thereby hangs my next tale.

Annamaria Alfieri

Return from a Writers’ Retreat

Retreats vary from luxurious escapes to exotic locations, to rough camp-outs, fighting weather and wildlife in the wilderness. The one I attended fell somewhere in between. Three of us — Caroline Todd, co-author of the Ian Rutledge and Bess Crawford mysteries, Elena Santangelo, author of the Pat Montello series, the latest, Fear Itself, just out — and me. We were ensconced in a small 1890s cottage in the wilds of south Jersey with no telephone (the wire to the land-line phone was down and our cells often couldn’t get signals in that remote area), no TV, and no newspapers. We did have a radio, but the reception was so lousy we never played it. The only high-tech devices we had were our computers, but with no access to e-mail or the Internet.

Our rules were few and simple:

1. No talking except at meals.
2. The cost of our meals were split three ways.
3. All labor — cooking, washing up, housekeeping, etc. — was split three ways.
4. No alcohol.
5. Silence during working hours (similar to the “Quiet Car” on a train.)

Despite these limitations, we managed to slip in some entertainment. A visit to a pre-Revolutionary cemetery, a sojourn to the town dump, always an uplifting experience (uplifting the trash bags to empty into the correct bins), a drop-in at “The Three Grays,” an intriguing shop that sells everything from antique furniture to used books and rolling pins, and a stop at Stow Creek, where Elena spied a bald eagle (her first!), and a horsefly attacked Caroline, (not her first). I escaped unscathed, except for tripping over the carcass of a snapping turtle. Earlier I had witnessed a family of wild turkeys crossing the road. Momma and babies first, while Papa stood right in front of my car, glaring at me. He didn’t move a muscle until his extended family had made it safely to the other side.

Another high point was exploring a secret road into a field where we stumbled on a small brick house. Elena was able to date it by the shape of the roof and its two chimneys before we spotted the date engraved on the roof, “1781,” with the builder‘s initials, “JW.” I wanted to go inside, but my wiser companions persuaded me not to. (I think they were afraid they’d be stuck hauling me out of the cellar when the rotten floorboards gave way.) But it was interesting to speculate on who had lived there. I knew some of the founders of the neighborhood had names that began with “W,” such as, “Watson” and “Ware.” Maybe…

In the evenings we listened to spooky or funny old radio shows that Elena had downloaded on her computer. The stars ranged from Basil Rathbone to Jeanette MacDonald. But the commercials were the best part. From Lux flakes “for your treasured nylons” to Bromoseltzer, that chugged along like a noisy locomotive, they took me back to my youth. The rest of the party was too young for such memories.

The last night we watched a full moon rise over the opposite meadow, and even in its glare, Elena was able to pick out the North Star and a number of constellations.

By the time we left to return to civilization, we each had fatter manuscripts under our arms and some nice experiences to share. (Plus a few extra pounds from all the ice cream we consumed. Unfortunately, there was no rule against that!)

Robin Hathaway

Mystery Mavens: Quick Tips for Writers

Neophytes and seasoned writers alike occasionally troll for that trusty tome that will yield up esoteric secrets on How to Write - Edit - Sell the Perfect Crime Novel.

Most writers have favorite standbys: Strunk and White's The Elements of Style (the original beloved "little book" of 1919), Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel by Hallie Ephron, Jack Bickham's 38 Most Common Fiction Writing Mistakes, Writing the Thriller by T. Macdonald Skillman, You can Write a Mystery by Gillian Roberts, The Sell Your Novel Toolkit by Elizabeth Lyon, or Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Renni Browne and Dave King.

A wise man said once, "When you're looking for wisdom, go to every tent in the bazaar."

In 1993 Eleanor Hyde, Ruth Furie, Herma Werner, Jean Fiedler, Eva C. Schegulla and the Midlantic Sisters in Crime produced six pocket-sized gems called "Quick Tips for Writers", the SinC's version of a "parvum opus."

• 39 Steps to Self Editing
• How to Plot a Mystery
• Building Suspense
• Narrative Style
• Clues to Good Character
• Murder She Said - Dialogue Do's and Don'ts

Assistant editors and contributors included many well-known members of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America: Marilyn Henderson, Ronnie Klaskin, E.W. Count, Renee Gardner, Annette Meyers, Camilla Trinchieri, Mary Anne Kelly, Elaine Budd, Claire R. Jacobs, Carolyn Wheat, K. T. Anders, Marissa Piesman, Mickey Friedman, and Stephanie Matteson.

For your edification here are a few "rich deposits of gold" (a la Strunk and White) from this series:

Take out words that add nothing to the narrative. Example: "She sorted through papers, notebooks and folded drawings." Is it important that the drawings are folded? If not, take it out.

Don't fall so in love with your words that you can't part with them.

Avoid over-long chapters - shorter chapters help the plot to move quickly.

Accept the fact that the middle is often a hazy uncharted area that seems to be waiting for an inspired direction. When it comes - also called "mystical intervention" or, more prosaically, "as "the unconscious kicking in," the direction of the plot grows clear.

No matter how exciting your plot is, you need at least one additional subplot to provide texture, movement, and additional interest.

Sting endings to chapters are useful steps to keeping the suspense going. A sting ending is another way of saying that each chapter should end with a cliffhanger.

Open with a hook, the punch in the stomach that gets the reader's attention.

The reader also wants to discover truths about life and about how different segments of society function. Research your subject. Realism makes a book scarier.

Author intrusion and overwriting undermine suspense by slowing down the flow of the story. Keep your writing as tight as possible.

John Gardner likens fiction to a dream. It's your dream and you want the reader to enter it. You control the lighting as you reveal the landscape. That means choosing detail that reflects the characters and the states they are in. Your tools are the five senses.

Don't stop the narrative and toss in a shovel full of back story. Get out your eye dropper, instead, and insert bits the reader needs in small doses and in places where the information can slide in easily.

Give the protagonist human feelings and the villain virtues along with her vices.

Writing a villain often means tapping into your rage, your emotions.

The best way to learn how to write dialogue is to listen to conversations. Eavesdrop in restaurnats and elevators. Use the KISS principle: Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Even if your character is an odious villain, she should be intriguing enough to make you want to ask her to lunch.

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

P.S. If you are interested in a copy of my set of these gems, email me at tstraw2@verizon.net

P.P.S. For a quick shot in the arm of writerly inspiration, review E.B. White's Introduction to The Elements of Style, Third Edition.

Full disclosure: Kate Gallison has put links to Amazon.com in this blog. If you buy any books through these links the Crime Writers will use their commission to get together and buy themselves a coffee.

The Bounty of Summer

It's the middle of July, and time to start hanging out at Solebury Orchards, where the apricots and peaches are ripe and you can pick your own blueberries right off the bush.

I must confess that I have not picked any blueberries yet. I buy them already picked, freeze half of them on a cookie sheet, and pour the little hard marbles into plastic freezer bags for future reference. I have no time to pick berries, because I'm writing a thriller, and when I'm not doing that I'm trying to publicize Irene Fleming's next offering, The Brink of Fame, which will be released August 16, a date that is barreling down on us at breakneck speed. To jump in the car, zip off to Solebury Orchards, stock up on delicious ripe local fruit and then rush home to enjoy it makes a nice break from my writerly toil.

The berries are lovely. The whole Solebury Orchard experience is lovely, driving down the old back road, strolling around the grounds smelling the fresh air, walking through ranks of flowers into the shop, admiring the wares, chatting with the friendly sales folk.

The peaches are wonderful too. Here's a thing I've found:

1. You can peel, seed and blend good ripe peaches,
2. throw in some sugar (a couple of teaspoons for each peach)
3. and two or three drops of vanilla extract, blend some more,
4. add Land o'Lakes low fat half and half (which isn't really all that low fat but is at least not heavy cream) until the color pleases you,
5. blend some more, and
6. pour into an ice cream freezer.

Half an hour later you will have something divine. With less half and half, it will be more like sherbet; with more, it will be more like ice cream.

Enjoy. But be sure to get local fruit, if it's available where you are.

Kate Gallison