Imagine my surprise – I checked my blog files for what I wrote a year ago. I was already suffering from pandemic fatigue.
To combat it, I’d gone for humor and submitted humorous
quotes. I might as well do the same this week, but with different quotes from
some of the same people.
• from George Carlin: I went to a bookstore and asked the
saleswoman, ‘Where’s the self-help section?’ She said if she told me, it would
defeat the purpose.
• from Woody Allen: Life is full of misery, loneliness, and
suffering – and it’s all over much too soon.
• from Ellen Degeneres: Accept who you are. Unless you’re a
serial killer.
• from Steven Wright: Everywhere is within walking distance
if you have the time.
• from Stephen Colbert: I don’t trust children. They’re here
to replace us.
• from Fran Liebowitz: I’ve done the calculation and your
chances of winning the lottery are identical whether you play or not.
• from Will Rogers: Everything is changing. People are
taking comedians seriously and politicians as a joke. (hmm – from Will
Rogers, 1879-1935)
• What’s your favorite quote, one that makes you laugh
even in a pandemic?
Gloria, 1972. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division
It’s still women’s history month (don’t frown, men, you have
11 months to yourselves), so I thought I’d talk about fashion.
Not kidding.
My most recent pet peeve is the latest in news-anchor
fashion. For women, that is. It hasn’t changed much for men. It’s your basic
suit and tie, sometimes with a little fake hankie in the pocket. I’ve yet to
see Jake Tapper in a muscle shirt, or Chuck Todd with a colorful polo.
OK, Anderson Cooper is all over tv with his new baby and sweats, but not when he’s
delivering the news.
Female anchors, on the other hand, come cute. Three or four
days out of five, they show cleavage. Some day I’m going to see if there’s a
pattern. Lots of flesh showing on Mondays to wake people from a weekend
hangover; something pretty and pink in the middle of the week;and a drape with
a couple of gold chains on Friday.
The worst tops in my mind are the ones with puffy sleeves,
the kind that would be on my little sister’s school dresses when she was seven
or eight a few decades ago. I remember ironing the dresses—I’d stick my hand in
the short sleeve to spread it out and then press in a circular crease so that
the sleeve would stick up.
So cute! But not for a grown-up newsperson asking us to
trust her and pay attention to information on the pandemic or the Iran nuclear
deal or a mass shooting. Or even the weather.
I’ll end this little rant with a Happy Birthday to Gloria
Steinem (born March 25, 1934), never caught with puffy sleeves as far as I
remember.
Should women be allowed to wear whatever they pleased and
not be criticized? Absolutely. Should they be aware of how their image
contributes to the message and that when they dress for the beach or a sexy pop
article, that’s how many will view her.
Which is not to say, for example, that Gloria Steinem was
humorless. Here’s a quote that’s attributed to her:
A woman
without a man is like a fish without a bicycle
It’s safe to say I know many amateur sleuths, a gazillion by
actual count. Every day, on bookshelves everywhere, crimes are solved by
florists, cooks, beauticians, baristas, quilters, nurses, tour guides, ghosts, and
wedding planners. Murderers are caught and arrested on cruise ships, in cafes, at
concerts, in churches, in haunted and unhaunted houses, and in locker rooms.
Did I mention that amateur sleuths also include retired
physicists, miniaturists, college math professors, a postmistress, and lately,
a diner owner in Alaska?
I feel I know them all well, inside and out. They’re smart,
brave, righteous, and persistent, usually women, but sometimes too stupid to
live (TSTL).
I’m constantly defending them:
• Of course, she has the motivation to investigate a murder,
even though her day job involves running a community garden and she has no
training in criminology—after all, the victim was a bridesmaid at her roommate’s
cousin’s best friend’s second wedding. How can she just sit back and not help
the police/troopers/sheriff/PIs?
• She’s curious, so Yes! she will drive out to the cemetery in
the middle of the night to meet someone who says he has an important clue to
the killer’s identity.
• So what if she withholds information from the real police?
She has a good reason to—she wants to look into the situation on her own. She
is, after all, an independent thinker/investigator.
• Definitely, in case you’re wondering: It is possible that
the knitter sleuth found the clue that experienced homicide detectives and a
crew of trained CSI techs missed.
Members of my critique groups who do not write amateur
sleuths are the biggest skeptics. Who’s going to believe blah blah blah? they ask me all the time.
“It’s a trope,” I answer, because it’s too
complicated to explain reasonable suspension of disbelief. As long as the
writer doesn’t cheat, i.e., go off on incredible tangents, readers will
enjoy the story.
There’s a reason there are so many cozies and a reason they
are very popular. We enjoy reading about normal people like ourselves—crafters,
grandmothers, administrators, journalists, innkeepers, beekeepers. We like to
think anyone can be smart enough to follow a few clues, put the puzzle together
and make the world safe again.
How hard can it be?
(Kidding. I’m forever grateful to PDs and all first responders especially in these challenging times.)
Note to readers: Last week this blog was hacked, resulting in hundreds of spam comments in a 2-day period. The only way I could get rid of them was to close comments. I’ll wait a week and then open again. I guess some people don’t have enough to do. I wish I could export a few projects to them!
In case you missed them the first time, the first five Miniature Mysteries, which I wrote as “Margaret Grace,” are being re-released. Don’t worry, I have documentation that the rights to the texts have reverted to me!
Crossroad Press is doing me the honor of getting them out with new covers. Here are the first two.
More to come!
Watch for “Malice in Miniature,” “Mourning in Miniature,” and “Monster in Miniature.”
No, I’m not late for this year’s event. I’m celebrating the original schedule.
Until the ratification of the Twentieth Amendment in 1933, the official day for presidential inaugurations was March 4 . When the fourth fell on a Sunday, as it did in 1821, 1849, 1877, and 1917, the ceremonies were held on March 5.
There had already been a glitch, however: The first president of the United States, George Washington, was not inaugurated until April 30. Although Congress scheduled the first inauguration for March 4, 1789, they were unable to count the electoral ballots as early as anticipated. Consequently, the first inauguration was postponed to allow the president-elect time to make the long tip from his home in Virginia to the nation’s capital in New York City.
Crowd in front of White House during Andrew Jackson’s first inaugural reception in 1829. Cruikshank, Robert, 1789-1856, artist. Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. 20540 USA
Check out THIS site for more on early presidential inaugurations.
In our
family room my husband is relaxed, watching a rom-com about a beautiful cupcake
baker in a small town where no one needs to lock her door and all the parked
cars have keys in the ignition. A thief’s paradise, yet the crime rate is
barely above 0, and that non-0 statistic is only because sweet old Mr. C is becoming
forgetful and has taken to walking off with packs of gum from Uncle Al’s
general store. Outside, on the sidewalk, everyone smiles and greets all the
passersby by name. Of course they all know each other’s favorite cupcake.
In the living
room, I’m sitting in front of another large flat screen. Mine is bigger, which
I like, but his has better resolution which, as an engineer, he needs. I’m
happy, but not exactly relaxed. My entire body is focused on a rerun of a Dexter
episode, his knife-wielding arm raised above his latest victim, who is strapped
to a table. Well, not an innocent victim since the guy on the table is, like
Dexter, also a serial killer. Serial killers are second only to hit men on my
wish list. Third would be fixers like Ray Donovan, who do a little of
everything.
If my
spouse does join me in a crime drama, it has to be bloodless, like the rom-com
above, and with a very clean body, seen from a distance. All the violence will
be off camera. And no punches to the face or gut, please.
In other
words, he likes cozies; I like grit.
We’re
talking about television and not books, only because the issue comes up when
it’s together time. The different preferences remain the same for books. He’ll
pick up a Monk; I’ll go for Nordic Noir.
Here’s
just a taste of breakfast conversation as we debate the merits or not of the
two ends of the “violence/no violence” spectrum.
Him: That
gritty portrayal glorifies violence.
Me: That
cozy script makes light of violence.
You’d
never know we were talking about murder in both cases, albeit fictional.
Him: I don’t
want to be reminded about real evil. My programs are more about the puzzle,
figuring out the clues.
Me: My
choices are more realistic, more of a deterrent to the viewer.
And so on.
I can’t really
argue about his preference for cozies. After all, I’ve written almost 30 of them,
give or take.
I’ve taken
on “evil” in my writing, but only in short pieces, closer to flash
fiction. The truth is, I can’t stay very long in the minds and souls of the
likes of Hannibal Lechter, or Tom Ripley, or “number one fan,” Annie
Wilkes.
Instead of
constantly echoing debates past, we’ve reached an agreement. I’ll give the
channel famous for bloodless mysteries a shot, but if I can’t stand it after
twenty minutes, I’m free to leave, with no repercussions or criticisms on
either side. Similarly for him. As soon as a scene shifts to the coroner’s lab,
or slab, he leaves for the kitchen, brings me back a bowl of ice cream and
keeps walking.
I love Dr. Anthony Fauci, and not just because he’s a short
Italian, like my father.
Now that he’s been liberated, as he’s put it, I count on him for the best we can do as far as information and predictions about Covid-19
But recently, I learned something different from him—a new word. Probably one I should have known, but I’m not afraid to admit I’m still building my vocabulary. And so, apparently, is Microsoft Word, because it is underlining the word in red, meaning HUH?
Here it is:
armamentarium
To Dr. Fauci, the word means the medicines, equipment, and techniques available to a medical practitioner.
To the rest of us, it can mean a collection of resources
available for a certain purpose, such as “the armamentarium of electronic
surveillance,” or, I suppose, of my latest miniature project.
Let’s see who’s the first to use it in a sentence.
I've been a factory worker, a translator, a teacher, an experimental physicist, a nuclear safeguards engineer, a writer, a waitress, a miniaturist, a paralegal, a nun, a minister, a short order cook, a ticket taker, an editor, a crafter, and a cotton candy twirler.
I am still some of these, plus a wife.
No wonder I still have a spectrum of stories to write.