Planting Seeds

We had summer-like weather last week. I was stuck at home with a cold. I took advantage of both situations by carrying my potting supplies outside so I could soak up some warm sun while I planted basil and tomato seeds.

Once I plant the seeds and place the containers on an upstairs windowsill, I keep the soil moist and watch for sprouts. I'm far from an expert at growing tomatoes this way. My results are always inconsistent and occasionally nonexistent. I never know how many plants I'll get, if any, and if they'll be hearty. Basil's different. Usually I get more plants than I can use and I push off the extras on friends. Still, until I see tiny bits of green pushing up through the soil, I never really believe seeds will grow. Always seems too much of a miracle until it happens.

Writing is like this. I get an idea--a seed. I feed it by playing "what-if." Seed: an unusual tattoo. What if the person who gets the tattoo isn't someone who would normally would? A grandmotherly Miss Marple sort. What if no one knows she has it until she dies? What if the tattoo is found to be...an Egyptian hieroglyph? A letter of the Russian alphapet? An Oriental rug symbol? What if the death didn't seem suspicious until the tattoo was found?

When one "what-if" begins to lead to another, I have a sprout, but I'm still not ready to write. I need a few more leaves before transplanting to the page. Who is the victim? Who's going to decide the tattoo warrants further investigation of the death? And for me in particular, where am I going to plant this story? What's the setting? Where is this seedling going to grow best?

With my basil and tomato plants, come Memorial Day, they go outside in the veggie bed. I protect them from insects and birds and squirrels. I check them each day, watering and weeding. After a while, God willin', I have adult plants established enough that if I go away for a day, it's no big deal. But, of course, I still can't neglect them for long.

Stories in progress are the same. At first I have to keep at them constantly. I'm never comfortable in a book until I reach the sixth chapter or so. If I set it aside too long before that point, I feel like my seedling might die. Even after the characters and plot are more or less established, if I have to go away for a week, I have a dickens of a time getting back into the story and bringing it back to life again.

I've heard would-be writers talk about wonderful story ideas, but really, all they have are packets of seeds. Sometimes the hardest part is believing your seeds will grow. Once they do, you have to commit to the whole nurturing process if you want a good harvest.

Peace,
Elena

How Not to Write A How-To

I've been quiet for a while. The simple truth of it is, doing taxes turns my brain to mush.

Being the daughter of an accountant, I've been doing my own taxes all my life. Okay, yes, I did switch to Turbo Tax when I started having writing income and expenses--mainly to make sure I wasn't overlooking anything--but until a few years ago, I thought I had a handle on what I was doing. Lately though, I've felt like I can't bend my mind around the task.

Have I reached the age where enough brain cells have died that the synapses assigned to taxes need a government stimulus to rebuild the bridges? Is my financial life that much more complicated (short of the war I've been waging with Bank of America because they've made 5 errors in the last 2 years, some of which have cost me money)? The short answer to that last question is "no way."

So why? Well, let's take a look at the history of the 1040 Instruction Booklet.

1982: The booklet was 48 pages which, besides the 1040 and schedule instructions, included a whole page of where-to-mail addresses, an index, and a blank page for NOTES.

1990: 64 pages, not much difference from above, just 33% longer.

1999: 117 pages, 70 of which were the actual 1040 instructions, with schedule instructions tacked onto the end.

2004: 128 pages total. 77 pages for the 1040, the rest for the schedules.

2007: 153 total. 87 pages for the 1040.

2009: 175 total. 103 pages for the 1040. Total booklet now has 265% more pages than in 1982.

175 pages. That's half a novel. As for content, here's a random quote from page 32:

If you received income from a non-qualified deferred compensation plan or nongovernmental section 457 plan that is box 1 of your Form W-2, or in box 7 of Form 1099-MISC, do not include that income on line 8 of the worksheet. The income should be shown in (a) box 11 of your Form W-2, (b) box 12 of your Form W-2 with code Z, or (c) box 15b of Form 1099-MISC.

175 pages of that.

So here's an idea. DC, are you listening? Take a bunch of writers who listed a loss on their Schedule C this past year (lots to choose from), and put them to work rewriting the 1040 instructions so normal folks can understand them again.

Peace,
Elena

English as a Second Language

I wasn't born a writer. In fact, English-wise, I was a B average. Oh, I could slap together a fairly coherent report in whatever subject. If you asked me now--now that I've been a teacher and seen incredibly incoherent writing from students--I guess maybe, even then, I could have been called a writer. But I didn't feel like one. Writing was a tool I used to get through school, and to concoct silly poems and stories during study hall. Now it's a tool to express myself. What do I do with it? I write silly poems and stories. And silly blogs.

Music is different. I remember, when I was in maybe third grade, my mom asked me why I sang all the time. I hadn't realized I did. By the time I was old enough for grade school chorus, I was already harmonizing with every song on the radio, every hymn in church, and with Muzak in department stores. Even if I never heard the song before. Music, I believe, was my first language. I have no idea why. My closest musical ancestor was an uncle who played accordion. Still, I have a brother who composes and two cousins who are singers, so it's in our DNA somewhere.

I put the kind of musicians I know in my novels--people like me who do other things to make a living. In HANG MY HEAD AND CRY, Theo is an aspiring anthropologist, but on the side he does church singing--services, weddings, funerals. POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY's main historical character is a fiddler and part-time music master. Series character Beth Ann plays clarinet in her school band. Actually, every science geek I know played in a school band or sang in choir. Not a coincidence. Early school music education feeds the brain in all kinds of ways.

A friend asked me this week if I'd ever do a mystery novel set in the music world. The short answer is, probably not. Musicians, when making music, don't have a murderous bone in them. Music is all about dialogue and communication, and something more--like a genuine meeting of souls. This is why the Arab/Jewish Orchestra can exist, and the Omagh Community Youth Choir of Northern Ireland, which includes kids from all different backgrounds with the aim of promoting peace.

If you'd like to hear some of the great music of these groups, and others from around the world, check out

http://www.playingforchange.com/

Peace, and harmony,
Elena

One Day at A Time

This past week I've had a heater man here fixing a leaky steam pipe and an electrician doing a much needed upgrade on my old house. I'll miss the dungeon-like ambiance my cellar used to have, but now I can actually see what I'm doing while I sort laundry. No more white blouses turned splotchy pink.

This sort of household activity doesn't lend itself to getting writing done, especially when most of my free time was spent moving furniture and stuff around so all my old two-prong outlets could be evicted.

By coincidence, though, on my World War II blog, I've began to post my Uncle Joe's diary entries from 1945. I've read the journal a few times before, but I was once again struck by how quickly a story can take shape. Just 2 or 3 sentences a day and in a little over a week, I've traveled from California to Hawaii with him, hearing about the sailors who jumped ship in port, about those who were seasick and the rough weather that caused it, about shipboard routine like painting and early morning watch, and about renting bikes for liberty at Pearl Harbor. My uncle wasn't a trained or skilled writer--he was never terribly academic, he even had to repeat a grade in school. Yet, his story is easier to read than all the novels I've started and not finished in the last five years.

So, instead of writing this week, I've been mulling over his style of storytelling and why it seems to work so well.

My uncle had the uncanny knack for evoking images and empathy in one sentence. I could picture him watching the lights of Long Beach fade in the distance as their ship sailed west, not knowing what the next battles would bring or if he'd come home again. He didn't say any of that--he didn't need to. He only said that he could see the lights for a long time. The less he says, the more the reader participates. The reader becomes a fellow traveler instead of a mere listener.

I've read other diaries, some good, some bad. The bad ones were too wordy and too self-focused. The good ones shared the same elements as Uncle Joe's writing: honest observations and an occasional opinion, almost always born of emotion rather than intellect, but not melodramatic either.

One of the best diaries I ever read and that I highly recommend is that of Elizabeth Drinker, a Philadelphia Quaker whose husband, along with other Quakers in 1777, was sent to our country's first internment camp. Her telling of that incident, and her travels to Valley Forge to plead with General Washington for her husband's release, was fascinating, but I admit becoming completely drawn into her typical family problems, too. I cried when she wrote of her daughter's death.

If anyone reading this is thinking of doing some writing but isn't sure where to begin, try keeping a journal. A paragraph a day, that's all. One day at a time. Write about things that strike you as interesting or important. Don't go off on tirades. Don't lecture. Just relate.

History is, after all, only a collection of people's stories. Add yours.

Peace,
Elena

Healthcare Mayhem

No, I don't mean Cherry Ames.

Informal poll: How many fictional sleuths can you name who worry about their healthcare?

Think about all those "realistic" fictional detectives who are self-employed, down on their luck, and getting beat up/shot at/Mickey-Finned on a daily basis. Shouldn't their writers mention how these tough guys pay their healthcare bills? Aren't chronic concussions a pre-existing condition? Are the Sam Spades of the world even insurable?

In my Possessed Mystery Series, my protagonist Pat Montella doesn't worry about her healthcare; she has panic attacks over it. In book one, BY BLOOD POSSESSED, paramedics ask her if she wants to go to the hospital, she says no, not because she's feeling great, but because the hospital is in a different state than her insurer and she knows getting preapproval will be next to impossible.

Then she's laid off and her Cobra coverage runs out by book 2, HANG MY HEAD AND CRY. The plan she's forced to take up is the kind President Obama calls Acme Insurance--cheap, high deductibles, and doesn't cover much. By book 3, POISON TO PURGE MELANCHOLY, Pat's starting to have odd symptoms, which she ignores because she knows going to a doctor about them will cost more than she can afford. And ironically, her symptoms are caused in part by poor quality healthcare, bordering on medical negligence.

Fiction? Nope, research. Millions of Americans go through this breed of healthcare crap every day. All Pat's experiences are based on my own or on members of my family.

You want healthcare fiction? Listen to politicians who say we've got the best healthcare in the world and that the majority of Americans like the system as it stands. Now that's fiction.

And if you're a mystery writer and you don't want to deal with the reality of healthcare woes these days, better write historicals, or make your sleuth a U.S. Congressman.

Stay well,
Elena

Random Thoughts on Agatha Award Nominations

Exactly 10 years ago this month, I received an email telling me that my first novel, BY BLOOD POSSESSED, had been nominated for an Agatha Award. My heart started thumping and the adrenaline rush gave me a headache for 3 days. Agatha nominees are chosen by the folks registered for the annual Malice Domestic Convention, so it's very much a people's choice award. This means that, rather than a small committee judging my book, a big bunch of mystery fans had read it and deemed it award-worthy. I can't tell you how reaffirming and encouraging that feels.

The same morning I got that email, I was scheduled to teach public school students about mystery plots and historical research. Distracted as I was, I still had to do an hour commute and focus on the day. You can't walk into a classroom in a daze. Kids figure out the art of pack hunting in second grade. You can't come across as a maimed gnu.

Fast forward to a few nights ago, when I received my second Agatha Nomination communication, this time about my latest book, DAME AGATHA'S SHORTS: An Agatha Christie Short Story Companion. Heart started thumping again. First thought: SOMEONE ACTUALLY READ MY BOOK! Second thought: ohmygosh, I have to lose weight and buy new clothes by May!

Since this call came at the tail-end of a major blizzard, I still had to deal with getting my car down an alley of 5-inch thick, crater-ridden ice the next morning, so I could get to my day job and earn the money to pay for healthcare--and for a new PC monitor, because that same day, my screen took on a pink tint. And I still had to make sure entries to my uncle's WW2 blog got posted daily. And finish rewrites to my last project. And dig out a path to the cellar door for the electrician coming to fix my basement lights. And I HAD get to a grocery store because more snow is predicted for this week.

In fact, when that call came the other night, after the week I'd been having, I was definitely in "What NOW?" mode.

Polly Whitney is a fellow author, dear friend, and someone who also knows what it's like to wear that "Agatha Nominee" ribbon at Malice Domestic. She told me to remember how Julia Roberts, when accepting her Oscar, told the band to shut up because who knew when she'd be at that podium again.

This week, I feel like asking the chaos in my life to shut up, so I can savor the moment. But it won't. And it shouldn't. Because what would I write about if it did?

To the fans and registered attendees of Malice, thanks, not only for DAME AGATHA's nomination and for the other great books you chose to be honored this year, but for reading and loving mystery books and short stories. We authors are bupkis without you.

Peace,
Elena

MELODRAMA

Is it me, or is the world becoming ridiculously melodramatic?

"Melodrama" comes from the Greek words for melody and theater. Literally, it's the use of music to heighten the emotional drama of a story. The word has come to be used for overly-emotional stories with one-dimensional characters.

I was at a writing workshop last fall where the presenter said there ought to be drama on every page, and that the protagonist ought to experience worse and worse dangers, right up to where you think, this is it, nothing worse can happen...and then it does.

What came to my mind was "Perils of Pauline"--a series of silent films done in 1914 and remade a few times since, where the heroine is a damsel in constant distress from an assortment of evil stock villains. Thing is, none of the remakes I've seen (and according to my dad, not even the 1933 version) was ever considered anything but satirical comedy. I'm guessing the original silents were comedies too. I mean, by the time Pauline, in the space of a half hour, has gone through enough dangers to give a normal human being PTSD 20 times over, you can't help but laugh at the absurdity. Not to mention the fact that she keeps doing the same stupid things over and over. This kind of melodrama can be great entertainment, but was never meant to be taken seriously.

The presenter of that workshop got me thinking about books I've read lately and TV shows and movies I've seen. Too many of them are too melodramatic and take themselves too seriously. And true to form, most of the visual media come complete with sappy background music. I usually reach the "Oh, please" limit fairly quickly. I'm never pulled into the story. I change channels or switch books.

Come to think of it, I'm a long time Star Trek fan, but stopped liking it when they changed the background music to angst-ridden brass chords (in the middle of Deep Space Nine season 2, if I remember correctly). Each year the writers would come up with more evil unbeatable foes. No more great imaginative plots like the one with the Groundhog-Day-like poker game that replayed itself 4 times. I loved that show.

Don't get me wrong--I don't object to melodrama. I just object to every single thing that attempts to tell me a story these days being sated with emotion. The sameness is BORING. Frankly, even the newscasts have gotten too dramatic. The last decade on local newscasts, I think I've heard the words "something went horribly wrong" more than 1000 times. After the 2nd time, it stopped enhancing the emotional drama. It became annoying. Kills me that their copywriters earn a living for being that unoriginal.

A story that needs that much drama to keep my attention is a poorly told story. Maybe not even a story worth telling. Don't put drama on every page, put a great story on every page and tell it in an engaging manner. The world has enough angst.

Peace,
Elena