I’m continuing the topic of names today for two reasons:
1. Your answers were so interesting and revealing! Not too many people like the names they were given at birth, which their parents obviously did like. I find that fascinating.
2. I spent most of the day driving to and from and being in Niles, Michigan, for the Niles District Library’s Author’s Day. What an enjoyable day, too, but alas, I didn’t have time to prepare my normal blog topic.
So instead, I want to probe your brains just a bit more. If you could wipe the slate clean, what name would you give yourself and why?
Have a great week,
Kate
Thanks, JB, for the kind invite. I’m flattered to be here, and your timing couldn’t have been better.
I’m scheduled to moderate a panel at the Malice Domestic convention on “Cozy Up to These Sleuths: What Does a Cozy Make?”
My first thought when I got the notification about the panel was that the conference organizers had made a mistake. I could see how that could happen: My first book, due out in July, is titled Death of a Cozy Writer (to be followed by Death and the Lit Chick). What could be a more natural fit than to put me on a cozy panel, right?
But I decided not to point out the error of their ways: I realized that the fact that my first book (which my publisher has labeled “a medium-boiled cozy”) takes a lot of the conventions of the “cozy cozy” and pokes gentle fun at them makes it a good counterpoint to the softer-boiled books to be discussed on the panel.
For one thing, the cozy writer of my title is an absolute devil who loves nothing better than to stir up trouble, even as he pens his gentle Miss-Marple-type books. His reading public loves him, but no one who knows the man can stand him, beginning with his family.
As you might guess, I had a lot of fun with this. I think a lot of people do think authors are much the same as their protagonists. Not!
But making fun of the genre doesn’t mean I don’t love the genre: Cozies are nearly all I ever read. A list of some of my favorite authors holds a clue: Robert Barnard, Agatha Christie, Caroline Graham, Martha Grimes, P.D. James, Peter Lovesey, Barbara Vine. (Okay, a couple of these may be more edgy than cozy.) But these are the mystery authors I’ve read and reread over many years, and/or whose books I buy the second they hit the shelves.
And I consider that they all fall under the cozy umbrella to some extent. But we may have to stretch the definitions just a bit.
So, what do these writers have in common, apart from an absolute mastery of the English language, and a British setting? A subversive wit is the first thing that comes to mind. Nothing slapstick, very little physical comedy. But, again, their brilliant use of language makes most of these writers laugh-out-loud funny—their ability to describe people and situations, to weave words together in ways that surprise the reader into laughter.
None of them go in for graphic sex or violence, but a swear word may slip in here and there. The language (again, the language) that they have their characters use results in a realistic—and again, often very funny—depiction of how people really talk. They may be “cozy writers” but they won’t have a character say, “Oh, gosh darn it!” when that would be absurd for that particular character.
So to the question “What Does a Cozy Make?” I guess I have a few answers. I haven’t even gone into what makes a protagonist or his/her occupation “cozy,” but I see I’ve wandered on long enough. Maybe you can help me out. What, to you, does a cozy make? And who are the cozy authors you return to, again and again?
If you’ve ever been annoyed with a favorite cozy mystery author, then you’ll be glad that this week’s guest blogger G.M. Malliet is getting even on your behalf. Read more about this fantastic and highly-anticipated mystery:
“From deep in the heart of his eighteenth century English manor, millionaire Sir Adrian Beauclerk-Fisk writes mystery novels and torments his four spoiled children with threats of disinheritance. Tiring of this device, the portly patriarch decides to weave a malicious twist into his well-worn plot. Gathering them all together for a family dinner, he announces his latest blow – a secret elopement with the beautiful Violet… who was once suspected of murdering her husband.
Within hours, eldest son and appointed heir Ruthven is found cleaved to death by a medieval mace. Since Ruthven is generally hated, no one seems too surprised or upset – least of all his cold-blooded wife Lillian. When Detective Chief Inspector St. Just is brought in to investigate, he meets with a deadly calm that goes beyond the usual English reserve. And soon Sir Adrian himself is found slumped over his writing desk – an ornate knife thrust into his heart. Trapped amid leering gargoyles and stone walls, every member of the family is a likely suspect. Using a little Cornish brusqueness and brawn, can St. Just find the killer before the next-in-line to the family fortune ends up dead?”
Coming July 1st available now at Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble.com, and from the publisher.
Please visit http://gmmalliet.com for more details.
Spring is in full swing. The trees have flowered, the daffodils have come and gone, the hyacinth’s blooms are fading. Buds are emerging on the shrubs, the grass is greening…and I’m in no mood to garden.
My yard is, well, let’s use a Sharon Short term: Unfortunate. Last year’s drought really took its toll on the grass, so it’s looking like something out of Caddyshack – but gophers aren’t our issue.
The gardens all need weeding, mulching, and overall TLC. The sheer amount of work is overwhelming, which makes me keep putting it off. The longer I put it off (and I have *every* excuse) the more miserable it looks.
Plus, there are other things I want to do. (Besides write the book due June 1st.)
Why does spring bring out the nester in me? I’d like to find time for spring cleaning, and making over the garage, and finish my attic clean-out, and maybe peel the wallpaper from the front hall, and paint the front door, and do something with the front porch, and maybe lay some tile, and paint the living room, and the master bath, and…the list is never ending.
Time, however, is limited. As is budget. Picking and choosing projects is going to hard at best. I’m thinking about putting them into a hat… It might be the only way to decide which gets done first.
Do you have any spring projects planned?
~h
Well, first off, I need to apologize for going MIA the past couple of weeks. Usually I do my blogs a month ahead of schedule, but the last two months have been unreal as far as deadlines, gigs, and family obligations. Not only was there no chance to blog ahead of time, I literally couldn’t seem to wrangle a spare fifteen minutes to post when my day rolled around (which it kept doing with shocking frequency).
But I’m back with this month’s post on writing. One of our regular readers, Traci Kishbaugh wrote: Also, here’s a subject I’d love to see covered…A strong opening, a strong ending, but the middle of the story is mush. Anyone else have this problem? And if so what do you do about it?” I’m always interested in a writer’s opinion on this because this is my biggest problem. I can write and write until my brain literally stops. I always have a very strong opening and ending, but my middle is always mush.
Ah yes. The saga of the saggy middle. It’s a common problem for beginning writers, so don’t feel alone. Basically it comes down to plot and pacing. And let me start by reassuring you that having a terrific beginning and a dynamite ending is excellent! You’re already ahead of the game.
All right, let’s talk about tightening up that flabby middle. The easiest way to do it is an outline. Now, before you start making those I-hate-to-outline noises, let me reassure you that an outline need not be some big formal paper with bullet points and Roman numerals and headings and subheadings. Basically an outline is a kind of checklist. It consists of all the important scenes of your story — the scenes you know for sure you want to write in the order you want to write them. That sounds pretty simple, right?
It is pretty simple.
By listing out all the important scenes that you envision — and then putting them in a rough order — you make sure that your story has enough of the highs and lows, the crests and lulls of good storytelling. That’s called Pacing. It’s very important to how your story reads.
A story that is all rush, rush, rush is just as boring in its way as a story that is too much reflection and discussion. What you want is a balance of action scenes and scenes of reflection but — and this is very important — something interesting must be happening at all times.
An outline allows you to see at a glance if you’ve got too many scenes of your heroine sitting around thinking and not enough of her out there sleuthing. It allows you to see if all the romantic subplot is bunched into the final third of the book or if it’s taking you too long to get to the first murder. (Rule of thumb is try and kill someone by page 50 — you think I’m kidding, don’t you?)
An outline also gives you an opportunity to see if you’ve got enough going on in your story — if you’ve really got a story (and I think next month we’ll talk a bit about Plot) or whether you simply haven’t figured out enough scenes, enough interesting events, enough action — in short, an outline tells you right away if you’ve got enough Plot.
Now one reason why so many writers dread outlining is because it means sitting down and thinking your story through — all the way through from beginning to end — and that’s hard work. It’s much more fun just to start writing and see where it takes you. But very often where it takes you is off the road and into the woods — and then you spend hours wandering around in circles trying to figure out where it all went wrong.
Take it from me, the easiest way to avoid that saggy middle is to outline. Questions, comments? Bring ‘em on!
Okay. . .I spent the whole weekend finishing my income taxes, and they’re finally done. It was late Sunday evening by the time I finished the Federal taxes and forms. Since I was tired, I decided to do the simpler Colorado state tax form this morning. That way I could drop them in the mail today, Monday.
So this morning, I went through my tax folder, searching for the Colorado tax booklet that always arrives in the mail. I couldn’t find it. Looked everywhere. Don’t you hate that? Searching through drawers and files, convinced that whatever you’ve misplaced will suddenly “turn up?” It never does. And neither did the state tax forms.
So instead of finishing and copying files for my folder, I had to drive off to the state office and grab another booklet. Of couurse, that was after working out, a trip to the bank, a trip to the grocery, filling up the gas tank, mailing some bills, and four long-distance calls. And balancing my check book.
By that time, it was after eleven, and I was already late getting back to work on my current mystery in progress. And, I had to leave in late afternoon for a meeting in Denver. So, I got back to work, and let taxes wait until Tuesday morning.
So—tomorrow morning, April 15th, I’ll be finishing up the state tax forms then driving to the post office and joining that extremely long line that snakes around the post office mail boxes every April 15th. Usually I observe the line while driving by on the way between errands, feeling oh-so-smug that I’d already done MY taxes. So, there. But not this year.
So much for smug. How about you folks? Did you have to stay up late April 14th to finish yur taxes? Or were you an early bird?
Cute article in MORE magazine last month on how names cycle in and out. According to the article’s author, Linda Yellin, if your name is Debbie, Sandra, Barbara, Nancy — or Linda, you are pegging yourself as being “of a certain age.” Likewise, if your name is Jennifer, Heather, Melissa, and Kimberly, it’s a bet you were born in the 70s. Nowadays, you’re likely to be an Ashley, Sophia or Emily.
Why is that, do you think? Why do names change for women, yet for men you can always find Jims, Mikes, Roberts, Davids and Toms? And what ever happened to Ethyl, Ruth, Bertha, Lucille, Gertrude and Pearl? Why aren’t they around anymore?
I once asked my parents why they chose that particular name for me. My mother, sensing a conflict brewing, blamed it on my father, who claimed he didn’t remember why, being in the throes of a new-daddy daze. I used to wish they’d given me a dramatic name, like Emerald, or Wednesday, one that would really stand out in a crowd. At least they didn’t choose something really embarrassing. A friend of mine got the moniker Candace. Last name (honestly) Cane. Candy Cane. She got married as soon as she was legally allowed.
Going through puberty, I decided my name was dull and boring and would never attract a boy’s attention, so one year I changed the spelling, the next year I hyphenated my first and middle names, and finally dropped my first name altogether. I felt different with each new name, exotic somehow, and free to experiment with my personality. One semester it backfired on me, however. I’d decided to go with initials only and be a real rebel — except that my grades tanked, which got me grounded at home. No more initials after that.
Do you like your name? Have you ever wished you could change it? Did you go through a period in school when you altered the spelling, or started using your middle name? If you could change your first name to anything, what would it be?
Have a great week,
Kate, or Kayt, or maybe Kait, or, yes! Emerald Wednesday Collins
No, it’s not the title of my next book. In fact, I may not finish my next book in time because of the woodpeckers that have been plaguing me since January.
Back then, a red-headed woodpecker with the charm of dear old Woody began pecking at the birch tree outside the window where my desk is located. I thought, “What a cool bird. He’s gorgeous!”
By February, I wasn’t so fond of him. He had begun to drum on the gutters and then eventually made his big move: pecking the wood siding of our house. This was done brazenly, when it was abundantly clear that four humans and three felines lurked just on the other side of the wall which he was studiously chipping away.
My first step was to consult Wikipedia. From there, I researched several sites on controlling woodpeckers. Certain members of my household were all for purchasing a pellet gun, but I soon learned that ALL woodpeckers are federally protected and that one needs a federal permit (and sometimes a state permit as well) in order to “implement lethal control.”
Damn.
So we chose the humane methods, which I found a relief. As much as that bird was bothering me and tearing apart our siding, I didn’t want to see him shot. Therefore, we hung several rubber snakes from the window. The snakes blew in the breeze and looked altogether ridiculous, but they seemed to work. For about a day. The woodpecker simply relocated to the back of the house. Thus, more snakes out that window. Even the mailman asked us what was going on…
March. Snakes are a total failure. Instead, we hang Mylar Elmo balloons and silver streamers from the windows and the birch tree. Woodpecker’s move: he gets a mate. Yep. Now there are two of them.
My deadline is approaching. Peck, peck, peck. I call an exterminator. “We don’t deal with woodpeckers,” he informs me. “Forget the birds!” I shout. “Kill the bugs they’re eating!” He promises to smear the walls with ant-annihilation paste.
Peck, peck, peck. Then, eureka! My cat kills one of the woodpeckers. But the feathered widow seems mad. He/she goes nuts just below the attic and finally, pecks their way THROUGH the house and inside. I hear them flying around up there, just above our bedroom. Now I can’t sleep or write.
“Buy the gun,” I tell my husband. He’s in the car within seconds.
April. The woodpecker has mysteriously vanished, but dozens of little wrens or finches or freaking chickadees are chipping away at the damaged siding. I call a carpenter. He replaces the boards. I call a painter. I call the exterminator. He’s dusting the foundation for ants again.
The cost of all this? $1200, a book that might be more violent than usual., a new pellet gun, and perhaps, therapy.
Have you ever had a negative brush with Nature?
* Winner from last week’s blog: Though all your DIY projects were majorly impressive, I had to choose Marianne, because I’m also sewing challenged. The needle? The mustard? A complete hot dog costume? Wow. Send your snail mail address to me at heather@heatherwebber.com, Marianne, and I’ll get your goodies out to you. (And it had nothing to do with the sucking up, but thank you!)
* Had a great time on tour with The Deadly Divas, Marcia Talley and Denise Swanson. For those of you who read Denise’s books, the DD’s visited Coal City, IL, the inspiration for Scumble River and met Denise’s family – all of whom are characters in her books. What fun, matching people to characters! And if you ever get a chance to hear Marcia tell the story of what inspired Through the Darkness, it’ll give you chills.
* I’m off to St. Louis tomorrow. I’ll be signing books with Shelley Galloway, Melanie Hauser, and Judy Larsen @ 2 pm at Mid Rivers Mall if anyone wants to pop in. On Sunday is the MS walk. There’s still time to donate, and a BIG thank you to those who already did.
* I have been incredibly productive this week, writing-wise (don’t ask about the state of my house). I’m working on the second Lucy book, and putting finishing touches on a women’s fiction proposal. Cross your fingers for that one. I really love that story and hope it finds a home.
* I’m so sad about Skybus. RIP.
* I did it. I bought a journal. And so far I’ve done well keeping up with it. I think come twenty years from now it’s going to be fun to read. As of right now it’s pretty boring, as my life is rather ordinary.
Maybe I should make stuff up? 
~heather
The taxes are done, the manuscripts I’m supposed to review are about half-finished (they’re due next Friday), and the copyedits due Tuesday have barely made it out of their big manila envelope. And don’t get me started on my book deadlines.
But you know what?
I’m leaving it all behind to eat Doritos and read trashy novels on the beach for the weekend.
Woo hoo!
Well, maybe not trashy novels, come to think of it — right now I’m in the mood for armchair travel books, which are kind of travel pornography, if you will. I love to read people’s travelogues (particularly if they involve hard work, like renovating a house, that I can read about and not have to do) and fantasize about living in other corners of the globe. And then, of course, I always start thinking of exotic story lines in gorgeous locales…
Which leads me to a question. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, and I’d love your opinion. What part of the world would you drop everything to read a fictional book about? My current infatuations include the Caribbean, Ireland, Greece and Venice — I would LOVE to read a good story set in any of those places. (Provided, of course, there was plenty of local color, scenery, and food.)
But how about you? What exotic travel destination would you drop everything to read about? Any fascinating corners of the world I need to explore? And this is not necessarily a rhetorical question; I’m thinking about my next literary venture…
Well time to pack the car. (I’ve got to find the Margarita mix, too, come to think of it.)
Here’s wishing everyone a relaxing pre-tax weekend (ha).
Cheers!