Archive for March, 2016
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Mar.31,2016
Only a few weeks ago, I was in Phoenix, Arizona. It’s no secret that I’m more of a street-tree person than a cactus person, but I have to say that the people of Phoenix were welcoming and friendly to the hundreds of mystery writers and readers who landed there for a conference. So, thanks to the organizers and attendees of CACTUS CAPER.
My panel topic was “The Making of a Cozy Murder: What defines a cozy?” moderated by the legendary blogger and mystery fan, DRU ANN LOVE (If that isn’t a great name for a fan . . .)
On a panel with Ritter Ames, Carolyn Greene, Donna Andrews, and Dru Ann Love
We discussed the tropes of cozies, such as the don’t-kill-a-pet rule (no such limitation on little old ladies) and, as Donna Andrews observed, the “Keep it clean” admonition.
One of the more interesting questions Dru Ann addressed to the authors: “Would you make a good amateur sleuth?”
I’d never thought about that before, but (slam to head) I realized my answer had to be NO!
My main shortcoming, besides my current inability to give chase, is that I have a notoriously bad sense of direction. Make that: no sense of direction. I am orientationally challenged. I’m not just referring to getting lost on the freeways, but getting lost in a restaurant.
For example, say I’ve been to the restroom, clearly marked by a large sign. Say I want to get back to my table, where my friends are chatting, expecting me to return. Uh-oh. An embarrassing moment, more so even than if I’d gone into the men’s room by mistake. Unless the restaurant is smaller than my own kitchen, I’m lost.
I try to orient myself by standing at the threshold into the dining area. I try to locate the sign-in desk. Where did we go from there? Can I see the table I left? Many times, I end up seeing my server (I am good at remembering faces, at least). I make an excuse for needing help to my table.
I’ve had this disability all my life, therefore there’s more of a chance now that I’ve remembered to drop bread crumbs on the way to my target—I try to notice that I’m taking a right at the large fake palm, so I should take a left to get back. ETC.
Bottom line: don’t be surprised if I abandon you on our next date. And never, never ask me for directions.
DAN G. EROUS
Second only to a guy named Pat, nothing’s more Irish than a guy named Dan. Here’s piece of flash fiction to celebrate ST. PATRICK’S DAY.
DAN G. EROUS
The saloon doors flew open and out bounced the slender frame of Dan G. Erous, Undangerous Dan, as he was known at the poker tables around Tinville. He landed in a puddle of mud and horse droppings, mixed with broken glass and a splash of oh-be-joyful from The Tin Queen.
“I said I’d pay it all back,” Dan hollered, trying to regain his dignity. “No need to kick up a row.” He stood and shook out his sack coat, sending pieces of night soil onto a meticulously dressed, ace-high Reverend Jacob Winds.
“Dang you, Erous,” the Rev muttered.
He pulled a Colt Peacemaker from under his black duster. A shot rang out, leaving Tinville with its reputation in tact—the most dangerous town in the Rockies.
I should say something about Women’s History Month. There are so many unsung heroines in the arts and scientists, but they’re easy enough to find now, without my going on about them.
Hold on, because I’m about share my theory of how this happens—why women are not taken seriously in the world of professionals. I saw a perfect example a few days before Valentine’s day—a month ago, not a century ago—and the display of kitchen towels in an upscale store at the mall near my home.
I was too shocked to think about taking a photo, but here’s my best shot at a description of the towel. The lower half was embroidered as follows:
MISS
MRS!
Really Miss/Mrs./Mrs. Professional Woman? How am I supposed to take you seriously when you don’t take yourself and your own name seriously?
I wish knew who designed the towels. I wish I knew how the sales went.
A recent question on a panel: what do your characters read?
My answer: Not much.
I’m what you might call a heavy reader—3 book clubs and always a Kindle full of books. I’m not sure why no one in my gallery of characters is even a light reader. They confine themselves to literature that’s pertinent to their jobs or interests, almost never including fiction or reading for relaxation. Nor do they ever discuss books, a favorite pastime of mine.
Here’s the lineup and their reading habits:
• Dr. Gloria Lamerino, retired physicist, reads Physics Today, Scientific American, and the New Yorker cartoons. That’s it.
• Gerry Porter, retired English teacher and miniaturist, often quotes Shakespeare, but not once in nine books has she picked up a volume and had a quiet read. She does occasionally leaf through a miniatures or crafts magazine.
• Professor Sophie Knowles, college math teacher, reads and contributes to mathematics journals and puzzle magazines. No fiction.
Finally, with my 4th series, I might have a reader.
• Cassie Miller (DEATH TAKES PRIORITY debuted November 2015), postmaster in a small Massachusetts town, reads crime fiction. Though I don’t give specific titles, I do have Cassie commenting on certain plot devices, and actually trying to read crime novels or watch crime dramas before bedtime. Granted she’s quickly distracted and turns to focusing on “the case” at hand.
One reason my amateur sleuths don’t read: they’re very busy people! In general, they solve a murder case in a week or so, sometimes sooner. That’s pretty quick, considering real cops sometimes take months, often years. Also, reading is very passive, as opposed to, say, a car chase, a shoot-out, or even a quiet stalking scene. It’s hard to make a reading scene exciting.
She stretched out on the couch, put on her reading glasses, picked up a book, found the bookmark, opened the book, . . .
See what I mean?
My book on TV – A story I never tire of telling!
Latest edition for Kindle
A few years ago, Hallmark produced a TV movie based on Citizen Jane, a true crime book by Bay Area screenwriter James Dalessandro. In one scene, Jane’s aunt is pictured sitting comfortably, reading. Her book: my first, The Hydrogen Murder! She holds it up, the cover plain as day.
And then an intruder breaks in and murders her!
The book falls out of her hands and onto the floor, the original cover side up, immortalized as a part of the crime scene.
So, although my characters aren’t reading, someone is reading my characters!
