rosemarylordwriter

A WRITERS’ MERRY HOLIDAY….

By ROSEMARY LORD

Do you ever feel that you’ll never catch up before the year ends?

Meanwhile all around, folks are panicking at not having enough time to complete their yearly goals, year-end deadlines, working to bring in much-needed last-minute, additional income after a slow financial year and wrap up assorted 2025 ventures.

At the same time, people want to make the most of the Holiday Season: Hanukkah, Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

Many are adding travel to their already over-packed timetables, to visit relatives, distant friends, escape to warmer climes as winter weather encroaches – or just a New Year getaway on the schedule.

Some of us are asking ourselves, is this all a bit overwhelming? Have I taken on too much? Have I added too many incidental items to my accomplishment wish-list?

As writers are we pushing ourselves to finish that book before the year end, when we really need to give ourselves more time to investigate the timelines, plotlines, deepen our characters? Are we rushing to complete that article before the January 1^st deadline, just to get it out of the way?

I think that sometimes today, in our busy, rather overwhelming lives, we miss the point of the satisfaction of totally immersing ourselves in the creative pleasure that we’re privileged to do for a living. Just writing. Be it with pencil and pad, or the latest computer programs. Without the cacophony of social media expectations and the fear-of-missing-out, we would calmly (well – not always…) focus on the task at hand. We could focus on what we were writing, even when the deadlines loomed. We did not get distracted by today’s outer craziness. We researched, we wrote, we completed the assignment in a more centered way.

We were at the helm. None of the pressure from outside nudging us to keep posting things on social media or keeping up to date by reading everything on Facebook and Instagram, so we know what everyone and their cousin is doing or thinking. Being sure to read the ‘right’ blogs, attend the ‘right’ events, use the ‘right’ words, keep in touch with the ‘right’ people that may be able to boost our career or our ‘online presence,’ – or not.

What happened to the basic, simple goals we had carefully planned?

Our aim used to be to write an (almost perfect) article, book, novel, investigative report, children’s book. Something we would be fastidious in researching, writing and editing. Maybe running it by our beta-reader friends before sending it off.

But today we seem to have become distracted and overwhelmed by the outside influence of a thousand chattering voices telling us we’re not doing enough. That we should have this ‘online presence’ and become a social media darling so that everyone recognizes our faces and our logo. Everyone should have a distinctive logo, they say. Who is ‘they’?

Yes, I appreciate that is today’s way to sell more of our books, our articles, get more advertising revenue. But I can’t help thinking that, if it’s the money you’re after and if your goal is to become a millionaire and get a million ‘clicks,’– there are a lot easier ways to do that than through the writing world.

When we started out, it was our writing that we wanted people to read, enjoy, appreciate, even applaud. Somewhere along the road that seems to have gotten lost.

Originally, we each felt we had something to say. A voice to be heard and enjoyed. But then some got caught up in the rush of outside influences, instead of listening to that calm, still voice inside our writers’ brain.

Some of us got too busy listening to everything and anything and lost our way, then found ourselves thinking, ‘Is this how I really want to spend my life?’

And this is a wonderful time, over these festive holidays, to calmly step back and remember what we came in for. Where is our time best spent? Rushing around following the crowd? Or finding our way back to our original writing goals?

So, as we have our overfill of eggnog in the next couple of weeks, let’s take a deep breath and quietly plan for a wonderful year ahead of writing what WE want to write, in the way WE want to write it. Dust off our writing dreams – and tell Santa Claus what we really want for Christmas…

Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas and a wonderful New Year to all of you writers and readers out there.

A WORLD OF BOOKS…

by Rosemary Lord

Books. That’s what most of us aspire to write. And most of us writers read – a lot!

As Cicero said: “A room without books is like a body without a soul.” I wholeheartedly agree!

Baudelaire wrote: “A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.”

And J.K. Rowling believes that “something magical happens when you read a book.”

While Honore de Balzac wrote, “Reading brings us unknown friends.” How true.

And I think that the books people have in their homes says a lot about themselves.

I remember visiting Rudyard Kipling’s house, Bateman, in Sussex, England. The 17^th-century, wood-paneled house is filled with souvenirs from his travels to India and beyond, his dark, imposing library has floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with encyclopedias, travel books, biographies and local-culture tomes from his exotic wanderings.

A much brighter house further west in England is Agatha Christie’s beloved Greenway House, situated in a rambling woodland garden on the River Dart in Devon, England. Like the rest of the sprawling house, Christie’s library is bright and sunny. The cream-colored shelves are filled with an array of crime-writer’s reference books of deadly poisons, murder weapons, infamous murderers, biographies as well as her travel pursuits. There are many books on archeology, Egypt, Syria and the Middle East. Christie accompanied her archeologist second- husband, Max Mallowen on his trips to the Middle East. She would catalogue the finds, methodically taking notes which would often later be used in her novels, such as ‘Death On The Nile.’ But in that sunny library, the most admired books are the shelves brimming with copies of all her own novels in their original or amended titles in English and a host of other languages.

Whilst most of us don’t have room in our homes for our very own designated ‘library,’ we do have bookshelves, or places to store or display books.

On the other end of the spectrum from Agatha Christie’s spacious, airy and very comfortable library, my own ‘library’ in my small Hollywood apartment is simply five bookcases in my living room crammed with my life readings.

The shelves are filled with books on the Golden Era of Hollywood and the history of Los Angeles. I have all of Agatha Christie’s novels, various mystery writers both past and present and a vast selection of ‘cozies.’ I have a lot of books written by fellow author friends. Of course, there are the mystery-writers’ required reading: ‘How to commit a murder’ books, forensics, poisons and other reference books. On my bedroom shelves are my escapist novels by Rosamunde Pilcher, Victoria Hislop, Santa Montefiore and Paul Gallico.

Most of my writer friends have fascinating collections of murder/mystery/crime books, romance-novel or science-fiction ‘How-to’ publications, as well as assorted guides to publishers, literary agents, self-publishing and more. I have a friend who has wall-to-wall shelves filled with books about every musical ever produced, books of lyrics, sheet-music and musical biographies. Guess what his interest is?! Others have an array of nutrition, cook-books, photography or – like my late-husband – motor-racing or herpetology: the study of snakes.

The contents of people’s bookshelves reveal their focus in life: be it travel, biographies, photography, bird-watching, theatre or needlework.

I recall a brief visit to a young wanna-be Hollywood actress’s apartment. It was sleek, cool and very trendy, her wardrobe similarly up-to-the-minute. But there was not one book – or even a magazine – in the place. “Books?” she shrugged dismissively, “I’m not interested.”

I still reel with shock at that image! (She only booked a couple of small non-speaking acting jobs then disappeared!)

Conversely, when my family and I stayed in an old house in Portugal, my room had bookshelves crammed with books on Mussolini, Stalin, Hitler, ‘Mass Murderers of the World,’ Nazis, World Wars, battles, ‘Mr. Nice: the international drug smuggler,’ Napoleon, Fidel Castro, ‘The Bin Ladens,’ ‘The Mind of a Murderer,’ and some Lee Childs’ Jack Reacher novels for light reading. All in Portuguese. There was a large, framed poster of a hand-drawn man’s face with several stab-marks, red slashes and undecipherable scrawled slogans. I quickly removed this and hid it behind an armchair. But the bed was very comfy and, surprisingly, I slept better there than I had in a long time.

One of the other bedrooms had a brighter selection of Hitler and Nazi books, mixed in with Winston Churchill and world political leaders. All in Portuguese. Another room had some travel books. How did that person fit in?

The general décor of this 1887-built house was grand but somber. The walls in the rather grim, marble-floored entrance lobby, and the walls of the sweeping staircase were filled with neat rows of gilt-framed, black-and-white etchings of various battles, warriors, death, solemn religious figures and crucifixions. So were the walls of the formal front parlor and the even-more formal dining room. The walls in each of the bedrooms and the long corridor leading to one of the spacious, marble floored bathrooms were similarly adorned. All the drawers throughout the house were locked. Even the Canaletto print over the fireplace was mournful and colorless. And so the selection of the books in this rambling old house was not surprising.

I remember my dad’s bookshelves were full of mysteries and police stories. His father had been a detective in the Bristol Constabulary. Dad had his Agatha Christie selection, of course. But his favorites were Arthur Conan Doyle, G.K. Chesterton, P.G. Wodehouse and George Simenon – which he read in English and the original French.

Mum, on the other hand, had favorite authors that included H.E. Bates, Laurie Lee, F. Tennyson Jesse (A Pin to See the Peep Show), Paul Gallico, John Steinbeck and W. Somerset Maugham, with whom she became regular ‘pen pals.’

I’m very blessed that I grew up in a book-loving family. For as long as I can remember, so many family conversations have turned to books old and new. Our mum wrote magazine articles, and all of my siblings have always been involved in the book or writing world in some way.

So, I guess they’re in my blood. Books, that is.

So, what books would we find on your bookshelves and what does it reveal about you?

………………………………………

A DILEMMA OF BOOKS…

by Rosemary Lord

There I was, puffing and panting in the 90-degree sun, lugging box after box of books out to the car….

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I have always felt that one can tell a dedicated writer by the books with which they surround themselves. Although I know that nowadays, if you’re technically and digitally proficient, you can do and find everything on your computer or even on your phone.

But it’s not the same. Not for real writers! You need to READ books to be able to WRITE books. Real, actual books, that is – with carefully designed crisp paper pages, glued and sewn together – or however they do the spines now. Enticingly designed covers, beautifully matched colors, and perfect fonts. There’s a lot of work that goes into every book.

Many of those who dedicate themselves to the magical world of writing have fascinating, eclectic book collections.

I recently culled 432 books from my overwhelming assortment. And I still have many left!

How did it ever come to this?

In my defense, as a book lover, I began with just a few small (only 6”x4”) volumes I brought with me when I moved here from England: ‘Poetical Works of Tennyson,’ some Edgar Allan Poe tales, Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and a worn 1915 printing of Gene Stratton Porter’s Girl of the Limberlost, that I knew would not take up much space.

Over the years of attending so many writers’ conferences all over North America, I kept those heavy bags filled with the new books publishers gave us.

To support my fellow writers, I loyally bought the latest book by the authors I knew.

I’m a sucker for an appealing jacket cover, too – especially when Amazon made special offers so affordable, as a way to discover new writers.

I still buy books for my writing research. I have a great collection of books on Old Hollywood. And then there was my late husband, Rick’s, assortment of books on motor racing, motorbikes, animals, snakes (don’t ask!), music, finances, and the Stock Market.

And so my library grew.

But my small apartment didn’t.

I had seven tall bookcases crammed, with more books stacked on the floor in front of them.

Time for a serious cull.

I kept books that fellow writers had inscribed to me. I boxed up Rick’s books. I found several duplicate copies of paperback mysteries and ‘cozies.’ Out they go.

Of course, I kept my rare and special Hollywood books. But I was strong in my intent.

No, it’s not: ‘make room for more books,’ I tell myself!

But then, knee deep in book piles, I realized they had to go somewhere. Most of the charity shops where I donate clothes or household items are not taking any more books.

Hmmm. Where?…

Then I remembered The Last Bookstore. Years ago, my brother and I had schlepped half a dozen bags of books there to donate. It is downtown Los Angeles, at 453 Spring Street in an old bank building with marble columns and vaults filled with vintage books. Owner Josh Spenser has created an intriguing world of not just shelves and stacks of books, but enthralling shapes – a tunnel of books, higgledy-piggledy towers of hardbacks and paperbacks, with comfy armchairs and leather couches to sit and gaze and get inspired by the fantastical displays of books, vinyl records, gargoyles, and dolls.

The Last Bookstore has a free community service called Re-Book It: to ensure that books don’t end up in landfills. They will pick up your unwanted books and find new homes for them, dispersing books to schools, charities, hospitals, and retirement homes. Currently, they’re focusing on getting books into the hands of children and families who lost homes in the L.A. fires.

“Hooray!” I had found such a great solution. Then came the fun task of packing the books in boxes and bags, counting and labeling them. Of course, lots of lifting is involved, squatting and bending, too. Quite tough on the knees and the back! But I reminded myself that I was getting a free workout! And lots of empty apartment space.

The 432 books packed into 24 boxes and bags were amassed by the front door, ready for collection. Then, I learned that Re-Book It was short-staffed and could not complete the pick-up that day.

“Why don’t you bring it to our store on Lankersham?”

“Okay,” I foolishly agreed, anxious to complete this project.

It was about 8 boxes in that I began to regret my fervor of “I can do this!” The books were VERY heavy to carry across the patio, to the front lobby, and then outside to my car. What was I thinking? And it was the hottest day of the year – of course. Over 90 degrees.

I had to stop every so often, sit down with a large glass of water, and cool off in front of a fan.

But once my car was overstuffed with boxes and bags of books, I made it safely to the Valley location of The Last Bookstore on Lankersham Boulevard, just past Universal Studios.

Just as the Downtown store was a magical, mystical store – so is this one. Odd, beautiful old doors, parts of wonderful, vintage walls surrounded by an eclectic mix of books and, well, just fascinating ‘things’ to look at, curios to examine. And, of course, books: from best sellers to first editions. A book-lover’s treasure hunt. Had I not been so exhausted carrying all those books earlier, I could have easily spent an hour or three browsing there.

I was very happy that my books were going to such a lovely new home. And I returned to my apartment happy I had made more space, promising myself not to fill it back up with more books. I wonder how long that promise will last!

So, this is where we came in. My exhausting but therapeutic adventures in book culling ….

Have you ever tried culling your book collections?

…………………….

LONDON’S WORLD OF WORDS AND STORIES ….

By ROSEMARY LORD

“London Bridge is falling down…” so the song goes. Well, it’s not. It is thriving, bustling with people, merchants, tourists and local inhabitants who love this very special part of London.

I was there recently visiting my family in England. I had a meeting with my new Editor at Harper Collins Publishing offices (I still get a kick being able to say that: “My publishers, my editor”!) at London Bridge. Many of the major publishers and newspapers are housed in this towering building that is right next to London Bridge tube station.

Security was very tight. As I approached the main entrance to the office tower, security guards stopped me, ready to turn me away. But I had an appointment and had to show my ID, which was checked against the computer appointments records before I could walk through those hallowed doors. Once inside the lobby, I was checked again by security and ushered through a metal detector. Just like at the airports. I had to wait until someone came to escort me upstairs. And when I left, I was chaperoned back through the same security system. So, this is what it’s like working in London today! Not quite the fun, easy-going offices I recall from my days of writing for the teenage magazine Jackie and the host of women’s magazines in Fleet Street.

My brother Ted had accompanied me and waited patiently nearby until my meeting was done. We had decided to explore the area of London Bridge and Borough Market – the new Hot Spot in London. The hip, cool place where the young hangout. Pop-up food stalls proliferate; vintage clothing stalls, cosmetics, tattoos, stacks of vintage records for sale, ‘Bubble Tea’ adverts and music from all over the globe wafted through the crowds. I never did find out what ‘Bubble Tea’ was. But it seemed very popular. The market was wall-to-wall students and young entrepreneurs in their eye-catching, colorful attire. Creativity and innovative ideas abounded.

One of the reasons for the throngs of young people in the vicinity selling and buying was, I realized, because the market was so close to the medical colleges and universities. Lots of medical students.

I also learned that this market began life in 1756 as a cluster of stalls at the foot of London Bridge. It’s come a long way, baby!

The tall, grim buildings on St. Thomas Street are a focal point of the medical world. The famous Guy’s Hospital, founded in 1721 by philanthropist Thomas Guy, stands cheek-by-jowl with St. Thomas’ Teaching Hospital – where Florence Nightingale trained her dedicated nurses. This hospital was named for St. Thomas Becket and founded in the Middle Ages but located here in Lambeth since 1871. These are part of the Kings College, London Medical Education programs.

Just across the road is the tiny Operating Theatre Museum, in the Herb Garret at the top of the narrow 17^th century brick building. A museum of surgical history housed in the old apothecary. Herbs and flowers used in those days are displayed, with mortar-and-pestle and hand-written notes on their efficacy. Completed in 1822 is the operating theatre is the oldest surviving operating theatre in Europe for surgeries that predated anesthetics and antiseptics.

What fun! It offers learning experiences for all ages. I especially loved the large yellow rubber ducks placed around the exhibits. They were each painted with some dreadful disease: blobs of green goo representing gangrene, or drooling, lumpy additions depicting small-pox, syphilis, or the black plague. Symptoms were written on a card next to the duck. You had to guess what they represented. The answer was found underneath the duck. I noticed medical student visitors taking great delight in guessing the correct answers. The enormous, black all-encompassing metal head gear with the long snout, for the brave doctors during the plague in 1660 London was there. Various operating tools were displayed, including the large hacksaw next to the operating table that was labeled “for the removal of legs and arms”.

There were rows of seats where the medical students sat to observe the operations by doctors who had no awareness of cleanliness, let alone surgical gowns, masks or even handwashing. Hand-written notes, instructions and explanations of the various implements (of torture?) used, as well as reports of individuals’ surgical successes – or traumas!

Today’s root-canals are easy-peasy by comparison!

This part of London shared so many stories, characters, tragedies and successes. I made copious notes, as Ted and I later stopped for a delicious cake and coffee in a little corner French café. A quiet haven amidst the noise and bustle.

Everywhere I looked were stories, historic revelations and wonderful new ideas and a revitalized energy.

Charles Dickens strolled through these London streets at night when he couldn’t sleep, and claimed this was where he found inspiration for his timeless novels. Incidentally, did you know that in 1847 Dickens founded a ‘Home for Homeless Women’ in London?

We walked down to the water’s edge and followed the River Thames as it snakes its way through London, past Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre towards Charing Cross, watching such a polyglot of people of all ages – “a seething mass of humanity” moving on its way through lives humdrum, urgent, desperate, happy, exciting. Who knows?

There is so much written about London through thousands of years. It’s difficult for a writer not to come away with a myriad of story ideas, a cacophony of images and circus of characters. Painters and artists of all fields must be similarly affected.

As Dr. Samuel Johnson wrote in 1777, “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. For there is in London all that life can be.”

What is your favorite source of inspiration?

IT WAS THE DEAD BODY IN THE LADIES’ ROOM…

by Rosemary Lord

She was enjoying such a lovely holiday exploring the English Devon Coast, the charming fishing village and the cream-teas that were to die for. But it was the dead body she found in the Ladies’ Room of the church hall that made her pause. It was most inconvenient…

How come my mind goes to those bizarre ideas – and gruesome murders – or at least a simple dead body… I mean, it’s not like I am a mass-murderer – or that I even killed just one person – not that I recall….

Maybe I should have continued that opening as a sweet and charming Cozy. I do write Cozies, too. I’m not always weird.

Perhaps, I should be writing some ladylike Regency, Jane Austen style romance, or a simple bodice-ripper. Or a sci-fi marvel. Or a very clever spy thriller or possibly a police procedural. Or perhaps not.

But my writer’s mind just goes there. My sister thought it was because our grandpa was a police detective. Could be… So, it’s probably a good thing grandpa wasn’t an insurance salesman. I mean, even a door-to-door salesman would have more interesting tales to inspire a writer.

But where would we be without our writing, without our amazing world of imagination to escape in to. I often think how lucky we writers are. When life gets really tough, when things around us are going haywire, (like today!) when we’ve had more than just a ‘bad-hair-day,’ when we think that Life has given up on us – we have our writing to retreat to.

Make a nice mug of coffee or tea, settle down in our comfy office chair, a blank page in front of us and away we go. Whether it’s with pencil and pad or the familiar clacking of the computer keys – we are transported to another world. Our Writer’s World.

Tough to explain to anyone who doesn’t write. But suddenly we’re galloping across the Sahara Desert or sneaking through the back streets of Charles Dickens’ London or stretching out lazily aboard a luxurious yacht. How about enjoying a gourmet meal in a super-posh Paris restaurant, swimming in the Mediterranean – or walking across Regent’s Park, hearing the elephants at London Zoo in the background. Or climbing Mount Everest – if that’s where your mind goes…

You see how endless a writer’s imagination can be? And what a wonderful diversion from the tough times in the Life-of-Hard-Knocks, a distraction from everyday humdrum, or just a brief diversion from today’s offering.

Mark Twain said, “write what you know.” Which is sometimes very useful. But I find it much more fun to write about a world that I never inhabited. Besides, I absolutely love researching. I devour all the books, articles, newspaper clipping to do with whatever I am writing about. I especially love reading the 1910 or 1918 Sears & Roebuck Catalogues. Just like the adverts in old magazines, one can tell so much about life in those times when you see what they wore, household items they used and the hobbies they had. There are endless opportunities for stories in those pages. Even looking at the world around us today. The Farmers’ Almanac in Kentucky will have advertisements that spark an idea, or a fishing magazine in Finland, a local paper in New Zealand or the Scottish Highland Times – all sources of tidbits of ideas that, like Topsy, will grow. I find the Obituaries in these far-off places fascinating – apart from providing me with a cornucopia of character names to use.

What other profession gives one the opportunity to snoop, eavesdrop and blatantly plagiarize another’s life? The snooping is most fun!

And we get to add historical figures into our mix. Where else could one throw in a vision of the evil sinner Sisyphus, condemned to an eternity of pushing a boulder up a mountain, only to be thwarted once he got to the top, when the weight of the boulder forced it to start rolling downhill. So, he had to start again. And again. Or how about our use of oft-quoted characters from Shakespeare? You see – we get to use it all if we want.

So, after an extremely busy, stressful day at work, I retreat into my world of writing – this Blog being way overdue. And somewhere in my brain I am now thinking of taking that opening paragraph and running with it. Murder and mayhem in Devon anyone?

Whatever odd twists and turns my writer’s brain takes, I always feel so relaxed and satisfied when I can print out a new page or three. So maybe it’s a good thing to have that weird streak? I just know how lucky we writers are to have that Writers’ Place to go to.

MAKING THINGS FIT….

By Rosemary Lord

Whether it’s time or words – it’s an ongoing challenge for me.

Not having the luxury of a 30-hour day, I’m always trying to squeeze things in, so that, apart from ‘work’, I can have some sort of personal life, family time and of course writing time. As I struggle to transfer my workload at the Woman’s Club of Hollywood to a new dedicated crew, it’s taking a lot longer than I anticipated – and about 6 new people to do the work I’ve been doing on my own for so long!

But – I will make it all fit.

I designated Sunday as MY day, when I will not deal with any Woman’s Club work and only speak with family, friends, potter, catch up on housework and fit in some writing time, too. My ‘work phone’ is switched off. This is the only way I’ve been able to catch up on my personal life, finding serenity, make things fit – and even make time to paint my nails – a pale blue this week! I cherish my Sundays.

I envy some of my friends who retired early and travel all the time. I just can’t fit that in now!

And then there’s making things fit in my writing. I have three major writing assignments at the moment. A non-fiction, 144-page coffee-table history book, an historical novel and a memoir. So far, I’ve not had the time – or the mental focus – to sit for hour after hour, day after day, as I used to, to complete one of them. I tend to fit in the odd hour or two and peck away at one of my projects. Although my mind is always working overtime thinking about them.

First, in fiction, especially in mysteries, I have to get the right name for my characters. I have to make the name fit.

I mean, you can’t really have an exotic, sultry siren called Mary or Jane, could you? Sophia or Camille, maybe. Or a tall, hunky, sun-bronzed hero called Arthur or Reginald, doesn’t really work, does it? The names have to fit the character, the story, the era, the background, in order to be believable.

Although one of my pet peeves as a reader is to have the characters all having a similar sounding name, especially in the same scene: Fin, Tim, Dick, Nick, Rick – or Jim, Jon, Jan, Jen, Janey, Jed and so on. I make a point of making sure the names differ in sound and length. You’re not going to get confused when characters names are specific for the storyline and sound different. Such as a Jim, Stephen, Montgomery, Drew and Samuel. Or Roberta, Annie, Pamela, Sue, Gwendoline and Florence. Different lengths and starting with different consonants. Easier for the reader (and me, the writer) to keep track of.

I always feel challenged with the word-counts we’re given. Tough to fit all I want to say within their limits. Should my work be a short-story, a novella, a novel – or a War and Peace tome? My storyline has to fit into the right category.

Then I (hopefully) unobtrusively, fit in the clues and red herrings. Remembering the villain needs to be seen, fleetingly, very early on in the story. Almost hidden, with no big flashing neon signs. So that at the end, when all is uncovered, I haven’t cheated my readers by suddenly announcing: “By the way, the Butler, whom you’ve never seen before, did it.” As a reader I like to think I know ‘Who Dunnit,’ but I’m not sure and I keep trying to work it out. Then the satisfaction at the end of saying “of course!” and retracing the steps to figure it all out for myself. So, I have to make sure that it all fits in.

And I have to fit in the adversity, the challenges, the processes my characters go through, without the reader aware of what I’m doing. Static stories are boring. My characters need to lose something – or fear losing it. They must process crisis – large & small – then recover and carry on obliviously enjoying life, until another surprise stops them in their tracks from an unexpected source. Unseen forces. Another deadly trap.

It was Raymond Chandler who said, “there’s no trap so deadly as the trap you set yourself.”

Whatever that means. But then it was Mark Twain who said: “write what you know.” So, between the two, I should have a story somewhere!

And somehow, I will fit in the time to make it all happen.

Writing anything is a challenge, but writing mysteries is a unique adventure, unraveling the human mind. It’s like designing a large jigsaw puzzle, making all the pieces fit.

So, I’ve become very proficient at making things – time and words – fit. How about you?

OUR BIG FAT JANUARY SURPRISE!

by Rosemary Lord

And so, a new year begins, filled with expectations and promises of magical things to come.

But then, Mother Nature had a different idea for Los Angeles.

We held our collective breath as we watched a hungry fire race through the SoCal shoreline, devouring parts of Malibu and the picturesque town of Pacific Palisades. House after house on street after street. The ferocious winds carried the flames through acres of unfettered dry brush and vegetation, erasing entire homes, lives and neighborhood shops, schools and businesses.

In just moments so many lives were changed forever. Not just the wealthy, not just the celebrities, many of whom have called this part of Paradise home for decades, but the working people who have lived there for generations, living everyday lives with everyday jobs. They, too, lost everything in an instant.

This swathe of destruction was not limited to Pacific Palisades, which took the brunt of it. Malibu, Santa Monica and on the other side of Los Angeles, Pasadena, Altadena and environs became engulfed. Altadena suffered desperately for days. That was where the awful death toll was greatest. This is a lovely, peaceful area with lovely houses. Just good, honest hardworking residents; many multi-generational family homes were lost.

Everywhere, the sky was a dull yellow and thick with smoke, as the sun kept trying to peek through. And in the middle of LA, even Hollywood was caught in the crossfire.

The rumor is that arsonists set the Runyon Canyon fire behind the Woman’s Club, which was evacuated. Nearby, Laurel Canyon, where I live, was set alight. Our buildings were evacuated. These were the Sunset Fires.

I first received an alarm on the Woman’s Club cellphone to “be prepared” and then the order to evacuate the area. Minutes later a similar alarm sounded on the phones throughout my building. Neighbors were gathering on the patio, with bags already packed.

And so I quickly grabbed a bag and stuffed my lockbox that held vital papers, passports etc. in it and, with my hands shaking at the enormity of what was happening, reached for my laptop: iPad, charging cords, several writing files and notebooks followed. I picked up thumb-drives, recent bills and my checkbook. After a couple of deep breaths to calm myself so I could think rationally, I selected a few photographs, a small carving my dad had done, my late-husband’s great aunt’s small 1918 diary of her time in WWI Paris.

Clothes! I’d forgotten about that. So, I darted into the bedroom, found a wheely-case and threw in shoes, a sweater, shirt, jeans, nightie and a handful of undies, plus moisturizer, mascara, lip balm. My toothbrush, I threw that in along with my hairbrush – and some English Tea-bags. All the essentials! I loaded them in my car, then returned to my apartment where my neighbor Tyler was following all the reports on his phone. My other neighbor Sharon had joined me, waiting for instructions. We were then told the roads were gridlocked, so we should shelter in place. Some of our neighbors had left earlier as they had family or friends nearby.

But where was I to go? My family are in England!

Sharon said we could go to her sister in Agoura, about 50 minutes away. Then, I was very touched to get calls from friends offering shelter in their homes. People were so kind. We were told our Evacuation Centre was at Hollywood High School. I envisioned us in the huge auditorium, with rows of cot-beds, trying to sleep…

We decided to stay in my living room, watching ongoing reports on tv. They showed the police cars, fire trucks and barricades at the end of our street. We felt a bit safer, knowing everyone was watching out for encroaching flames. Tyler regularly walked outside, checking progress from the street to the canyon and checked for evacuation updates.

I regularly checked the security cameras covering the Woman’s Club property after the evacuation order. All looked calm. Except – suddenly it looked as if it was raining. Then I heard the drone of additional helicopters overhead. It was the wonderful, brave Fire Fighters, getting water from the Hollywood Reservoir and dropping it on the fires in Runyon Canyon behind the Woman’s Club and on the Laurel Canyon fires behind our apartment building. There was a collective sigh of relief as we learned they were successful at putting out the majority of those fires, while ground-crew battled the stubborn embers blown around creating new fires in unexpected spots throughout the night and next day.

So, we waited, listening to updated reports. Eventually, close to 10 pm, we felt safe enough to declare, “that’s it. We’re staying!”

I retrieved my case from my car. Some of our other neighbors were doing the same thing, dragging bags and suitcases back indoors. Sharon went back to her apartment and Tyler assured us he would be on guard all night and alert us if anything changed.

I think we all slept fitfully that night, packed bags by the front door, everything ready.

The next morning, things were eerily quiet. Slowly traffic appeared along Laurel Canyon once police had removed the blockades. I dressed hurriedly, prepared for a sudden departure. False Evacuation alarms from the city went off over the next couple of days. “Sorry! Mistake!” messages followed. Raw nerves everywhere. But the winds died down.

People had a respite to check on friends, family, survey the damage, start to clean up.

God bless those Firefighters, Police, First Responders and volunteers. Heroes, all of them.

Almost a week later, things have quietened down, although we are currently on alert for a new High Winds forecast. So ,I remain vigilant. We all do.

Eventually I unpacked my bags, knowing now exactly what to take, important papers in a ‘go-bag’ at my feet as I type. But I cannot find that toothbrush anywhere! Never mind, I have others…

Life really is bigger than fiction, I recognized. And we have had time to reflect on what really are the important things to save, once you know that people around you are safe. What really matters. And to count our blessings every day.

If you were given 10 minutes to pack for evacuation – what would you take?

…………………………….

I GOTTA NEW GIG!

by ROSEMARY LORD

It’s about twenty years since I was hired to write my first non-fiction book, Los Angeles Then and Now. Hollywood Then and Now followed. It was for a small London publisher. Both books were a huge success and on the Best Sellers’ list. Great for the publishers; however, as I was a writer-for-hire and they had the copyright on all the Then and Now books, I don’t receive royalties. But it was a tremendous boost for my writing career and a good ‘calling card.’ I did a lot of publicity and promotion, so I learned a lot on the publishers’ dime.

It got my name out there.

Over the years, after the first flush of success, I did the occasional book signing and promotional appearance. I continued to lecture on the history of Hollywood and attend charity events, so it kept my name out there. These books really have ‘legs’! Like the Energizer Bunny, they go on and on. Every so often, the publishers would ask me to write updates and additions for the new editions.

But then, a couple of weeks ago, I received an email from Harper Collins, one of the ‘Big Five’ publishers in London. They had bought Pavilion Publishing and bought my Then and Now books. “Would you be interested,” they wrote, “in writing a completely new updated version of Los Angeles Then and Now?”

Let me think… um…er…. “Yes!” I cooly responded: “I’ll move my schedule around.”

And so, my fiction writing and novels will be cast aside for a while as I focus on this enormous task. I won’t totally abandon them, but for a while, they will take a back seat.

The original contract was quite daunting: selecting 77 sites representing Los Angeles. Because it is such a sprawling city in search of an identity, I started downtown at its origins in Olvera Street, then drew a line going west to the beach at Malibu, illuminating sites along the way. That was (and is) my plot line. The money was not great, but the opportunity was.

Over the next year, I will be updating the existing 77 sites throughout Los Angeles, giving a fresh view of the history. I will be changing about 15 of them, removing sites that may not be of such great interest and adding those I consider more fascinating. I get to select new sites with greater appeal for today’s readers. As well as researching new, previously hidden facts to give each history a new look, I will be sourcing archive photos and new, updated photos of all the sites. I will also take a new approach to writing the main history of Los Angeles that comes at the front of the book.

There is so much history to write about, examining different aspects of what went before, and the myriad of characters and how they built up this amazing city from scrubland in the desert with no water and very few people. The main challenge is to condense it all, keeping the most salient points. The publishers have very strict word counts on every page.

It’s very easy for me to wax lyrical about each place’s history and the colorful individuals involved, and if I’m not careful, I can write on forever. The skill with this assignment is to give “Just the facts, ma’am,” but keep it interesting.

And I really do have to rearrange my life to focus on this job. I always seem to have several writing things on the go at once, with research books, clippings, and files everywhere – as well as the Woman’s Club work that still lingers. My workspace is always busy. But this task is large, so everything else must be put away for now.

I’m Yack Shaving again! (That’s when you get sidetracked and taken on a circuitous route, with multiple small tasks that need to be completed before you can accomplish your main, original goal.)

I have a couple of mesh-sided carts on wheels that hold hanging files that I use for specific projects. I’ve cleaned these out of copious miscellaneous papers, ready for the 77 separate new files for each of the Los Angeles sites, plus the main history and archive photographs.

I’m going through boxes of old research files, culling as needed, making room for new information. I can’t wait to get back into investigating at some of the old libraries and hidden private collections to discover newly unearthed tidbits of history that so often get overlooked. Research is where I can spend far too much distracted time.

Many of my handwritten notes have faded, and as I struggle to read the pencil-scribbled file tags, I realize I need to dig out my label maker – and borrow a five-year-old to show me how to use it!

Lately, I’m getting really good at organizing my files. I recall the late Professor Randy Pausch complaining that his wife thought he was way too compulsive, filing everything alphabetically and neatly. “Because,” he decided, “that was so much better than searching for something in a panic, saying, “I know it was blue, and I was eating something when I had it.”

And of course, I’ll be driving all over Los Angeles to check on old and new sites, taking copious photographs and notes along the way. So, I have to fit that into my schedule.

But now, I have a stack of new notepads and pencils, a pencil sharpener and erasers, my Thesaurus, and OED at the ready. A clean, empty desk awaits.

I’m ready for my next literary adventure.…

How do you prepare for your next big writing project?

DANCING IN THE RAIN….

By ROSEMARY LORD

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“Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain…” Vivian Greene’s quote has been oft repeated.

Well, I think I’ve been waiting for the storm to pass for a long time now. Too long.

And the storms kept coming. It seems the clouds would part briefly and the sun shone brilliantly again. But then those dreaded clouds crept back across my horizon…

I’m poised in the wings of Life. Waiting. Now? I ask. Is it my turn NOW?

Oops. No. Someone else’s drama needs attention. And I step back into the shadows, ready to help.

I’d been writing articles about Hollywood for all my adult life. I came to Hollywood and met and interviewed the real movie stars. I’d been a Senior Unit Publicist at Columbia Studios. Then I was asked to write two books on Hollywood history, complete with authentic archive photos. After the success of those two non-fiction books, Hollywood Then and Now and Los Angeles Then and Now I ventured into the world of fiction. Mystery fiction.

I had met Maisie Dobbs author Jacquie Winspear when we were both honored by the Southern California Independent Book Sellers. We would meet up in Westwood where she was doing a writers’ course at UCLA, encouraging me to do the same. I did. As I waxed lyrical about Hollywood’s rich history, Jacquie encouraged me to write a mystery story set in Old Hollywood. Maisie Dobbs was her first mystery novel. She said that if she can do it, so can I!

I was scared. Me, a mystery writer – you mean like Aggie Christie? Me? But after completing novel and mystery writing courses at UCLA, I was invited to join Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime and attended their workshops and conferences. I LOVED this new world of mystery writers. They’re the best! I thoroughly enjoyed the gruesome forensic workshops and was enthralled listening to the successful novelists share their wisdom and encouragement.

And so I learned – and I wrote.

I met Gayle Bartos-Pool, Jackie Houchin and Miko Johnson at those conferences. Now lifelong friends, we started our own writers’ group, Writers-In-Residence and met at the Burbank library to share pages of our writing projects, critiquing, discussing and encouraging each other. This Blog came later.

In the midst of all this, I was taking care of my ailing mother-in-law until she passed, and a domestically-hopeless-but-wonderful, hard-working husband, Rick.

I had completed my first mystery novel and was gathering notes for the second and third in the series “Lottie Topaz Hollywood Mysteries.” I had my list of potential literary agents ready. I started sending my submissions out to the most obvious agents, then was working my way down the list. I had sort of designed my new website for the launch of my first mystery novel. I had mock-ups of cover designs. My new brief bio was written. I was ready.

But then, without warning, my darling husband Rick died of a heart attack. I was at my desk, sending another ten pages to an agent when he cried out and collapsed.

Obviously, my world stopped. I was shattered. I had no idea who I was any longer. I loved being Rick’s wife. Now I wasn’t. What was I? Who was I?

That storm lingered a lot longer than I ever could have imagined.

It was shortly after that that the Woman’s Club of Hollywood asked for my help. Numb, I said yes. I buried myself in saving that historic club as I worked through my grief. And, boy, was that a never-ending can of worms at the Woman’s Club! There’s a whole book in all the shenanigans that can go on in those historic buildings. Don’t get me started on the ghosts that linger from the days when Jean Harlow (as Harlean Carpenter) attended school there with Douglas Fairbanks Junior. Although, having grown up in England, lots of places have ghosts, so I’m used to them. But that’s a whole other tale…

For the longest time I could not even look at my Lottie Topaz manuscript. It’s what I was doing when Rick died. I made every excuse under the sun. But, like the mustard seed that needs watering in order to grow into a huge tree, we have to feed our writer’s mind, that writer’s soul.

I neglected my writing brain for too long. But this Writers’ Blog helped me work my way back as a writer. Word by word, blog by blog.

The encouragement from Gayle, Jackie, Miko and all of you really helped me tiptoe out from under that dark storm cloud. I began working on another story I had started ages ago.

Step by step, I got my writing legs back. I found the music in my life again.

And now I am on Lottie’s case once more. Her Book Two is under way. And Book Three is forming in my head. I have copious notes and old news clippings to peruse. I will find a home for Lottie’s debut novel. It took longer than I thought, but – hey – I’m not afraid of those storms. I’ve learned to dance in the rain and love it!

………………………….

LET GO AND LIVE….

by Rosemary Lord

I went to the zoo. London Zoo. With my brother Ted. We took a picnic.

It was a lovely sunny day in May, shortly after my birthday, as we sat by the fountain enjoying our sandwiches. Just like we had done as small children – just yesterday!

Oh, the pleasure of revisiting such childhood memories.

Since then, the London Zoo has improved greatly, totally remodeled with expansive, imaginative new areas for the animals with the Global Wildlife Conservation programs. We saw the wonderful abandoned 1950s Indian railway station that is now The Land of Lions, complete with abandoned luggage, old handcarts and peeling, vintage Bollywood movie posters, to make these endangered Asiatic Lions feel they are still in Gujurat, India. The Sumatran tigers have their own roaming wilderness, as do the wild African rhinos. All endangered species, now thriving in this spacious conservation program. Even the butterflies have their own newly designed habitat. Each sanctuary was as fascinating as the last. It was an educational joyride.

Yes, I was in England visiting my family for the gathering of the Lord clan. After London, my siblings and I went back to the small fishing village in Greece that we’ve been returning to for several years. Not telling you where or it will get overrun with tourists! This is where we enjoyed leisurely dinners in the harbor, overlooking the small fishing boats. Souvlaki (chicken skewers) and moussaka still favorites – at around $14 a head including lots of wine and other dishes! We spoke of books and writers. We always come back to books and writers. Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club was much discussed as a well-thought-out Agatha Christie-style mystery. Also on the reading menu were Mick Herron’s Slow Horses, Victoria Hislop’s latest, The Figurine, and Sinclair McKay’s intriguing book about The Secret Life of Bletchley Park. I love those World War II books. And am fascinated to learn more about the young women at Bletchley Park, who, having signed the Official Secrets Act, never spoke of their heroic work.

We wondered whether today’s kids will be as voracious readers as we were and still are…

We spent a couple of days in the delightful waterside town of Nafplio, an hour south of Athens. More delicious Greek food and friendly Greek hospitality.

Back in England, our wonderful, long-suffering brother-in-law, Peter, drove us to Broadstairs, in Kent – next to Ramsgate. What fun! It’s a lovely, old-fashioned ‘seaside’ town. It was one of Charles Dickens haunts. Bleak House stands on the top of the cliffs overlooking the expansive beaches. It’s a leisurely mix of old and new. The Edwardian and Victorian architecture, the Kent and Sussex painted wooden beach huts and wooden fishing and boat structures at the waters edge, unspoiled, next to charming new buildings. Beachside shops selling souvenirs, buckets and spades and saucy postcards. Fish and chips for lunch, of course. Perfect!

This was my much-needed escape from Hollywood and all the dramas of the Woman’s Club. To my jaded eyes, it seemed so much easier to be a writer in London now. Lots of cozy cafes in which to write the next best-seller and to swap literary tales with aspiring and established writers. They are everywhere in London. Cafes and writers, that is. And there are endless magazines to read, too. Several have selections of short stories. Where did the American writers’ magazines go?

And this time away gave me the chance to take a look at what I had been doing with my time and where I was going.

I read a piece by DJ Adams on ‘Letting Go of Expectations…’

She’s right. As writers and artists – how perfect do we want to be? And who decides what is perfect? “To fully embrace your creative artists or muse,” she writes, “You must learn to let go. Let go of who you think you are, releasing your idea of what your creative gift is and what you expect to achieve. This is so contrary to everything we’ve been taught in order to be successful. So instead of holding on to who you think you are (noir novelist, oil paint artist, songwriter) stand back and observe your abilities. Just like our personalities are ever changing, so our muse has many faces. Our creative consciousness absorbs. Let yourself go. Experiment without considering the outcome. Stephen King said ‘Good writing is often about letting go of fear and affectation…’ Let go – to grow!”

Sounds good to me.

“It’s not where you start – it’s where you finish…” wrote Dorothy Fields, lyricist for the Broadway musical Seesaw, “It’s not how you go, it’s how you land.”

And Ralph Waldo Emerson put it another way: “Life is a journey, not a destination.”

And so, as I flew back to my Hollywood home, I thought a lot about those words.

I think many of us are still working with the adjustments forced on us by the Covid nightmare. And all of those challenges that crept up on us. Life is different now. Reading and writing habits have changed, too.

Now, I decided – I wanna be FREE! I wanna be ME! I have so many untold books and stories in me, I feel I’m bursting at the seams. I gotta lotta writing to do!!

So, I’m ready for new horizons. I’m ready to let go. Not sure where or when. Not even sure who I am anymore. Just one big leap of faith into an amazing creative future.

Who do you think you are today? What do you expect of yourself? Or do you like where you are now? Eh?