Is Writing Software for You?

Sharon Wildwind

In the past week, three people have asked me if they should get a software program to help them with their writing. And if so, what program do I recommend? Here’s how I answer the first question:

Do you already have a system that works for you?

I don’t care if it’s colored index cards, a 3-ring binder, or jury-rigging an existing computer programs such as Excel or Powerpoint. If you have a system that you already like, there’s no need to change.

However, if you’re having trouble remembering details, or ideas slip away, or you long to have a record of what you’ve already written, dedicated software may be an answer. I’ve written seven mysteries using a writing software program, and I’m convinced I’m a better writer for it. Having said that, I also admit I’ve had hair-tearing days dealing with the program’s eccentricities.

Do I need one is the easier of the two question. Which one do I need is a lot harder to answer.

Except recently, thanks to Keith and David in Cornwall, England answering that question got a lot easier. Keith and David produce a writing software program for MacIntosh computers. However, they want people to comparison shop, so on their web site they've posted the most comprehensive list I’ve ever seen of writing programs for both Windows and MacIntosh environments. If you click on the link above, you can get a quick idea of all of the major programs that are out there, with links to the companies that produce them.

If you are a Mac user, and are considering a program that wasn’t created specifically for MacIntosh computers, find out if the Mac version is a full-featured or a stripped-down program. Some companies produce and update a full program for Windows environment, but only a stripped-down version (with infrequent updates) for the Mac.

The decision to use a writing program is a meeting of three elements: the writer’s need for a program; their computer’s ability to provide the hardware required by the program; and a whole lot of time test driving programs before choosing one.

Are you willing to take time to experiment? I recommend a three-step process:

1) Find out what’s out there. See the list I recommended above.

2) Scan all of the programs and divide them into two lists: first list—the ones that don’t immediate appeal to you or that you can’t use because it requires a kind of computer that you don’t have; and second list—the ones you want to test drive.

For the programs on that second list, I recommend spending a minimum of 10 to 30 hours per program before deciding which one you want to buy. The more time you spend with the demo, the more likely that the program you select will meet your needs.

Start by going to a program’s web site. How easy it is to navigate around the site? Is it a sales only site, or do they offer additional features, such as a newsletter, tip sheet, or tutorial?

Pay particular attention to Technical Support and Contact Us links. If you run into problems later, what kind of technical help is available? A list of Frequently Asked Questions or a forum where users help one another is not good technical support. You need to be able to contact a real, live person when you run into problems. You also need to know upfront if there a charge for talking to that real, live person.

Many sites have guided tours. Take that tour.

Down load a demo and play with it. A simple rule is no demo, no sale. You need hands-on experience to know if a program is right for you. Here’s the process I use to evaluate a demonstration copy.

The first thing I do is try to create a new character from scratch.
Did the terms in the program match the terms I use or will I have to learn a new vocabulary?
Was the set-up for the character profile easy to use?
Did the process feel like filing out my income tax or did the character come alive for me as I filled in information?
Can I cross-check characters, such as looking at several character descriptions at once to see if too many of my characters are ending up with black hair and green eyes?
Do I like the printed format? If not, can I change it?

The second step is to plug in a character I’ve already created.
How much of a hassle was it to convert an existing character to the format required by the program?
Did I learn anything new about my character by seeing her or him in the new format?

Third, I create a scene from scratch.
How does the program record demographics—date, day, time, weather, moon phase, location—or whatever picky details I use to establish my framework for a scene?
How does the program track why this scene is important? Among the huge list of ways available to track a scene—goals, motivations, disasters, tension level, plot arc, hero’s journey, density, on and on—which ones does this program use? Are they the same ones I use and, if not, can I reconfigure the system to fit what I need?
How easy is it to number and/or name this scene, so I can find it again?
Can I link it other scenes in some way; for example, is there a way to find all the scenes in which Jarod appears or all the scenes related to the sub-plot of Marcie’s aunt?
Is there a way to track the tension or the story arc of the entire story?
How much time would I spend defining the parameters of the scene, versus writing the scene itself?

Fourth, I spend time determining how easy it is to understand the program’s organization.
How easy is it to make backups? How much space does each backup take?
Is there a spell-checker? A thesaurus?
Are there some kind of files such as family trees, maps, diagrams, photographs, audio and video recordings that this program can’t handle. In other words will I be keeping a lot or a little of this information somewhere else rather than in my writing program? In the heat of writing, having to leave my writing program to look at a photo or check a map gets to be a drag.
Can I write scenes or chapters in the writing software program or do I need a separate word processing program? How smooth is information transfer between the writing software and my word processing program?
Can I change fonts? Use underline, bold, and italics? Use different colors to highlight material?
What’s the printing format like? Can I print single- and double-sided? Can I print part of a section or must I print the entire section each time? How graphic-intensive is the printing and how much ink will I use on photos, borders, etc.?

The final and most important questions are
Did the program do no harm to my writing?
Did I have a wonderful time using it?

The Trials of the Toll

by Julia Buckley
My spring break this week involved traveling on the much-maligned, ever controversial Illinois tollway. This tollway is notorious not only for its link to the corruption scandals of two contiguous Illinois governors, but for its very existence. Its original purpose was to raise the money for highway construction projects, but somehow after the construction was finished, none of the four tollways in Illinois became freeways.

According to Wikipedia, "By 1999, Governor George Ryan began to publicly discuss the closure of the ISTHA and the abolition of toll collection in Illinois, but the plans were eclipsed by Ryan's increasing scandals. After Ryan declined to run for re-election and his successor, Governor Rod Blagojevich, had been elected (but had not yet taken office), the ISTHA board publicly suggested a sudden hike in toll rates that the new Governor could simply blame on his outgoing predecessor. The previous adjustment to Illinois toll rates had taken place in 1983."

Our toll rates were raised, in fact, from 40 cents to 80 cents, which we currently pay at each toll booth. We could avoid this hike if we chose to get an I-Pass, which involves buying a monthly pass that is scanned when one drives under the I-Pass cameras. I have resisted this partly out of perversity and partly because of the stories I've heard from people whose I-Pass has been mis-read or mis-charged, so they are charged, say, ten times instead of one. These errors, like any errors wrapped in bureaucratic red tape, take a long time to correct.

We take the tollway, though, because it's a nice direct route to some of the locations we frequent.

My reflections on this trip were on the tollway attendants themselves. From one perspective, this career could be seen as an existential misery. One is in a box, assaulted by endless streams of humanity but condemned to avoid interaction, because this of course would slow the line. Therefore one must take and give money without any added meaning, and one must find a way to pass the time in between cars.

Some toll attendants obviously view their jobs in this way, and their faces, when they turn them to me to take my eighty cents, are bleak, sometimes even unfriendly. Often they refuse to speak to me when money changes hands, despite the fact that I am ALWAYS, ALWAYS friendly to the toll people as a matter of principle. Some of the attendants will not look me in the eye--it almost seems a passive aggressive way of suggesting that they have control over at least one aspect of their jobs. However, this brings out the above-mentioned perversity in me, and I won't hand over the money until they make eye contact. Sometimes this delays the line. :)

There are other, rarer toll attendants who prove the theory that Albert Camus' espoused in his essay "The Myth of Sisyphus." His suggestion is that anyone, even Sisyphus (who was condemned to push the same rock up the same mountain for an eternity in the Underworld), can find happiness in his fate if he simply embraces it, takes ownership of it.

These rare tollway people are always smiling. Their box is not their prison but their place of meditation; they are often playing music and singing. They treat you to a vibrant smile and they will exchange words of greeting. They are evidence of the idea that one meaningful human interaction can have an impact on both parties. I leave these people smiling, my mood elevated by their positivity.

Sartre suggested that "hell is other people." Some tollway attendants may as well have this engraved on a plaque above the door of their cash stations.

But the happy attendants are the ones worth seeing.

When I leave the stream of traffic and pull into the orderly lines at the toll authority, my eighty cents clutched in my hand, I never know who I will encounter in that little room. We remain nameless to one another, yet our meeting can make or break my mood as I enter the flow of traffic once again.

I wondered, on this trip, if there is a job more paradoxical than that of the tollway attendant: entirely isolated despite interacting with thousands of people a day.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
NEWS FLASH:
Tuesday, April 6, 2010, 7 pm--Redondo Beach Library. Sisters in Crime LA, and the Redondo Beach Public Library will present the mystery panel "Pondering Poe," a reflection on the influence of Edgar Allan Poe on detective fiction and modern mystery writers. The panel will be the kick-off event for the library's "The Big Read - A Month of POEtry" heralding upcoming National Library Week (April 11 thru the 17th). Panelist include Macavity and Shamus nominated author Jeri Westerson; Leslie Klinger, one of the world's foremost authorities on Sherlock Holmes and Dracula; best selling and award-winning author Robert Levinson; and moderated by Michael Mallory, Derringer winner.

Redondo Beach Public Library, 303 N. Pacific Coast Highway, Redondo Beach, CA 90277. For any questions concerning this event contact: Kimberly Bishop Redondo Beach Public Library (310) 318-0676 X 2573.

The Melancholy Governess

Nancy Means Wright, guest blogger


Anglo-Irish feminist and writer Mary Wollstonecraft is best known for her 1792 work "Vindication of the Rights of Women," which advocated equality of the sexes – and for being the mother of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, author of Frankenstein. In her new mystery novel, Midnight Fires, Nancy Means Wright turns to an earlier time in Wollstonecraft’s life.

In 1786, a 27-year-old Mary Wollstonecraft crossed the Irish sea in a packet boat to join that most humiliating and ambiguous of professions: governess. It was an inferior sort of position, neither lady nor servant. Like most governesses, Mary had been brought up in a respectable middle class family that had suffered financial failures; and since by definition a lady did not work for a living, she was now less than a lady.

According to the advice manuals, an 18th century governess was not to socialize with members of the family unless invited (although Mary was occasionally allowed a quarter of an hour with company in the drawing room before a poke with a fan sent her back into the schoolroom). And not being a maid or laundress, she was unwelcome in the servants’ quarters, and hence had no social life at all. She was provided with food and a pleasant (if chilly) chamber—though in a remote part of the manse, where she was vulnerable to the advances of the master of the house. And though there was little money for clothing left over from her paltry annual salary of forty pounds, she was, like a lady, to look presentable at all times.

Mary’s boots were shabby, and on the boat she was wearing one of the three poplin gowns she owned, along with a homemade greatcoat—she had paid dearly for the silk lining. The wind nearly took the new blue hat made by a friend “to dazzle the Irish.” But who would be there, she wondered, to dazzle? Was it a prison she was heading for? And what would happen when her employers discovered her poor French and Italian, her lack of skill with the needle? The application from the aristocratic Anglo-Irish Kingsboroughs (few middle class families employed governesses before the 19th century) had called for a woman proficient in all those skills, along with history, geography, drawing, and a mouthful of moral values. Self taught and impecunious, she applied. Already the Kingsboroughs had exploited her: she had been summoned to Eton College to meet the three girls who would be in her charge—only to find the family already departed for Ireland. She was left to their adolescent son George, who handed her the crossing fare as if she were some beggar girl.

When she arrived at Michelstown Castle, a tribe of giggling children and dogs raced out to look her over (wild Irish, she described them in a letter). And the three girls in her charge did all they could to test and best her in every way. Lady Kingsborough was civil, even kind at times, but she apparently favored her dozen lapdogs over her twelve unruly children. “A fine lady,” Mary wrote, “is a new
species to me of animal…I cannot help fearing her.”

She found the castle and its army of servants and children to be more than a Bedlam; it was a Bastille, and she was confined in it. Nights in her chamber, she could hear the servants dancing below—“I only am melancholy and alone.”

Mary was to be with her pupils all day and into the evening, she discovered; she was to care for them, but not to expect or arouse any affection in return—she must not to take any love or loyalty away from the mother. For a lucky few like 18th century governess Agnes Porter, whose caring mistress became a virtual friend (until a mean-spirited stepmother supplanted her), jealousy was not usually a problem. But if an emotionally insecure mother came to see the governess as a rival, an unbearable conflict might arise. And in Mary’s case—did. Mary was a brilliant, creative teacher, and Lady K felt threatened. A temperamental woman, she increasingly interfered. Not that Mary wasn’t aware of the growing divide—she was. “I am anxiously solicitous for their (the children’s) welfare,” Mary wrote, “and mortified…when counteracted in my endeavours to improve them.” And when Mary presented her debut book, Thoughts on the Education of Daughters, just (anonymously) off a London press, the mistress was appalled at the author’s insistence that girls be taught—not to embroider or play the pianoforte—but “to think for themselves.”

“Unthinkable!” cried Milady, and stamped her foot.

But the girls grew closer and closer to their governess, and ultimately driven into an emotional corner—an insupportable social situation for the aristocratic employer—Lady K dismissed her. According to London gossip, Mary’s departure was the result of scandal—a supposed affair with Lord Robert Kingsborough (false), and some said Mary had turned her pupils into revolutionaries (partly true). But a brave-hearted Mary returned with an autobiographical novel to her sympathetic publisher in London, and vowed to put an end to governessing. “I shall live independent,” she vowed, “or not at all.” For years, though, she kept up a correspondence with her elder pupil Margaret. The latter called Mary’s mind “more noble and her understanding more cultivated than any other I had known.”

Mary was luckier than most to emerge unscathed—and perhaps inadvertently even helped Lady K find her own way to independence, for two years later Milady demanded a separation from her womanizing husband. Mary’s sisters, on the other hand, whom she constantly helped with gifts of money and lodging, were governesses all their lives. After Mary’s untimely death shortly after childbirth, Everina Wollstonecraft wrote her sister Eliza, “Dependence is ever an evil, but different situations under it…less or more evil.”

Yet without employment the Wollstonecraft sisters knew they were lost, and so like an army of other governesses, and like Mary in her nine agonizing (and adventurous—see my new mystery, Midnight Fires) months at Michelstown Castle, they endured.

For more information, visit Nancy Means Wright’s website and her Facebook page “Becoming Mary Wollstonecraft”.

Rules were made to be broken???

By Lonnie Cruse

Lately I've been reading a collection of Mary Roberts Rinehart's books on my Kindle, and I'm enjoying the variety. I love her style, her humor, her characters, her . . . well, just about her everything. However, when reading her work, I can't help noticing how she wrote things back then that might earn her a huge smack-down from today's writers and critiquers. Like the "had I but known" syndrome. She uses it in nearly every chapter, yet today it's a "no no." Or so I'm told.

Which got me wondering, just WHEN did these rules came into play? Obviously not in Rinehart's day, or she wouldn't have been so popular. Would she?

As readers, we don't seem to care much about the "rules of writing" so long as the story is good and keeps us turning the pages to see what happens next. As writers, when we join critique groups or other writers' groups, we are told what works today and what does not. What the "rules of writing" are. And if we cross that line, somebody usually shoves us back across it with a stern warning. "No publisher will buy it if you write stuff like that! No one will read it if you put that in your book!" What am I talking about? Stuff like prologues, had-I-but-knowns, etc. And yet, modern-day writers sometimes break those rules, too, and get away with it.

So I'm wondering if it isn't at least somewhat up to the reader's taste? Rules are made, rules are broken, in writing. Readers notice and quit reading, or they don't notice/don't know the rules/don't even care, because the writing is so good, and they keep on reading. Rinehart's writing is that good for me.

Are you, as a reader, aware of the rules of writing? If you are, how do they affect you when reading? Do you toss the book or stick with it? And as a writer, how much attention do you pay to the "rules of writing?" A lot? A little? Not at all? And how does it affect you in getting published? Writerly minds wanna know.

As always, thanks for stopping by! Oh, and by the way, what ARE you currently reading? Modern day? Vintage? Both? Neither?

I'm also reading Donna Andrews' SWAN FOR THE MONEY. That woman could break every rule in the book and I'd still read her. I do have to be careful not to fall out of bed once I start laughing. Sigh.

The Agatha Nominees: Best Short Stories of 2009

Elizabeth Zelvin

The short story is a form of mystery fiction that is often overlooked or underrated. For the writer, they can be both challenging and satisfying: a chance to explore new voices, settings, and subgenres; a discipline involving tight plotting, freshness and originality, a limited word count, and a twist at the end; an opportunity to heave a sigh of relief and write "The End" after a week or two rather than a year or two. For the reader, they're a chance to read new authors before investing in a book and a reading experience that even if it delays your turning out your light at night, won't keep you up all night turning pages.

This year's Agatha nominees for Best Short Story are a group I'm proud to be part of. Rather than tell you about Dana Cameron, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Barb Goffman, Kaye George, and me, let's let their stories speak for themselves. Through the magic of the web, you can click on the links and read all five of them well before it's time to vote for your favorite at Malice Domestic at the end of April.

Elizabeth Zelvin, “Death Will Trim Your Tree” in THE GIFT OF MURDER, (Wolfmont Press, a holiday crime anthology to benefit Toys for Tots)
http://www.elizabethzelvin.com/PDF/Zelvin, Death Will Trim Your Tree PDF.pdf

Barbara makes latkes and Jimmy supervises while Bruce wrestles with those pesky strings of lights. When a trip to the hardware store leads to murder, the crucial clue is something only a recovering alcoholic could know.

Barb Goffman, “The Worst Noel” in THE GIFT OF MURDER (Wolfmont Press, a holiday crime anthology to benefit Toys for Tots)
http://www.barbgoffman.com/The_Worst_Noel.php

Mom loves Becca best. Gwen's always known that, and she's put up with it - until this holiday season. A little too much family togetherness, coupled with some professional humiliation caused by Mom, pushes Gwen over the edge. So she plans a Christmas Eve dinner that no one will ever forget.

Dana Cameron, “Femme Sole” in BOSTON NOIR (ed. Dennis Lehane, Akashic Books)
http://www.danacameron.com/2010/02/femme-sole-for-your-agatha.html

In 1740s Boston, Anna Hoyt owns a North-End tavern and all the local
thugs—including her husband—want a piece of it. What's a lone woman to
do when waterfront rats threaten her livelihood?

Hank Phillippi Ryan, “On the House” in QUARRY (Level Best Books)
http://hankphillippiryan.com/short-on-the-house.php

A twisty tale of broken promises, broken hearts and intricately-planned revenge proves when true love goes wrong, a woman's best friend may be her dog. Or--not.

Kaye George, “Handbaskets, Drawers and A Killer Cold” in CROOKED (a crime fiction e-zine)
http://www.geoffeighinger.com/Crooked1.pdf

When Chicago cop Cal Arnold stops at the drugstore for cough syrup to tame his raging cold, he ends up taking in a hold-up artist instead. On his next attempt, same drugstore, another robbery is in progress. This time the felon is Nate, the wayward brother of Cal's wife and the guy who was the subject of their latest heated argument. The sixteen-year-old has a wild streak as wide as Lake Michigan, a chip on his shoulder the size of the Sears Tower, and has recently been kicked out of Cal's house. Nate speeds away from the drugstore while Cal is paralyzed by a coughing fit, but Cal is positive he has recognized the vehicle. Go after his brother-in-law? Write up his report and leave out the vehicle? Cal has to decide whose wrath he fears more, his wife's or his captain's.

Donna Leon's Civilized Detective

Sandra Parshall

Everyone who leaves a comment today will have a chance to win new Penguin editions of several Donna Leon novels.

Two or three years ago I decided to read more mysteries by non-American authors. One of the first “exotic” writers I tried was Donna Leon.

Yes, I know – she’s American. I know that now, but when I started reading her I thought she was Italian, and nothing in the text tipped me off. Leon has lived in Venice for two decades, and she has absorbed the culture so thoroughly that her 18 Guido Brunetti novels (the 19th, A Question of Belief, will be out in May) are pitch-perfect in their portrayal of Italians and their society. She has a legion of fans all over the world – except in the country where her books are set, because she will not allow them to be translated into Italian. She prefers to live anonymously in the city that inspires her crime stories.

In many ways, Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti is the antithesis of the modern fictional cop. He may be melancholic and cynical, but Brunetti doesn’t wallow in depression the way Kurt Wallander does. Although he’s frustrated by official corruption and his boss’s stupidity, it’s hard to imagine him hurling a computer or chair through an office window the way Harry Bosch might. He doesn’t rough up suspects, although he does nothing to stop a pimp accused of beating two 11-year-old prostitutes from being questioned by a couple of angry detectives with young daughters. His job is to bring the guilty to justice, but like many Italians he is never surprised when criminals elude punishment.

Brunetti’s saving grace is his fulfilling personal life. No divorce, no bitter ex-wife or incorrigible children. Brunetti is happily wed to the intelligent, articulate Paola, a university professor with an aristocratic heritage and leftist leanings, a talent for gourmet cooking and a steadfast love for her husband. Their offspring are normal kids. Whatever may happen on the job, Brunetti will always go home to his family’s open arms and a satisfying meal. He enjoys reading and visiting museums.

Brunetti has what his creator calls a “love-irritation” relationship with Venice that reflects Leon’s own feelings about her adopted home. Unlike some American authors who set their books abroad but live in the US, Leon is a true ex-patriate. She settled in Venice more than 25 years ago after teaching English literature in the United States, Iran, China, and Saudi Arabia. Her first mystery, Death at La Fenice, resulted from a joking conversation with a friend in the opera about a musical director who inspired homicidal thoughts. Leon tries to avoid the parts of Venice that are clogged by 150,000 tourists every day. She lives among the ordinary Venetians who make up Brunetti’s world, and she writes about the social problems and political corruption that affect them.

Leon has become an internationally bestselling author -- whose novels have inspired both a cookbook and a guidebook -- without any of the blatant self-promotion that many writers consider essential. You won’t find her chatting all over the internet (although she has a Facebook fan page, it hasn’t been updated in more than a year). She doesn’t blog relentlessly about the boring details of her daily life. Her official websites are maintained by her UK and US publishers. She doesn’t turn up at every mystery conference. She has reviewed crime fiction for the London Sunday Times and started an opera company, but for the most part, she lives quietly in Venice, spends her time writing wonderful books, and lets the world come to her.

If you haven’t discovered Leon’s books yet, or you’d like to catch up on some you’ve missed, leave a comment and you’ll be entered in a drawing for several new Penguin trade paperbacks.

Story-Colored Glasses

Sharon Wildwind

Imagine that you are a caregiver for an elderly relative whose health is declining. Imagine further that it’s been a “dynamic” week, meaning that you’ve been run off your feet with things changing around you. Maybe some stressful events, maybe some delightful events, and likely some that you can’t yet categorize.

Pretend for a moment that you can split into three people, each of whom will attend a different meeting, all scheduled for 7:00 o’clock tonight.

Meeting #1 is a peer support group sponsored by a religious organization to which you belong. You know everyone in the group. Members take turns organizing the meetings, and it’s not your turn to organize. You’re free to come and just be. Group dynamics are based on mutual support, non-judgmental listening, and asking for support from the Divine in meeting life’s challenges. You meet in a pleasant, comfortably-furnished room. There’s usually background music, refreshments, and a chance to unwind.

Meeting #2 is a group for caregivers. It’s a fluid group; attendance is rarely the same from one week to the next. You know and feel comfortable with about 1/3 of the group. Another 1/3 is new, in fact, there are likely to be people there tonight that you’ve never met before. The last 1/3 are people with whom you’re not 100% comfortable, for various reasons. The group facilitator is a experienced health professional, who is good at making practical suggestions. You meet in a classroom at a local community college. The chairs are uncomfortable, and there is the usual detritus of discarded coffee cups in the waste can, dirty erasers, and notes left on the whiteboard. You have a list of things related to the past week’s events about which you want to ask the facilitator’s advice.

Meeting #3 is a family meeting at your house. Your sister flew in from out of town and is horrified at the changes in your relative. Something has to be done—now! She’s organized the meeting to form a plan of action that can be implemented within the next two weeks, before she has to fly back to where ever she came from. And, oh, yes, you’re expected to provide refreshments.

You have one story to tell story: that things changed over the past week, but I would be very surprised if you told that story in exactly the same way in each group.

I’m currently reading a collection of essays called Narrative Gerontology: Theory, Research, and Practice. [Gary Kenyon, Phillip Clark, and Brian de Vries (ed), Springer Publishing. 2001. ISBN: 0-8261-1389-3]. The nurse in me and the writer in me love it when a book does double-duty, as this one does. This week I can check off both “learned something about writing” and “learned something about nursing” at the same time.

Just before I picked up this book, I labored my way through a mystery that was just good enough to keep my interest but not good enough to be satisfying. At one point I said to my husband, “If any character says one more time, ‘Something must have happened to her at the old mill,’ I am going to throw this book across the room.”

Here’s the connection between those two books: the mystery author didn’t take advantage of the possibilities inherent in telling the same story in different ways to different groups. As the protagonist went from suspect to suspect, the story was always told in the same way, and the suspect repeated the exact conclusion, in the same words. Something must have happened to her at the old mill.

Yes, I’d gotten that already! I wanted to know more about the possibilities of the old mill as each suspect knew something a little different, reacted in a slightly different way to what might have happened. Sadly, I never got that variety.

How we (and our characters) choose tell a story is influenced by
• the storyteller’s power in relation to the people listening to the story
• the storyteller’s ability to tell the story in different ways to different people
• what the storyteller includes or leaves out
• the setting in which the story is told
• why the story is told
• the order in which different versions of the story are told.*
• what the storyteller expects the listener(s) to do or not do after hearing the story
• how urgent it is to take action or not take action after hearing the story
• how much attention listener(s) pay
• if listener(s) have different agendas than the storyteller does

*That’s why I wanted you to imagine attend those three meetings all at once. Imagine attending the same meetings in different orders. How does each sequence change how you might have told the same story?

Stories are not innocent.
Stories change things.
Stories can limit and reinforce one version of how life must be or they can open up possibilities of how life might be.

_____
Quote for the week:
[I]n the act of reading the reader co-creates the novel the author has written. Each act of telling some portion or version of [a story] is performed before a particular audience for a particular reason are a particular time. The line between teller and listener is, in fact, incredibly fine. Each time we communicate our story, especially those parts we previously left untold, we change our relationship to it.
~William L. Randall, Associate Professor of Gerontology, St. Thomas University, Fredericton, N.B., Canada

G.M. Malliet Chats About All Things English

by Julia Buckley
G.M. Malliet is the author of the Agatha Award-winning DEATH OF A COZY WRITER, the first book in the DCI St. Just mystery series, chosen by Kirkus Reviews as one of the Best Books of 2008. The second book in the series is DEATH AND THE LIT CHICK and third is DEATH AT THE ALMA MATER, which came out recently. She is currently working on a new mystery series starring Max Tudor (former MI5 agent, now vicar of a small English village) for Thomas Dunne/Minotaur Books.

G.M, You attended Oxford University and have a graduate degree from the University of Cambridge. What was your major?

My major was psychology. Not the kind where you ask people about their childhoods: I was studying (reading, as the British would have it) learning and memory. How we acquire and store language and memories, how we learn to read and write, and how the brain processes all this. I’m still fascinated by this subject.

Did you ever consider living in England permanently?

Oh, yes! But it was hard, then as now, to get a work permit. And there were just too many things calling me back to the US at the time.

When you did live in England, what were the primary differences you noted between the English and the Americans?

The Americans seemed so loud to me, with a tendency to “over-share.” I’m sure they weren’t that bad and in fact the friendliness of Americans is much admired. But I was like a teenager, constantly embarrassed by his or her parents—I felt and feel that blending in is the goal when you’re in a different culture.


Did living in England alter any of your own Americanisms—the way you spell or pronounce words, for example, or your accent?

For my studies, I had to relearn spelling entirely, and unlearn it when I came back to the US. But I always thought it was a bit affected when Americans said things like “con-TRA-versy” instead of CON-tra-versy—so I avoided that.

Was it nostalgia which made you set your novels (all of them so far) in England?

Yes. I call it my version of time travel. I get to go back and remember and see all the sights in my head—without the jet lag! But I also visit the UK in person whenever I can, because so much gets forgotten.

How did you come up with the names of your detective, St. Just, and his sidekick, Sergeant Fear? (Great names, indeed!)

There really is a Sergeant Fear. I have never met this person, but seeing the name in a newspaper story, I felt I had to appropriate a name so perfect.
There is a village called St. Just in Cornwall that my mother’s family has ties to. I thought that was also a perfect name for an honest, fair cop. So I borrowed the name and gave him Cornish roots.

You are now working on a new mystery series. Had this idea been percolating for a long time, or did you have to come up with it quickly?

There is a little English village that has been inside my head for ages. I started drawing a map of it just to exorcise it, because it had nothing to do with St. Just. Then all these characters came along and wanted to live there. And of course they had a story to tell.

By the way, the name of my village is Nether Monkslip, which is really quite “ordinary” when you start looking at the wonderful, lovely, completely crazy names the British have for some of their villages. One of the best is Chipping Sodbury, which of course the natives have rechristened Sodding Chipbury. It so happens J K Rowling was born there, a fact so wonderful you could not make it up.

If you went back to England now, where would you want to go?

Glastonbury.

Why Glastonbury?

Glastonbury is where King Arthur is either buried, or awaiting his return. Arthur, by the way, is St. Just's first name. ;-)

Ah. Do you keep in touch with friends in England?

I do keep in touch by email, and meet up with them here and there. They are all good enough to provide answers to my more esoteric questions about British life—the kind of thing you can’t find on Google.

What’s a place that a tourist should visit in the U.K. simply because it is NOT a tourist site?

I would have to say just drop into a local pub, any pub. Sit in a corner with your beer and eavesdrop. That is where life is lived, although the pubs are disappearing at an alarming rate.

Why are the pubs disappearing?

The pubs are in trouble because of the recession, but I think it began before that and I can't tell you why, exactly. See
http://business.timesonline.co.uk/tol/business/industry_sectors/leisure/article6722488.ece

How, if at all, has being a successful mystery writer affected your everyday life?

You mean the new Jaguar I bought with my first royalty check? That was a joke.

Actually, the real change is that I am always on deadline. Before I was published, I was on a highly movable deadline. No one cared if I finished the book or short story, or not. It is a subtle but huge difference.

Have you always enjoyed reading mysteries? Whose books have influenced you the most?

I have always loved mysteries above all. I think Daughter of Time made a huge impression, as well as Rebecca. There were too many others to mention!

Ward Just wrote, of writing, that writing novels was not what he considered hard work; it had instead “to do with desire—translating desire into prose—and a temperament that accepts concentration over the long haul.” Would you agree? And if so, do you have this temperament?

I am not sure I know what he means by accepting concentration! There is no question that the long haul of a novel is not for anyone unwilling to go and live in a made-up world for the year or more required to write a book. You have to really stay focused on what you’re doing, and be able to keep a bunch of apparently unrelated “stuff” in your head at once.

But I love the phrase, “translating desire into prose”—which takes us back to why I write about the UK. It’s my desire to return there, translated.

Finally, in honor of the season, I ask you: what is your favorite sign of spring? Have you seen it yet?

My trees and shrubs “springing” back, after having been flattened by so much snow this year. It’s a miracle, truly.


Thanks so much for chatting with me, GM!

WHAT DOES THE FBI KNOW ABOUT ME?

by Sheila Connolly

I have led an exemplary life, legally speaking. Well, there were a few youthful indiscretions back in the seventies, but that was in California and everybody was doing it, and nobody cared much. And there was that one party I threw where the cops came, but nothing came of it. Those were the days.

But for the official record, I have always been squeaky-clean. I've never had a moving violation. I've garnered a total of two parking tickets in decades of driving, and paid them both promptly. I have never stolen anything (we won't talk about that box of paper clips, will we?) or inflicted grievous bodily harm on a fellow human being or an animal. I pay my taxes and give to charity. I am a model citizen.

So why do I wonder if the FBI has a file on me?

Because I have been associated with two multi-million-dollar thefts. And if that wasn't bad enough, in my forthcoming Museum Mystery series I'm writing about one.

The first theft occurred when I was in graduate school. A quartet of thieves broke into the museum building where my graduate classes were held, and made off with five thousand Greek coins valued then at $5,000,000. At the time it was said to be the largest known art theft (the total would be a lot higher now, no doubt). The event took place in December 1973, and, yes, I was enrolled at the time and lived only a few blocks away. And I sure could have used the money. I didn't do it.

Of course, that theft was trumped a few years later by the heist at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Luckily I was living in California at that time, but I had gone to school with a former director, and even lived in the same building as she did for a time, so I could have had inside information, right? I didn't do it. (Are you paying attention, FBI? Do you see me living the life of luxury with my ill-gotten gains here?)

In November 1997, I was working for The Historical Society of Pennsylvania when yet another multi-million-dollar theft was discovered, and that was the inspiration for my coming book. This was a very public event. There was much news coverage ("Live at Five!"). The FBI's Art Theft group was called in. Happily this theft was solved: a disgruntled employee who we all knew and liked had been spiriting articles out of the building for years, mainly to prove that he could. He sold what he took for pennies on the dollar, to a local collector (who, as it turned out, lived about two miles from my house), and much of it was recovered. But I was there. I didn't do it.

I have to admit that I'm curious. Nobody ever interviewed me or otherwise contacted me with regard to any of these thefts. But wouldn't you hope that my name cropping up on a list of people with clear opportunity during the investigation of two major events would send up some red flags? I'd like to think so, if the investigators are doing their job. It's kind of a big coincidence, isn't it?

The immediate question is: do I try to find out? On the surface, it would appear that the FBI would be happy to provide that information, as long as you ask nicely: send them a letter formally requesting "copies of all information maintained by your agency that pertain to myself," under the provisions of the Freedom of Information and Privacy Acts, 5 USC 552, nicely notarized.

Checking the official FBI File Fact Sheet, one finds:–The FBI does not keep a file on every citizen of the United States (can you imagine the paperwork?)–FBI files generally contain reports of FBI investigations of a wide range of matters, including...white-collar crime." Yup, that's where I'd fit.–The Freedom of Information/Privacy Acts (aka FOIPA) "...provides responsive documents to requesters seeking 'reasonably described information.'"

So apparently, if I ask politely, they will send me whatever they have. It's a little unclear where I should direct my request. My current local office? The two local offices where the incidents occurred?

But the real question is, do I want to ask? If I make this innocent request, based solely on my lingering curiosity, will it trigger greater interest in my history? Will they take a harder look at me, particularly when my book, describing a completely fictional white-collar crime (really! I made it all up!), comes out in the fall?

What would you do?

Sometimes television IS good for you . . .

By Lonnie Cruse

A friend was recently telling me (bragging, actually) about how badly she beat the contestants on a particular television game show she was watching. She couldn't believe they didn't know the answers, and she did know them. Well, she's been, um, watching television game shows! She was mourning the fact that she couldn't win the money that they could have. I don't blame her.

A lot of good information comes out of SOME of those shows. Not all, of course, but some. THE NEWLYWED GAME is NOT on my list of shows that improve the mind. ARE YOU SMARTER THAN A FIFTH GRADER (which I happen to be watching at the moment, and like the contestant, I have NO clue to the question about the Treaty of Torteseaus, and did I even spell that right?) does give that kind of information. Stuff I probably learned in fifth grade and forgot by sixth. These game shows ask questions and give answers that increase our knowledge or remind us of information we could still use IF we ever get on a game show.

Other shows like Meerkat Manor educate us about animals we aren't likely to run across unless we go to the zoo. I got to seem some live Meerkats at the Santa Barbara Zoo in 2008. I love watching them. Animal Planet has tons of interesting stuff to watch. Discovery Channel, too.

Haven't read the classics? Often they aren't "right by the book" but for me, watching a Jane Austin movie is a bit easier than reading the book, and yes, I've done both. And listened to them on audio.

Want to re-do your bathroom? There are tons of home improvement shows that teach you how. More important, how not to.

Need to know more about the law? How about People's Court? Okay, I understand if you want to pass on that one, but I like it. On that note, don't expect some of the night time dramas to be correct about things like an autopsy, medical examiners, crime scenes, etc. They are dramas, after all.

Yep, television teaches us. A lot. Not all of it is bad. Unless, of course, you watch . . . oh never mind. Okay, what DO you watch that teaches you something and doesn't fry your brain cells with its nothingness?