A Posse of Thriller-Makers Rides Into Town…

It was no accident that Bob Schieffer, one of my favorite TV men on the planet, featured some of America's top Thriller Writers on his program the Sunday before Thrillerfest!

ThrillerFest IX, July 8-12, 2014, the annual conference of the International Thriller Writers, met in New York City this past week, featuring Scott Turow as ThrillerMaster, at the 10th Anniversary of ITW, showcasing the world's most prolific and popular authors of this modern genre, including—many of YOU—and our favorite M.D., Doug Lyle, as CraftFest Director and the world's largest gathering of top literary agents, publishers, editors and producers—each "Looking for the Next Big Thing!"

I was fascinated to learn that Bob and Sandra Brown were old friends and colleagues, both having come from Texas (and still keep their accents!). The writers were all well-spoken and very articulate. Who ever said writers are not gifted talkers? Not moi! In fact, both Lee Child and David Ignatius stated they came from a TV background.

I made notes on some of the comments of these seasoned writers and would like to share them here with you:

• Reading is an escape - a relaxation. Start a novel with what is real… and a WHAT IF… (Mary Higgins Clark has always been right about that one!)
• Put a little different spin on something REAL....
• Have a realistic WORLD!
• How is the main character going to CHANGE in this story?
• Reading a book… is to shut out the rest of the world… when cell/smart phones and zillions of contraptions intrude!

So, my friends, and beloved fellow writers, here's what the Thriller Experts send around the globe . May we all stay allied to one another and help and support our fellow writers toiling in the huge world of publishing mystery stories!

Thelma Straw

I, Er, Couldn't Put it Down

You've probably heard about the words and phrases you can use to write a job reference for someone in whose suitability for employment you have no actual confidence. "I can recommend this person without qualification," you can say. "You'll be lucky to get him to work for you." I thought of that on Saturday, when I read Dear Abby's newspaper column. The writer complained that her best friend's husband had written a novel and self-published it on Amazon. It was terrible on many levels, as she discovered when they asked her to read it and submit a glowing five-star review.

Sometimes one finds oneself in such a predicament. Many people have brothers-in-law or childhood friends who produce terrible novels and then insist that all their relatives and childhood friends review them on Amazon. This happens quite frequently now that self-publishing is so easy.

Fortunately for me, my friends and acquaintances are all good writers, and my relatives don't write books. Not everyone is so lucky, however. As I was reading the Dear Abby column it struck me that it would be in the public interest to design an all-purpose review you can use if ever you are backed into a corner. Any additions you can think of will be welcome; post them in the comments. The five stars are optional, but your brother-in-law will love them.

[BOOK TITLE] * * * * *

I can recommend [BOOK TITLE] without qualification. [AUTHOR] has produced an astonishing work of fiction, one that will live in my memory for a long time. This is quite a book. I couldn't put it down. (Fast enough.)

[Mention the name of the main character, and as much of the plot as you could stand to read.]

A real page turner. If [BOOK TITLE] is the sort of thing you like, you're sure to like this book.

Kate Gallison

To NYC with Spouse and Tank

I always look forward to visiting New York City, but I approached my most recent visit with some trepidation. I’m still recuperating from knee surgery and most people today seem to make sustained eye contact only with their iphones. Is life so overwhelming that people can only handle it when it’s contained within the boundaries of that small screen?

But I digress. I was most interested in enjoying New York without being maimed or injured. Yelling “Look up! Look up!” as someone is about to knock me over doesn’t always work. English is the only language in which I can plead for my life and so many people are wearing headphones that speech becomes futile.

What was I willing to risk all for? Kenneth Branagh in Macbeth.

I bought tickets in December and the prospect of seeing Sir Ken has gotten me through hours of pain, slow progress in walking and the generally blah feeling one can have after surgery. Anytime I felt discouraged I would turn to my husband and say,

“We have tickets to see Kenneth Branagh in June.”

The keys to the successful trip were the flexibility of my husband, Bob, and the use of my walker (hereafter known as “the tank”). I have used the tank for years at mystery conferences so that I could move smoothly through crowds. What works in hotel halls works on the streets of New York. I could move more quickly and safely with the tank and the crowds parted.

Bob and I got to the Park Avenue Armory quite early and I went in through an entrance for disabled people. While my husband talked to the bartenders (there was no intermission so this would be the time to get a drink), I talked to the very friendly Armory staff.

When I professed my considerable affection for Kenneth Branagh, I was told, “You’re in a long line of people that would now include the women who work here.”

Bob returned from the bar with some scotch. We had wanted Laphroaig. Any number of sleuths drink it and we had just learned to pronounce it. (Check out YouTube). Alas, no Laphroaig was on offer so we settled for Glenlivet.

Soon it was time to join our clan. This was a most sensible way to seat a lot of folks in an orderly fashion. Since getting to the theater itself required walking over a very dark heath, I went by wheelchair.

Bob and I had good seats. My one regret was that we did not have seats close enough to be spattered by rain, mud or fake blood. I just wanted the opportunity to turn to Bob and say, “Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched.” Yes, I know it’s not from Macbeth. It’s from Henry V. But daily life does not offer many opportunities to speak such lines and I wanted my chance.

Two uninterrupted hours went quickly by. I loved it all: the battles, the chanting monks, the witches. Most of all I love to hear Sir Ken do Shakespeare. He makes the speaking of the lines seem natural and effortless. (It’s not. I’ve tried it.)

I told myself that if I got any opportunity to make eye contact with Branagh I would give him a melting smile or do a little kissy motion. (You’re embarrassed for me, aren’t you? You think I lack decorum).

That moment did come about halfway through the play. But by that time I was watching Macbeth, not Kenneth Branagh. The king had killed people and was about to kill others. It was not a cosy moment. I let the opportunity pass.

Stephanie Patterson

Talk to Me (Or, Tie Me Up and Beat Me)

Last Monday I had occasion to spend some time (quite a lot, actually) in the emergency room of our local hospital. I'm fine now, thanks, but on Monday I had a bellyache, and my doctor sent me to the ER for a bunch of tests.

They put me in a fairly comfortable room with my own loo and a good view of people's passing feet. As I languished on my gurney people came in from time to time to take vital signs, information, and bodily fluids. One of them asked whether I had an advance directive. No, I said.

So he brought me one, only it was from the wrong pile of papers. He brought me a mental health advance directive. I had no idea that such things existed, never in all my years having fallen into the hands of the mental health establishment, for which God be thanked. I knew at once it was a mistake. Surely they weren't expecting me to go mad in there.

So, a mental health advance directive. This is how one wishes to be treated when one goes completely bonkers. I didn't sign it, but rather brought it home to share with dinner guests, since a good laugh promotes digestion. Now I will share one of the best parts with you. "Seclusion," I guess, means a padded cell, and "restraint" means a strait jacket.

Preferences about emergency interventions

I would like the interventions below to be tried before use of seclusion or restraint is considered (check all that apply)

• "Talk me down" one-on-one
• More medication
• Time out/privacy
• Show of authority/force
• Shift my attention to something else
• Set firm limits on my behavior
• Help me to discuss/vent feelings
• Decrease stimulation
• Other_____________

"Chain me to a hot radiator," an alternative suggested by a dinner guest, was not on the list, nor were "leave me the hell alone" or "tie me up and spank me." Personally I would prefer "Shift my attention to something else." (Oh, look! A submarine!)

Someone pointed out that Paragraph Eight essentially nullifies the whole document: "You should be aware that there are some circumstances where your provider may not have to follow your directive."

The Advance Directive for Mental Health Care bears the marks of having been uttered by the New Jersey State Legislature, as it mentions particular statutes. Long live the State.

Kate Gallison

How I Chose My Pen Name

Many people know that Annamaria Alfieri is not my real name.  Legally, I am Patricia King.  So why did I take another name and put it on the covers of my books?  And how did I choose what that name would be?

Well, first of all Patricia King is very common name.  There are 2950 of us in the USA, according to the 2010 census.  I have been confused with other women by the name and they have been confused with me--quite annoyingly once when one was booked on the same flight as I and changed her ticket.

These days, the most prominent author named Patricia King is a televangelist.  In fact her website says in huge letters, "Patricia King, TELEVANGELIST/ENTREPRENEUR."  Did I want people to think by stories were written by her?  Not really.

I also wanted people to be able to find me on the internet.  If you google "Patricia King," you get 30,800,000 hits in .35 seconds.  The first 16,000 or so pages are her, not me.  I didn't like the odds.

To avoid mistaken identity,  I needed a distinctive name.  One that could have its own url.  It would also be nice to sport one that had some romance to it.

Also choosing what to call myself gave me a chance to honor my female forebears: bright women who never had my opportunities for education or outlets for their considerable talents.  So I chose “Annamaria Alfieri”—my mother’s first name and her mother’s maiden name.  My pseudonym also brings me back to my Italian heritage.

Here they are: those women whose names I took.  Sabina Maria Alfieri Pisacane, (left in white, with a cousin of hers).  She was called Marietta and was NOT the quintessential Italian grandmother.  There was a lot of tiger in that mother of eight children.

And here is Annamaria Pisacane Puglise on the day of her wedding to my father, Sam.

Just a couple of months ago, I was rummaging in a file of family information and mementoes, looking for my father’s birth certificate when I came across memory cards for my great grandparents.  What a lovely surprise to realize that my maternal great grandmother, who was just “Nonna” in the family, was named—guess what?  Anna Maria Alfieri.  This makes sense, since there is a strong Southern Italian tradition of naming children after their grandparents.  My mother must have been named after her.  

Here she is, the original Anna Maria Alfieri with her husband, Francesco Alfieri.  She and her oldest daughter, Sabina, were both illiterate, as was Sam’s mother.  How amazing that I, the granddaughter of illiterate women, got to be an author.  And what a satisfaction to be able to honor them in the process.

Now, here we are side by side, the two Annamarias: