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by Gina Sestak

The theme for this month is scary things, and I'll tell you right up front, one thing that scares me a lot is ghosts.

I try to tell myself that ghosts are just unfortunate departed souls, trapped in the liminal space that separates the living from the dead.  I try to tell myself that ghosts are only snapshots, memories of those who were.  The one thing I can't tell myself is that there's no such thing as ghosts.  I know that isn't true because I grew up in a haunted house.

My family moved a lot when I was young.  My father worked for Westinghouse, which meant that he was often out of work - laid off or on strike.  When I was an infant, we lived in Wilkinsburg, PA, then he took a job in an auto factory in Detroit.  My mother and I moved there to join him, then returned to Pittsburgh when my grandfather was dying.  My father came back and went to work at Westinghouse again.   We stayed with my grandmother in the Lincoln-Lemington neighborhood at first, then rented an apartment in the East Liberty section of Pittsburgh.  Then back to Wilkinsburg again, where I started school.  When I was in first grade, we moved to the house in Lincoln-Lemington where the family remained until after I left for college.  The house that was haunted.

We didn't know the house was haunted when we moved in.

It was an old house, yellow brick, the last house on the left on a dead end street.  Beside it was a dahlia field, separated by an iron fence from St. Peter's Lutheran Cemetery.

We occupied the second and third floors at first, while another family lived on the first floor.  My mother had grown up a few blocks away, in a house her father built himself.  My grandmother still lived there.

We didn't realize that the house had a non-corporeal inhabitant at first.  Two adults and three children crowded into a two bedroom apartment meant that nobody was ever there alone.

As I got older, my mother decided that I couldn't continue to share a room with my little brothers, so my parents rented the whole house.   The living room, dining room and kitchen took up the first floor.   Our former living room became my parents' bedroom, while my brothers slept in the former kitchen.  I got a room alone on the third floor.  The other attic room, the back room, was used for storage.

My mother went to a lot of trouble to make my room look like everything a little girl should want - pink and white curtains and matching bedspread, freshly painted pink walls.

The noises started shortly after I moved in.

I woke up one night, hearing something scratching on my window.  The window was at the front of the house, three stories up.   There were no trees anywhere near it.  I hid my head under the blankets and prayed.  That would become my standard response.  [Remember, I was attending Catholic grade school at the time.]

The scratching sound came back again.  I prayed.  It went away.

Then the noises started coming from the other room.  There were two rooms on the third floor, separated by a small square hallway at the top of the steps from the second floor.

I heard something moving in the other room.  It pounded on the door.  I hid my head and prayed.

The pounding kept up almost every night.  Then one night the door from that room creaked open.  Footsteps came into my room and walked up beside my bed.  I stayed under the blankets.  After awhile, they went away.

The pounding and the footsteps continued after that.  Not every night, but often enough that I started sleeping on the couch down on the first floor.

I told my mother what was going on, and she put a hook-and-eye lock on the outside of the back room's door.

The pounding and the footsteps continued.  I would get up in the morning to find the lock and door both open.  In my room, things began to fall.  My mirror crashed to the floor.  The alarm clock on the bedside stand fell off.  Other things.  I stopped sleeping in my room at all.

I don't think my parents really believed me about the haunting.  I already had a reputation in the family for being weird.

After they had moved out, my grandmother mentioned that the house had a reputation.  She said she hadn't wanted to say anything while we were living there, but no one would live in that house in the 1930s.  Only the housing shortage brought on by World War II prompted people to inhabit it again.  She said a man who had been injured in a work-related accident had lived there on the third floor, confined by his disability.  He killed himself up there, in the back room.

BOO!!!

by Bente Gallagher (and Jennie Bentley)

Welcome to October, the spookiest month of the year! We'll be talking about spooky stuff this month, and I have the honor of starting us off.

I love a good ghost story. Always have. I love books about ghosts, ghost tours, places that claim to have ghosts, stories about ‘true’ ghosts. I’d love to actually see a ghost—at least I love the idea of it—but so far, I haven’t. And truth be told, I might not love it at all if I did.

I have had other slightly weird things happen to me. My mother used to have what we in Norway call a ‘vardøger’—a harbinger. Not of death; this was while she was alive and I was little. She worked part time, until 2 PM, when she’d take the trolley home from downtown. I was in school, and I would usually arrive home before she did. If I stayed downstairs, I’d always hear the front door open and close around 2:30, and then, about thirty minutes later, my mother would come in. After the door opened and closed again, I mean. The first time, nobody was there. Just my mother’s spirit, I guess, looking forward to getting home to her little girl.

To me, growing up, it was no big deal. I never thought twice about it. Until I told someone else about my mother’s ‘vardøger,’ and watched them turn pale, and that was when I realized that not everyone’s mother had a harbinger.

A few years later, I developed some sort of precognition. I was living in New York City at the time, and crushing on this guy named Michael. We met when I was nineteen—just a kid, really—and I didn’t like him much at first. In spite of that, I knew from the moment I set eyes on him that we’d end up getting married. And for the next two years I had this weird sixth sense about him. I’d wake up in the morning and know that I’d run into him that day. (Very convenient, since I could primp beforehand and make sure I looked my best.) And I never ran into him where you’d expect; I didn’t stalk his place of work waiting for him to show up or anything like that. No, this was on the street somewhere in Manhattan, where neither of us knew the other one would be; a pure and total coincidence in a city of 8 million people. And it didn’t just happen once, it happened over and over. Just with him, never with anyone else.

At one point, I had this certain question I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t want to just call and ask; I wanted it to sound coincidental and like it was no big deal. (I know, silly. But I was nineteen. What more can I say?) So I made this deal with my roommate, Myra, that if I hadn’t gotten ‘that feeling’ in the next week, and hadn’t run into him coincidentally on the street somewhere, I’d call him at 7 PM on Saturday night.

The week passed, of course, with none of ‘that feeling,’ and Saturday rolled around. It was getting close to 7 o’clock, and Myra was trying to talk me into picking up the phone and dialing when she phone rang. She was closer, so she answered, and I’ll never forget the look on her face when she turned to me and said, “It’s for you. It’s Mike.” It was three minutes to seven.

I did end up marrying him, by the way. It’s been 23 years.

So that’s the extent of my spookiness, which seems to have rubbed off over time, sort of like gilt. There’s nothing spooky about me now (although I did write a haunted house mystery last year). I’d love to have a nice long chat about my favorite spooky books, but it’ll have to be some other time. When you read this, I’m actually on the road, on my way up to Columbus, Ohio, for the Central Ohio Fiction Writers Conference, where I’ll be spending the weekend. And I'm not dragging the computer along!

If any of you are in the neighborhood, please come say hi. I’m not teaching, just soaking up a little learning of my own, but I will be participating in the author signing from 4 to 6 on Saturday night, if anyone wants to stop by and see me and maybe buy a few books. 

I'll be back on the 26th to discuss favorite paranormal books. Until then!

Are You Intrepid?

by Ramona DeFelice Long

A while back, a writer friend sent me an SOS that went something like this:

“Help! I need the perfect word to describe a character who is handsome and charming, but maybe not 100% honest; he likes women and booze and cards but he’s not a skeeve; he’s not exactly dangerous, but he’s not Mr. Trustworthy, either; he can be playful and fun even though he’s not terribly dependable; and did I mention he’s handsome and charming?”

After stewing a while (and realizing that I once dated this guy, or maybe several of these guys) I came up with three choices: Our man could be a rake, a rascal or a rapscallion.

We spent a little while discussing the differences between rakes, rascals and rapscallions. We decided that a rake is the most negative, and brazen, of the three—he’ll love you and leave you and clean out your bank account in the process. A rascal is more mischievous than dangerous; he’s young and, in my mind, Southern; he’d probably break your heart and steal your wallet, but he really did enjoy your company while he was doing it. A rapscallion is a combination of the rascal and the rake—he’s not blatantly using you and he’s not forgivable because he’s just so darn cute, so he’s kind of a bum but also kind of irresistible.

If you are a writer, you’ve probably had a dilemma like this one. Words have nuances and multiple meanings, which makes them fun little buggers, but frustrating, too.

So when you read a truly perfect word, it’s a moment. I had a one of these perfect word moments while reading a post in the SinC Blog, when the poster described her sleuth as having an intrepid nature.
Intrepid is great word. According to our friends at Microsoft Encarta, to be intrepid means you are “fearless and persistent in the pursuit of something.” Isn’t that a definitive definition of a mystery novel’s protagonist? Can there be a more succinct description of a sleuth?

I wrote this in the SinC Blog’s comments and ventured to propose that a mystery writer should be intrepid, too. Think about it. In order to craft a mystery, a writer has to sit in a chair and write and outline and plot and write and plan and edit and write. Then he or she must throw out parts of it and sit in the chair some more and rewrite and rework and cut and delete and rewrite. That’s the persistent part.

The fearless part means sending it out to a beta reader or a critique group for constructive criticism. It may mean hiring an independent editor. It means recognizing what’s not working, chucking parts (or all) of it, and sitting in the chair again and writing and rewriting.

But if writing the story takes fearlessness and persistence, working towards publication is where being intrepid really counts.

On Monday of this week, I gave myself a little anniversary party, celebrating my first year blogging as an editor. It’s been an eventful year, and I realize as I write this post how many writers I have seen be persistent and fearless in their pursuit of publication. But if I asked, I doubt many of them would see these acts as extraordinary. I doubt many of them would call themselves intrepid.

Why is this? Why don’t we see the bravery in sending out our writing?

When you join into a community of fellows, you bond over what you all have in common. You know so many other writers being persistent and fearless, your own actions don’t seem all that intrepid.

So, let me ask a few questions. This past year, did you…

…write a chapter and send it to a critique group?

…stand before an agent and give a verbal pitch?

…cut sentences or paragraphs you love because they weren’t right for the story?

…write a character you liked, and then made something bad happen to them?

…attend a workshop and ask a question?

…send some of your writing to an editor?

…query an editor or agent?

…sign up for a Face book page and describe yourself as a writer?

…pass up TV shows, movies, or other hobbies to work on your novel?

…wake up early or stay up late because a scene was driving you batty?

…spend your allowance on the works of other mystery writers?

…email a fellow writer asking for a perfect word?

…attend a retreat and refuse to leave, even in the face of a flood?

These are brave acts that require persistence and fearlessness, and no one else can do them for you. That’s the key to being an intrepid writer. Only you, and you alone, can see your story to your goal.

So, if you answered yes to all, or any, of these questions, congratulations! I hereby grant you the Ramona Long Seal of the Intrepid Writer.

But before you run off with your award, I’d like to hear some testimonials. What did you do this year that was fearless and persistent in the pursuit of your goals?

Also, if you were a rake, a rascal or a rapscallion, feel free to tell us about that, too.

Ramona DeFelice Long is an author and independent editor who grew up in the bayou country of south Louisiana. Now she lives and works in the teeny tiny state of Delaware. She’s had some short stories published, won some grants, edited some anthologies, led some retreats and taught some workshops, all of which she posts about on her very own blog. She enjoys editing WIPS in all shapes, sizes and genres. Her favorite food is crème brulee.

Aboard Ambulance One

By Pat Remick
I recently made three trips by ambulance in a five-hour period but never was examined by medical personnel.

That's because I was riding the Portsmouth, NH, Fire Department's Ambulance One for research on my novel-in-progress, which has a paramedic as one of the main character's love interests. Any member of the public can request permission to do an ambulance ride-a-long and I wanted a busy shift in the busiest area of the city.

My first challenge was deciding what to wear on the recent Friday night. I knew it should be something that could withstand blood or other bodily fluids, be comfortable, and not make it too obvious that I wasn't a legitimate member of the ambulance crew. I opted for a City of Portsmouth polo shirt, dark pants and sneakers. Just to make sure no one drove into me at accident scenes, they handed me a Portsmouth Fire Department reflective vest that I sort of forgot to return, if you know what I mean.

I was told to report at the beginning of the 5:30 p.m. shift to be assigned to the firefighters staffing Ambulance One out of the Central Fire Station. All firefighters in Portsmouth are trained as intermediate Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) but the most trained also have attained paramedic status after up to two years of additional study, which allows them to dispense up to 40 medications and do cardiac monitoring in the field. This is important in stabilizing the patient by doing much of the activities that would be done if a patient were to go directly to the ER -- and reduces the great need to drive at breakneck speed to the hospital, possibly causing an accident.

However, our first run was to the grocery store so the junior man on duty (only five years with the Department) could do the shopping for dinner, which he also had to prepare and then clean up afterward. As his more tenured partner noted, "Seniority sucks unless you have it." The five men on duty wolfed down their American chop suey, heads-down, after confiding they employ this eating method because 40 percent of the time they get called out and don't get to finish a meal. However, they noted this style of eating has become a habit that is not appreciated by significant others at meals outside of the station.

Station One, also known as the Central Fire Station, has two firefighters assigned to the ambulance and two to the fire truck that also would respond to any medical emergencies. One of the four on the shift must be a paramedic. Portsmouth has the same arrangement at its Station 2. The fire truck responds with the ambulance in case there is a need for more than two EMTs on a call. The crew quickly determines whether the fire engine guys are needed and if not, they return immediately to the station. In a city of 21,000, you'd think two ambulances would be sufficient but last Friday night, there were three ambulance calls within the same time period. Apparently this happens often (19 to 25% of the time)-- and depending on the geographic area of the call, an ambulance from a nearby town is asked to respond.

Over the course of my five-hour shift, we had three runs: a minor traffic accident (no transport after evaluation and after the victim signed paperwork), a woman said to have heat prostration but it might have been vertigo judging by repeated nausea each time she moved, and a seizure suffered by a nursing home resident rehabilitating from a stroke. Each time, the EMTs calmly evaluated the potential patients and methodically went through their mental checklists. En route to the calls, I sat in the paramedic seat in the wagon, facing backward, but in the front seat on the way to the hospital. Both were exciting.

When I asked what type of personality is preferred for the job, one of the EMTs said, "Good people skills -- and you need the ability to be able to defuse aggravated patients; you have to be a good organizer so you can prioritize and you have to have a strong stomach." Lacking in all three areas, I decided this would not be a good career change but it gave me a new appreciation for those who have. Later, the EMT elaborated on how important it can be to be able to calm patients, noting: "It's not much of a stretch for someone who's suicidal to become homicidal." Scary stuff.

During our down-time, I separately asked each of them about their worst calls. Both said they were incidents involving young children. Death is a little easier to deal with, they explained, if the victim is elderly or has engaged in behaviors that could be responsible for their demise. But children dying is another matter.

They also said they often receive calls from people seeking transport to the hospital when their issues might not seem sufficient to warrant an ambulance ride that will cost them, the insurance company or the government $400 each. But, they note, "not everything is what it seems." And if the patient complains of difficulty breathing, the EMTs cannot take the risk of not doing a hospital transport. "We picked up one woman 52 times in three months," he said. "But one of those times, she was very ill."

However, it's these types of non-emergency calls that may cause an EMT to say he's driving the "pinky wagon" -- meaning the patient being transported has a complaint as minor as an injury to his pinky finger. I learned that other common terms for an ambulance are the rig, truck and wagon.

The Portsmouth EMTs work two day shifts of 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., followed by two night shifts of 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 a.m., and then get four days off. This type of schedule makes it easier to commute from long distances or take second jobs. During the night shifts, they are required to remain awake until 10 p.m. but can then try to sleep. They say about 10% of the time, they go through the night without a call. Other times, they're called out repeatedly.

I've heard that some folks describe the night shifts as "dozing for dollars," but imagine what it must be like to go to bed knowing you likely will be forced out of a sound sleep in the middle of the night and have to get dressed, run out the door, and hop on an ambulance in 90 seconds or less. In addition, you have to be alert enough to deal with the unknown, knowing that failure to do so could result in death -- the patient's and possibly your own.

I'm not sure there are enough dollars in the world for me to take on a job like that, but I certainly have a new appreciation for the men and women who do

SEX SCENES AND KITTY CATS

  by Gina Sestak

Well, folks, it's been an interesting few weeks.

Remember awhile back I mentioned a manuscript of mine that had been rejected by an agent?  Well, I've been working on rewrites and took portions to my critique group on two back-to-back Saturdays.  That, in itself, was unusual.  Our normal practice is that only one person submits per week, so it's typical for a month or more to pass between my submissions.   It was unusual, too, because, for the first time with this group, I submitted not one, but two, SEX SCENES.

Sex scenes are hard to write.  You run the risk of sounding way too clinical or just plain pornographic.  [Hint: if every third word is "Ung!" it's definitely pornography.]   Sex scenes are scary, too, especially if you draw on your own experience.  I don't know about you, but for me real life intimacy never goes as smoothly as it does in movies.   For one thing, you have to figure out where to put your elbows.  I won't go into further detail.  Suffice it to say, I identify with comedian Gary Shandling who said, "I am very good in bed.  I almost never fall out."  So I tried to capture a little of that in the writing.  My protagonist Sue isn't a smooth seductress.  She's intoxicated, acting on impulse, and her venture into free love is both awkward and inappropriate.

So this is the scary part.  You write the scene and people look at you as if you just flew in from Mars with paper monkeys dancing on your head.  Last weekend's critique wasn't quite that bad, but it was close.

Yikes.

That's why I've decided to change the subject and write about my cat.  That's a nice inane subject, right?  Well, not exactly.  You see, my 17-year-old cat Taffy recently went blind.  Here's a picture of him, slightly Photoshopped:

The vet says Taffy's blindness is due to detached retinas and he may regain some sight.  Meanwhile, he's locked in the back room so he won't fall down the stairs, at least until our next vet appointment.  If the disability is permanent, I'll have to let him out and help him learn to find his way around the house.

I have the feeling that, if I write about a cat who's lost his vision, people will identify with it a lot easier than my critique group did with Sue, the protagonist in my sex scenes, even though I bet more folks have had awkward inappropriate sex than have had cats who went blind.

Oops.  Sorry for digressing back to the original topic.  Ahem.  We were talking about kitty cats.

I acquired a second cat recently.  A member of the same critique group had to relocate out of town, so I took in his 9-year-old cat, Kala.   He retains visitation and reclamation rights.  I don't have a photo of her yet, so let me do a description:  a huge black female with white paws and some white under her chin.  She goes limp when I try to pick her up, so it's a lot like handling a mass of risen dough with fur.  So far, so good. She's eating and using her litter box and has started to cuddle with me on the sofa.  We've begun to bond.

This is a problem in the making.  Except for the first few days of Kala's residence here, during which time the cats avoided one other, Taffy and Kala have had minimum contact because of my having to keep him confined.  How do I integrate Taffy back into the household with this new cat here?  Will he think he has already been replaced?

So back to the sex scenes, which involve a threesome - two men and a woman.  {No, it is not based on personal experience exactly.  I wouldn't do anything like that!}  And anyway, Sue gets it on with the guys - Josh and Randy - one at a time, with a break in between.  That's why I call it two sex scenes.

On the cat front, I've got two females (me and Kala) and a male (Taffy) and, while I certainly don't intend to have sex with either one of them, it seems as if the interpersonal dynamics might be just a bit similar.  Wouldn't you think?

So, do I use the cats to help me make the relationship between Sue and her two lovers more believable, or do I just give up and go to live in some secluded loony bin?  You be the judge.

And while we're on the subjects, how do you do with sex scenes?  Kitty cats?

Wedding Season Brings on the Feared Bridesmaid’s Dress

The Working Stiffs welcome Amanda Flower, newly published mystery author!


Wedding Season Brings on the Feared Bridesmaid's Dress

By Amanda Flower

I’m Amanda Flower, a brand new mystery author who is still taking stock of this crazy and exciting world of publishing. My debut mystery Maid of Murder was released in June at the height of wedding season. It was perfect time for the release of my Maid of Murder, a wedding themed cozy mystery.



In Maid of Murder, India Hayes, a college librarian and reluctant bridesmaid, is thrown into the role of amateur sleuth as she hunts down the person who murdered her childhood friend and framed her brother for the crime.

When bride-to-be Olivia turns up dead in the Martin College fountain and the evidence points to India’s brother Mark, India must unmask the real culprit while juggling a furious Mother of the Bride, an annoying Maid of Honor, a set of hippie-generation parents, a police detective who is showing a marked liking for her, and a provost itching to fire someone, anyone—maybe even a smart-mouthed librarian.

I started writing Maid of Murder when many of my friends were getting married, so I attended a string of weddings over several summers. Unlike India, I have only been a bridesmaid twice. She held that post six times to my two, but the experience of being in a wedding party certainly inspired my novel. One big difference…no one was murdered in any of the weddings I attended.

However, a similarity between Maid of Murder and a real wedding is the dreaded bridesmaid dress. If you’ve ever been a bridesmaid, you know what I’m talking about. One of my favorite scenes in the novel is early on when India tries on her bridesmaid dress for the first time. India has a fair complexion and the dress is gold. Consequently, it looks awful on her, and of course, it is about two sizes too small for her. She is horrified as any woman would be.

Unfortunately before the wedding can occur, the bride is murdered. Was it due to the horrible bridesmaid dress or something more sinister? That’s what India is determined to find out.

Thanks Working Stiffs for letting me stop by the blog today!

To learn more about Amanda and Maid of Murder visit her online at http://amandaflower.com/. You can also follow Amanda on Facebook at http://tiny.cc/ejquq or Twitter at http://twitter.com/aflowerwriter.

A Short Break

by Joyce

When we started the Working Stiffs blog way back in 2006, I don't think any of us imagined that we'd still be entertaining our readers (well, trying to, anyway) in 2010. We had no idea what we were doing. We just knew we wanted to be a little different than all the other writing blogs out there. There were so many that focused on craft--and did it well. So instead of focusing solely on writing, our theme became "Where crime writers talk about life, work, and murder."

Personally, I've written about all three of those topics. I've blogged about my hubby bonding with the Omaha Steak salesman on the phone and ordering a freezer full of steak. I've written about murders like the Boy in the Box and Baby Grace. I've done posts about my former job and some of the interesting things that happened at the PD--and some of the things that pissed me off.

I'm tapped out.

I'm going to take a break for a few months and let the well refill. But don't worry. I'll still be around. You'll see me in the comments, and occasionally I'll fill in an empty slot.

Besides, someone's got to keep this crew in line.

Undiscovered Literature

By Tamara Girardi

We all have those authors that have us running to the bookstore on release day. They're our go-to authors. When we want a solid read, a funny read, a spooky read, we call on them. But I've recently been reminded what we're missing when we fail to venture out of our favorite sections in the bookstore.

This semester, I'm the graduate assistant of the adolescent literature course at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. The course is mainly directed to undergraduate students majoring in English and secondary education. The purpose is to expose the future educators to works of contemporary young adult literature they may consider teaching in their classrooms. The titles on the syllabus are primarily literary.

The titles I often read on my own are also young adult, but they are mostly genre or commercial fiction. I'm not about to take the traditionally academic stand that a foul stench tends to radiate from such work. I adore Alyson Noel, Sarah Dessen, Ally Carter, Meg Cabot and many other popular writers, but the stories I'm reading for the adolescent lit course have made me think about YA differently.

They focus on serious issues such as imprisonment, conformity, sexual abuse, slavery, war, starvation.

If you're wondering to which titles I'm referring, take a look at Laurie Halse Anderson's Speak or Chains, Walter Dean Myers' Monster, Jerry Spinelli's Stargirl or Milkweed. The stories are heavy but enlightening. Truth be told, there are times I want to run back to the light, comic, feel-good stories I often read. Maybe it's because the class forces me to keep reading. Probably that and I really do like discovering new literature (and rediscovering some novels I've read before).

So what do you think? In your spare time (since time is just something we never have quite enough of) can you step outside of your reading circle? I challenge you to discover a piece of literature outside of your reading comfort zone and give it a try. You might just learn something that will spark your own writing.

Are you up for the challenge? Got any ideas of titles you might try?

Oh, Brave New Word

By Martha Reed

Because editing a full manuscript is still new to me, I’m going to continue to chronicle my further adventures with it as I explore this brave new world.

I want to do this for those writers who may be following a bit behind me in the process because I have learned that the further I go into this new editing world, the further I explore what going to this new depth means to me, the more amazing the writing becomes. Editing is forcing me to both step back and take a good hard look at what I’ve already written while forcing me to focus in closer on it (if that’s not a contradiction).

Let me give you a for instance.

In the early chapters I seem to be trimming out a lot of unnecessary back story that I needed to write down in my newbie manuscript just so I could figure out where my characters were and what they were doing. Now that I know the ending, I can go back to these early pages and a) eliminate the back story but also b) take a moment to reexamine what is happening at that moment in the storyline to see if it still holds up.

My Ah-ha! Moment happened on Saturday when I took another look at a character who was making a phone call and realized that in my earliest version I had him calling the wrong person. Now that I know ‘who done it’ I realized that he wouldn’t have called him, he would have called her. That realization upset the whole applecart until I revised it in the mss and then realized the full implications of that call. If he called her, it changed the lines of communication and tightened up an entire sub-plot in one fell swoop. Editing at its best!

Of course, the hardest part is to have to ‘kill your darlings’. Last weekend I had to delete one entire unnecessary character since she was occupying a page and a half of text the story didn’t really need. (Sorry, Elsbeth! I promise to use you somewhere else in another story soon!) The scary part is hitting a chapter that basically just needs to be overhauled in its entirety but the upside is that I can already see how the revision will improve the overall story and baby, that’s just the way it’s got to be.

Cover Me

By Jeri Westerson


It’s something most authors have no control over. Yeah, we write the books, create the characters and plots, but we are not trusted to give input about what our covers should look like.

And perhaps, in some instances, that’s a good thing. Not everyone’s visual. But what about covers? Do they sell books? And what about mine, since, I mean let’s face it, that’s why we’re here?

My first published novel was VEIL OF LIES seen here as a hardcover. I had no idea what St. Martin’s art department was going to come up with. Here was a new medieval mystery, a “Medieval Noir,” so it was sort of a different take from the average medieval mystery. Those covers ran the gambit from stained glass windows, to old drawings of knights, to tapestry-like paintings. Historical novels usually employed costumed models in lush backdrops. So it could have been anything, and since I am a visual person (I was a graphic artist for fifteen or so years) I anxiously awaited what they would come up with. I knew for myself that book covers are the first thing that get my attention in a bookstore. So I was hoping for something eye-catching…in a good way.

The initial image my editor presented is the one that ended up on the hardcover. Basically, they ran out of time. He never really liked it but it was okay by me because it looked rather literary and it was, after all, my first freakin’ book cover! Though my first reaction was “Why a key?” My editor replied, “It’s a locked room mystery.” Oops. I’d forgotten that.

Anyway, after a while it did seem a bit literal. A key, a folded veil, drops of blood. Nice, classy, but did it really say “Medieval Noir?” I had in mind more of a cover like my friend Kat Richardson had; a single character on a shadowy background where you can sort of tell what city they’re in. The only thing iconic to London of the time period was the Tower of London, but you can’t have that in every shot.

As luck would have it, when it was time for VEIL to go to paperback, the paperback division of Minotaur Books absolutely hated the hardcover art. In fact, they weren’t going to spend the money on the paperback if Minotaur did not change it and pronto.

Suddenly, I was being asked for ideas, and the same guy who did Kat’s books was being looked at. I might have given a girly squeal at one point. Crispin Guest, my brooding ex-knight turned detective, is the driving force in the novels, a sort of medieval Sam Spade, and so I really wanted that single figure in a shadowy background. The fellow who did Kat’s covers was overbooked but I was given links to other artists they were considering who did similar work, artists who used model photos that are then manipulated in PhotoShop. A model was chosen for Crispin and I was shown the head shots of him. Now we were getting somewhere!

I was worried about the costume because so many historical covers get the era wrong. After all, it’s the author who does all the research, but the artist just seems to have a vague idea of “medieval” or “Renaissance.” Fortunately, someone did their homework, and Crispin is in the proper clothes. Even the right colors! I couldn’t have asked for a better job.

With different backgrounds and different moody colors (I particularly liked SERPENT IN THE THORNS with its sepia tones) “Medieval Noir” came to life.

They only get better and better. We get a rather dramatic flourish of cloak and brandishing of dagger on the VEIL OF LIES trade paperback, a preoccupied Crispin in sepia on a dark and lonely street on SERPENT IN THE THORNS, and a pensive and anxious Crispin by moonlight—a sort of Batman watching over Gotham shot—on the newest, THE DEMON’S PARCHMENT (which is apt in this one, because there is a mysterious creature stalking the streets of London). I can’t wait to see what they’ll come up with for next year’s installment, TROUBLED BONES. They took a boatload of shots of this model in costume so there is a good supply for many Crispin novels to come. (And no, I do not bring him with me when I do book signings or talks. Sorry, folks. All I know is that his name is Wes and he probably lives in Oregon.)

I also credit these covers with my surprising number of young male readers. Not only is it cinematic (I get asked time and again when the movie is coming out. I wish!) but it also has a sort of fantasy feel and a video game vibe. I suppose guys pick up the books because of the cover first, perhaps thinking of a video tie-in and then plunk down the money after reading a page or two.

I am completely enamored of these covers. Oh I know that there are folks out there who will say “That’s not how I pictured Crispin.” And to tell you the truth, it’s not exactly how I pictured him either. But it’s darned close.

-------

Jeri gets to picture Crispin all time when she writes her “Medieval Noir” series. *sigh* You can read a chapter of her latest, THE DEMON’S PARCHMENT, on her website www.JeriWesterson.com.

Fall, New TV Season

by Pat Gulley

So Fall is almost here, more here than not, and I’m dragging out the Fall decorations. Yes, I like decorating for autumn almost as much as I like decorating for Christmas. Yeah, I throw in a few Halloween things, but not much as we don’t get any trick-or-treaters in the moorage. But I do bring out my two-foot-tall Hildy the Witch on Labor Day to watch over things until Thanksgiving.

Sorry, I didn’t want to bog down into décor, the other major fall event is a whole new season of TV to get excited about just moments before getting thoroughly disgusted with the new offerings. Mystery Scene On-Line Magazine had a nice list of the new stuff relating to mysteries, however they all seem to be more cops, more spin-offs of cops and variations of cops, more lawyers, more updated spin-offs of old shows about secret agents and old cop shows. Oh yeah, and another bunch of gangsters we’re suppose to care about. Of course, I’ll watch them all, but I’m bored already. Thank the sprits for vampire shows, and I did hear there will be a least two more supernatural series supposedly coming out soon.

What does this tell us? They can’t think of anything new. So why are we knocking ourselves out? Maybe we should just get in the habit of writing in to all these shows and offering ideas for stories. Maybe someone would buy one. It isn’t like creating a whole new story of any kind. You don’t even have to have the episode written. You have the whole story in front of you and all you have to do is submit an idea for a show. Chances are 100 will be rejected before you get a bite, but it could happen, and in theory how is this different from querying. Certainly is less work than having a polished manuscript ready before you start trying to get it published.

And have you noticed how many returning shows change their format and add and subtract so many characters. That leaves you free to offer, near the end of the season, a complete rewrite for them to consider. (Don’t even think about asking me who ‘them’ is.) But it’s something to consider.

So, what show would you like to write an episode for? Which would you like to totally revamp?

I’d love to write an episode of the Vampire Diaries. I want to add a Hunter.

And you?????????

Working for a Living

By Wendy Lyn Watson

Many thanks to the Working Stiffs for letting me crash their little corner of the web!

Many thanks to you, Wendy, for being here!

With the recent release of my second book, Scoop to Kill, I’ve spent a lot of time talking about ice cream, writing, murder, cozies, Texas accents … the list goes on and on. For today, I wanted to talk about something different. Something I haven’t talked to death yet.

One thing I rarely discuss in interviews is my day job. Like most writers, I have one. Indeed, my day job keeps a roof over my head and my cats in kibble. Even if I made a mint off one of my books, I’d probably hold on to the day job, both for the security of a regular paycheck and because I genuinely love what I do: teaching.

When I do mention my gig at the university, most folks assume I teach English or creative writing. But, no, I teach political science (American politics, judicial process, and constitutional law, to be precise). I make sure our newest generation of voters know how the electoral college works and all the would-be lawyers apply to law school with their eyes wide open about what to expect.

This is where most people say, “But, uh, you don’t write about …” And then they trail off and look at me with the expression my students have when I explain the rules of a filibuster. Helpless confusion tinged with a smidge of disbelief.

They don’t have to finish their thought. I know what they’re thinking. No, I don’t write about lawyers, or politics, or any of the lovely subjects I studied in the hallowed halls of academe. By the same token, I don’t teach my students about ice cream, or murder, or any of the other lovely subjects that fill my books.

My writing life and my day job hardly overlap at all. Oh, sure, I killed off a graduate student in my newest Mystery a la Mode, and occasionally one of my students earns a bit part in one of my books. But really they’re separate worlds.

Personally, I prefer it that way. When I write, I get to play make-believe, live lives I’ll never know for real. Why would I want to spend my make-believe time “doing” what I do every day? That wouldn’t be fun (for me) at all. And while I adore teaching an occasional writing workshop to fellow travelers, the thought of spending every day trying to dissect the muse for a classroom full of college kids makes me a little sick. For me, I think it would take much of the joy out of writing.

I won’t rule out the possibility that someday I’ll write a legal thriller. Heck, maybe someday I’ll even teach writing on a regular basis. But for now, I appreciate keeping my writing life and my day job in separate boxes.

What about you? Do you write what you know? Or what you wish you knew? How much does your day job intersect with your writing life?

Wendy Lyn Watson writes deliciously funny cozy mysteries with a dollop of romance. Her Mysteries a la Mode (I Scream, You Scream [Highly recommended by Paula!]; Scoop to Kill; and the forthcoming A Parfait Murder (June 2011)) feature amateur sleuth Tallulah Jones, who solves murders in between scooping sundaes. While she does not commit--or solve--murders in real life, Wendy can kill a pint of ice cream in nothing flat. She's also passionately devoted to 80s music, Asian horror films, and reality TV. (http://www.wendylynwatson.com/)

A Moment of Self Discovery

by Annette Dashofy

Two weeks ago I posted here about “Refilling the Well.” Monday, over at my Writing, etc. blog, I posted about how my Mental Health Week went. What I didn’t include there was a major a-ha moment I had on Sunday just prior to my hubby’s return from the wilderness.


On a whim, I followed a link on Twitter to an article in Psychology Today titled Revenge of the Introvert. It’s long, but if you want to read it, click here. I’m not really sure WHY I followed that link. Probably because I’m always looking for insights into the characters I write and psychology articles offer some really good stuff.

But the insight I discovered in this piece hit much closer to home. I learned something about myself.

In a nutshell, the article discusses the differences between introverts and extroverts. I imagine a lot of people might think of me as the latter. I’m president of our local Sisters in Crime chapter, area representative for Pennwriters; I coordinated a writing conference and lead meetings and occasional workshops. I can stand in front of a room and talk without freaking out.

And yet, I am most definitely an introvert. I suspect a lot of—maybe most—writers are.

Introverts prefer to live inside their own heads. Extroverts prefer social activities. Introverts thrive on solitude. Extroverts get bored with too much of it.

I used to think I was shy by nature. That’s what I was always told when I was a child. But according to this article, there’s a difference. People who are shy desperately WANT to connect, but socializing is difficult for them. Introverts simply prefer time alone. (Am I the only one who hears Greta Garbo echoing in my head?)

While reading this article, I also determined something else that explains a lot about the stress I’ve been feeling. Not only am I an introvert, my husband is an extrovert.

Introverts like quiet. Extroverts crave external stimulation. I like to read in the evening. Hubby likes the blare of the television even if he has no clue what show he’s landed on while channel surfing. After being out all day, he wants to stop on the way home to visit friends or family. I just want to go home and shut out the world.

I’ve caught myself saying (only half jokingly) that after I’ve been out shopping, I’m sick of people. Now I know why.

I also now understand why I prefer teaching private yoga classes over teaching groups in a studio. Introverts deal much better in one-on-one situations than with groups.

Personally, I’m thrilled to have discovered this. It helps to understand that my darling husband needs that noisy TV as much as I need to lock myself in my cave.

After reveling in my new self-knowledge, I turned back to my original purpose in reading that article. Now I’m asking myself whether each of my characters is an introvert or an extrovert. How does it affect the way they behave and respond?

What about you? Introvert? Or extrovert? How about your protagonist and antagonist? Which are they and do they react accordingly?

Changes

Today we're delighted to welcome Guest Blogger Barb Ross to Working Stiffs.

By Barbara Ross 

Even after all these years out of school, fall still makes me think of sharp pencils, clean notebooks and endless possibilities. This year that’s truer than ever. On July 26, three friends and I announced we were going to be the new editors of the Level Best Books anthologies. On August 5, the company where I was Chief Operating Officer was sold. And on August 18, my first novel The Death of an Ambitious Woman was released.

So here I am, headspinningly fast, soon to be unemployed, promoting my book, co-editing a short story anthology due at the printers, um, yesterday, and trying to finish the next novel. And I have never been happier.

In The Death of an Ambitious Woman, my protagonist is going through change as well. The novel opens the day Acting Police Chief Ruth Murphy finds out she’s won the selection process for permanent chief. In her six months in the “acting” role, she’s discovered that she loves the job. But there are times when the responsibility weighs heavily and she misses the camaraderie of peers.

So while Ruth climbs up her particular brand of the corporate ladder (the municipal ladder?), I’m at home. Trying to figure out how to manage my time now that I don’t have all those meetings to tell me where to be and what I need to know before I get there. For so long, the rhythms of my year were determined by the corporate calendar—sales meeting, user conference, industry conference, planning and budgeting. Do it again next year.

How will I find my new routine? How have those of you who’ve moved from structured to unstructured work done it?

Stephen King

“There are certain things I do if I sit down to write,” he said. “I have a glass of water or a cup of tea. There’s a certain time I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, somewhere within that half hour every morning,” he explained. “I have my vitamin pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places. The cumulative purpose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind, you’re going to be dreaming soon.

“It’s not any different than a bedtime routine,” he continued. “Do you go to bed a different way every night? Is there a certain side you sleep on?" -- Lisa Rogak, Haunted Heart: The Life and Times of Stephen King

Gustave Flaubert

“Days were as unvaried as the notes of the cuckoo.” -- Frederick Brown, Flaubert: A Biography

The Death of an Ambitious Woman is Barbara Ross’ first novel. In July, Barbara became one of the editor/publishers at Level Best Books which has produced and anthology of crime stories by New England writers every fall for the last seven years. The eighth edition, titled Thin Ice will be released in November 2010. Barbara and her husband divide their time between Somerville, Massachusetts, and Boothbay Harbor, Maine.

And The Winner Is...

by Wilfred Bereswill

My wife and I are still trying to adjust to our new empty nest.  So far we've tried cleaning drawers and cabinents, straightened up the landscaping and now we're stripping wall paper from the one room in the house that is still papered.  On the to-do side of things lies things like, clean the garage (this is mamajor undertaking), do something with our kitchen countertops (that won't cost an arm & a leg), tackle the unfinished side of the basement (more major than the garage.) 

Oh, so what is the title of the blog all about?  As it turns out, one of the local casinos (Ameristar) sent me my ususal mailing with coupons to play a bit of money in the slot machines.  Most times it's a measly $5 a week, but business must be bad and the coupons were for $16 per week for September.  So I got home from work on Thursday night and realized the first coupon expired that night, so I convinced my wife to take a ride in the convertible, use our coupon and come home.  Well, we waked out that evening with $50 we didn't have before, and had some fun to boot.  We planned on returning the next night, Friday, with the second coupon. 

So I'm at work on Friday when I received a text message from a friend asking if we'd like to accompany them to the same casino on Saturday for the buffet and then a little gambling.  Our friends gamble a bit (they have the money for it) and they had plenty of Comps that they were going to use for the meal.  After a call to my wife, and a chat about how coincidental life is, we shifted our return to Ameristar with our coupon to Saturday night.

Well, Friday night, we got a call at almost 11 PM.  It was our friends and my wife was having trouble hearing her.  As it turns out, they were at Harrah's and she won $152,000 on a poker machine.  Yes, that's right, $152,000 and change.  The dinner for the next night at Ameristar was still on and we were going to celebrate their win.

At dinner we heard the details.  the jackpot was for a sequential Royal Flush on a video poker machine.  That's A, K, Q, J, 10 of Spades, IN ORDER. 

So after dinner Linda (my lovely wife) and I went into the casino with $16 coupon in hand ready to win our fortune. Less than 3 minutes later our $16 was gone and we were ready to go.  No fortune.

But wait!

We were feeling pretty good since we just got a free meal and, of course, inspired by the good fortune of our friend.  We trekked off to find that perfect slot...

I slipped in $20 and we never looked back. Two hours later, we cashed out for....

A whopping $109.53

Well, we had fun and we didn't lose, so life is good.

How did you spend your weekend?

Coming this week

Just a heads-up that our guest blogger on Tuesday will be talking about change -- something many of us face when fall begins. Don't forget to stop by tomorrow to hear what Barb Ross has to say about it and "The Death of an Ambitious Woman." 

"There's Your Sign"

By Laurissa


Years ago I had a boyfriend complain that I had to make “an event out of everything” and he didn’t like it. What did he mean by my making an “event” out of everything, you might be wondering; it’s kind of an odd complaint to make -- right?

Well this particular comment was made in reference to my driving five miles to the local farm market to buy apples instead of going to the chain grocery store located less than a mile from my home and buying my apples at the same time as I did my normal grocery shopping. I had invited him to come with my daughter and me, but he refused, because he felt that it was silly to drive that far for apples.

When somebody questions something like that, there is really no need to try and explain. When you feel that you have to defend your choice of something as small as where and how you buy apples, “there’s your sign!”

Now that September is here I’m really looking forward to my weekly visit to this particular farm market and its apple harvest. Not only do they sell an array of apples and other fruits and vegetables they also sell freshly baked donuts and pies, made to order subs, ice cream cones, apple cider for a dime a cup, and so many other items too numerous to list.

In addition to the wonderful locally grown produce, there’s a gorgeous lake with ducks and geese and a beautiful patio on the property. In October there are corn stalks, pumpkins, wagon rides, mazes, caramel and candied apples.

Oh, and by the way, he was right. It is an event, and one I won’t miss out on. I’m glad that I’m not so jaded that I can’t take pleasure in and make events out of some of the simpler things in this life. This October when my daughter is home from medical school for fall break, we’ll be there with our apple cider and blueberry donuts, sitting outside on the patio watching the children as they run and play through the maze and fallen red, gold, and orange hued leaves. It’s my favorite season, and whenever I’m there with my daughter, all’s right in my world.

Do you  have a particular activity that you participate in, place or event that makes you feel that “all is right” in your world?

Also, have you ever received an odd complaint from a boyfriend or girlfriend, husband or wife? If it's not too personal, would you mind sharing it with us?

Where Does It Go?

by Joyce

Can someone tell me where the hell the month of August went? It was here a minute ago. I swear. One minute it was August 1st, and then all of a sudden it's September. How does that happen?

Some people thrive on being busy. Not me. I like a routine. I get so much more done that way. And as much as I like vacations and getaways, they wreak havoc on my routine. Hubby and I went to Gettysburg for a long weekend for our 30th anniversary and I've been trying to play catch up ever since. Does anyone else have that problem?

As a result, this is a really short blog post. I'm trying to outsmart myself with the next getaway by trying to get things done in advance. Think there's any chance that will work? What do you do to keep things/life/etc. on track when your normal schedule is disrupted? I'll be mostly offline until next week, but please leave your suggestions and comments. I REALLY need to know!

What it means to learn about ourselves

By Tamara Girardi

Self-awareness is a good thing. I'm not convinced it's pervasive in our society for many reasons, but this is not a rant so I'll refrain.

As a teacher, I aim to create learning experiences that will continue for my students long after they leave my classroom. For instance, the ability to analzye yourself might be the most valuable skill you can ever possess.

This helps you in your career, your relationships, and most especially for us, your writing. Undoubtedly, there have been moments in my life I've allowed the world to chew, swallow, and regurgitate my dreams. I become lost in a cloud of things I must do and things I want to do. Soon, the muddle of life has removed me from any self-awareness.

But then there are those moments that bring me back. Like last night. Over a pitcher of margaritas, a pound of nachos, and some vibrant conversation, I realized it is time to reevaluate and get back on track - with lots of things, but especially for me, my writing.

School has been all-consuming thus limiting my writing time, but I have allowed it that control. And as a student, I've learned a lot of great lessons about my writing. The most recent one is that how you learn will most definitely affect how you write.

I'm a visual learner. I like to see pictures. When I see words, I translate them into pictures. When I write scenes, I envision them, see the characters moving, and then translate the pictures I'm seeing into words.

I'm a global learner. I see the big picture of a novel as I write it. I know the general plot. I know the beginning, the ending, and some points in between, but listing every scene from A to Z frustrates me intensely as it seems a waste of time.

There are two lessons here. For those writers who are self-aware, who understand their strengths, weaknesses, and learning styles, they are more likely to use such awareness to their advantages. On the contrary, knowing you lean one way or another might make you more conscious of what you're missing.

For instance, I could lighten up on that A to Z frustration and realize knowing the steps in the middle might actually save lots of drafting time (as you don't know what to write next) and revision time (as you'll be cutting scenes that don't necessarily advance the plot).

As writers, we relish the tales from published authors on how they got there and revelations of their writing processes. But it might be as valuable or even better to spend that time getting to know ourselves.

We know not every writing process works for every writing, so every self-evaluation process will not work for every person. But let's talk about them anyway. How do you self-evaluate? What value does the action represent for your writing?

A Different Kind of Bliss

By Martha Reed

I had the opportunity to listen to a panel of nationally published Pittsburgh authors on Saturday at a SinC sponsored event at the Joseph-Beth Booksellers in Southside Works. It’s always worthwhile to hear from published authors especially when they share their insights into the business side of the publishing business and once again confirmed the fact that writing is a business and it needs to be approached as such.

I pretty much heard this same story at the PennWriters Conference last spring and I remember it struck me at the time that no one talks about the joy of creative writing. I mean, it’s got to be fun or we wouldn’t be doing it, right? It seems to me that everyone is focused on marketing and numbers and social media tweets but I’ve been known to remind folks (gently) that the creative act should be joyful and not always solely driven by the columns on a spreadsheet. Lord knows we get enough of that at our day jobs!

Anyway, I had a surprisingly new kind of creativity revealed to me this past weekend. First off, I love three-day weekends because it’s like having two Saturdays and I can usually schedule some major chunks of writing time when everyone else is busy with their holiday activities. So there I sat, looking at the very thorough and insightful comments made by my independent line editor and thinking: ‘Oh crap. Here we go. More work.’ as I dug in to my work in progress. To my surprise I discovered a whole different type of creative writing that I’m going to call the editorial steamroller. What I found was that I could take my manuscript as it stands, look at the editorial suggestions, think about things a bit more and then rewrite my work to create a purer and even more distilled version that seemed to flow from my fingertips.

The experience of this level of creative writing is new to me. It feels much more automatic than my usual experience during the exploratory rough draft stage. Perhaps it shows that I have grown as a writer. Perhaps I have learned something after all from the numberless classes and workshops I’ve attended. Whatever this new development is, I’m delighted to find that there is still something new to be learned. It gives me hope that I may never know all there is to know about the act of creative writing and that as I continue to move forward more and greater gifts will be revealed!