O-HI-oh

When I was about 8 years old, our family took a vacation that led us through Ohio into Kentucky to see Mammouth Cave. We stopped at what is now Hopewell Mounds and my mom's reaction was, essentially, "We came all this way to see bumps in the ground?" I thought the mounds were kind of cool.

I've been back a couple times and driven through 4 and a half times now, and Ohio still tends to evoke both those responses from me. I can understand why those prehistoric peoples put up mounds to break up this landscape. Not that it's boring--it isn't. Just relentless at times. Hours of driving take longer here than anywhere else in the world except Antarctica. So sure of that fact am I that I give Snapple permission to print it under their iced tea lids. Why do people go to Ohio? Duh--to buy buckeyes (a chocolate and peanut butter confection that looks like the nut that gave the state its motto).

We stopped at the rest area just over the PA border to get a map. Caroline asked if they had any information about our destination, Preble County. The answer was no, and you got the impression they hadn't heard of the place. Preble County is the last one you go through on I-70 before hitting Indiana. We were there to visit the library branch in Eaton. On a personal note, I was there to meet in person someone I'd talked books and politics with online for the last 10 years or so (hi, Suzanne!).

Something those folks back at that eastern rest area could tell people: Eaton has a really good Skyline Chili. Skyline Chili is an Ohio chain--I'd eaten at one in Cincinnati and was underwhelmed. At the one in Eaton I finally found out why people love their food. Another reason to go to Preble County? The people are super nice, especially the folks who work in the library system. If anyone from Preble County is reading this--you've got a gem in those libraries. Support them.

On to Indiana today.

Peace,
Elena

Mystery Lovers Bookshop

I've wanted to visit Mystery Lovers Bookshop in Oakmont, PA for the last 10 years and last night I finally got there. Long overdue. This is a wonderful store! Well-stocked, and the owners are gracious, generous and knowledgable. They have a nice little cafe in front, too, so you can munch while you read.

The event was inspired--a big Italian feast where the 3 of us (Robin Hathaway, the Caroline half of Charles Todd and I) sat at different tables conversing with the Monday night Book Club. We switched tables halfway through. Mystery book speed dating. Such fun!

Then the 3 of us talked about our books, then fielded questions. So nice to talk to people who know their mystery books.

Today, onto Ohio. (and Go Phillies!)

Peace,
Elena

The Weird Sisters Do PA, OH & Bouchercon

Next week is the World Mystery Conference, aka Bouchercon, which this year is in Indianapolis, IN. I'll be there so I won't be here--I'm lugging enough along without a laptop, too. Though, if I find any Internet access along the way, and have any observations I think are worth posting, something may pop up on this page.

I'll be traveling to Bouchercon with 2 other mystery writers: Robin Hathaway (author of the Jo Banks and Dr. Andrew Fenimore mystery series), and the Caroline Todd half of the Charles Todd writing team (the Inspector Rutledge series). Our book tours are usually called something classy, like "The Three Ladies of Mystery." We call ourselves The Weird Sisters. Rather than throw ticker tape, money, or rotten tomatoes at us as we pass through your communities, I suggest you come meet us at Mystery Lovers Bookshop in Oakmont, PA on Columbus Day (Oct 12) at 6 pm, or on October 13 at 6:30 pm at Preble County District Library on N. Barron St. in Eaton, OH.

Since I write ghost stories and Caroline writes history with a psychological twist and Robin occasionally writes about pirates and the BEST short horror stories you can imagine, our talk at the library will have a Halloween theme (unless, of course, we go off on a tangent. We sometimes do. No guarantees. But we're always entertaining).

At Mystery Lovers Bookshop, to honor the little Genoa gent whose day it is, they're having a big Italian buffet. Italian food and books. My kind of party. Reservations necessary--go to www.mysterylovers.com/books/events/20091012fourauthors.php .

If any of you are planning to attend Bouchercon, my panel is Thursday afternoon, Oct 15 at 3 pm, called MYSTERY OF A LIFETIME, where I'll be pleased to be doing time with authors Jeff Marks, Craig McDonald, Julia Jones, and Leslie Klinger.

Thursday night at 9:30, at the Gameworks down the street, I'll perform in the Author Talent Show. Mine's a sing-a-long, but strong drink will be available for those who wish to bolster courage.

Otherwise, I intend to relax, have a blast, and talk to fellow authors and to lots and lots of mystery readers like myself. I know authors who don't go to conventions, some because they don't like crowds (I don't either, but this crowd is fun) and some because they don't feel like they need to go--they're selling well enough, or their publisher gives them tons of publicity without conferences. My answer is, anyone who creates needs contact with the folks they create for, composers with musicians, playwrights with actors and audiences, authors with readers. You can't work in a vacuum. Art is a partnership.

Peace,
Elena

PLACE

I've been watching the PBS Ken Burns series on the National Parks and it's stirring the travel bug in me again.

I started collecting National Parks early. I think I was about 4 years old when my parents took me to Lexington and Concord. We did the Virginia Civil War parks maybe 2 years later. They also took me to big scenic parks: Shenandoah, Great Smoky Mountains, Acadia. I finally got out west in my twenties. As of today, I've been to about 75 National Park sites, not counting parkways and national heritage areas, and counting all the DC monuments as one. That still feels like a drop in the ocean, out of all the hundreds of park sites. I've got no fewer than 15 on my see-before-I-die list. In my opinion, all Americans ought to visit at least 3 National Parks in their lifetimes--one major scenic park, one major historical park, and one of their choice. And they ought to bring their kids. The parks are OURS, folks. One of the perks of democracy.

If you're a writer, you owe it to yourself to go to a park and wake up your brain.

The Parks are responsible for my choices of settings in my stories. I think of my fiction in two phases: Before Yellowstone and After Yellowstone. Before I visited Yellowstone, my writings were filled with generic settings. Most inexperienced writers do the same thing. TV teaches us to picture Hollywood backlot housing developments and city streets. Yes, you can tell a good story in these kinds of settings, but how much richer in a real, and possibly unusual, place?

My trip to Yellowstone began with a crosscountry train ride. I slept in a berth out to Chicago, where I switched onto a huge doubledecker train. I'd never crossed the Mississippi before--I was used to the East where everything is small scale. Suddenly I was seeing miles of lakes, then not only amber waves but a vast sea of grain. Bluer sky, and more of it, than I'd ever seen from anyplace back home.

We got off the train in Montana and took a bus south. The air was dryer and clearer than I knew air could be. And in Yellowstone itself--well, they didn't call it Wonderland in the 19th century for nothing. Steam comes out of the ground. The hot spring terraces look like cave formations turned inside out. Mud boils like tomato sauce. Geysers go off like scalding unruly mall fountains. Pools from in-ground springs are all azure blue or rainbow-colored. Add to that a deep canyon of red-streaked yellow rock, waterfalls, mountains, alpine meadows filled with wildflowers, rivers, forests of evergreens and aspen, and a colossal sapphire blue lake. And everywhere animals--elk, moose, buffalo, deer, birds, bears, snowshoe hares, marmots, ground squirrels. The place has dozens of different smells, from flowers to pine to the rotten egg odor of sulphur. The temperature can range 40 degress F. in one summer day. The night sky is inundated with stars. Storms seem more epic, thunder louder, lightning streaks, brighter and longer. I experienced all of that in one week.

The most beautiful and scariest place I'd ever been. I HAD to write about it.

Thing was, my writing skill hadn't yet gotten to the point where I could do the setting, or anything else in that tale justice, so the book was never published. But the experience taught me that setting ought to be specific. I now can't write a story without trying to make the place into a character.

I realized, watching PBS this week, that I want to return to Yellowstone someday. Maybe rewrite that Yellowstone novel, too.

And I want to get moving on my see-before-I-die list.

Peace,
Elena

GHOSTS vs. GEEKS

Most people know I'm a history buff. Kind of obvious from the books I write. But I'm also a science geek. I read Science News. I watch NOVA on PBS. I grew up with the Franklin Institute practically in my backyard. I've been known to get up at 3 am to watch a meteor shower. And once I poked a pin hole in a Xerox box, held it up in front of a sunny window, and showed everyone at my office job a solar eclipse.

The geek genes came from my dad, who used to take us rock hunting, stargazing, birdwatching, you name it. Back when America was gearing up to go to the moon and our local library had a weekly kids' program about NASA rockets, he'd bring us and sit in himself. When Star Trek made its debut, he watched it along with us. And family lore says that he and his brother Charlie had a respectable turtle skull collection. As I clean out the house (see my blog on Clutter a couple weeks ago), I expect to find that collection in the cellar.

When I created the character of Beth Ann Lee, I didn't plan on her being a geek. She simply was one, from the start. Part of it, I suppose, came from my own frustration at seeing so many girls turned away from math and science at a young age, merely because someone thinks females aren't supposed to be good at those subjects (Hello! Marie Curie! Jane Goodall! Sally Ride! to name a very few).

I've been asked why, if I like science all that much, do I put something as unscientific as ghosts in my books? I've been asked this by folks who fancy themselves scientific thinkers.

Okay, call me crazy (lots of people do), but isn't the whole point of science to try to explain the unexplained? So my standard answer, when asked if I believe in ghosts, is that I believe in the possibility of ghosts--just like I believe in the possibility of life on other planets and undiscovered life forms on this one. Ghosts aren't out of the question, just not proven or for that matter, disproven. I can bend my brain around ghost theory a lot easier than I can string theory (if you don't know what that is, picture something a physicist might dream up after eating hallucinogenic mushrooms).

I've been reading up about ghost hunters who do their research armed with electromagnetic field meters, infrared and ambient thermometers, motion sensors, digital voice recorders, cameras and other serious technical equipment. I applaud their collection of data, but frankly, most of them need to think more scientifically. They point to an "orb" (what appears to be a ball of light in a photo) and call it a departed human being. I'm not saying it isn't, just that I don't see a clear line of evidence and logic between the phenomenon (the orb) and the conclusion. I could offer other theories. I said I believed in the possibility of undiscovered life forms--maybe that's what an orb is. Or, like the aurorae, an effect of solar wind on Earth's magnetic field. Or simply a trick of light and humid air.

No ghost hunters I've met seem interested in explaining the physical conditions that creates an orb. Why wouldn't ghosts be subject to the same laws of physics, even if they exist in another dimension? (String theory says other dimensions are possible--or maybe you just feel extra-dimensional after eating those mushrooms.)

Anyway, will some scientist out there please work on ghost phenomena? Stop wussing out because you think the world will laugh at you. I'm guessing there's a Nobel Prize in store for the mind who cracks this mystery.

To answer the question: Why do I put ghosts in my books? Ghost tales are probably the oldest form of storytelling. No civilization known to history has been without ghost stories. People like them because they're entertaining. Me? I write ghost stories because I like them. And I put science in my books because I like that, too. They can go together.

Oh, and to my cousins, Uncle Charlie's kids? When I find those turtle skulls, you're entitled to half. Only fair.

Live long and prosper,
Elena

CONGRESS -- Comity or Comedy?

"The recent fist fight in the United States Senate, precipitated by Senator Tillman of South Carolina, is one of the most disgraceful episodes that ever took place in the upper branch of Congress."

That's a quote from the New York Times, March 2, 1902. Senator Tillman punched his fellow South Carolina senator in the nose. What IS it with these South Carolina congressmen?

In 1850, during heated debates, Senator Foote from Mississippi nearly shot Senator Benton of Missouri while Benton was having a caustic exchange of words with Vice President Millard Fillmore. Foote was wrestled to the floor and disarmed.

You can find a fairly long list of politicians killed in duels at http://politicalgraveyard.com/death/duels.html . Congress, however, didn't pass an anti-dueling bill until 1839, after Representative Cilley of Maine was killed by Representative Graves of Kentucky. The bill was introduced by Henry Clay. Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote Cilley's graveside memorial.

In June 2004, while members of the Senate were having their photos taken on the Senate floor, Vice President Cheney and Senator Leahy had a heated argument in which Mr. Cheney gave the gentleman from Vermont instructions using the F-word as a verb. Since Senate wasn't technically in session, the rule against cursing and obscenity on the Senate floor didn't apply.

As you can see, U.S. Congressmen have been acting like small spoiled children throughout most of our history. Last week Joe Wilson of South Carolina was merely upholding a long-standing American tradition when he broke congressional decorum rules by heckling a speaker (the rule covers any speaker, not only the President). In Joe's defense: at least he was paying attention. Decorum rules also forbid the use of cell phones or personal computers while someone is speaking, yet I saw a few members texting that evening. They weren't admonished. At least, not by anyone but me.

Joe Wilson did apologize to the President, though when interviewed, he said he did it because the Republican leadership thought he should, and he's since refused to apologize to his co-workers in Congress and to his employers, the taxpayers. I'm not sensing a lot of remorse here. He broke the rules of his workplace. The rest of us would be on unemployment, or at least on probation, if we did that.

What's this got to do with my books? I write historical mysteries set in different eras of American history. Lately I've been reading the political commentary of Will Rogers (for my Great Depression Pat book) and Continental Congress transcripts of 1777 (for a Rev. War thriller). Whatever decade I'm researching, I'm finding that many members of our Congress--our employees--really haven't done good work nor acted as we'd want our employees to act. And yet we let them give themselves raises and award themselves the best benefits, at our expense. Who else would give their employees that kind of power, especially if they only do so-so work and create conflict in the workplace? Okay, maybe baseball team owners. But who else?

In the 1850s, despite the anti-dueling law, Representatives Cutting of New York and Breckinridge of Kentucky decided to settle their dispute with Western rifles at 3 p.m. seven miles outside Washington. That morning, however, they were on the House floor for a vote and accidently met face to face. After a moment of strained silence, Breckinridge said, "Cutting, give me a chew of tobacco!" Without missing a beat, Cutting pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket and offered it to Breckinridge. That evening Breckinridge returned the favor by having Cutting over to share a bottle of wine. The duel was forgotten.

Those two could teach a lesson to both sides of the current congressional aisle.

"This country has come to feel the same when Congress is in session as when the baby gets hold of a hammer." Will Rogers

Still true today, Will.

Peace,
Elena

Flowers Shouldn't Always Be Red

I've been teaching writing workshops for fifth through eighth graders at different schools the last few years. One of my lesson plans for 6th grade is this: using the who-what-when-where-why-how approach, each class comes up with the seeds for a short mystery story about a missing object in the school. We write the beginning and end while I'm there, then their teachers can help them flesh it out and polish it later on.

The experiences have taught me scads about creativity and the writing process. Each class has a completely unique personality. Some let their imaginations soar--we've encountered closet monsters and secret passages behind lockers. Some get totally into the "how" details (hiding things in suspended ceilings is a biggie). Some love planting clues--one class used fingerprints, footprints, and a tool box with the initials "MM" (because they could also be "WW" upside-down, though they decided the tool box was bought on E-bay, so the new owner didn't have those initials after all).

Another part of personality, of course, is extrovert-introvert. At one middle school, I had a sixth grade class full of extremely creative extroverts. They wanted to talk out all their ideas, but had no patience with writing them down. Another class, though not as creative, were whizzes at focusing their ideas and putting them into words.

Most of the time, I come home from these adventures feeling extra-creative myself, re-energized for having been exposed to the playful innovation of youth--a reminder that the writer in me never grew up, and never should.

However, once I had a different experience. The class I was teaching was predominantly extroverts, so they talked a lot. Not a big problem, and at least they were talking about the story, but their ideas were scarce, random and mundane. Nothing held together--no idea built on the one before. Then one student suggested that we make one of the suspects a substitute teacher. All of a sudden, all hands shot up--everyone wanted to participate. Their ideas were still mundane, and a tad malicious, but they were creating, and finally making some sense. A story was taking shape.

As they were jabbering, and I was shushing them, their teacher said, "That's enough. Stop the silliness."

I'd never had a teacher interrupt a workshop before. Without thinking, I said, "No. We need the silliness. That's what writing is." Then, realizing I'd just stepped on his authority in front of his class, I added, "What we can stop is the discussion. I need you to think." The kids did stop talking, but except for a few, they also stopped volunteering. Their attention wandered--one kid played with his shoelace. Finishing that story was hard work. The only bright spot was at the end when they decided that ALL their suspects were in it together and they got to send them off to jail for ten years.

At lunch the teacher told me that there had been a "situation" with a substitute teacher and he didn't want them using that idea. He told me, "There are things you don't understand." I was tempted to inform him that I'd been teaching while he was still a grade school student and that what I did understand was that his class hadn't learned a thing that day. But I also want to be invited back to that school, so I kept my trap shut.

Harry Chapin wrote a song called "Flowers Are Red" about a child who wants to use every color while he paints. His teacher tells him to make his flowers red and his leaves green, until the boy is afraid to be imaginative. By the time I got home, I realized I'd had an encounter with a "Flowers Are Red" teacher. This was why his class had been afraid to use their imaginations in the first place, and why, after he spoke, they all crawled back into their shells.

Did the "situation" with that substitute teacher give him the right? How many characters have I created from a real person I didn't like? How many stories have I written to sound off my feelings about the injustices and ugliness I've experienced? Those kids were doing exactly what I do, expressing themselves about their frustrations. Exactly what I'm doing right now by writing this article.

On occasion, when I've tried to encourage wannabe writers to pen stories based on personal experiences, I've had writers say something like, "I can't write about that! I'd get into trouble!" They seem to think that they'd write too close to the truth, that others involved in the situations would sue them. They don't trust their imaginations enough to take them beyond reality. Just like that teacher didn't trust his students' imaginations.

As a society, we seem to be rejecting creativity altogether. Look at the "reality" TV show craze. And consider the glut of current crime novels that have little original prose or plotting between their covers (I don't call them "mysteries" because there's nothing mysterious about them.) I wonder how many editors, or at least marketing people, had "Flowers Are Red" teachers in school?

A decade from now, the kids I encountered this month may enter adult life with no clue how to imagine. No creative problem-solving. No healthy, therapeutic fantasies. No play and no silliness. Not one novelist in that bunch, and probably no fiction readers either. Then they'll raise kids of their own.

Me? I intend to practice wanton creativity. And pass it on every chance I get.

Peace,
Elena