Pet Peeve #37: Self-fulfilling prophecies about the loss of culture

Elizabeth Zelvin

The 37 is a random number, meant to suggest that I’m holding a lot of pet peeves in reserve for possible future blog posts. The title is my best shot at avoiding the term “dumbing down,” which might seem insulting to just about anybody. But there is indeed a trend in our culture, especially in its literature, to assume that Americans, in particular, will not understand sophisticated or even mildly historical cultural references. The current solution is to change those references to something that whoever is in charge of these decisions believes will be comprehensible even to illiterate cultural ignoramuses. (I told you it was insulting—that’s why I’m peeved about it.) And the consequence of these changes is that as new generations arise, they have never heard of the terms or bits of history that they’ve been protected from exposure to. Any part of “self-fulfilling prophecy” you don’t understand?

Let’s start with the universally popular Harry Potter series, written for kids but apparently enjoyed by adults across a broad spectrum of reading tastes from don’t-usually-read-at-all to highly literate (that would be us). In England, the first volume was entitled Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. If you’ve heard of the Philosopher’s Stone, raise your hand. Keep your hand raised if you learned about it by reading a book. The Philosopher’s Stone has been around since at least the 8th century. Well, not around, or alchemists, philosophers, and early scientists (including Sir Isaac Newton, John Dee, Paracelsus, and even perhaps St Thomas Aquinas) wouldn’t have tried so hard over hundreds of years to find or fabricate this legendary substance that was believed to turn base materials into gold and maybe confer rejuvenation or even immortality. I bet school kids even nowadays are told at least once in the course of their education who Newton was. Would it have been so hard to explain the Philosopher’s Stone? Yet thanks to a publishing decision, the millions of American kids who read and loved Harry Potter have never heard of the Philosopher’s Stone. The “Sorcerer’s Stone” they’ve read about is just a thing, a fictional magical object like the “Horcrux” in the later books, without cultural resonance outside the world of Harry Potter and easily forgotten.

Here’s another example from children’s literature, the source of many mystery writers’ and adult readers’ lifelong love of the genre: the Nancy Drew series, first published in 1930. The original Nancy was feisty and independent. She drove a roadster and always had a pocket full of tools (rope, flashlight, sewing kit) to get her out of the tight spots her love of adventure and desire for justice invariably got her into. Reading them in the 1950s, I didn’t know what a roadster was. But did it matter? A brave and active heroine of the 21st century, with a cell phone and a hybrid car, is nothing special. But against the cultural backdrop of less feminist times, Nancy shines. I recently found my ten-year-old cousin Emily reading one of the books. When I asked which version she had, she said she thought they were the originals. But when I asked her what Nancy drove, she said, “A convertible.” All that cultural texture is unavailable to Emily and her generation.

Some revisions are bowdlerizations, playing to our supposed prudishness rather than our supposed ignorance. As a kid in the 1950s, I learned a lot of history from Elswyth Thane’s popular Williamsburg series of historical novels. The Day, Sprague, and Murray families (from the Revolutionary War in Virginia to World War II in England) were probably, for me, the first fictional characters so well developed and likable that they felt like family. A few years ago I found them in library editions that took a kind of Victorian attitude toward certain cultural references. In one book, the fortyish male companion of the rather demi-mondaine seventy-year-old Cousin Sally, mysterious and unexplained in the original, is described as a “doctor” in the library edition, presumably so readers won’t be shocked that they are clearly intimates. (No sex scenes, but he sits at her bedside reading aloud. Horrors!) Elsewhere, references to champagne—a metaphor for a refined hedonism, life’s fizziness as opposed to its earnest Puritanism—are amended to “wine.” On the last reread I found one I’d missed—this one more of a dumbing down. A character in London in 1896 refers to his solicitor and business manager, saying, “I’ll refer the matter (the character’s divorce) to my man Partridge.” Nobody who’s ever read an English novel would have trouble with this, surely. But in the American library edition, Partridge has become a “handyman.” Ouch!

Finally, let me share a query I got recently from a young editor, passing on a query from the final proofreader before my new book, Death Will Help You Leave Him, went to press. It’s a scene in which two characters are brought to an office building on Wall Street after hours. The night security man at the desk in the lobby says, “Now stand on that spot for ten seconds, please. State your name and who you got the apperntment with for the camera.” The proofreader, and apparently the young editor as well, wanted to know, “Should this be ‘appointment’?” When I’d recovered from the shock, I wrote back that the passage was correct as it stood, and “apperntment” was “what used to be called Brooklynese.” I’m glad they asked. Otherwise, it would have been another nail driven in the coffin of American culture.

Characters Who Haunt Us

Sandra Parshall

I can’t get the girl out of my mind. I worry about her. I want to know what happened to her after the book ended.

Throughout most of Elizabeth George’s Missing Joseph, I found the 13-year-old character Maggie Spence exasperating in the way a lot of teens are. Lying to her mother, sneaking out to rendezvous with a boy she was forbidden to see, engaging in sex long before she was capable of dealing with it emotionally. I wanted to shake some sense into her.

As the story threads came together, though, and I saw the full horror of this girl’s situation, I began to fear for her. How on earth could she emerge whole and healthy from the tangle of deceit created by the adults in her life? She couldn’t. My last glimpse of her in the book was one of the most heart-wrenching scenes I’ve ever read. George made the girl so real, her predicament so disastrous and her emotional response so raw that I will never forget her.

I want Elizabeth George to bring her back in another book and tell me what has happened to her. I suspect the news wouldn’t be good, but I still want to know. This character will haunt me until I learn her ultimate fate.

It may be a form of torture, but I have to applaud writers who can make me care so much about their fictional characters that I worry about them after the books end or mourn the loss when they’re killed off. I can’t help contrasting my feelings for the girl with my reaction when Helen, wife of George’s detective Tommy Lynley, was shot and killed. For some reason, Helen never seemed quite real to me, and I never liked her. I was, frankly, glad to see her go. Helen’s ghost, in designer shoes, does not haunt me.

Another character who won’t let go of my imagination is also a teenager, but several years older than the girl in Missing Joseph. Her name is Reggie, she’s an orphan who pretends her mother is still alive so she can maintain her freedom and self-reliance, and she is the emotional center of Kate Atkinson’s When Will There Be Good News? Reggie’s stoic perseverance in the face of catastrophe, and her determination to find out what has become of the woman doctor she’s been working for as a child-minder, drive the story, and Reggie all by herself kept me turning the pages. At the end, her fate is uncertain. I know what I want to see in her future, but even if I’m guessing wrong I hope Atkinson will bring Reggie back and let readers share her life.

I’ve wondered many times what became of Boo Radley after he broke out of his sad, self-imposed isolation to save Scout’s life in To Kill a Mockingbird, but I have no hope at all that Harper Lee will write another book.

I’ve created one character of my own who haunts me: Rachel’s mother, Judith Goddard, in The Heat of the Moon. I gave her a terrible background and more pain than anyone should have to bear. A lot of readers have told me they hated her, and my impulse every time has been to defend her. I’m grateful when someone says they felt sympathy for her and understood why she clung so fiercely to Rachel and her sister and tried so hard to remain in control. Her awful childhood, and the heartbreak she endured as an adult, are very real to me and so is her emotional distress. Although I wouldn’t have had a story without all those events, I find myself wishing I could have made life a little easier for her.

The legacy of a haunting character is something I take away from very few novels, but every book offers the possibility of encountering memorable characters. That’s the reason I read fiction. The characters, not the plot details and certainly not the blood and gore of murder, make a book memorable.

What characters have continued to haunt you long after you finished reading the books? Do you want the authors to produce sequels that will show you what has become of those characters -- even if the news is bad -- or would you rather go on wondering?

Here be Dragons

Sharon Wildwind

A while ago, say 2002, being a new and naive mystery writer, I thought I had a handle on mysteries. So confident was I that I reduced the mystery spectrum to a simple diagram.

I listed authors under each category, but I’ll let you add your own.

My basic premise was that each category was fairly clean and could be identified by how much blood, violence and gore appeared on-stage; what emotion drove the plot; and how likely a reader was to laugh verses need anti-depressant therapy after having read extensively in a given category.

Recently, preparing for a talk at a local library, I revisited my original diagram. The mystery world has changed in the past seven years.

For a while we’ve had to deal with the mystery/thriller split, and periodic discussions over when does a mystery become a thriller and vice versa. “Mystery” and “Thriller” are, of course, marketing terms. We writers joke among ourselves that the definition of “thriller” is “we want you to buy this book.”

What surprised me is how polarized the second chart is. We’ve lost something in the middle ground, something I’ve called “here be dragons” after the markings on old maps.

Be that as it may, we’re stuck with those two terms, and often asked to explain the the differences to readers. I usually start my explanation with the two definitions in the above chart.

Personal disclosure: most of what I read falls along the procedural/traditional/funny axis in the older chart and solidly in the mystery corner of the newer chart. So I had no difficulty assembling a possible reading list of those kinds of books.

Reluctantly, in the spirit of inclusiveness and fair play, I grudgingly decided to explore that dark (and mostly unknown to me) corner, thrillers. Boy, did I get my eyes opened.

The first thing I discovered was that thriller writers seem to be incredibly prolific. Many have at least two series, sometimes three in active productions. The prolific champion so far was Dennis Lynds (1924 – 2005), who not only wrote literary books and short stories under his own name, but fiction under the pen names of Michael Collins, William Arden, Mark Sadler, John Crowe, Maxwell Grant, and Carl Dekker. His lifetime output was 80 novels and 200 short stories.

The second thing was that the gender discussion is not an issue. The old saw that women write traditional mysteries and men write thrillers is dead. And about time.

The final thing was just how dark some of these books have gotten. Talk about angst and the darker side of human nature. Here’s my take on the plot spectrum for thrillers. What they share in common is that none of them pull any punches; everything is on stage.

Disgraced professional or a professional who is trying not to be overcome by the dark side: criminalist; doctor; FBI agent, profiler, counter-terrorist; hard-boiled detective; high placed officers of multi-million dollar corporations; lawyer; military; police officer; politician; reporter; scientist or spy

End of the world as we know it: biological disaster; creation of super soldiers; ecological disaster; natural phenomena (often helped along by men meddling where no man should go); nuclear disaster; race against time to save the world; or scientific doomsday

Urban rot: America’s dispossessed; drug dealing; missing women; the underside of modern city life or vigilante

Myths, legends, and the paranormal: ancient symbols and myths; paranormal beings, such as vampires, demons, angels, or ghosts; or the use of science fiction/fantasy settings

Damaged people: children in jeopardy; childhood traumas resurface in adulthood; deeply disturbed young women trying to survive; people haunted by their pasts; ordinary people in extraordinary situations; serial killers; woman in jeopardy; or woman in jeopardy in a rural setting—the woman must not only outsmart the serial killer, but battle the elements as well

It was the children who surprised me most. The other old saw that is unfortunately dead is harm no child. There are many books out there now where childhood traumas surface after decades, and books where very bad things are done to children, or where children, whom adults and society have failed, must solve crimes and dispense vigilante justice and/or retribution themselves.

I think that is the saddest note of all.

-------

Quote for the week:

The break in private eye novels started with Michael Collins [pen name for Dennis Lynds]. At the end of the 1960s, he gave the form something new, a human touch needed for years. His novels are much more than entertainment. There is a philosophy behind the detective, and in each book we take a look at a special section of American society. ~Crime Literature Association of West Germany

Scary Movies and The Unconscious

by Julia Buckley


























I don't watch horror movies as a rule. I have no particular desire to be consciously afraid--at least any more afraid than I already am. I know I am in the minority in this, and that plenty of people love horror movies for the pure adrenaline rush that the fear brings them.

Still, I watched Paranormal Activity yesterday because all three of the men in my house assured me that it "wasn't that scary." And it wasn't, at the beginning. I watched the very normal-seeming young couple and their video diary with a sense of trepidation, of holding my breath. And like a coward, I continually asked, in whispered tones, what was going to happen in the next scene. (My husband and sons read spoilers).

So throughout the movie I was saying things like "Is that guy going to die?" and "Is she going to be okay?" and demanding that, in fact, they tell me the worst before I saw it. I was managing my fear by demanding information, and that's the only way you can drag me into a horror movie.

When the movie ended I was shaken, perhaps because I have a very good imagination, and much of horror is in what you don't see. A friend of mine dismissed the movie as "So boring! I fell asleep." I didn't find it boring. I tried to put it out of my mind, though, as we went home to watch Saturday Night Live and to indulge in the laughter and relaxation that is the opposite of fear.

My brave sons ended up sleeping on our floor last night; the elder said it was for his brother's sake, while the younger insisted that it was the elder who was "a little freaked out." They continued to assure me, though, that it hadn't been a scary movie.

So we all went to sleep.

I woke up at two in the morning in my darkened room. This is the setting for much of Paranormal Activity: a darkened bedroom, captured on video. I realized that I needed to go downstairs for an allergy pill; I also realized that I was too afraid to go, especially when I heard a noise coming from the other bedroom. Normally I would attribute any noise to our rambunctious cats and their nocturnal playground. This time, thanks to my horror template, the sounds seemed much more sinister.

I woke my husband, who had been snoring peacefully. "I need an allergy pill," I said. "But I'm afraid to go downstairs."

He started to get up without a word. "No," I said. "I have to go down anyway to use the bathroom. But I'm scared."

"I'll go with you," he said generously. "But then you have to wait for me."

Yes, even my husband, lover of all things horror, didn't want to go downstairs alone.

We made our way down the stairs, turning on lights as we went, and the normalcy of the scene, and the fact that our cats were, in fact, making all sorts of noise, allayed our fears.

Interestingly, I hadn't known that my fears were still there. I'd moved on to new thoughts by the time I went to bed. Waking in the darkness, though, brought up all that I'd stowed into my subconscious.

People who dismiss horror movies as "unscary" don't realize, perhaps, the way that those terrifying images embed themselves in the unconscious mind.

Great Writing Where You Least Expect It

By Mark Arsenault, guest blogger

One of the tragedies of the decline of American newspapers is the decline of the obituary. The classic obit—treated as a news story and written by a member of the newspaper’s staff—is all but dead. In its place, many newspapers are selling obituaries as advertisements. So when Uncle Elmo passes, the five-grand price tag on the funeral may include about seven hundred bucks for obit space in the newspaper.

I wrote a zillion obituaries throughout my 20-year journalism career, and I’ve come to appreciate that obits are the most important part of the newspaper because every death changes a community, forever. That’s why the protagonist in my current mystery series, the world-weary Billy Povich, is not a hotshot investigative reporter, but a lowly obituary writer. Billy’s occupation helps set the tone for the story and defines Billy’s character—he believes a well-researched obituary is a way to pay respect for the dead. He goes out of his way to find the telling details about people he never met. As he says in the book, “The dead do not complain, but who says they don’t appreciate good service?”

In real life, guys like Billy are going out of business.

I cut my teeth in the newspaper business believing that every person should be mentioned in the newspaper at least three times: at birth, marriage and death. (When you’re hatched, matched and dispatched.)

One of the most important contributions to the national psyche after 9/11 were the obits of the victims that ran for months in the New York Times. These obits were so beautifully crafted; it was hard to read them without getting choked up.

A well-crafted obit also contains valuable lessons for writers. The ability to render a person in three dimensions with just a few words is a tremendous skill, and something every fiction writer has to learn.

I love this paragraph from an award-winning 2007 obit of a carnival performer named Don Leslie:

“He had gotten his first tattoo not long after running away from home. Many more would come. His chest displayed three horse heads surrounded by a lariat and flanked by draping American flags, while his back depicted a shipwrecked damsel shown before a setting sun and an oversized stone cross bearing the words ROCK OF AGES. Each elbow sported a spider’s web, while a panoply of cherubs, hula girls, and elephants adorned whatever bare skin was left.”

When I read that incredible description, the character bursts into my mind. I see him as clearly as my most recent memory of my morning waffles. I’m inspired by the writing, and by the research that went into assembling that paragraph.

By turning obituaries into a revenue source, newspapers gave up quality control over what goes in them—you don’t tell your advertisers what to write. That has led to some oddities. At one of the newspapers I worked for, a customer bought an official obit-ad for Pope John Paul II, which dutifully ran in the paper under “Out-of-Town Obituaries.” The paper’s policy was to run nicknames in quotes, so the departed pontiff became “Pope” John Paul.

And I’ve noticed that a new trend among these obit-ads is to avoid the verb “died.” Instead of dying, the deceased has “moved on to receive his eternal reward.”

That just sounds a little cocky to me.

There are still a few places to find good obituaries, and I’ll keep mining them for nuggets of great writing, and for inspiration.

**************************************
Mark Arsenault is a Shamus-nominated mystery writer, a journalist, a runner, hiker, political junkie and eBay fanatic who collects memorabilia from the 1939 New York World’s Fair. His new novel is Loot the Moon, the second book in the Billy Povich series that began with Gravewriter, a noir thriller praised for a fusion of suspense, humor and human tenderness. With 20 years of experience as a print reporter, Arsenault is one of those weird cranks who still prefers to read the news on paper. His Web site is www.markarsenault.net.

E-book reader wars . . .

By Lonnie Cruse

In case you missed it, there's a war going on. An e-book reader war that involves various devices manufactured and sold by various companies. I think it started with Sony bringing out a device that readers could use to download and read e-books. Around that same time Amazon had its original Kindle e-book reader as well. Kindle was more expensive than Sony, but Kindle fans believed it had more capability than the Sony. Of course, Sony owners didn't necessarily agree. Some readers are so fond of the devices that they own both a Sony and a Kindle.

Just this year Kindle has introduced three new models, Kindle 2, Kindle DX, and this month, a Kindle 2 that could be used outside of the United States to download books directly to the unit without using a computer. The first three Kindles could only download books directly to the unit while inside the U. S. The Whispernet used to download didn't then reach outside the U.S.

Things really heated up in this war of the devices when Amazon cut the price dramatically on the original Kindle 2. In other words, Kindle was competing not only with Sony but with itself, bringing out newer products very quickly to entice new owners, but sometimes irritating those who had already bought a device, not knowing a newer model was just around the corner or that the price was about to drop. The drop in price particularly irritated those who bought Kindle 2 within this year. A one hundred dollar price drop. It didn't irritate me, mind you. Like many others, I believe I've gotten my money's worth on the difference I paid in January to what Kindle 2 is selling for now because the Kindle books are generally cheaper than a hard copy, so I've saved on what I've downloaded as opposed to what I used to buy at the book store. And I'm not good at waiting.

This month Barnes and Noble introduced its very own e-book reader device into the battle. It's called a Nook. Like the Kindle, B & N's books can be ordered to download directly to the unit via Whispernet, without using a computer. And they can be paid for that way (purchases are automatically charged to your account.) According to the B & N website, these e-books can be shared with and/or loaned to other device owners, as easily as me loaning you a hard copy of a book I enjoyed. And this is a perk not currently available from Amazon.

However, Amazon has tons of free e-books available to download to a Kindle. Some of these books are classics, no longer under copyright, like Jane Austin's books. Or a Sherlock Holmes series. And many modern-day publishers offer their current authors' books for free, at least for a short time, in order to entice new readers. And these aren't unknown authors, but some of the big names in the business. I didn't see a mention of free books on the B & N website, but maybe I missed it. Often these Amazon freebies last only a few days, then the books become full price, and those of us who were on the alert and managed to nab said freebie tend to look down our cyber noses on those who hesitated . . . and lost.

Word on the Internet is that more companies will be coming out with their version of an e-reader in the near future. It's the wave of the future. Yes, there are many people who love the feel of a real book in their hands. I'm one of them. But I'm also someone who owns multiple bookcases FULL of books. I'm out of room. My e-book reading Kindle allows me to read books that I want to enjoy but not keep forever. And I don't have to take them to the used bookstore or donate them somewhere when I'm done. Might sound selfish, but it also means fewer trees destroyed in order for me to continue reading.

Right now the number one item on the wish list for e-book reader owners is FOLDERS! We all want folders on our units so we can drop books that have been read into one folder, keep new, unread books in another folder, keep samples in yet another. (And did I mention that you can download samples of books on most of these readers for free, much the same as reading a chapter or two while standing in a book store?) Another item on our e-reader wish list is the ability to swap books with friends like we can do with hard copy books. We'd love cheaper prices for the units and the books, more freebie books, stuff like that.

So, dear book reader, do you think you will ever become an e-book reader owner? Which side of the war are you on?

Do People Change?

Elizabeth Zelvin

Near the beginning of my new mystery, Death Will Help You Leave Him, Barbara is trying to explain the relationship between her friend Luz and Luz’s abusive boyfriend Frankie, who’s just been found murdered. Frankie had a habit of picking a fight and then walking out on Luz.

“And a few days later, he’d waltz back in, swearing he’d change, and she’d believe that this time he meant it.”

“Right,” Bruce comments. “Pigs may fly. But first you have to go down to Kitty Hawk and build them some wings.”

It’s one of my favorite lines in the book, even though I sometimes wonder exactly what I meant when I wrote it. To tell the truth, I didn’t write it myself. Bruce dictated it to me from his permanent position inside my head. And I do kind of know what I meant: that change takes time and process and plain hard work. Bruce’s take on it may be more pessimistic than mine. After all, he hasn’t been sober very long. He’s still skeptical about the possibility of change. But if it happens, he knows it doesn’t come easily.

I’m going to tell a story I may have told before, because it made a great impression on me. A while back, I was sitting around schmoozing with a group of writers including an award-winning author whose work I admire greatly. “People don’t really change,” she said. My jaw dropped. I’ve invested twenty-five years in a career as a psychotherapist, social worker, and addictions treatment professional—all aspects of the mental health professions, which are entirely dependent on the premise that people can and do change. So obviously, I believe they do. And the characters and stories I’ve created in my mysteries show it. In fact, their growth—and capacity for further growth—is what interests me most about my characters.

Let’s say that there are two kinds of writers: those who believe that people can’t change and those who believe they can. It follows that there are two kinds of mysteries: those with characters who don’t change and those with characters who do. Both of these approaches give authors plenty of latitude. Unchanging characters may be perennial, consistent, and beloved by readers: Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot, Miss Silver, Jack Reacher, Stephanie Plum. Unchanging characters can also exist within a single novel, in which their inability to change drives the story. Such a story can have great depth. Dennis Lehane’s Mystic River and SJ Rozan’s Absent Friends are both tragedies about people who have failed to outgrow—or let go—their childhood.

Since I want my books to show that people change, I’ve stacked the deck in choosing to write about people in recovery. You could say I’m cheating—or that I’ve picked the perfect theme to support my thesis. Recovery is a moving and inspiring process in which people overcome enormous handicaps—including compulsion, denial, and despair—to change radically. Recovering people change their values and beliefs, their health, their relationships with others, their assessment of themselves, and their behavior in every aspect of their lives. It’s difficult, courageous, and dramatic—and that’s exactly why I write about it.

Tongue-tied Writers

Sandra Parshall

Speaking isn’t the same as writing. That seems obvious, yet a surprising number of readers expect writers to be the embodiment of their print voices. Just as they believe a stand-up comic will provide hilarious casual chit-chat, they're prepared for an insightful author to bowl them over with profundities each time she opens her mouth, and they may be annoyed when it doesn't happen.

Some people will actually stop reading books they enjoy if the writer proves disappointing in person.

The truth is, a lot of writers are disappointing up close, unless they’re spouting speeches or remarks they’ve written (and rewritten and tweaked and polished) ahead of time. In an essay titled "When Writers Speak" in the September 27 New York Times Book Review, Arthur Krystal recalls watching film of a late 1950s interview with Vladimir Nabokov and being impressed with Nabokov’s verbal eloquence – until he saw the handful of index cards from which the literary giant read his prepared answers. Krystal admits he was disappointed at first, but he reasoned that writers don’t have a duty to be brilliant conversationalists; they’re only required to shine when they’re writing.

Unfortunately, in a time when publishers do little to promote books, they hold authors personally responsible for the success or failure of their novels. Even the shyest mouse of a writer has to get out there and charm readers at signings, appear on conference panels, and speak to rooms filled with strangers. I know a few authors who are terrific at this sort of thing, and the force of their personalities makes people want to buy their books, but for the shy ones – I’m one of them – talking will never feel as easy and natural as writing.

I think Krystal was on to something when he speculated in his NYT essay that a writer’s brain requires the physical act of writing to unleash its full creativity. While a great raconteur needs the spoken word and an audience to excel, the writer needs the exercise of transforming thoughts and emotions into written words. Yes, a writer has the luxury of revision to get it right, but something about the act of writing taps into a well of perception and feeling that few of us could verbalize coherently. And the writer has the page to herself. She can develop a flow, a rhythm to her expression that would be impossible in back-and-forth conversation. Even written dialogue is significantly different from real speech. It has to sound believable, but it can’t be a literal transcription of verbal expression, complete with uhs and ums and digressions and stutters. Who would want to read that? On the page, even our confused, desperate characters express themselves better than they could in speech.

I’m slowly getting better at speaking in public, but only because I’ve learned how to prepare. Don’t believe for a minute that panelists at conferences are giving spontaneous answers to the moderator’s questions. Plenty of planning goes on behind the scenes before the authors mount the dais, and they know what they’re going to be asked and how they’re going to answer. After a few panels on the same general topics, the whole process becomes much easier because it feels so familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever disgraced myself on a panel – although I’m sure my nervousness in the first few minutes is obvious to everyone – and I hope I never will.

Person-to-person conversation, or chatting in small groups, is still a challenge for me, though. When someone tells me that he or she likes my writing, I have a moment of stark terror because I know that anything coming out of my mouth will fall short and disappoint. When I’m around someone I admire, I’m likely to be so intimidated that I freeze up and can’t produce a single intelligent sentence. I have a choice between babbling or remaining mute, and in either case I’ll probably seem about as smart as a box of rocks. (If you ever meet me and I behave this way, please realize that it’s only because I absolutely adore you.)

Although I’ve always known that I’m smarter when I‘m writing than when I’m speaking, and I had observed the same about other writers, I never fully understood what’s going on until I read Krystal’s essay. I have to thank him for that. This new understanding, unfortunately, doesn’t address the problem of readers’ expectations. Maybe I should start wearing a big button I can flash when someone tries to extract a memorable verbal statement from me: “I’m saving it for my book.”

Quality Over Quantity

Sharon Wildwind

Back almost a decade ago, I came to a point where I was extremely frustrated about mysteries and mystery authors. I had been downtown to the main branch of my local library, which had then as now has a huge mystery collection. Faced with shelf-upon-shelf of books, most of them by authors I regret to say I’d never heard of, I threw up my hands and exclaimed, “Someone must have a clue who all these people are!Fortunately, I soon discovered half a dozen mystery discussion lists, and they were my salvation as a new writer. Lists circa 2001 were, outside of occasional flame wars, wonderful places to be. The discussions were akin to a daily shot of intellectual caffeine.

Alas today, lists are hardly ever interesting. For a week, I tracked what I call the Q/Q ratio. Quality over quantity. On the lists that I visit routinely—keep in mind that I’m referring only to lists, not blogs, web sites, Facebook or Twitter—the Q/Q ratio for that week was 62%. Only 62% of the messages had meaningful content. Actually, I was surprised that the ratio was that high. It was raised no doubt by an interesting and unusual discussion taking place on one list to which people contributed tons of thoughtful comments. Just like old times.

The remaining 38% of the postings were essentially advertisements: visit my blog, web site, photo gallery or review; agreement messages where entire previous e-mails were quoted, with a phrase such as, “I agree” or “Me, too.” added at the top; or well-wishes. I think it’s great to congratulate someone or express encouragement to “feel better soon” or “hang in there.” I suspect that those personal messages would be equally appreciated sent as private e-mails. Is it essential that the other 435 member of the list know that person A wants person B to get well soon?

What I could use today as desperately as I needed lists in 2001 is a electronic clearing house. One or two major questions up for discussion each week. Yes, I know that in any given week your blog and ten others might be about the pros and cons of writing series versus stand-alones, and that someone’s web site, somewhere, has a dynamite essay on the same topic, and the same topic has come up on your Facebook page, and so on and so on. What we need is a way to bring this all together so that we increase the quality over the quantity.

Here’s what my dream clearing house to unite us all might look like. Now all we need is someone to really create it.

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Quote for the week

The good dancer owns the stage, but the great dancer owns the audience.

~Sheri Gaia Chapin, mystery writer

The Winners Are . . .

Thanks for playing The Stiletto Gang's Halloween Game here at PDD. We put all of those scary stories comments in a bowl and picked three. So here they are:
Sandra Parshall's Crime and Punishment mug goes to : PK the Bookeemonster
Lonnie Cruse's signed book goes to: Helen Kiker
Sharon Wildwind's signed book goes to: Shirley (boots9k)

Congratulations! If we don't have your e-mail below, please send it to us and we'll get your prizes out to you. Happy Halloween and Happy November. Thanks for playing, everyone!

And now, on to other Novembery thoughts. November is the eleventh month in the year, but it actually means "nine," since it became eleventh only after January and February were added to the Roman calendar.

Many significant things happen in November (and yes, I borrowed some of these from Wikipedia):

All Saints Day (yesterday) is a Christian holy day celebrating saints.

All Souls Day (today) is a day to remember the dead, and in the Mexican Tradition (el Dia de los Muertos) the entire month of November is meant as a time to pray for the dead, especially loved ones.

Here's one I didn't know: In Ireland, November 1st is the first day of winter.

November 5th is Guy Fawkes Night in Britain and New Zealand.

November 14th is Children's Day in India.

November 26, of course, is Thanksgiving Day.

Two new November-related events related to Thanksgiving are Black Friday (the day after) and cyber Monday (the Monday after). Both relate to the glut of shoppers that use this weekend as a sort of horrible preface to commercialized Christmas.


November 30th in Scotland is St. Andrews Day.

Are you a November baby, like my sister? If so, do you wear topaz in honor of your birthstone? And do people bring you chrysanthemums because this is the official November flower?

Despite the bleakness that happens after its bitter winds wipe all the colorful leaves away, I've always liked this month, perhaps because it does allow for time with family and--dare I say it--significant amounts of pumpkin pie. :)

What else do you celebrate in November?