Today I have to be in a "killing" mood. Sorry. That's just the way it is.
Good thing it's rainy and windy outside. Don't think a bird would have a chance holding its own. Even the squirrels and chipmunks have gone to ground.
The water is churning on the lake. Not a duck or loon in sight.
Perfect day to write a thriller scene - an entire chapter if I can stay in that place I have to go - see and feel what must be seen and felt. It may take days. For sure, there is no music playing in the background, not even the soft jazz I usually have muted to keep me company. No. Murder needs no company.
The opening of the book was never planned to be this way. But it seems the logical way. Even though, to be honest, it gives me the creeps.
I know the method. I know the killer. I know his motive. And I know the victim. I know them all too well. And because I know this killer I admit he scares me, even though I am the writer. Even though he is "fictionalized", he's based on others who are/were real. And I do not know for sure they are now dead. Murderers don't always see a court room, and even when they do they're not always sentenced to death row, and even then... Well, you know the reality of death row. Don't we all. Well, except in Texas maybe.
Remember, I just came back from the Writers Retreat where I read from the opening chapter of my novel-in-progress. The entire chapter was read in the workshop I attended. Got fairly good reviews actually. But then the workshop leader, Patrick Quinlan, published writer of thrillers, said words to the effect, "You need to capture the reader, the publisher, with a bang. Grab them by the throat. Show your victim being killed in the first chapter."
Then during a break, in a one-on-one, once I had the opportunity to outline the entire plot and characters in the book, he was even more emphatic.
And he was right!
It has now been four days and a long drive home that I have danced around this. Danced up close to it and then backed away. Do all mystery/police procedural writers dance this way when they have to go back into Hell? I don't know. I just know I have. Because I know that is where I have to go. Again.
Today is a killing day.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
MAINE WRITERS & PUBLISHERS ALLIANCE FALL RETREAT
This past weekend was the 2010 Fall Writers Retreat sponsored and conducted by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance (MWPA) out of Portland, Maine. The setting was gorgeous. Never having been to Boothbay Harbor before, I have to admit it is a postcard advertisement for coastal Maine. And the staff at the Liniken Resort provided food not only fit for kings and queens, but courtesy and accommodations beyond anything the concept of a retreat could hope for.
There were different two-day workshops in the mornings for the many genre of writers in attendance, in addition to three special seminars on Saturday afternoon. On both Friday and Saturday evening, members of the Retreat staff and MWPA Board read from their works-in-progress or various published work. These included poetry, novels and short stories. Patrick Quinlan, published thriller novelist - and the leader of the workshop I attended - also read a piece he recently finished following his trip to China. It haunted me later through the night. While some might considered it "thriller" material, it is pure non-fiction. While it is not entertaining in the truest sense, in this writer's opinion, it needs to be published.
Of course, by the time I arrived home late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted. Brain drain mostly. The three-hour drive home was nothing compared to the five-hour drive to get there in torrential rain with white-out back splash from vehicles in front of me on the highway - many of which did not have their headlights on while windshield wipers were going at full speed. True, it was in full daylight and those drivers didn't need their headlights to see where they were going, but those of us behind them needed to be able to see their taillights to see their cars through the white-out of water and the planing that was a threat to all of us. Stress is a word that doesn't begin to describe the environment for the middle two hours of that trip.
There is a lot I have brought home to my writing environment from the Retreat - nice people, generous writers all, encouragement shared roundly, new and creative ideas, tender thoughts put to paper, friendships nurtured, laughter, information and the bountiful knowledge gained from steps other have walked that may reduce the bumps and bruises for others in their wake.
It was a gift of many layers given to me. Many thanks are due.
There were different two-day workshops in the mornings for the many genre of writers in attendance, in addition to three special seminars on Saturday afternoon. On both Friday and Saturday evening, members of the Retreat staff and MWPA Board read from their works-in-progress or various published work. These included poetry, novels and short stories. Patrick Quinlan, published thriller novelist - and the leader of the workshop I attended - also read a piece he recently finished following his trip to China. It haunted me later through the night. While some might considered it "thriller" material, it is pure non-fiction. While it is not entertaining in the truest sense, in this writer's opinion, it needs to be published.
Of course, by the time I arrived home late Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted. Brain drain mostly. The three-hour drive home was nothing compared to the five-hour drive to get there in torrential rain with white-out back splash from vehicles in front of me on the highway - many of which did not have their headlights on while windshield wipers were going at full speed. True, it was in full daylight and those drivers didn't need their headlights to see where they were going, but those of us behind them needed to be able to see their taillights to see their cars through the white-out of water and the planing that was a threat to all of us. Stress is a word that doesn't begin to describe the environment for the middle two hours of that trip.
There is a lot I have brought home to my writing environment from the Retreat - nice people, generous writers all, encouragement shared roundly, new and creative ideas, tender thoughts put to paper, friendships nurtured, laughter, information and the bountiful knowledge gained from steps other have walked that may reduce the bumps and bruises for others in their wake.
It was a gift of many layers given to me. Many thanks are due.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
TOMORROW IS THE DAY
Tomorrow is the first of a three-day Writers Retreat sponsored by the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. The retreat is being conducted at the Liniken Resort in Boothbay Harbor, Maine.
Because I will be leaving early (to allow plenty of time to get lost-and-found several times enroute - it always happens when going to a new place, regardless of whatever map I use), there will be no posting tomorrow. On top of the new route and my propensity for getting lost, the weather is projected to be rainy - very rainy. Oh Joy!
So today I am getting chores done, for both my place and for a family member who will be returning to his home on Saturday following rehab for a hip replacement. The objective is to minimize the stress tomorrow and to arrive at the Retreat relaxed (and excited). The latter is an automatic. The former, a challenge.
In the meantime, I can see the storm coming in over the lake and I still have to go to town, the post office, etc.
Maybe a nap is in order first. Naps always help. Perhaps I am part cat.
Have a great day.
Because I will be leaving early (to allow plenty of time to get lost-and-found several times enroute - it always happens when going to a new place, regardless of whatever map I use), there will be no posting tomorrow. On top of the new route and my propensity for getting lost, the weather is projected to be rainy - very rainy. Oh Joy!
So today I am getting chores done, for both my place and for a family member who will be returning to his home on Saturday following rehab for a hip replacement. The objective is to minimize the stress tomorrow and to arrive at the Retreat relaxed (and excited). The latter is an automatic. The former, a challenge.
In the meantime, I can see the storm coming in over the lake and I still have to go to town, the post office, etc.
Maybe a nap is in order first. Naps always help. Perhaps I am part cat.
Have a great day.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
WHEN LIFE IS AT ITS BUSIEST - TAKE A BREATH
Lately I have found there is much too much to do and not enough time to look, think, ponder or even breath. Not good, especially for a creative person. Definitely not enough time to laugh - especially to laugh at life's moments.
Yesterday was the gathering of my weekly writers group at Borders. I do LOVE our Borders store. The staff and management there are so welcoming and accommodating. It's a bit like a mini-library with benefits galore.
So there we were, the six of us - gathered around our two tables pushed together, papers out, coffees on the table (hoping no one spills anything), sharing the news of the week. One of us has just been signed by an agent who sounds like she must have been a heavenly angel in her previous life. Another one has just returned from caring for a daughter-in-law who had major surgery and an elderly mother. Needless to say, she is more than qualified to writer about the "sandwich generation."
So, the assignment for the week was to read and critique one member's submission from the previous week. We go around the table - one at a time. First the summary and then page by page - punctuation, flow, typos, the whole kit and caboodle. And there are six of us, remember. The writer/submitter only gets to take notes or to answer a question if specifically asked. No defending. No clarifying unless asked. (But we are not brutal either. On the other hand, if we don't understand something, why should the writer assume any other reader will?)
I took last dibs yesterday. I have a tendency to be a bit "creative" in my critiques - offering suggestions about how a sentence might have more punch with a word change - or breaking one sentence into two - or changing one word for another. Or moving an ending paragraph to a different position. Or asking what if you did this instead of that. Just a thought, nothing more than a thought to ponder.
Well, in the middle of one of those - "think it would have more punch" kind of remarks, a gentleman from a nearby table comes by - probably on his way to get another coffee - and interjects, "I think what you all are doing is great!"
It was a bit startling, I will admit. But we are a friendly group so we turned to him and said, "thanks" - or words to that effect.
"I've been listening to you all. I think your group is just great. I teach writing at the local community college. You people are really good."
We didn't say who or what we were. It was just nice to have the "approval." Maybe he overheard something that will end up in his classroom this week.
One just never knows what will go out over the air or where it will land.
(Gee, I'm glad we weren't reviewing/critiquing a sex scene. We have been known to do that, too. Certain ones of us always want to make it more steamy. Even the gentleman in the group likes it steamy. And then there is the question of what to call certain components or actions..... We can be sooo creative. LOL)
Yesterday was the gathering of my weekly writers group at Borders. I do LOVE our Borders store. The staff and management there are so welcoming and accommodating. It's a bit like a mini-library with benefits galore.
So there we were, the six of us - gathered around our two tables pushed together, papers out, coffees on the table (hoping no one spills anything), sharing the news of the week. One of us has just been signed by an agent who sounds like she must have been a heavenly angel in her previous life. Another one has just returned from caring for a daughter-in-law who had major surgery and an elderly mother. Needless to say, she is more than qualified to writer about the "sandwich generation."
So, the assignment for the week was to read and critique one member's submission from the previous week. We go around the table - one at a time. First the summary and then page by page - punctuation, flow, typos, the whole kit and caboodle. And there are six of us, remember. The writer/submitter only gets to take notes or to answer a question if specifically asked. No defending. No clarifying unless asked. (But we are not brutal either. On the other hand, if we don't understand something, why should the writer assume any other reader will?)
I took last dibs yesterday. I have a tendency to be a bit "creative" in my critiques - offering suggestions about how a sentence might have more punch with a word change - or breaking one sentence into two - or changing one word for another. Or moving an ending paragraph to a different position. Or asking what if you did this instead of that. Just a thought, nothing more than a thought to ponder.
Well, in the middle of one of those - "think it would have more punch" kind of remarks, a gentleman from a nearby table comes by - probably on his way to get another coffee - and interjects, "I think what you all are doing is great!"
It was a bit startling, I will admit. But we are a friendly group so we turned to him and said, "thanks" - or words to that effect.
"I've been listening to you all. I think your group is just great. I teach writing at the local community college. You people are really good."
We didn't say who or what we were. It was just nice to have the "approval." Maybe he overheard something that will end up in his classroom this week.
One just never knows what will go out over the air or where it will land.
(Gee, I'm glad we weren't reviewing/critiquing a sex scene. We have been known to do that, too. Certain ones of us always want to make it more steamy. Even the gentleman in the group likes it steamy. And then there is the question of what to call certain components or actions..... We can be sooo creative. LOL)
Sunday, September 5, 2010
SEASONS AND THEIR CHANGES
This past week has been a challenge with temperatures in the very high 90s. I will admit, 96, 97 degree days with or without humidity drains everything out of me, creativity, happiness, the ability to even sleep or desire to eat. (And that's a hard one to whip.)
Nights don't seem to bring any respite and so, upon rising I am even more tired, if possible, than I was when falling on the bed the night before. In truth, I can not imagine living in the deep south. Just watching old film noir stories like "To Kill a Mockingbird," where everyone is wiping his or her face with a handkerchief to remove the beads of perspiration, leaves me sticky and irritable. I don't know how they all managed to survive without killing off half the population during those hot, humid days that seemed to last forever. And yet, that is just what it has been like here for the last week. And we had other weeks like that earlier this summer. During such days, I fine impossible to write or work on the current manuscript. One can hardly conjure up a good murder when one just wants to kill any and every thing that moves.
And so along came "Earl." I know, people down along North and South Carolina had a totally different perspective than I about Earl - and rightly so. Down there, Earl was a down right unpleasant and unruly, not to mention unwelcome caller. But, by the time he came visiting up here in Maine, he'd run out of steam and he'd been pushed aside, so to speak, by some cold air giving him a good thumping from Canada. And so, when Earl arrived around 4AM Saturday morning, he had no wind left in his sails. Literally. No enough to blow out a match. Certainly nothing compared to this morning. For truth.
But Earl did bring more than three inches of sorely needed rain to the area where I live. (Thank goodness. I can barely think what my water bill will be the next billing cycle since I have been watering the lawn and gardens for hours at a time every morning starting at 6AM until the heat said the water would be working upward instead of the other way and thereby a total waste of money.) In the process, the temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees, there's a good stiff breeze, and I can write again. I can sleep. I can fix a decent meal which will, in turn provide the energy to work on the next stage of this mystery with all of its twists and turns.
There is a nip in the air that smells like fall - not that I look forward to the season that follows. But fall has energy whereas hot summer days have none for me. It takes energy to plan a mystery. Energy to plan a murder. And energy to catch a killer. A good season is upon us. Now all I have to do is entice some good neighbor to bring in the dock before the water gets too cold. No place in this manuscript for a frigid body, or a dock dragged offshore by the ice that is yet to come.
Nights don't seem to bring any respite and so, upon rising I am even more tired, if possible, than I was when falling on the bed the night before. In truth, I can not imagine living in the deep south. Just watching old film noir stories like "To Kill a Mockingbird," where everyone is wiping his or her face with a handkerchief to remove the beads of perspiration, leaves me sticky and irritable. I don't know how they all managed to survive without killing off half the population during those hot, humid days that seemed to last forever. And yet, that is just what it has been like here for the last week. And we had other weeks like that earlier this summer. During such days, I fine impossible to write or work on the current manuscript. One can hardly conjure up a good murder when one just wants to kill any and every thing that moves.
And so along came "Earl." I know, people down along North and South Carolina had a totally different perspective than I about Earl - and rightly so. Down there, Earl was a down right unpleasant and unruly, not to mention unwelcome caller. But, by the time he came visiting up here in Maine, he'd run out of steam and he'd been pushed aside, so to speak, by some cold air giving him a good thumping from Canada. And so, when Earl arrived around 4AM Saturday morning, he had no wind left in his sails. Literally. No enough to blow out a match. Certainly nothing compared to this morning. For truth.
But Earl did bring more than three inches of sorely needed rain to the area where I live. (Thank goodness. I can barely think what my water bill will be the next billing cycle since I have been watering the lawn and gardens for hours at a time every morning starting at 6AM until the heat said the water would be working upward instead of the other way and thereby a total waste of money.) In the process, the temperature has dropped at least twenty degrees, there's a good stiff breeze, and I can write again. I can sleep. I can fix a decent meal which will, in turn provide the energy to work on the next stage of this mystery with all of its twists and turns.
There is a nip in the air that smells like fall - not that I look forward to the season that follows. But fall has energy whereas hot summer days have none for me. It takes energy to plan a mystery. Energy to plan a murder. And energy to catch a killer. A good season is upon us. Now all I have to do is entice some good neighbor to bring in the dock before the water gets too cold. No place in this manuscript for a frigid body, or a dock dragged offshore by the ice that is yet to come.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
YESTERDAY WAS BOUNTIFUL
Ever have the phone ring right when you're in the middle of writing an inspired passage? Me, too. The benefits of caller ID helps decide if you're going to pick up the phone or let it go to voicemail. Telemarketers usually hang up when the voicemail starts up. (I really do not like telemarketing and in spite of registering with the "NationalDoNotCall List", they still call - usually during the dinner and national news hours.)
So yesterday, when in the middle of the current novel (editing and polishing and wondering "What was I thinking!) the phone on the desk rings. "Caller Unknown. Location Unknown." Forget it, would be my normal reaction, but for some reason, I picked up the receiver and said, "Hello."
Good news sometimes arrives from "Caller Unknown" I have decided. Because that one caller was the new President of the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. He was calling to let me know I have been named the recipient of the 2010 Writers Retreat Scholarship - and there is only one. YabaDabaDo!
Needless to say, no more work on the novel. I just wasn't in a "killer mode."
Maybe I should answer "Caller Unknown" calls more often. No, I think yesterday was just an exceptional day. We all need them every once in a while.
So yesterday, when in the middle of the current novel (editing and polishing and wondering "What was I thinking!) the phone on the desk rings. "Caller Unknown. Location Unknown." Forget it, would be my normal reaction, but for some reason, I picked up the receiver and said, "Hello."
Good news sometimes arrives from "Caller Unknown" I have decided. Because that one caller was the new President of the Maine Writers and Publishers Alliance. He was calling to let me know I have been named the recipient of the 2010 Writers Retreat Scholarship - and there is only one. YabaDabaDo!
Needless to say, no more work on the novel. I just wasn't in a "killer mode."
Maybe I should answer "Caller Unknown" calls more often. No, I think yesterday was just an exceptional day. We all need them every once in a while.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
MWA UNIVERSITY IN BETHESDA, MD
The pilot program for MWA University (otherwise known as MWAU) was held at The Writers' Center on Walsh Street Saturday, August 14. Co-sponsored by MWA's national Board of Directors and the Mid-Atlantic MWA Chapter, I'm so pleased I was at the First MWAU. THIS was a learning experience unlike typical writers' conferences.
The presenters (and teachers) were Jess Lourey (author of Murder-by-the Month mysteries and a tenured professor of English and sociology at a two-year Minnesota college) who spoke on After The Idea. Great handouts, too.
Next was Hallie Ephron (author of psychologoical suspense Never Tell a Lie, crime fiction book reviewer for the Boston Globe, and author of the Edgar-nominated Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel), spoke on Dramatic Structure & Plot.
The final morning presenter was Daniel Stashower who is a two-time Edgar award winner, and a recipient of the Raymond Chandler Fulbright Fellowship in Detective and Crime Fiction Writing. Dan's presentation on Setting & Description was not only beneficial, but his humor and comparative examples kept everyone involved.
After a one-hour lunch break, the afternoon session began with Donna Andrews talking about Character & Dialogue. Donna is the award-winning NYT bestselling author of sixteen novels and founding member of the Mid-Atlantic chapter of MWA.
Reed Farrel Coleman got everyone involved with his topic of Writing as Re-Writing. It was nice to hear Reed discuss his person process of dealing with writing and editing as a continuing process. Reed has been twice nominated for the Edgar (MWA's top annual honor) and three-time winner of the Shamus Award. Reed is an adjunct professor of English at Hofstra University.
The last presenter was Hank Phillippi Ryan, a Boston TV reporter who has won 26 Emmys for her investigative jurnalism. She has also been the winner of two Agatha Awards in addition to being nominated for the Anthony, Agatha and Macavity. Hank (a woman for those unfamiliar with her work) spoke on The Writing Life - a perfect closing for the day's program. One might think it difficult to be the last speaker at such an event, but Hank got everyone's attention from the "get-go" by passing out miniature chocolate candies. Her presentation was just as encouraging and energizing.
Anyone who hears of a MWAU being held in their area should plan to attend. At $50. for MWA members and non-members alike, it was a bargain.
The presenters (and teachers) were Jess Lourey (author of Murder-by-the Month mysteries and a tenured professor of English and sociology at a two-year Minnesota college) who spoke on After The Idea. Great handouts, too.
Next was Hallie Ephron (author of psychologoical suspense Never Tell a Lie, crime fiction book reviewer for the Boston Globe, and author of the Edgar-nominated Writing and Selling Your Mystery Novel), spoke on Dramatic Structure & Plot.
The final morning presenter was Daniel Stashower who is a two-time Edgar award winner, and a recipient of the Raymond Chandler Fulbright Fellowship in Detective and Crime Fiction Writing. Dan's presentation on Setting & Description was not only beneficial, but his humor and comparative examples kept everyone involved.
After a one-hour lunch break, the afternoon session began with Donna Andrews talking about Character & Dialogue. Donna is the award-winning NYT bestselling author of sixteen novels and founding member of the Mid-Atlantic chapter of MWA.
Reed Farrel Coleman got everyone involved with his topic of Writing as Re-Writing. It was nice to hear Reed discuss his person process of dealing with writing and editing as a continuing process. Reed has been twice nominated for the Edgar (MWA's top annual honor) and three-time winner of the Shamus Award. Reed is an adjunct professor of English at Hofstra University.
The last presenter was Hank Phillippi Ryan, a Boston TV reporter who has won 26 Emmys for her investigative jurnalism. She has also been the winner of two Agatha Awards in addition to being nominated for the Anthony, Agatha and Macavity. Hank (a woman for those unfamiliar with her work) spoke on The Writing Life - a perfect closing for the day's program. One might think it difficult to be the last speaker at such an event, but Hank got everyone's attention from the "get-go" by passing out miniature chocolate candies. Her presentation was just as encouraging and energizing.
Anyone who hears of a MWAU being held in their area should plan to attend. At $50. for MWA members and non-members alike, it was a bargain.
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