Books – The Writers in Residence

HAVE PEN – WILL TRAVEL

by Rosemary Lord

On one of my recent visits to London, my brother Ted and I took a leisurely walk from Chalk Farm, north London to Convent Garden – that colorful, 16^th Century vegetable and fruit market; the iconic setting for the opening of George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion.

As we turned the corner into the famous piazza, a massive onslaught of blank-faced people advanced towards us. Wall-to-wall bodies. Shoulders squared. No, “Excuse me…” or “After you…” We had to push our way through. But these young tourists, weren’t hostile. Just focused on moving forward, as one, cellphones and selfie-sticks held high. Seemingly unaware of the beauty of the surroundings, they advanced like automatons. Expressionless faces. Moving forward, as one.

We were taken aback. And we’ve never forgotten that intimidating image.

Where did all these people come from?

Outside Selfridge’s Department store on London’s Oxford Street, it happened there, too. An impenetrable wall of seething humanity, rolling forwards. Same thing at the Galleries Lafayette store in Paris. Tourists en masse. In a block – shoulder-to-shoulder – determinedly edging ahead. Crowds everywhere.

It reminded me of those scenes in Dr. Who, when the hundreds of scarecrows came alive and marched, military style, into the town.

I’d never seen such large numbers of people on the move, in unison. No snatches of excited observations peeking through. Just a rumbling monotone. Cellphones were held up to record their movements, becoming their digital set of eyes. They watched their own progress through the tiny mobile phone screens, instead of looking around as they walked, missing the actual, historic, fascinating surroundings, soaking up the atmosphere and the magic of the moment.

A similar thing occurred in a Portuguese railway station when my siblings and I descended from a suburban train line. A cacophony of voices, train whistles and traffic noises met us – and masses of passengers pushing forward, regardless, staring straight ahead, offering no gaps to get through as they poured out onto the street. They were everywhere! And that was in a small Portuguese town – not London or New York.

Where did they all come from?

Somewhere, I thought to myself, there are towns and even countries that must be EMPTY! Because these folks are coming from somewhere. In large numbers. Hordes of them. All at the same time.

What happened to the solo travelers, the adventurers, the observers, the investigators, the recorders, the note-takers? These blocks of people today weren’t looking at their surroundings, admiring the architecture, noticing street or shop signs, or even checking out items in shop windows. Just blindly following the crowds and instructions on their cellphones, like a rag-tag army that cannot linger for a moment to appreciate.

These walls of human flesh advanced across Europe in their masses, crowded into cheap airline seats, packed like sardines.

I blame it on the cheap bargain holidays flights across Europe. They cost less than the price of a restaurant meal. That, and the ubiquitous use of credit cards. So of course, the kids are going to take advantage of it. If one does it – the rest have to follow.

What happened to individualism? Why is everything ‘group think’? What about following your own star, your own direction?

And what happened to ‘getting away from it all’? You can’t – because everyone is there, too! Perhaps a visit to a convent or a monastery is called for?

I’ve always loved to travel. I started exploring other countries fresh out of school as a teenager. Back in those Dark Ages, I would board a coach, train or boat and encounter a handful of fellow passengers, also off on some wonderful adventure. I’d wander quiet back streets in countries where I didn’t speak the language. I would drink it all in, occasionally taking a photo with my modest little camera, protecting the spent rolls of film until I had time to get them developed. I’d scribble on scraps of paper or in a small notebook – place names, what I’d seen, people I’d met. These would much later become fodder for my grown-up world as a published writer.

And wherever I travelled, I would notice other lone souls on park benches or sitting at sidewalk cafes, nursing a coffee or something stronger, writing, thoughtfully in notebooks. Perhaps another Hemingway, Steinbeck or J.K. Rowling in the making?

And so, I worry about today’s young, sponge-like minds seeking wisdom and experiences to steer them through adulthood. They will never grow if their youth is experienced through traveling in huge numbers, being told – on TikTok or other Social Media sites – where to go, where to stay, what to eat, wear and think.

As adults, we step into unknown territories and make mistakes along the way. That’s how we learn and grow. Life is a wonderful adventure when we can wander alone to new places. Or maybe with just a friend or two, fellow adventurers.

I tend to see life through a writer’s eyes. To me, there’s a story to be written about everything! I wonder how today’s young people travelling in large groups, instructed by a digital program, could ever think for themselves and develop into great writers or artists, if they have not experienced life firsthand and learned to keep questioning.

I am sure those born with a writer’s or artist’s mind, will find their own way through; their own star to follow, their own inner voice to listen to. And find their own, peaceful corner of the world where they can create their own literary magic. Be it a proper writing room, studio, shed at the bottom of the garden, a cozy nook, or even a corner of the kitchen table. A place to write.

And with all the travelling I have done, I am always so pleased to come home again. Return to my own little comfy home, with all my writing tools to hand. It’s my retreat – far from, as they say, ‘the madding crowds.’

What’s your writing retreat like?

MISSING….

by Rosemary Lord

I really miss the writers’ conferences we used to have. We were lucky in California; we had at least 2 each year – sometimes more, lasting from Friday through Sunday. Sometimes starting Thursday.

They were usually in Culver City or Pasadena – occasionally downtown LA or in Long Beach.

Our Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America chapters would often pool together to present these. California Crime Writers Conference was another popular convention.

They took a lot of organizing. Planning would start at least a year ahead, sometimes longer. The writing community would be notified of the theme – there was always a theme. One of the Left Coast Crime conferences was called ‘Southwest Sleuths’, ‘Trouble in Tucson” another they called ‘Murders a Beach.’

Way, way ahead the organizers would start a Nominating Committee for attendees to vote on their favorite or best authors in different categories. The culmination of the conferences would be the Saturday Night Banquet, when awards would be given out for each category attendees had previously voted on.

Volunteers were sought – to do everything from greeting attendees, manning the check-in desks, monitoring each of the workshops and running the onsite bookshop where attending authors could sell their books. They’d thought of everything.

The buzz would start about guest speakers and who the keynote speaker would be. The late great ‘alphabet’ series author Sue Grafton was a popular choice. Canadian writer Louise Penny another. Scottish-born Catriona McPerson was always a crowd-pleaser. They would speak at the evening events including the final night banquet.

The conference would open with a big breakfast event: a chance to see who was attending and catch up with long-lost fellow writers.

Each day, the schedule was filled with different ‘tracks’ or workshops and lectures. There was usually a series of workshops on the craft of writing: guest writers and teachers on the ‘How To…’ aspects of actually getting something on paper. Then a Promotion Track. Once you’d sold your book and were about to be published, the lectures were on how to promote your book and yourself. This would include different publicity and promotion ideas. Do you need to hire a publicist, or can you do it on your own? That sort of thing.

Other tracks included Forensic workshops. I found these were the most fascinating. They dealt with actual crime scenes, secrets of the morgue and so on. Pictures of gruesome crime scenes – then a talk with the people that clean up all this gore. Who knew that was a job? “And what do you do for a living?” “Oh, I mop up the blood and clean up murder scenes…” How’s that for a party-stopper?

There’d be a workshop on how to murder someone – fun things like that. Discussions on the efficacy of different poisons – and how quick-acting they would be – or not. Painful deaths or a quick ‘you’re dead.’ We must sound quite mad – but when you get all these writers minds together, sparks really do fly! And amazing new thrillers and tales of murder and mayhem get spawned.

Investigation talks from FBI agents, detectives and private investigators would discuss their different approaches and what their work entailed. FBI agents and private detectives talked about their procedures and presented a mock-up of a crime scenes with questions and answers.

The Nick Harris Detective Agency enthralled attending writers with tales going back to their origins as the first detective agency in in Los Angeles starting in 1906. Would love to have been a fly on the wall then!

Agents from the police department would discuss police procedures and answer the writer’s many questions.

There would be field trips. One that I went on was to the city Forensic Lab, where we were shown investigations in progress on different murders. There was a set up with dummies and infra-red lights working out the trajectory of bullets in a dummy corpse. Another was a bench where a young victim’s clothes were set out for examination. Brown grocery bags were stacked with evidence. Other field trips would be a tour of local murder sites and other fun things!

There would be workshops on historical novel writing, historical research and marketing the same. Aspects of writing novels set in foreign countries. Other ‘tracks’ would be on the publishing side of a writer’s world. Agents, editors, publishers would offer their expertise. Of course, the unpublished writers all hoped to get taken on by one of them. Everything a mystery writer or novelist could want.

One of the best things about these long weekends at the conferences is that we writers would all get together. Writer friends from all over the world would congregate for the weekend. A chance to meet authors of new books we’d read. A chance to compare notes, compare writing methods and swap ideas. We’d catch up with out of towners at the hotel bar – or over the New Authors Breakfasts served in the ballroom, where novice writers were introduced. At the lunches (served in the same room) it was a chance to sit with someone new, make new friends. The Saturday night Banquet was when everyone would dress up and applaud the nominees and winners for the Best First Novel, the Best Historic Novel, Best YA (Young Adult) Novel. And so on. And a grand time would be had by all.

And so, the Sunday morning departures were often bitter-sweet. Time to get back to the real world.

But that was then. It’s a different world today. The Covid shutdowns changed everything. Now the ‘conferences’ are on Zoom.

On the plus side, it’s a lot cheaper. No-one has to travel and people all over the globe can attend. But it’s not the same. Seeing familiar faces in a little square on your computer screen is not the same as the shrieks of joy when you spot an old friend, a fellow writer from far off lands that you haven’t seen for a year.

So, I miss all that razzmatazz of the in-person conferences. Whatever the cost.

And you can’t do hugs on Zoom.

A Writer Writes

by Rosemary Lord

I’ve had a hectic few weeks writing my new Los Angeles Then and Now book, as I realized the June deadline was looming. Why do we think we always have more time than is really available?

I’d been in England and Greece with my family – which was lovely. But even when I was there, I was mentally figuring when and where I could grab a couple of hours to research and write. Even half an hour would help. But I’m not one of those writers that can sit down – plonk! – and start writing. I’ve come to realize that I need to come down from my everyday life. Then time to mentally flatten things out, before I can switch into writer mode.

I think this is because I am not currently writing fiction – where I find I can, if I need, plonk myself down on the corner of a table and scribble inspired lines, and even paragraphs. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have to eventually sit down for many hours at a time, day after day, to actually write the novel I promised. But I can also write it in bits and spurts.

But writing this particular, nonfiction, book requires a lot of research. The physical – driving all over in heavy Los Angeles traffic, checking if a building is still standing and in what sort of condition, who the neighbors are and how the neighborhood is looking. But I also do research about any construction or new plans for the building in question and the surrounding area. Thank goodness for the internet – but I still have to find physical documents from in-person library and record-office visits as well. That is after I have investigated the entire history and Government records.

I’m still begging our local offices for more information on the upcoming Olympic Games to be played in Los Angeles in 2028 – just after my book comes out. No one seems to know where any of it is really happening. They tell me they ‘hope’ but are still not sure. So I have to get very creative to sound as if I have actual facts, locations and dates! Which I don’t! And I have to write in a timeless way so that the book, which is to be published in late 2027, is not out of date and does not sound as if I wrote it in 2026. It needs to be readable for years to come and not sound dated. If that makes any sense.

That writing project has to be my main focus currently, as I have a publisher and a deadline.

But I’m also still fighting to save the Woman’s Club of Hollywood and have spent a lot of the past 3 years appearing in court, fighting off greedy people that suddenly decide that they should own the historic landmark property! I was even sued by one of them for trying to stop them claiming they own the property now. I have learned far more about the law than I ever wanted to. But I’ve also learned a lot of legal lingo and how attorneys and court officials write and speak. And how to make them listen and believe me. I just wish I could get inspired to write some legal drama – as a lot of writing has been involved. I have written copious ‘statements’ and ‘declarations,’ addressing dishonest or bizarre claims, cleaning up witness ramblings and creating documents that swiftly and cleanly explain the current situation, precluding any wiggle room for misinterpretation. Just the facts, ma’am! It is a specialized form of writing. But not enjoyable, other than the knowledge that I am fighting for justice for an historic landmark.

But I do snatch time for my fun writing, as I clear my head of the other ‘stuff.’ My fun writing rambles, but sometimes results in an unfinished short story, another chapter in my second Lottie Topaz book – as yet, unfinished. Writing is therapeutic. Sometimes I just write 3 or 4 pages of what may be an essay on something. Whenever I have the time, I shall go through these scribblings and decide if I think they’re worth publishing. I have a lot of unpublished writings!

It was good to escape to Greece again, as I always manage to clear my head while I am there, and decide what in my life and my writing is worth keeping and what needs to be discarded. I get surprising clarity.

It could be the sound of the ocean just yards away from where we stay. Or the serenity of the old house we rent, where every room has many windows, all with amazing views of treetops and the ocean, or mountains on the other side, or terracotta roofs amidst the endless olive trees, and that characteristic yellow brick of the local houses. Every room has a view. There are verandas that scream for writing time, and a small, tranquil garden. What’s not to like? The challenge is, when one does sit down to write there, is to not be lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves. Especially when this follows some wonderful Greek meal. So, the struggle is enormous. And I noticed on so many occasions there, that when the house was quiet, my siblings were all reading – before they were lulled to sleep. Everyone got through several books while we were there. We always do.

So now it’s back to reality – and writing deadlines. But I’m grateful to have a deadline and a writing deal – after so many years of chasing publishers and literary agents. That agent bit never came to fruition. But my book writing did. And so, I write on. And as long as I can write – even if it just for my eyes – I am a happy camper.

My Paper Trail

By ROSEMARY LORD

D’you ever forget what you’ve ordered online? I ordered a ream pack of copy paper. I was surprised because about 2 hours later a ream of 500 sheets of white paper was delivered. “That was quick” I thought. Even for Amazon Overnight. Except it wasn’t. I’d ordered that paper two days ago – and promptly forgot. Oh well, so now I had two reams of copy paper. A writer can never have enough paper, I told myself.

As a writer, there is nothing better than to hold a fat wad of copy paper in one’s hands and know that, like magic, it is suddenly going to be covered in your very own words.

But I think I’m becoming a bit of a “clutterholic” where stationary is concerned. It was when I thought I was running out of paper – then discovered that I wasn’t – that I realized it was high time to de-clutter my stationary stash. Where does one start? Hmmm.

With great enthusiasm, I began to pull items off the shelves onto the floor. The idea was that I could sort through it all and put back only that which I really needed.

There was a lot of it. Knee deep in assorted packets of Easy Address labels, a box of hanging files, another stuffed with manila folders, a slew of tabbed sheet protectors, ‘Avery Clean Edge Business Cards’, and so on. I had many brightly colored folders – with the plan to color code and use specific colors for certain subjects. But I hadn’t got that far yet, so there they sat. I found five packets of photographic paper – never used.

A large stack of manuscript sized envelopes – no longer needed because we send manuscripts by email nowadays. But I had liked the satisfaction of putting my sacred, written pages in an envelope with a carefully worded cover letter, beautifully addressed and stamped and the satisfaction of taking it to the post office and sending it off with a silent prayer and crossed fingers. Most satisfying. It is still not quite the same as eventually pushing ‘send.’ There’s no tactile interaction there. Sorry, manuscript-sized envelopes: out you go.

I filled a large box with dozens of superfluous folders, hanging files, the afore-mentioned envelopes, see-through plastic folders. And what was with the multicolored copy paper? A ream of lime green, another of yellow. Aha! I had a plan! I remember thinking I would print my Lottie Topaz novel on lime-green paper, which would catch the eye of the editors who could not resist pulling my green-colored manuscript out from the ever-growing slush pile of submitted manuscripts. Of course, this never worked. And I still had a lot of colored paper left over. Into the charity box it goes.

The eleven spiral notebooks I could comfortably justify. I start my writing projects scribbling in such a notebook and fill it with the outline, a plot line, then many pages of character developments, colorful backgrounds, relevant plot through-lines and dénouement thoughts. But these were all empty. So, eleven times I bought the notebook and had not used them, so that they ended up on the shelf next to the others. Although, in my defense, on another shelf I discovered a whole stack of well-filled such notebooks, from cover to cover crammed with handwritten ideas, characters, names to use. I did something right. Except, why were they sitting on a shelf in the cupboard, instead of on my desk, ready to be used in my next book? But eleven abandoned, empty notebooks? Not good.

As a writer of historical books and novels, I do a great deal of research. I was smugly satisfied with the idea that I had organized my research and kept copious copies of articles on historic figures, historic buildings, historic happenings. Problem was that I had obviously found these subjects so interesting that I just had to print them out, save them and file them. Now I was faced with two boxes of such printouts. On closer examination, many of them were duplicated. Besides, with today’s technology, I can find a lot of what I want on the internet. I saved only a few of these – in the bin with the rest of them. I said a quick “sorry” to all the trees who had given their lives to support my paper clutter addiction.

I found a whole stack of papers marked “for filing.” Glancing through them, they were clearly not interesting enough to have been filed, and I could not see why I kept them. So, they were gone, too.

And then I looked into the box-files, where I had stored many years of handwritten notes, hastily scribbled on old envelopes, paper scraps, on the reverse side of something else I’d written. What was I thinking?! That investigation into my stationary cupboard was quite overwhelming and I knew I had to get a grip on it.

I have a new friend at the Woman’s Club who is the ultimate in techie-nerdiness. He persuaded me to get a scan-copy machine and showed me how much easier and quicker it is to scan things I need to keep, or interesting articles I want to read when I have time. Now I can access those papers, research articles, my copious writing notes and half-finished books wherever I am – on my laptop or even on my phone. And they only take up a quarter-of-an-inch-square on my desktop. Who knew? And, because I am still a bit leery of all this techno-wizardry, I still copy everything onto flash drives, just for safe measure.

I hate to admit it, but my endless trail of paper collecting has forced me into the scary world of technology, if only to save the trees. But I still cannot resist a lovely clean notebook or legal pad, with pencil poised, so I can unleash my imagination and create a whole new world for myself and my readers. And this is where the paper trail continues.

Stop and Go

By Linda O. Johnston

No, I’m not talking about traffic. I’m talking about writing. And I think all writers experience stop-and-go in their writing at various times. Maybe all the time.

The “go” is the best part. We figure out what we’re writing about, plan it, plot it, and do it. Go for it. With me, that’s most of my writing life. I’m always writing something, or planning in my mind what’s coming next. Telling the computer what’s on my mind, via my typing fingers, always helps too.

But then there’s the “stop.” That’s when you at least slow down, have other things in your life that get in the way, maybe (shudder!) even have some writing issues that slow you, then maybe let you grind to a halt—hopefully only for a short while. But the interruption can definitely matter.

I’ve recently been having more slowdowns and stops than I’m happy with. Breaking my arm, which slowed my ability to type, is certainly among them. So is receiving extensive edits and questions about a manuscript I recently submitted. That’s what I primarily need to focus on now. Is it stopping the rest of my writing? No, but it’s not allowing it to go as fast as I’d like. But I do concentrate on figuring it out so I can get back to what I was already working on, and more.

How about you other writers? Do you always get to focus on what you want to write, move forward, and enjoy it? Or have you also had some issues that slow you down, maybe stop you for a while?

But the great thing about being a writer is that we’ll deal with it and go forward with our writing. Right? Write!

Listen to Any Lyrics Lately?

by Jill Amadio

Listened to any lyrics lately? I seem to be spending far more time in my car than usual and, of course, I have my CDs at the ready.

I have to admit, shamefully, that I never truly considered songwriters to be real writers. Yet, they record their daily lives, romances, disappointments, failures, joys, and happiness with succinct and clever poetry and core messages that perfectly fit the moment.

My favorite is Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” and then all of his other works. I enjoy singing along with him until he slides into recalling some of his private, sexy moments for all the world to share. I quickly fast-forward.

His writing is pretty explicit even when he writes about religion, and I am sure his childhood and into adulthood included prayer and participation in services.

Which brings me back to lyricists and their skill at fitting words that we often fling about so wildly, are perfect for the composer’s work. Only Frank Sinatra did it ‘his way’ and sometimes scrambled words together and stretched them out, to my mind. I have never attempted to write a lyric, although I was forced to dabble in some corny poetry in school. It never occurred to me that songwriters, both those who write the words and those who compose the music, were so gifted and creative. Interestedly, they manage to make simple sentences sound beautiful when sung. I urge my memoir writing class students to read their prose aloud and none have ever broken into song. Maybe that’s a good thing. But I am sure that lyricists practice their sons aloud as a way to judge their effect.

It amazes me how songwriters like ABBA and “The Mommas and Poppas” manage to squeeze a lifetime of hurt and happiness into a 3-minute song. It is understandable, of course, when they are singing about one specific moment, but even that requires a skill that many regular writers lack. I wonder if they trim and edit, as we fiction and non-fiction writers do?

I have never met a lyricist, although I have several poet friends, and I watch time and again movies about composers, although the films rarely ask, to my mind, the crucial questions, such as must the lyrics rhyme? Whence comes the inspiration? Like many famous writers who are the subject of other writers’ biographies, the nitty-gritty of lyric writing and composing are often lost in the labyrinth of their concert performances.

I have read that lyricists and composers work together, but which comes first? Are the words arranged to fit the music, or vice versa? Does erasing carefully-conceived words annoy the lyricist as our editors annoy us? I remember reading that Ernest Hemingway had huge fights with his editor, Max Perkins at Scribner’s, who invariably won the battle and improved the books so magnificently into bestsellers.

I don’t recall any such fights between songwriters, but I am sure there were plenty. Perhaps they were short – like their songs, although I can’t imagine the writers of the lyrics criticizing the music unless they are composers themselves.

Perhaps we mystery writers should try to create a murder that can be described in just a few words, a one-page short story, although some songs have several stanzas. It seems that more contemporary songs are brief and to the point, except for country-western, which are often depressing and mostly seem to be about lost love.

Of course, once we’ve murdered the victim in our books and solved a sub-plot or two, finding the killer could take up an entire music album. Perhaps ancient people wrote songs although archaeologists only appear to discover crockery and texts. What would their songs sounds like?

These literary musings are a rather fun way to procrastinate although I am actually seated at my desk and using my laptop. And, I am writing!

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?

………………………………………

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?

Seven Story Plots

By Jackie Houchin

I recently talked to a young man involved in theatre at his university. He longs to write a play or musical and has all kinds of ideas about special effects, music, and costumes. He has even imagined a few characters. But he has no story. No plot, only a few imaginative scenes.

I told him there are just a few basic plots in the world from which all books and plays originate. I told him there were five, but on researching them, I found it is seven. (Christopher Booker’s 2004 book The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories.)

Here they are.

Overcoming The Monster.

Christopher Booker suggests Dracula by Bram Stoker, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis (the White Witch), or The Help by Kathryn Stockett. In the “monster” story, you need a chilling threat (human or not) and a brutal contest that will probably require a significant sacrifice.

Voyage and Return.

The Odyssey in Greek myth and The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien are examples. Your protagonist will need a dangerous journey or impossible quest with an uncertain outcome. He needs opportunities to turn back but to show heroism, he will continue and return with new strength.

Rags to Riches.

Cinderella, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, and Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden are all examples. Your protagonist should grow in character, strength, and understanding, helping them to be empowered. This sometimes involves romance.

The Quest.

The protagonist sets out to find someone or some object, like buried treasure. At each step the stakes need to be raised, making it harder and harder to achieve. The hero emerges stronger or more mature. J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows are examples.

The Comedy

The idea of Comedy is to create many misunderstandings for the protagonist to get involved in. The plot continues to muddle events, feelings, and perceptions until the end when all will be “miraculously transformed.” The action moves from dark to light. The Inimitable Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse and Bridget Jones’ Diary by Helen Fielding are examples.

The Tragedy

Tragedy is the opposite of Comedy and goes from light to dark. The protagonist has a deep flaw or makes a horrible mistake, causing his undoing and failure. Think of all the “if onlys” that could have happened. Give him ways “out,” which he won’t take, then close off any exit options. Classic examples are Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth by Shakespeare, The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.

The Rebirth

Rebirth is like a tragedy but with a hopeful outcome. The protagonist’s journey has a redemptive arc and sometimes includes romance. The “happy ending” should depend on that arc. Fairy tales are good examples, as are The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett, Emma by Jane Austen, and The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.

Of course, you can combine multiple plots and add subplots, too. These seven plots are a guide to building your story. You can elaborate as your fancy suits you.

Now, give it a go!