I WRITE DEAD PEOPLE

I am a wanton, unrepentent killer.

Now, before you start thinking that I am about to confess to some heinous unsolved crime, let me explain.

Several years ago, shortly after the release of THE SIXTH SENSE, I made a couple of tee shirts with pictures of my book covers on the back, and the legend "I WRITE DEAD PEOPLE" on the front.

I still wear them all the time, mostly because I have reached that point in life when I need to wear reading glasses, and these tee shirts have breast pockets where I can keep the glasses. I haven't yet given in to wearing the strap around my neck so I can find my reading glasses any time I need them. I'm just that vain...

I get a lot of questions about the shirts when I go to the hardware or the grocery store. Sometimes I just get stares, until people see the book covers on the back. When the cute checkout girl at the Harris-Teeter discovers what the shirt is really about, I often find that I've made another sale. Groovy.

This post isn't about book promotions, though. It's about the philosophy behind the saying, "I Write Dead People."

Mystery authors have a lot of power over our characters, which we often wield like a ten-pound sledge hammer. Writing mysteries may be the quintessential act of sublimation - a Freudian defense in which people redirect inappropriate impulses into marginally appropriate activities. If someone we know pisses us off, we write a character with his characteristics, and then have him horribly bludgeoned to death, or poisoned, or maybe just shot ten or twenty times.

Sometimes we're aware of what we're doing to this character. Sometimes we don't give it a second thought. Sometimes, a little murder in our stories does little more than move the story along, a sort of literary goose in the shorts to get us from Point A to Point B. We kill the guy off, and leave him in the dust to rot while we move on to the important interactions between our protagonists.

In my last Eamon Gold novel, no fewer than seven people were killed by page 300. Most of them died very badly. I, as their literary deity, ordained their demise, and carried out the executions. Each time I did it, I could feel my pulse quicken a little. It felt pretty good. It made the story exciting. Readers ate it up. The book was nominated for a Shamus Award. Mystery Scene Magazine actually pointed to the Wild West-style shootout at the end as a high point in the book.

Through my semi-noble hero, I had killed again, and had gotten away with it.

I don't think much about those dead characters anymore. I've moved on to new books, and new murders. Sometimes I wonder if the people who enjoyed that book recall the names of the people who died. Sometimes, I even have a hard time recalling them.

Last week, a man walked into a Unitarian Church in Knoxville, Tennessee, and shot nine people with a shotgun, the same weapon Eamon Gold used in my novel. Two of the churchgoers died. The shooter reportedly opened fire in the church because he ''didn't like liberals".

For the record, the people who died were named Linda Kraeger and Greg McKendry. They were 61 and 60 years of age, respectively. Linda Kraeger was a retired teacher from Texas, and and author. Greg McKendry was an usher at the church who, with his wife Barbara, had taken in a foster child. He died protecting his friends. I mention this only because I think we shouldn't let this event just pass by us, to be swallowed up in the big parade of world events, national elections, geologic upheavals in California, or a lousy race at Indianapolis. These were real people, with full, rich lives, and some guy walked into their church - their church! - and blew them away because he didn't like their politics.

Seems a lousy reason to die to me.

I know the name of the shooter, but I choose not to repeat it. Whatever his motivations, the people in the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Congregation had done nothing to him at all, and none of them deserved what happened to them. The shooter deserves even less to be remembered or recognized for his ignorant, irrational actions.

This week, two people who only wanted to love their fellow humans are going into the ground, long before they should have. We should feel really bad about that.

It makes me think.

If we felt that badly about the fates of the people we kill off in our books, maybe the readers would share that concern, and want our protags to solve the cases just as badly as we, the authors, want it. It seems to me that the really great crime writers are able to somehow connect with readers that way, and make them care as much about the dead as they do about the living.

As authors, we should think twice the next time we are tempted to toss in some random violence in our books, and decide whether this is going to make our readers care more about the people we're wantonly, perhaps remorselessly killing off, or whether we are taking these characters' everything away just to stretch the book out for ten or twenty more pages.

Gotta go. Things to write.
R

Cruises

We are busily getting ready for our next cruise, which will be in September to Alaska. It will also be our 3rd. The first was a 3-day one to Key West and Cancun;/Cozumel, the 2nd was a 7 day cruise to Jamaica, Grand Cayman and Cancun, and the 3rd was a 3 day to the Bahamas.

Of the three the most eventful one was the 1st. We were in a bowling league where, instead of trophies, all the money went to the group taking a cruise together. We were all very excited because most of the group, including Wendy, had never been to Mexico before. I however had lived in central Mexico for 6 weeks in high school.

We flew down to Miami to begin our journey. Since our cabin was deep in the bowels of the ship, things were a little crowded. We were able to put the two beds together to make one, and the bathroom was very small, but we couldn't complain too much.

The first stop was in Key West, where we went to the southern most point in the US, as well as some shopping before heading back to the ship. So far everything was right on schedule. That was fixing to change very quickly.

That night there was a huge Midnight buffet, with everything you could imagine on it. About 11:45 we decided to head up on deck. When we got there we saw a helicopter hovering beside the ship. As we watched it lowered a stretcher onto the ship, and someone was put on it. The helicopter then left.

We later learned that one of the passengers had had a major heart attack, and that was the Coast Guard coming to his rescue. The good news was he was going to be fine. The bad news was, when he had the heart attack, we were close to Cuba. The Coast Guard contacted Cuba to get permission to enter their airspace to rescue the man.

Castro, being the lovely man that he is, REFUSED! When we saw the helicopter, the ship had been forced to turn around, and we were halfway back to Miami!

To be continued

The Greatest Reward

Don't laugh at all those Hallmark cards ... the truth is, you can find some wonderful nuggets of wisdom there if you can get past all the corn and dripping syrupy sentiment. (Being a drippy sentimentalist myself, I find myself wanting to swim in it, but that's another story.)

Years ago, a friend of mine told me about the very profound advice she found on a Hallmark card. She bought the card and kept it.

This is what it said:

"The greatest reward for all your work is not what you earn from it, but what you become by it."

I have no idea who wrote it.

But I am grateful for it every day.

As an author, I've written 17 published books, 2 produced plays, dozens of articles for health magazines and sports publications, even had a piece published in CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL OF AMERICA. Two of my screen works have been optioned. My biography appears in several different editions of WHO'S WHO. My books have won awards, and one was a #6 Amazon bestseller AND was optioned for film.

... Big deal.

It hasn't made me rich. (I'll pause here while you bend double laughing at me for thinking it ever could.)

It hasn't made me famous. The most exciting `celebrity' thing I ever did was throw out the first pitch at our local minor-league baseball park. As a baseball fan, this meant a lot to me; as far as being well known, well, I live in Charleston among some REALLY well-known authors. Trust me, no one mistakes me for them.

It certainly hasn't garnered me any more respect among people who do know me. Believe me, I'm no hero to my kids. They think of me as the person who drives them places and gets them organized in the morning before school. My older son read my best book and kindly told me it didn't suck; that was his idea of high praise.

The rewards have frankly been sorely lacking in this profession, at least for me. By comparison, prostitution is lucrative, leads often to repeat business and is far more dignified.

The greatest reward is what I've evolved into as a result of all that work. The knowing that I can do it. The confidence that comes with experience and my unshaken belief that no matter how late I finally start on a piece of work (I'm the world's greatest procrastinator -- no contest), I'll deliver it on time and in good shape.

I'm genuinely proud of knowing my craft, and however much more I can improve on myself, I still can look back at the young writer I was and be grateful for how far I've come.

"The greatest reward for all your work is not what you earn from it, but what you become by it."

Well, that's okay with me. Because the reward of becoming is worth all the others combined, and while I haven't yet given up hope of the rich-famous-and-dignified, what I've become as a result of all those frantic days and nights of typing and thinking and re-thinking and re-typing is something I can be proud of now. And who knows? With every new word and project, I can look forward to so much more becoming.

--Susan Sloate
www.susansloate.com

Death Before Coffee

Monday morning blog.

I've given up coffee.

It wasn't a good morning for it.

I'm behind a few stories for the Small Metropolitan Newspaper I write for in my spare time. Those are due this afternoon or early tomorrow morning. The paper goes to press on Tuesday afternoon. Cutting it short, but it was nice having some time off to catch up from my vacation last week.

I love vacations but it's hell on my schedule. I'd like to say I could just go without a schedule but nothing would ever get done.

Fortunately, the new mystery book is in good shape so I don't have to think about that.

I drive around thinking what I'm going to write about and who the lucky person will be to fill in that gap for me. Could be a county or city official. They're easy targets because they want to talk as long as you say what they want their constituents to read. Could be someone with a really big watermelon or whose storage shed was torn apart by something the Weather Service doesn't want to call a tornado. We call these Micro Bursts now. I haven't had a complete definition for this, but I'm sure there's a story somewhere.

I'm passing coffee shop now. I managed to get out of the house without one but will I make it into town with only water in my cup? It's a challenge.

The Mayor calls me about a possible story but it won't make it past the editor. Everyone knows the Mayor has a way of stretching the truth. Better luck next call when a driver calls me to say a man is trapped in a ditch under some heavy equipment. If I get there right away, I might be able to catch it for the paper.

I reach the scene and ditch my car to walk between the dozens of medics and EMS trucks along with fire fighters and police officers. I see a friendly face and ask about the man in the ditch. We walk behind the barricades and I can see where they're digging. The tunnel where the man was working collapsed on him. There's an apparatus that could've been used but they didn't want to take the time. No one knows who the man is yet or no one is saying.

I'm there at nearly the end of the project. The man has already been underground for too long. By the time he's brought up, he's pronounced dead at the scene. All that's left is to talk to the police chief then the construction supervisor. No, he didn't tell the man to go down without the proper equipment. Of course not.

I talk to everyone I can at the scene and take a photo of the man on the stretcher under a blanket as they make room for him to be moved. I take another photo of the trucks and cars beside the open hole which now marks where this man died, in case the editor is too disturbed by the first shot.

I wanted a story and I got one. Maybe not the one I wanted. I head back to the coffee shop before I go on to the office. I'll try to give up coffee again tomorrow. Maybe.

Joyce Lavene
www.joyceandjimlavene.com

What It's Taken Me 52 Years To Learn

Last month I turned 52 and I bought myself a tiara. I've always wanted to wear one ever since the first time my mother let me stay up to watch the Miss America Pageant. I'm pretty sure that no one's going to give me a tiara, so I figured it was a good time to go buy one.

Which I did, along with a matching rhinestone necklace. And thus a birthday tradition was born. It has now become the Coveted Birthday Tiara and Matching Precious Sklinkles of Joy Necklace. I was photographed wearing them andI wrote down what little wisdom I've gained in 52 years. Then I boxed it all up and sent it to my mother in Batavia, Ohio, who will do the same, and send her photo and wisdom to my sister Nancy in Eugene, Oegon. And so on. We will start our own little blog so we can all see each other's answers.

Here's what it's taken me 52 years to learn:

1) When a torrential downpour accompanied by a cold North wind during a camping trip to the Outer Banks forced me to spend 36 hours in a wet sleeping bag, I learned to always appreciate being warm and dry.

2) Old habits die hard and even then, there are some that have amazing recuperative powers.

3) Having found myself at a point where I have nothing to worry about, I spend an awful lot of time worrying about nothing.

4) Money can't buy happiness and poverty doesn't necessarily bring despair, but you sure do sleep better when you are debt free with money in the bank.

5) Like it or not, you will turn into your mother sooner or later. And you won't mind it nearly as much as you thought you would.

6) A lot of things you've always wanted are over-rated. But having a baby isn't.

7) As a lifelong cat person, I have since learned to treasure the love and loyalty of a good dog. Unlike husbands and surly 12 year olds, dogs are always really, really, really glad to see you no matter how bad their own day has been.

8) Getting a book published does not change your life nearly as much as you expect it to.

9) It's good to feel useful, and there's nothing more useful than helping people who really need your help.

10) Bad things will happen to you or people you love for no reason. But there will always be family, friends and even strangers who will get you through.

11) Marriage is not like dating. It's like going into business with a drinking buddy. You still get to have a beer together once in a while, but you have to work together to make sure the bills are paid, the kids are fed, the laundry done and the house cleaned at least once in a while. The purpose of dating is to have fun and impress the other person. Once you're married, you find having fun becomes a low priority and nobody's impressed any more.

12) On a cold winter night, it's nice to have a familiar warm body to snuggle up to. Even if he snores. Even if you snore.

That's what I've learned. Now it's your turn. What have you learned in all your years? Pleease leave your answer in the comments. (The tiara is optional.)

My story (so far)

Who would have thought 2 years ago that I would have my first novel, Scaffold, finally published after 16 years of hard work, tears and sweat (not to mention some writer's block).

I was born in Parsons, Ks, which is a very small town in the SE corner of the state. I was adopted by my grandparents at a very early age. I have kids, son Chris (26), daughter Kathi (24)
and daughter Holly (22). I am married to Wendy for the past almost 10 years, and we will be celebrating our big anniversary in September with a cruise to Alaska.

I have been a writer for many years. I started out mainly doing short stories for fun. About 17 years ago I was trying to come up with an idea for a novel. I had been a huge wrestling fan since I was a kid, and had also worked in a law office. They always say, "Write what you know," so I decided to do a marriage of a legal who done it and pro wrestling. Thus Scaffold was born.

Favorite movies: Star Wars, Indiana Jones, Batman.
Favorite authors: The Carolina Conspirators, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, James Patterson, Terry Brooks
Favorite food: Italian, Mexican and seafood.


To be continued.....

The Perils of What If

The Perils of What if

L.C. Evans

If I had to guess, I’d say the most frequent question asked of me as a writer is, “Where do you get your ideas?” This question always puzzled me until daughter number four, my youngest, pointed out that not everyone lives in a world of what ifs the way I do.

“Mom, you could look at a cat crossing the road and within minutes you’ll have invented a dysfunctional family for the cat and a conflict situation involving the neighbor’s dog. Then you’ll wonder out loud what would happen if the poor animal discovered its owner’s body belly up in the den.”

“I wouldn’t. In my opinion there are enough mystery series involving cats.”

“You know what I mean,” she says, assuming an expression that makes me think she is the mom and I am not. “Other people do not glimpse a puff of smoke rising into the sky and then conclude Charlotte is under attack by aliens who have already set fire to Tryon Street.”

“Sweetie, I do not conclude, I merely wonder. I mean, what if that was the reason for the fire?”

“Sure, you merely wonder, and then your imagination goes into a feeding frenzy slurping up all the what ifs. You end up convincing yourself that the only reason the aliens have selected the Queen City for the focus of their trip across the galaxy is that they are here to beam up one or all of your children.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue. Tiggy is right. I do tend to let my imagination take over, as if it’s hooked to a giant quantum computer that explores all the possibilities, especially the more outlandish ones. Two years ago when she traveled to India—alone I might add—I didn’t hear from her for twenty-four whole hours. By the time she finally phoned home, I was certain my Tiggy was in the clutches of slave traders who had packed her into a cargo container for shipment to some undisclosed location where they need small Americans with attitude. Of course, I was already packing for my flight to New Delhi and planning how I was going to rip the kidnapers to shreds. I even made a mental note to shop for an outfit I could wear on Good Morning America.

Other moms, the blissfully unaware kind, might say to their children, “Sure, honey, you can climb that tree.” But my brood would hear something like this: “I’d rather you didn’t, but I wouldn’t want to be a mother hen or spoil your fun. Go ahead and climb the tree. Be sure to wear your bike helmet, your kneepads, and a parachute. Oh, and don’t forget to bring a rope. And while you’re up there you’ll have a good view, so look around and make sure there are no sociopaths skulking around the neighborhood.”

My children are grown now, but I still have a tendency—a small one, you understand—to point out possible outcomes of their actions. I mean, what if one of them took a job in Wyoming or one of those other big square states? And then the boss was lambasted over the head with a fishbowl and found dead in the men’s room. And my child became a suspect because she’d had an argument with him over the office feng shui and she hated his fish. What then? Hmmm. This could work.

So it is not surprising that my offspring believe the line between real life and plotting fiction is all too easily blurred in my case. We’ve finally reached a compromise. The next time one of my children announces plans to do something I just know is dangerous, I will react with all the emotion of a snail on tranquilizers. From now on my imagination and ideas will be reserved for writing. Really.

L.C. Evans
http://lcevans.com/

What to Blog About

I’ve been reading blogs by different writers (1) to see what they’re writing about (2) to get an idea of what I should write about (3) To see if I really want to write a blog (4) I like to be entertained and (5) I’m nosy.

After all this research I find that some of the things writers are writing about are:

(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.

(2) Their pets (this could probably go with personal life, but since pets are such a big thing I decided to give them a paragraph of their own.) Of course there are dogs and cats of all shapes, sizes and breeds; then there are the exotic pets – A monkey (I had a friend years ago who had a monkey. It bit her husband’s hand and he almost lost it.), A snake (Never mind what kind, I’m in that large group of people who shuts their eyes when a snake appears on television. I hate snakes.), A llama (Yes someone had a llama. The only llama I ever met spit at me.), An iguana (To me they look like a tiny dragon or a big lizard. I have no desire to meet either.), and then there are the big pets, horses, cows, and assorted farm animals. Again this list could go on and on so I suppose writing about animals is okay. I’ll keep an eye on my lazy cat, Jefferson and if he does anything exciting I’ll report on it. At this point his life seems to consist only of eating twice a day and sleeping on the foot of my bed.

(3) Their travels. Writers seem to be going everywhere. Hawaii is a choice spot. (I’ve never been there so that’s out.) Cancun is another favorite destination. (I went there one time, but if was a quick day trip from a cruise ship and I didn’t see much of the place.) The Greek Islands (One can only hope..someday.) Cruises both in the Atlantic and Pacific (I went on one – see Cancun – but that was over twenty years ago and my husband, now ex-husband was so busy taking care of two retired women in our group that I probably saw him a total of an hour a day. I didn’t have good time and I’m in no hurry to ever take another cruise.) New York, LA, Chicago and many cities in between. (I wonder if anyone would be interested in the fact that my little town has a Wal-Mart and I went there the other day. I bought a pile of cat food because it’s 7 cents a can cheaper there than the grocery store. Today I made it to the Post Office and tomorrow I’m going to a Mexican restaurant to meet with my critique group. Not a lot happens in my little town. One of these days I’ll take an exotic vacation...maybe.)

These are only a few examples of the 437 things I found that writers write about on their blogs. When it comes down to it, I have decided I can write about anything I want to and I’ve decided I’ll do just that.

What to Blog About

I’ve been reading blogs by different writers (1) to see what they’re writing about (2) to get an idea of what I should write about (3) to see if I really want to write a blog (4) I like to be entertained and (5) I’m nosy.

After all this research I find that some of the things writers are writing about are:
(1) Their personal life (birthdays, anniversaries, a black dress, husbands, wives, family, children, parents, holidays, remodeling the house, buying a house, empty nest, cleaning a closet, having a wreck, a car break-in, and on and on. Anything that happens in life seems to be fair game for a blog. I can do this.

(2) Their pets (this could probably go with personal life, but since pets are such a big thing I decided to give them a paragraph of their own.) Of course there are dogs and cats of all shapes, sizes and breeds; then there are the exotic pets – A monkey (I had a friend years ago who had a monkey. It bit her husband’s hand and he almost lost it.), A snake (Never mind what kind, I’m in that large group of people who shuts their eyes when a snake appears on television. I hate snakes.), A llama (Yes someone had a llama. The only llama I ever met spit at me.), An iguana (To me they look like a tiny dragon or a big lizard. I have no desire to meet either.), and then there are the big pets, horses, cows, and assorted farm animals. Again this list could go on and on so I suppose writing about animals is okay. I’ll keep an eye on my lazy cat, Jefferson and if he does anything exciting I’ll report on it. At this point his life seems to consist only of eating twice a day and sleeping on the foot of my bed.

(3) Their travels. Writers seem to be going everywhere. Hawaii is a choice spot. (I’ve never been there so that’s out.) Cancun is another favorite destination. (I went there one time, but if was a quick day trip from a cruise ship and I didn’t see much of the place.) The Greek Islands (One can only hope..someday.) Cruises both in the Atlantic and Pacific (I went on one – see Cancun – but that was over twenty years ago and my husband, now ex-husband was so busy taking care of two retired women in our group that I probably saw him a total of an hour a day. I didn’t have good time and I’m in no hurry to ever take another cruise.) New York, LA, Chicago and many cities in between. (I wonder if anyone would be interested in the fact that my little town has a Wal-Mart and I went there the other day. I bought a pile of cat food because it’s 7 cents a can cheaper there than the grocery store. Today I made it to the Post Office and tomorrow I’m going to a Mexican restaurant to meet with my critique group. Not a lot happens in my little town. One of these days I’ll take an exotic vacation...maybe.)

These are only a few examples of the 437 things I found that writers write about on their blogs. When it comes down to it, I have decided I can write about anything I want to and I’ve decided that I’ll do just that.

Looking For A Good Read?

I admit it, I spend way too much time on the internet. E-mail, social networking, blogging, website maintenance looking up obscure facts on Wikipedia (Who played Yeoman Rand on the first season of Star Trek?), they all suck up more hours of the day than I care to think about. Just imagine how much I could get done if I weren't hunched over a computer all the time, like I am right now.

That being said, I've found a site that's positively addictive. It's called Goodreads and if you like to read books, review books and discuss books, forget about reading the rest of this blog and click here right now.

Like the Myspace social network site, members "friend" each other on Goodreads. You can rate books and post reviews, as well as see what your friends are reading and reviewing. There are also groups where members can discuss books, as well as movies and just about anything else. My favorite group has been "Books I Loathed" which gave me a chance to say what I really thought about Oprah pick The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen and The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller.

I'm happy to say that none of my books, nor any by members of the Conspiracy have been mentioned in that discussion, although I did see Joyce and Jim Lavene's Peggy Lee Garden Mysteries mentioned in the group "Favorite Cozy Series."

I find that I'm reading more books, with the intention of reviewing them for Goodreads. I've become a more critical reader. Rather than clicking on stars, or saying "great book!" I want to put into words what made this a great book, or a not so great book, or a downright awful book that I wouldn't use as a doorstop.

It's also a good place to connect with readers who might possibly want to read the books I've written, but I'm having such a good time logging on and talking about books that I tend to forget that's why I joined in the first place.

So go ahead, join in. And by all means add me as a friend when you do.

Judy Nichols
www.judy5cents.com

The day my computer died

Jim Lavene
Tuesday, July 22

It never fails. When we go away to a mystery writer's conference or on vacation, when I come back, something terrible has happened. It's almost not worth going away anymore because I can't afford the repairs when I get back.

Take this year's Malice Domestic in DC. Gone for three days and two water pipes burst. So I get home Sunday afternoon and there's no water and I spend the rest of the night crawling around in the dirt fixing the pipes.

We take our whole family to Myrtle Beach each summer(kids, grandkids, in-laws). We stay at one of those big, high rise hotels with the ocean front balcony up so high all the people look like ants. The kids love the amenities like the pools and stuff. This year, it was the Dune's Resort with elephants whose trunks shoot out water and giant water slides. The kids dig in the sand too but mostly, it's the other stuff they want. Dune's was nice; clean and nice people. We all came back exhausted and happy. It's a great time to spend with everyone, having time to talk and sit on the balcony and watch the sun rise and set.

We got home late on Sunday and everything seemed to be fine for once. I smiled and went into my office, thinking I must've beat the curse.

WRONG!!!

I pushed the button to start my primary computer. Nothing happened. I kind of glanced at it then tried again. Nothing happened. I jiggled a few cables, checked the power supply. Nothing!

I spent the next hour trying everything I knew and nothing happened. By that time, I was sure the mother board was fried. I told myself not to panic. I have a laptop and all my info is stored on a server separate from the main computer. It would be all right until I could get something else set up.

We worked hard on the new book(Ghastly Glass, book 2 in the Ren Faire series) before we left so we wouldn't have to take it with us but it had been four days and I knew we'd want to get back to it Monday. My laptop is okay for emergencies but it's slow.

So I got online and ordered some memory. It would be a while before I could get a new main computer. Just looking around in the catalogues to get an exact fit takes a few days and then ordering. I can't get what I want from Best Buy or Circuit City. Since they closed the Comp USA store in Charlotte, I have to get everything online.

But we're up and running again with the laptop and the next chapter of GG is in the can. I know now that I can't beat the curse and I've resigned myself to it. Something has got to be whacked out or screwed up when I come back after a few days. It's just one of those laws of nature.

Welcome to the Conspiracy!

On behalf of the Carolina Conspiracy, welcome to the Carolina Conspiracy Blog, where murder is on our brain. For your viewing pleasure, we have nine mystery authors who will be regularly blogging. Our books span the mystery gamut--cozy, procedural, historical, psychological, hard-boiled--you’ll find it here. What ties us together is our locale…we’re Carolina mystery writers. I’m eager to stretch just a bit: read different writing styles and genres, and discover how others survive and thrive in the writing life.
Mystery Media Musing #1:
Summer is television’s dry spell, but are the economy and the “staycationers” forcing new programming? PBS aired excellent shows on Masterpiece Mystery from June 22 through July 6 for police procedural fans. The Inspector Lewis episodes have been exceptional. I was skeptical at first because I enjoyed reading/watching Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse and don’t like spinoffs as a rule. The episodes are set in Oxford, England and Lewis is paired with (and plays well off of) his younger, better educated partner. The episode “Expiation” had a creepy opening sequence with a child that jumped out of nowhere and seemed to be silently ranting. Her mother jumped and looked terrified, an interesting reaction. The viewers were quickly diverted from this unsettling beginning by the next sequence which portrayed a raucous start-of-the-day any soccer mom would recognize. Well, okay, the family and their friends (picking up children for school carpool) did seem over-the-top happy for early morning, but clearly represented a close knit, loving group. Several scenes later when the mom is shown hanging from the stairwell, I was hooked. Suicide was ruled out and Inspector Lewis was soon investigating murder. The body count on a couple of the episodes rivaled Midsomer Murders (unlikely in the small town of Oxford.) The number of murders does deepen the urgency and quicken the pace so suspend your disbelief and enjoy the police work and the dark, satisfying mysteries. Be sure to TiVo them--PBS loves its reruns--I’m convinced the episodes will make a return appearance. It would be especially nice (are you out there PBS?) if PBS would put episodes on its website for viewers to see in their entirety. In addition to the Lewis series, I’m looking forward to Elizabeth George’s Inspector Lynley, returning in two new episodes on August 10 and August 17 on Masterpiece Mystery.
Mystery Media Musing 2: Ruth Rendall’s new book, Not in the Flesh, is now waiting for me at the public library after spending some time on my waiting list. Next time I’ll give a rundown on it. I stumbled across Ruth Rendall/Barbara Vine’s The Chimney Sweep’s Boy while browsing the stacks at the Matthews Library. It was fun finding a new mystery series the old-fashioned way: these days I usually research books online via Amazon or book blogs and request them online from the library. I was delighted to find the author has gobs of books out there (where have I been? She’s a bestselling author!) and was first published before I was born. Usually I happen into a series at the very beginning and then have to wait impatiently while the author writes the books.
Mystery Media Musing 3: Cool mystery-lover website: http://www.stopyourekillingme.com/index.html . I particularly like their “Read Alikes” section where you can match your mystery reading interests (Mystery Classics, P.I., Female Leads, etc.) with authors who write those genres. Of course, http://www.cluelass.com/ has tons of info, but it’s a little too much for me and I get lost on the site, despite their clear design and organization.
Off the cuff: /Writing Randoms:
One thing I’ve found about being a writer is that you have to grab your moments: especially if you’re a mom writing during the summer. Something I’ve discovered this week: It is possible to write with Spongebob Squarepants going on in the background. It’s occasionally even possible to write something GOOD with Spongebob in the background. Maybe not while Spongebob’s friend, Patrick, is talking because that guy just hemorrhages IQ (not that I’m watching the show or anything.) Okay, maybe I did watch a few minutes of Spongebob. You know mysteries are pervasion when they even crop up on kids’ shows: Spongebob did a take-off on Poe’s Tell Tale Heart. (And one for Rocky Horror Picture Show, too, but that’s in a genre all its own.) I love it when cartoons slip in some references to hook the grownups.
My ‘to do’ list this week: Read Rendall’s book, write a chapter on the new chick-lit mystery, and rewrite the picture book copy from a different character perspective. Rent Blockbuster movies to entertain the kids while executing this plan?
Elizabeth Craig, A Dyeing Shame: Death at the Beauty Box