Jane Cleland's Josies Prescott Antiques Mysteries

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September 1, 2009	Listen to the Blogcast
Red Herrings: What's Really Going On?

An element commonly used in traditional mysteries is a device called a red herring. Sometimes the term "red herring" refers to a plot point; usually it refers to a person. A red herring is a false trail.Until recently, the accepted etymology of the idiom was that red herrings were used to train hounds to track scents. This seems to be false etymology, most likely intentionally introduced as a prank that defines the idiom by example: a false trail within the etymology of an idiom that stands for a false trail. Apparently, the term was first used in a story by William Cobbett (1805), in which he claimed that as a boy he used a red herring (a cured and salted herring) to mislead hounds following a trail; ultimately, the story evolved to refer to a method of training hounds to follow an underlying scent—not be distracted by a secondary scent. The story served as an extended metaphor for the London press, which had earned Cobbett's ire by publishing what he deemed false news accounts regarding Napoleon. In literature, a "red herring" can be defined as a narrative element used to distract the reader from something else. For instance, in Irwin Shaw's Nightwork, one of my favorite novels, the key narrative question is whether the thief will be caught. But, actually, that's a device which allows the story to follow the thief around the world as he uses the stolen money to fix his eyes, to buy nice clothes, and to travel to jet-setting locales where he meets people who expand his horizons, and ultimately, who value him for the man he has become. The overarching narrative question is not about recovering the stolen money; it's about the transcendent power of reinventing yourself. The stolen money is a red herring. In film, red herrings are usually conveyed visually. An excellent example of this occurs in the 1947 suspense film The Spiral Staircase. The audience is aware that someone in the house is a serial murderer. Early in the film there is a thunderstorm: the pantry door abruptly opens to reveal the hulking figure of the caretaker Mr. Oates (actor Rhys Williams) framed in a flash of lightning as he bursts into the room. This is the first time the audience has seen this character; his distinctive entrance makes him seem sinister and aberrant, and therefore he is the obvious suspect in the murder mystery. But Oates is not the murderer; therefore this scene establishes him as a red herring. In traditional mystery novels, red herrings serve an even more important role. They are a tool that the author uses like a magician uses sleight of hand, to divert your attention from the actual to the illusionary—and have you believe what you're witnessing. Here are six ways red herrings are used in mysteries: 1. Overlooked detail – frequently this detail is a specific element in a description – a tore hem without an explanation of how it ripped, or a red rose in a vase when all those in the garden are yellow. 2. Wrong interpretation of known fact – a character assumes that the torn hem came from the narrow steps on the staircase. The author might have a character named Violet say: "Oh, Lordie, how does that happen? Wouldn't you think you'd notice when you tear your hem? I think you'd have to because you'd trip, wouldn't you? I know I would! Like that time I was walking with Flora… well, never mind that… I bet Mary tore her hem yesterday on those stairs at the Sturley's villa… did you notice how narrow those steps were? And steep, too. That's an accident waiting to happen, if you ask me." What you don't know, because the author is choosing not to tell you yet, is that Mary was running away from Tom's unwanted advances, and she stumbled on a unseen root in the pathway. As to that red rose, well Tom gave it to her when they met in the forest and Mary clutched it the entire way home. When she finally reached safety, she realized she was still holding the rose, and being a kind-hearted girl, she couldn't bear throwing it away, so she stuck it in a vase. 3. Casual mention in conversation Hmmm… do you recall how Violet speculated that Mary tore her hem at the Sturley's villa yesterday? Why did she bring up her walk with Flora? Was it an irrelevant casual mention, or was it foreshadowing of an important clue to come, or was it a red herring? 4. No reason for it to be significant to you unless you have specialized knowledge This comes up all the time in my Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries. Josie, an antiques appraiser, notices details that elude lay people—why wouldn't she? She's an expert in the field. Let's say, for instance, that someone comes into her shop wanting to sell an antique watch fob. It's marked 14K gold. From that one fact Josie will know that it's unlikely the fob is an antique – most antique gold is 18K, not 14K, but the significance of that fact is likely to elude most readers, even if it registers as a bit unusual. A related red-herring is the opposite—trusting an expert who's wrong, a family doctor or a financial advisor, that sort of thing. 5. An absence of something that should be there In addition to barking dogs, consider a scene Stephen King once wrote about a woman coming into her kitchen with bags of groceries. She puts them on the counter, places items in cupboards—and then she notices a knife from her knife holder is missing. I've got to tell you my blood froze at that one... well if she finds the knife by a box U.P.S. had just delivered, she'd realize that her son had grabbed the knife to open the box which contained his spanking new baseball uniform... the missing knife was a red-herring... and perhaps foreshadowing. 6. Bandwagon Fallacy – a form of logical false-thinking The Bandwagon Fallacy is committed whenever one argues for an idea based upon an irrelevant appeal to its popularity. Let's say, for example, that Violet, a jealous person, is not-so-secretly pleased at the glitch in Mary and Tom's relationship. When Tom doesn't attend Mary's family's party—a party he was invited to and RSVP'd for—Violet concludes that Mary has offended him. Violet gossips with her girlfriends, telling them that Mary has always been a little stuck up and now look where it's got her now. Mary, she says, has obviously offended Tom—as evidenced by his being a no-show at the party—and now Mary has got what she deserved... she's lost his affection. Soon all the girls in the neighborhood are telling all the other girls in the neighborhood the same story... it becomes the popular version of events... in the current lexicon, it's an urban myth. However, its popularity is unrelated to its correctness—it's a bandwagon fallacy—it's a red herring. One of the decisions a mystery writer must make is how many red herrings to introduce, and how best to use them. While there's no magic formula, my editor, the brilliant St. Martin Minotaur executive editor, Hope Dellon, tells me that one or two are plenty—and that I should write them in as if they were, in fact, the criminals. Hmmm… now that's something to think about. Especially as I get ready to write the sixth Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery, tentatively titled, Final Bid, due to be published in April 2011. Stay tuned. As always, I welcome your comments.

July 1, 2009	Listen to the Blogcast
The Traditional Mystery

I think the nature of a traditional mystery becomes most clear when contrasted with other sub-genres in general and with what is least like a traditional mystery in particular, a thriller. Before getting into sub-genres, it occurs to me that a sensible first step would be figuring out what a mystery is. I found several dictionary definitions I found interesting: American Heritage: A work of fiction, drama, or film dealing with a puzzling crime. I like that... a puzzling crime. *Online dictionary.com* said: "(1) One that is not fully understood or that baffles or eludes the understanding; an enigma: How he got in is a mystery. And (2) The skills, lore, or practices that are peculiar to a particular activity or group and are regarded as the special province of initiates. Often used in the plural: the mysteries of Freemasonry." *Yourdictionary.com:* "a novel, story, or play involving such an event, esp. a crime and the gradual discovery of who committed it." *About.com* said: "Mystery is a genre of fiction in which a detective, either an amateur or a professional, solves a crime or a series of crimes. Because detective stories rely on logic, supernatural elements rarely come into play." Right... tell that to Charlaine Harris! About.com went on: "The detective may be a private investigator, a policeman, an elderly widow, or a young girl, but he or she generally has nothing material to gain from solving the crime." Tell that to Travis McGee. But they also have an article called “Ten Rules of Writing Mysteries,” and since those of us who write them know there are no rules that can’t be and haven’t been broken, everything they say on the subject is suspect. *E-look.org*: a story about a crime (usually murder) presented as a novel or play or movie. In 1962, Alfred Hitchcock and Francois Truffaut discussed their work over a marathon lasting 50 hours over five days. The two great directors and their French/English interpreter barely paused for meals. One point I found especially intriguing was that, according to Hitchcock, and contrary to popular belief, suspense bears no relationship to surprise. He said that Hitchcock gave this example: Say you have a scene where two characters are talking in a café, and a bomb suddenly goes off under the table—the audience experiences surprise. If, however, the audience sees the terrorist place the bomb, is told that it will go off at one o’clock, and can see a clock in the scene, the mundane conversation between the two café patrons now becomes one of intense suspense, as the audience holds its collective breath waiting for the explosion. This approach—telling the viewer, or the reader—what’s going on, translates into fifteen minutes of suspense as opposed to fifteen seconds of surprise. It was therefore necessary, Hitchcock explained, that the audience be as fully informed as possible. Most of us who write traditional mysteries also want to keep the audience as fully informed as possible, too. It’s called a fair play mystery, where the reader knows everything the detective knows—at the same time as the detective learns it. The difference is in the way the story unfolds. In a traditional mystery, the crime occurs shortly after the story starts, or it has already occurred. In a thriller, stopping the crime is the thrust of the story. If an underlying crime has already occurred, say a kidnapping, it is used to demonstrate the villain’s bad character, or to set-up the potential of a worse crime—will the kidnappers kill the victim? Suspense plays a role in all mysteries, though usually in traditional mysteries, the role isn’t as large as it is in thrillers. In traditional mysteries, the protagonist, be it a professional detective like Hecule Poirot, or an antiques appraiser like my gal Josie Prescott, is trying to figure out what happened. In a thriller, the protagonist, who may be a police officer like Dirty Harry or John McClane in the Die Hard franchise, or an amateur, a man whose child has been kidnapped like Tom Mullen in Ransom or an everyman, a person wrongly accused of a crime like Dr. Richard Kimble in The Fugitive, is trying to stop something from happening. In a traditional mystery, the reader gets to follow along as the detective—professional or amateur—solves the crime. In a thriller, the reader gets vicarious thrills as he participates in the chase. In both cases, chaos resolves into order. A mystery is a novel of revelation, more than action. Something horrible has happened, usually a murder, and the detective’s job is to discover who committed the crime, and why. A significant challenge for authors of traditional mysteries is to keep the villain unidentified for as long as possible without slowing down the pace. You’ll note that inherent this paradox is the risk that you lose the delicious edge-of-your-seat suspense that keeps readers chained to their chairs or awake and reading all night. Here’s the bottomline: Without suspense, there is no urgency. And without urgency, why would any reader want to read on? Which is why most traditional mysteries use impending danger to create suspense. But the author of traditional mysteries sacrifices the most significant source of conflict available because, structurally, the protagonist and the villain cannot have a showdown or confrontation until the final scenes. Plain and simple, a threat from an unknown person is never as intense as the threat from a known and powerful villain. However, what the traditional mystery may lack in shock value and the chilling thrill of the ticking clock, it more than makes up in its tales of human drama, the gripping tales that occur at moments of crisis—not just what happens, but how people react to what happens. The contemporary whodunit has evolved from whodunit alone into whodunit and whydunit. The reader feels compelled to read on because they want to know—What drives a sane person to kill? Or why did that insane person snap? (And how could they possibly have covered their tracks so well if they were insane?) In traditional mysteries, character drives plot at the same time as plot impacts character. Henry James wrote, “What is character but the determination of incident? What is incident but the illustration of character?” The reader must crave knowing how this person will handle that situation. To create that craving, you need a different kind of suspense—tension. Tension is created in a traditional mystery, as in any novel, by characters’ unresolved conflicts, confrontations, or warring goals. Conflict, confrontations, and warring goals are created by placing engaging, realistic, quirky characters, people the reader can identify with, into extraordinary and unfamiliar situations. The situation can be shocking, but it must be plausible. The reader must care about both the people and the situation. Whatever led to the crime and whatever arises as we move step-by-step toward the ultimate resolution provides a Petrie dish full of emotions primed for conflicts, confrontations, or warring goals. Thus, in a traditional mystery, the reader is engaged not by vicarious thrill seeking, but by an intense need to know. A good mystery satisfies our need to understand the human condition and to resolve: confusion into clarity disharmony into the familiar and the comfortable chaos into order What is a traditional mystery? It’s the current day version of the tales told by our forbearer’s clan’s storyteller, the ones he wove to help us escape the frightening, ever-present dangers inherent in our lives when our days were spent fighting off lions and tigers and bears, foraging for food, and trying to keep the campfire going. Stories that caught our imagination, held our attention, and helped us get through the night. As always, I welcome your comments.

May 26, 2009

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Jerry's Chicken: Honoring Josie's Grandfather

In my Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, Josie often uses her mother"s handwritten cookbook. Her mother would add notes and comments, like serving something savory to balance a salty dish. In Antiques to Die For, I wrote:

"Jerry"s Chicken had been created by my grandfather, my mother"s father, Jerry Keas, who was, apparently, an onion guy. He loved growing them and he loved eating them. He also loved cooking with them and he invented this recipe.

"It"s not easy to make, my mother had written all those years ago. Don"t try it unless you have the time."

For his recipe, Josie"s mom added this note: "Josie, dear, this is your grandfather's recipe. He was, as you know, an onion fanatic, and he often experimented with different onions. He favored Vidalias, but I prefer red onions. Also, because of the pungent, nutty flavor of the fontina, I always serve it with something sweet, like carrots steamed, then tossed with a sprinkle of salt, a little butter, a dash of nutmeg, and a pinch of cinnamon--oh, and about a tablespoon of thyme honey."

It is my pleasure to pass on the recipe for Jerry"s chicken. As an aside, there are yummy dishes mentioned in all the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, including the now available, Killer Keepsakes, and all of the recipes are on my website, www.janecleland.net. I hope you enjoy the books, and I hope you enjoy the recipes from Josie's past!

Jerry's Chicken Ingredients:

4 tsp extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 1/2 c. thinly sliced red onion
2 tsp fresh sage, minced and divided
1/8 tsp salt
1/8 tsp pepper
2/3 c. shredded aged fontina cheese (about 2 oz)
4 four-to-five-oz boneless, skinned chicken breast halves, tenders removed
1/2 c. dry white wine
1 c. chicken broth

4 tsp. all-purpose flour

Preparation:

1. Rinse the chicken breasts and pat dry. Cut a horizontal slit along the long, thick edge of each breast half, slicing through almost to the opposite side. Set aside.

2. Heat 2 tsp of the oil in a large, non-stick skillet over med-high heat. Add the onion slices and 1 tsp of the sage, stirring occasionally, until the onion is golden brown, 6 to 7 min. Stir in the salt and pepper. Let cool. Sir in the fontina cheese.

3. Stuff each chicken breast half with 1/4 c. of the onion mixture. Insert two wooden toothpicks at angles to seal the opening.

4. Warm a platter in a low oven.

5. Heat the remaining 2 tsp of oil in the same skillet over med-high heat. Add the chicken breasts and cook until golden, about 5 minutes per side. Transfer to the warmed platter and loosely cover with aluminum foil to keep warm.

6. Add the wine and remaining sage to the pan. Cook over medium-high heat, scraping up any brown bits, for 2 minutes.

7. Whisk the broth and the flour in a small bowl until smooth.

8. Add the broth mixture to the pan and whisk until the sauce thickens, about 1 minute.

9. Return the chicken to the pan, and coat each breast with sauce, turning it several times. Cook, covered, until the chicken is just cooked through, 2 to 4 minutes.

10. Remove the toothpicks, and serve the chicken on the warmed platter. Just before serving, top each breast with additional sauce.

As always, I welcome your comments.

April 23. 2009	Read Jane's Guest Blog
"Plotting in Your Sleep" on The Stiletto Gang
April 14, 2009	Read Jane's Guest Blog
"I Love Librarians" on The Book Bitch Blog
April 8, 2009	Listen to the Blogcast
Half a Story Made Whole Have you ever known that someone, a friend, an acquaintance, or a co-worker, perhaps, has a secret in his or her background? You know there's something hidden, but you don't know what it is. If you're like me, you fill in the blanks, adding details to explain what you wish you knew. I hate half a story. There's a well-respected tradition in the mystery writing world of authors' asking "What if...?" questions as a way of plotting. I do it all the time. That's not what I'm talking about here, though. Instead of "What if...?" questions, I construct a story that answers all the questions that already exist. For instance, Josie Prescott, my antiques appraiser sleuth, hired her assistant, Gretchen, in the first book in the series, Consigned to Death, knowing there was a mystery in Gretchen's past. Here's an excerpt from Consigned to Death: It was a Thursday, the day after I'd closed on the warehouse. When I drove up at eight in the morning, she was waiting at my front door wearing a navy blue suit, white blouse, and heels, clutching a Seacoast Star opened to the classifieds with my ad circled in pink highlighter. Observing her as I walked from my car and noting her outfit, I'd hoped she was a prospective client. She gave me a dazzling smile and said, "Hi, are you Josie Prescott? I'm here for the job. I wanted to be first. Am I first?" I hired her forty-five minutes later, an oddly impulsive act for a systematic, research-oriented sort like me. Especially since she was reticent to the point of mysterious about her background. She volunteered that she moved to Portsmouth from a small town upstate, but when I asked which one, she rolled her eyes and said, "Oh please, I escaped, let's leave it at that." And gave me another blinding smile. Awed at her dictation and typing skills as much as her light-hearted, engaging charm, and her can-do attitude toward customer service, I speculated on whether she was too good to be true. I told her that I would certainly want to invite her back for a second interview while thinking that I needed to check her references. "I'll look forward to seeing you next week," I started to say. She stopped me cold when she stopped smiling. Her eyes became mournful, and she reached across the desk and touched my arm. "Hire me. I'll help your company grow. Really. I will. I'm honest and hardworking. You won't be sorry. Offer me the job now. Please." "Why? What's your hurry?" "I've just moved. I need a job and this is the one I want." I paused, thinking. She seemed perfect. "Why did you move, Gretchen? Is there something I should know?" I asked quietly, watching her for any sign of deception. She shook her head. "No, nothing. It's just that I need a fresh start." "Why here? I'm an antique appraiser. Not the best place for a fresh start." "Why not? Why isn't it a good place for a fresh start? You're starting a new business. It's a perfect place for a fresh start." Warning myself that I'd probably regret it, I offered her the job and she accepted it. Two years later, I knew that hiring her was one of the best decisions I'd ever made. And I still didn't know where she'd lived before she'd arrived on my doorstep. In Killer Keepsakes, you learn the truth about Gretchen's past, and I think you'll agree that some secrets are worth keeping. I look forward to hearing what you think of Killer Keepsakes.
As always, I welcome your comments.

March 3, 2009	Listen to the Blogcast
Killer Antics and the Most Famous Female Pirate I'm writing this on a cruise ship where I'm an "enrichment" speaker, which means I'm half-guest and half-crew. I'll be delivering a total of three presentations out of six that I prepared. The activity manager, a charming young Argentinean named Alejandro, choose topics that related to antiques and art.. The first one was called "Killer Antiques." Alejandro, a non-native speaker, made an error in typing "Antiques" and the daily program listed my presentation as "Killer Antics." Of course it passed through their computer's spellchecker, and no one caught it until the programs had already been printed. Of the group of nice people that came to hear me speak, only two of them expected me to talk about killer antics. Not bad, I think, for a subject so intriguing. Think about what I could discuss under the heading "Killer Antics." It almost makes me want to develop a presentation on the subject. After all, Josie Prescott, my detective, is a pretty sassy gal. She could, for sure, get up some wicked killer antics. We all had a good laugh about it. The ship I'm on is fab—the Celebrity Summit. We're traveling to various ports of call in the southern Caribbean, so the three presentations I prepared relate to the places we're visiting. One of them is called "Pirate Ships: It's All About Speed and Power." In researching the subject, I learned all sorts of interesting facts. For example, did you know that Calico Jack, the pirate, had a pirate mistress on board? Her name was Anne Bonny. Anne Bonny is probably the most famous female pirate of the 18th century. She is commonly referred to as "Toothless Annie," which I must say doesn't give me a very good impression of her appearance. Be that as it may be, she was a ruthless plunderer, raider, and a deadly menace to sea faring vessels and her fellow pirates in the Caribbean Sea. Anne was born in Ireland during the 1690's. Her parents moved to America and became well respected plantation owners. She grew up in South Carolina and was fascinated with stories of pirates that were told at the nearby Charleston Port. At Charleston she met a pirate named James Bonny. She married him and the two of them moved to an island in the Caribbean named Nassau. Basically, this island was run by pirates. Here Anne was surrounded by men she admired and loved to be around—famous pirates. Her husband, James, proved a coward and, in her mind, a traitor, becoming a paid snitch for the governor. Anne distanced herself from him, preferring the company of the island's notorious pirates. She soon became romantically involved with the dashing "Calico Jack" Rackham (nicknamed for his loud patterned pants). When James Bonny objected to the affair, and she continued it despite his complaint, he abducted her and brought her naked before the governor. James charged Anne with the felony of deserting him and Calico Jack with the felony of theft—Anne was considered to be stolen property. Calico Jack suggested putting Anne up for sale to the highest bidder, a legal practice at the time. The court refused, issuing instead a court order forbidding Jack and Anne from seeing each other. Anne ignored the court order and ran away with Calico Jack, joining his ship's crew, apparently disguised as a man, since women crew members were forbidden.. She was fearless and fearsome, fighting alongside the men. According to one witness, none among the crew were "more resolute, or ready to board or undertake anything that was hazardous." Eventually she was discovered, and some of the crew voiced their opinions condemning her presence. Anne dealt with the dissension by killing anyone who argued against her. On a night in October, 1720, Calico Jack's ship, sloop William, was attacked by a privateer commissioned to stop pirates. Witnesses from the privateer ship stated that Anne was one of only a handful of pirates to put up any fight. Evidently she fought like a wildcat using her pistols, a cutlass, and an ax. Infuriated that most of the pirates were cowering, not fighting, she fired a pistol into the hold while screaming that they should come up and act like men. She fought valiantly, but ultimately, she was overpowered. A trial followed and she and Calico Jack, and many other members of the crew were sentenced to hang. When asked if they had anything to say she replied, "Milord, I plead my belly." She was pregnant. The court decided it could not hang a pregnant woman. It is not known what happened to Anne after this, but she may have been paroled because of her father's influence. Regardless of what happened to her, Anne is probably most famous for the words she spoke to Calico Jack when he was granted the permission to see Anne for the last time the night before his execution. She said, "I'm sorry to see you here, Jack, but if you'd fought like a man you wouldn't be about to hang like a dog." Isn't that cold? Josie's not cold. And she's very far removed from piracy. She's ethical and kind. She's warm and honest. In Killer Keepsakes, you'll get to follow along as Josie traces the ownership history of a rare vase—discovering not just its past, but how it figures into murder. Barnes and Noble is offering a terrific discount for pre-orders. If you're planning on buying the book, it would be wonderful if you'd take advantage of it (and tell a friend to do the same)! Of course if you're able to attend one of the stops on my book tour, I'd love for you to buy the book there to support the independent mystery bookstores and libraries that host the bulk of my events. Thank you in advance for your support as I work to introduce people to Josie! (By the way, Publishers Weekly called KILLER KEEPSAKES "absorbing" and "ingenious"! How cool is that?).

January 10, 2009	Listen to the Blogcast
Joe’s Off-Broadway Debut: The Marvelous Wonderettes As you may know, my husband, Joe Stanko, is a professional musician. He plays the bass trombone (and doubles on the tuba) in regional orchestras and opera companies, on Broadway, and in various pick-up orchestras. For example, he frequently plays in symphonies in New Jersey, subs at Broadway shows like Mary Poppins, and backs up super-stars like Aretha Franklin. He also leads a brass quartet called Academy Brass. Joe’s the handsome one on the far left. (They’re all handsome, I know!) If you haven’t heard a brass quartet play Elvis, you haven’t lived. Check out All Shook Up here. Joe plays music in theatres, but until recently, he’d never been on stage. Joe and I like the theatre. We go to shows quite often. A few weeks ago we went to see an Off-Broadway show called The Marvelous Wonderettes. It was, in fact, marvelous and wonderful! It’s a revue with a plot woven together from songs from the late 1950s, similar in style to Mama Mia (one of my favorite shows... trust me, the show is way better than the movie) and Movin’ Out (another great show). In the show, which starts at a high school’s prom, the four actresses (the entire cast), all are moony for Mr. Lee, the music teacher. They bring a man up on stage to play Mr. Lee. Yup, you’ve got it. That was Joe. (You know the song, right? “Mr. Lee, Mr. Lee....” Not familiar with the song? Jane’s rendition won’t help! Listen to the original.) In Act Two, which takes place at their 10th reunion in 1968, one of the girls is now actually dating Mr. Lee. Well, sort of. They go out for pizza on Monday nights. We learn that Mr. Lee’s first name is William when she breaks into song... and again, brings Joe up on stage. The song? “Marry me, Bill,” of course! Joe did a great job. He danced a little, blushed a little, pretend-covered up his wedding band, got down on one knee to propose, and as you see from the photo they took for us as a souvenir, he looked comfortable as all get-out. If you get a chance, go see the show. It’s loads of fun! The experience got me wondering how they pick likely candidates. Certainly part of the issue is logistical: We were in the third row on the aisle. But other men were seated in equally convenient locations. What was it about Joe that made those gals say, he’s the man? He’s cute. He’s about the right age. He looks accessible. Early on, I whispered to him, “They’re up to something. They’re making eyes at you.” They were checking him out from the start. Maybe they were assessing whether he was into the show or not. Was he yawning? Surreptitiously checking email on his BlackBerry? Or was he smiling and tapping his foot, clearly into the show? Have they rehearsed how they would react if the man they chose refused to come up on stage? Or if, once he got there, he froze? These actresses, Farah Alvin, Victoria Matlock, Beth Malone, and Bets Malone, were all sensational, and I’m confident they would handle it with élan, ensuring that the show went smoothly and the Mr. Lee-for-a-night suffered neither embarrassment nor shame. I just know it, because they were clearly those kind of gals! And they were professionals. After his second turn on stage, Joe asked the actress escorting him back to his seat if he could stay on stage, and she said, “No, because then we’d have to pay you.” I’m telling you, those gals took care of business like nobody’s business. If you go to the show, consider your seating carefully. As always, I welcome your comments.
I welcome your comments, too.

November 30, 2008

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Staging the Scene: The Story Behind the New York Times Story

Each Sunday, The New York Times' Real Estate section showcases a city residence. The feature is called "Habitat" and the articles don't merely profile a residence; rather, the stories discuss how the space suits the people who live there.

When my husband, Joe Stanko, and I learned that the New York Times was interested in featuring our apartment, one question came to our minds: Where in God's name would we stash our stuff?

If you've never lived in New York City, you don't know what I'm talking about. Space is always an issue in New York City apartments. When Joe first moved in here, I cleared out a drawer for him. Imagine my dismay when, like Oliver Twist, he asked for more. "More?" I repeated, certain I couldn't possibly have heard him right. "Did I hear you say you wanted ‘More'?" For the record, over the years he has negotiated like a hard-nosed diplomat and now controls roughly 40 percent of available storage space for his own use.

When I visit friends who live in the suburbs or in the country, people with "normal-sized" houses, I often stand in their kitchens and stare at their cupboards, experiencing what I call storage envy. This is a real and chronic condition. Joe has storage-envy, too, but manages his condition better than I do. Don't get me wrong , I love living in Manhattan. Our apartment is beautiful. But there's so little room to store things, it's painful. Joe has said that if we bring in anything else, it's living at the end of the bed. You think I'm joking. I'm not. Recently, Joe and I were at someone's house for the first time. Nice people. Heck, great people. They have a beautiful home in Connecticut. They showed us around, you know a house tour. (As an aside, have you ever thought about house tours? It's a pretty strange tradition. And a relatively new one. People two or three generations ago didn't tour one another's houses. I'm not sure how the new tradition got started. Curiosity out in the open, perhaps.)

In any event, their master bathroom wasn't a bathroom; it was a suite. They called it the "master bathroom suite." It was comprised of a dressing room—complete with make-up table and Hollywood lights—and a valet room (a man's version of a dressing room), a toilet room, and I guess what could be called a bathing room, or a cleaning room, maybe. The bathing room had a spa tub as large as most people's powder rooms and a shower big enough for two with built-in seats and two shower heads. And a vanity with two sinks. Some of you are shaking your heads wondering what cave I've been living in. You know that almost all newly constructed houses have nice master bathroom suites. Fair enough. Welcome to Manhattan.

Manhattan is tiny. If I recall correctly, the island is about 13 miles long and 2 ½ miles wide at its widest point (which by the way, is 14th Street). More than 1.6 million people live here. Space is an issue for almost all of us. While we were in our friend's master bathroom suite, I turned to Joe and whispered, "In New York, this would be called a one-bedroom and rent for about $1,800 a month." I wasn't joking. When I first moved to New York in the mid-1980s, I toured what's called a "junior two." A junior two refers to a one-bedroom unit large enough to be reconfigured to add a second bedroom, usually by adding a wall in the living room to create a separate room.

The alleged 2-bedroom rental that I toured some 20-plus years ago was in the trendy Manhattan neighborhood of Chelsea. It was a newly renovated railroad apartment—a long, skinny unit in a brownstone or tenement that runs from front to back. It had mellow brick walls in the living room, a kitchenette with new, albeit small, appliances, one bathroom, and a view from the main bedroom of the alley. (No one could have called that bedroom a master with a straight face.) The second bedroom was a walk-in closet. Really. Yes, it's illegal to call a room a bedroom if it doesn't have a window. They did it anyway. I didn't rent that unit, but I got a good chuckle out of the experience.

You know that house in Connecticut that I mentioned... the one with the master bathroom suite... there were three windows in the bathroom suite. Three. And three closets. The dressing room, which some people might call a walk-in closet had a closet. The closet had a closet. I stared it for a long time. (Sigh, sigh, sigh.) Never mind. I was just experiencing a momentary flash of storage envy; it's passed.

When I say storage is an issue for Joe and me, I mean it. As an example, our cereal lives under the wing chair. We say things like, it's too bad we can't stock up on cereal while it's on sale, but the wing chair is full.

Which brings me to the day Debby Baldwin, the New York Times reporter called and said she was considering doing an article on our apartment. Joe and I looked at one another, dismay evident in both our expressions. How, we wondered, were we going to make the apartment article-worthy and photo-ready? The apartment is gorgeous... the apartment itself wasn't the issue... it was our stuff. Clearly, we needed to stage the apartment. Luckily I'm an HGTV fan so I know all about staging. De-clutter. Neutralize. De-clutter. Limit the number and kinds of personal items out and about. De-clutter. De-clutter. De-clutter. Check.

We had two weeks. Joe and I spent several days thinking about what to keep on display and what to spirit away into hiding. And then we gave up. Oh, my God. I spent about a year (okay, a day) cleaning out my office. I threw away two huge trash bags full of papers and materials I no longer expected to need. Joe cleaned out his allotted space. If you've never done this, you have no concept how painful the process is. It's awful. Even after we were done, there was too much stuff. That meant there was only one alternative. We had to fit everything else into the closet.

Can you believe this closet? What you can't see is that it goes back three feet or so, and every inch was solidly packed. Note the wicker magazine holder perched at a crazy angle toward the top. When everything was in, Joe and I looked at one another. Then we quickly closed the door.

The writer and photographer came and did their work. And the next day, we took everything out of the closet and placed it back where it belonged. Out. Visible. In our lives. After all, it is our stuff.

And that's the story behind the story.

I welcome your comments, too.
Jane,

I loved your article of behind the scenes. But the idea of touring homes is not new. In Austen's time (yes, I know you don't like her), people toured the great houses even if they didn't know the owners. In Persuasion, Elizabeth Elliot proudly shows off her house in Bath to guests.

Nili

Jane's Reply:

Nili,

Good point! What I'm referring to, it now occurs to me, probably only applies to middle class Americans of a few generations ago. (Or maybe I'm recalling something my mother might have said, and it applied to no one but her!)

Also, I do enjoy Jane Austen's books... my confession is that they're not a passion of mine. As you know, I'm the chair of the Wolfe Pack's literary awards... we're the literary society that celebrates all things Nero Wolfe (the detective series authored by Rex Stout)... the Nero Wolfe books... that's my literary passion!
Jane

October 18, 2008

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Jane's Favorite Building in New York

When I stand on my balcony, I can see the United Nations, the East River, the famous Pepsi sign, and Egypt, Nigeria, and Kuwait's missions to the U.N. But most of the time, that's not where I look. My attention is usually fixed on one of the United Nations Plaza buildings. It's my favorite building in New York.

UN PLaza

Look at the top. Doesn't it appear to be paper thin? Isn't that astonishing? How do architects and builders do that? What kind of mind even conceives such a thing?

I like looking at all sorts of buildings from grand old courthouses where the size and grandeur of the building lends gravitas to the proceedings going on inside to fieldstone cottages where the muted-toned stones are hand-selected and installed and from limestone buildings with gargoyles peering down from under the eaves to contemporary buildings, the kind with more angles than curves.

Some people, when they go on vacation, prefer to visit mountains or lakes or the ocean. I like the ocean—as many of you know, my husband and I are pretty serious snorkelers. But one of my favorite thing to do is visit cities. I like to walk the streets and look at buildings. You can tell a lot about a society by its buildings.

What about you? What kind of architecture do you prefer? This conversation is another variation on an ongoing theme. Some of you will recall that I blogged a year or more ago about perception and preference. Why, I asked, do some people prefer blue? Why do others gravitate toward Queen Anne furniture? I find this question of enduring interest—a mystery of personality and upbringing and an individual's definition of comfort and accomplishment. I write about it in my mysteries.

What's your favorite building? I'd love to hear about it, what it is and what about it attracts you. I welcome your comments.

I welcome your comments, too.

September 5, 2008	Listen to the Blogcast
Comments Hi Jane, I'd love to enter your September contest. I also personify my plants. Many of them even have names like Reginald and Clementine. I even have a hard time thinning plants in my vegetable garden because of the overwhelming guilt of having invited life only to yank it out in its infancy. Usually, I gobble down the thinnings of anything edible and try to convince myself they are that latest restaurant trend known as micro greens. It doesn't really work on the guilt but it does appeal to my sense of Yankee thrift! Thanks, Jessie Jane's Reply: Hi Jessie, Thanks for writing. We'll be posting your comment on the blog! I'm glad I'm not the only one to personify plants! Jane Hi Jane, Love the article on your garden terrace. I feel privileged that I've not only seen it, but walked on it! :D Congrats on the November issue cover of your short story!! Would I be able to pick up this magazine at a Barnes & Noble? Keep writing! Hi, Jane! Love the blog. I was writing a garden blog myself for tomorrow. I'd leave the trees or transplant them into a couple of pots by the rhody for awhile. We have a number of trees on our property that started as saplings in much the same way. I just like to let things grow. Hope to see you soon (I hope)! Wendy Corsi Staub I welcome your comments, too.

July 3, 2008

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Jane's Guest of Honor Interview: Cool Questions

As the guest of honor at this year's Deadly Ink Mystery Conference, I was interviewed by author Cheryl Solimini.Here are Cheryl's way cool questions and my answers.

1. What is your favorite word?
I have two: haptic and purl. Haptic is a scientific term having to do with tactile sensitivity... but a friend and I have adopted it to mean touchable, as in, "Oh, baby, he's haptic." Purl is a lovely word for a lovely sound—it is the sound a bubbling brook makes.

2. What is your least favorite word?
No. Don't tell me no. If it requires work, let's roll up our sleeves and make it happen, but I hate hearing no.

3. What is your favorite word that sounds like a curse word but isn't?
I don't have one... but I do have a word that sounds vulgar and isn't. I lived in Los Angeles for awhile and was shocked to discover a major thoroughfare named Sepulveda Boulevard. Parents, don't let your children play on Sepulveda.

4. What sound or noise do you love?
Two come to mind. A kitty purring... an intimate sound of approval and affection. You can't make a cat purr, and you can only hear it if you're close by. Also, my husband (who as you may know is a professional musician) practicing bass trombone or tuba. I'm in my little office writing and he's in the other side of the apartment practicing... it's a visceral signal that all is well with my world.

5. What sound or noise do you hate?
Heavy metal, rap, Musak, and people talking on their cellphones on trains or buses.

6. What turns you on when you're writing a mystery novel?
Nailing it—writing an unambiguous sentence.

7. What turns you off when you're reading a mystery novel?
Errors in logic, plot points that seem contrived, and/or uninteresting characters.

8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
None comes to mind... I've tried many jobs over many years. I'm very fortunate to have found two careers I like a lot—corporate training and writing.

9. What profession would you not like to attempt?
The worst job I ever had was feeding data cards—does anyone remember "Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate"?—into a reader. Mind-numbingly boring. Excruciating. I lasted an hour. Cocktail waitressing was pretty bad, too.

10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear Rex Stout say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
I loved your last book. I've got some Jack Daniels. Want a drink?

11. If you were an antique, which would you be, and why? (How much would you bid for yourself at auction?)
I'd be an 18th century, beautifully cared-for, rare book—something of substance like a first edition of Dr. Johnson's dictionary. Why? I'd be valued for what was outside and inside. How much? Priceless. A bidding war would explode.

12. And most importantly, which is your favorite dessert?
I don't have much of a sweet tooth, but chocolate chip cookies are always welcome.

And... I welcome your comments!

Hi Jane,

I enjoyed your interview blog, and had to giggle when I read your comment about Sepulveda Blvd. here in LA. I live about a mile from this main street, and now I won't travel it without thinking about your reply.

Happy writing,

Linda Vines

Jane's Response:

Hi Linda,

You are too funny! I have the same reaction – since the thought first came in my head, I've never thought of it in the sameway again!

Warmly, Jane

I welcome your comments, too.

June 16, 2008 See Jane's Guest Blog on Killer Hobbies

where seven mystery writers discuss the hobbies that drove them to murder

May 9, 2008

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What Kind of Horse Are You?

I'm not a clothes horse. I select outfits for comfort, not style. In other words, I'm a comfort horse.

When I was twelve, my father told me that he would gladly pay for any and all beauty treatments. He liked his women well-kempt. My mother was more of a comfort-first sort of gal, so this was his way of suggesting that I try a different approach. From that unspoken—and to be fair, perhaps, unintended—message, I learned an important lesson—comfort horses aren't as valued by men as beauty horses.

Be that as it may, and not to belabor a metaphor, but it didn't take me long to learn that for me at least, it's impossible to change horses midstream. A comfort horse I was, and a comfort horse I am. Sorry, Dad.

One of my nephews tells me he's a restaurant horse. If he has extra cash, he spends it on fine dining. A writer friend of my acquaintance always looks like a million bucks—she's a classic clothes horse. Another friend has been lasered and botoxed and nipped; she's obviously a beauty horse. A guy I know is a water rat—he sails, dives, snorkels, lives on the coast, kayaks for relaxation, you get my drift—obviously, he's a water horse. So... what kind of horse are you?

It's important to know. It says everything about you. It's the public statement about your values and interests and aspirations. If you get extra money, how would you spend it? And how do you feel about that? Are you pleased with the horse you are? Or do you wish you were a different horse?

My dad died long ago, when I was a teenager, but you know what? I think he'd like me just fine, even though I'm not his stated first choice in horses. I think he spoke a big game about admiring well-groomed gals, but in his heart, he liked comfort-horse gals the best. High-maintenance, nah. Relaxed and friendly, hootie mama! That's me! A comfort-horse girl who cooks comfort food and has comfortable chairs and strives to have the people in her life feel welcome and valued, and yes, comfortable.

I have no way of knowing if I'm right, of course... but I certainly hope so. I loved my dad a lot, and I hope that how I am would please him.

I welcome your comments, too.

Ms. Cleland, I wouldn't have taken you for a comfort horse back when you were teaching at MBCC. You used to wear the nicest dresses with funky matching high-heeled pumps (I particularly admired pair that I think were red & white). I used to wonder how you stood up to lecture in them, but they were so cool. Your ensembles seemed to go with your interesting, dynamic teaching personality. So, although you may be a comfort horse at heart, I'm sure it is with great style! Denise M. Floyd

Jane's Reply:

Hi Denise,

What a sweet comment! Thank you so much for the compliment... that was years and years ago, wasn't it? From your signature, I infer you're doing well; I'm glad.

Warmly, Jane

Hi Jane,

I am definitely NOT a clothes horse (jeans and a "T"), water horse (scared of the ocean even tho I live nearby), nor am I a beauty horse (needles and the thought of a scalpel terrify me!). The question of what I buy when I have a little extra dough has got to be old stuff. I'm an old stuff horse. I will get up at the crack of dawn, drive till my last drop of ga$ is gone, and stand in line at an estate sale till my feet go numb for a chance at a new/old treasure. The dustier, the mustier, the older the better. This hobby/job has taken me all over the world and then some, whisked away my savings, had me sleep in the back of a van in the cold, sweat and swelter in the sun, and slog in mud in the rain at the huge outdoor markets. Flee from mice and spiders in long-neglected attics and damp basements, and sleuth out even the smallest of garage/estate/yard sales. Has it been worth it these 24 years? Apparently. I am still at it, perhaps a bit wiser and more discriminating, but still as thrilled at even the tiniest "find" for my eclectic and beloved collections of dolls, toys, holiday items, Indian jewelry and beadwork, and sterling travel charms. I wouldn't change a thing. Because everywhere I look in my little home, there is a treasure with a story behind it. Someday I'll join you and write about my own experiences,,, till then, please, keep writing, Jane!

Warmly,

Linda Vines

April 14--April 20, 2008
Jane was the invited guest blogger on St. Martin's Minotaur's blog: www.momentsincrime.com. Here are her postings.

April 20, 2008

A Moss Garden Grows in Manhattan

I have a moss garden. It's in a window box that lives on my little terrace most of the year and hibernates on a ledge in the dining room during the winter. The garden, a sort of eco-system of a forest includes a huge asparagus fern, some plants with delicate blue flowers, some clover, a miniature palm tree, and lots of moss. There's a good-sized rock and some pieces of bark. But it's the moss that's most special to me.

Several years ago, my husband, Joe, who as you may know is a professional musician with Academy Brass, traveled throughout the country with the Broadway show, Les Miséarable. He was gone most of two years. To be with him, I traveled to wherever he was playing as often as I could, and sometimes in our wanderings, I'd find beautiful moss—by the edge of Puget Sound, for example, under a tree in Balboa Park, near a curb on a street without sidewalks in Des Moines, and by a purling brook not far from Salt Lake City. In each place, I carefully scooped up a bit of moss, wrapped it in moist paper towels, enclosed it in a plastic bag, and transplanted it into my moss garden.

Today, when I was primping it a bit, admiring the thick, lush moss, some of it ripe with little tendrils of growth; some fuzzy, like a peach; and some, mature and lawn-like; I stroked my treasure—the teeny piece from Brewster, New York that I'd tucked into a corner several years ago. Today when I touched it, the soft moistness soothed and tickled my skin.

It's my prize, the tiny green bit I nudged out of a garden at a home called High Meadows. I was privileged to visit High Meadows, Rex Stout's home as part of a Wolfe Pack summer trip, and there, in a hidden circle garden, under the drooping chestnut tree, where, according to his grandchildren, he proposed marriage to his wife and tended his beloved irises for decades, grew a bank of moss.

My little bit of Rex Stout's moss is flourishing in my garden. Not a day goes by without my thinking of one of my heroes—Rex Stout, the creator of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. Isn't that something to think about? Rex Stout's moss grows on in my garden.

Think about the things that you have that endure—and those that fade with time. Of those that endure, those that have a deeper meaning and more significance to you than the other things in your life that are transitory and fleeting—do you cultivate them, as I do?

For me, it's moss. What's it for you?

I welcome your comments, too.

April 19, 2008

The Words of Your Father (and Mother) Live On

The words we choose to express our thoughts matter more than we might realize. Our words linger on in memory and can provide enduring strength to those we love. Our words become part of our legacy. Just as an antique's value increases over time, so too does the value of our words increase.

Josie Prescott, my protagonist, is an antiques appraiser who uses her knowledge of antiques to solve crimes. She got caught up in the big price-fixing scandal that rocked the high-end New York City auction houses a few years ago—she was the whistle blower. Contrary to her naive expectations, she wasn't lauded; on the contrary—she was shunned, and within weeks, she was out of a job. To make bad worse, her father died, then within weeks, her boyfriend dumped her because, he said, she wasn't "snapping out of it" fast enough to suit him.

Luckily, Josie was able to recall her father's words: "When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. If you can't hang on, move on." Josie did just that—she moved to New Hampshire to start her own business. Josie's dad's words guided her decision to leave a life she loved, but that was no longer available to her, and start over.

She was confident in her decision because her dad had alerted her to a smart strategy: "You can't control how you feel, but you can control how you act. Never make decisions based on fear, only hope."

What a gift Josie's dad gave her. No matter how tough things get, no matter what challenges Josie will face, no matter how complex the decisions she'll need to make in the future—she'll always have the memory of his words. You can do that, too.

I called into a book club dicussion recently. A woman commented on how much she enjoyed Josie's dad's sayings. She liked them for them—for their content—but she liked them for another reason, too. They helped her realize that the way she says things to her daughter matters. She has the opportunity to convey her values, to guide her daughter's actions—to create a living legacy—one that will endure.

I love that.

I've listed all of Josie's dad's sayings from my book on my website. I invite you to take a spin through his words to see which of his comments speak to you.

And I'd welcome your comments about the tangible and intangible legacies in your life.

April 18, 2008

Libraries and Librarians

I have a lot of librarians in my family. Smart people who love books and readers.

I was raised to believe that librarians knew, essentially, everything. And what they didn't know, they could find out. Think about that... can you imagine the ability to discover what you want to know—whatever you want to know? What a gift.

Here are two wonderful librarian stories.

When I was in sixth grade, I had to write a poem about Paul Revere. In order for my rhyme to work, I needed to confirm that his horse was a mare. (I was, from the start, very truthful. It would have been unacceptable to write anything that I hadn't confirmed as fact.) I believe the line I wrote was something like "...and he rode the horse there, his trusty mare." All right, all right, I didn't say it was a good poem. The point of course, is that a librarian helped me document that the horse was a female.

Later, as a teenager, when I was lonely one day, I did what any normal girl would do—I went to the library and hung out with the librarians. Did you know about the Great Molasses Flood of 1919? Twenty-one people died when a tank exploded in Boston and a twenty-foot wall of molasses streamed through the city streets at better than thirty miles an hour. Can you imagine? I learned about that flood that day from a librarian.

I have enjoyed grand solace in libraries. In Newton, Massachusetts, the old library had frosted glass floors in the top stacks. I spent a lot of time among musty volumes, watching the shadows of other patrons as they walked below me.

In New York City, when they renovated the main branch on Fifth Avenue, the scholarly lions in front were adorned with yellow hard hats. I love that.

As a novelist, I've spoken at libraries in Portland, Maine, Los Angeles, and Bowling Green, Ohio. (Where, by the way, I learned that librarians tell Dewey decimal jokes—isn't that a hoot? Thanks to my Ohio library pals for that tidbit!)

And I have several great events with librarians already on this year's schedule: In June, I'll be keynoting at the New Jersey Association of Library Assistants annual conference this October I'll be speaking at the New England Library Association annual conference.

Copies of the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries are in a private library in Belfast, one of my favorite places on earth.

And I've learned that the State Library of New Hampshire selected one of the books as its book of the week. Imagine that—it's one of only fifty-two books that the New Hampshire State Library selected for the year. I'm amazed and thrilled all at once. It's so very special to me to be honored by people I hold in such high acclaim—librarians.

As always, I welcome your comments.

April 17, 2008

Lessons I Learned in a Trash Can

The first time I spoke in public professionally, I fell upside down in trash can. There were seventy-six people in the room. This is true.

I was walking backwards up the center aisle in a hotel's meeting room holding an example of excellent graphic design high above my head when I ran into the oversized garbage can that one of the hotel workers had forgotten to remove after the noontime refresh. I was wearing a skirt and high heels and I hit the trash can at just the right place to tiddlewink myself into the can head first.

My hair. I have baby fine hair that's hard to style and all I could think of was how awful and unprofessional I'd look once I got out of the trash can. My second thought was for my suit. It was a soft gray wool suit, the first I'd ever bought and the only one I owned. I had another seminar scheduled in Dayton the next day. What would I do, I wondered, if I couldn't salvage my suit? My third thought was for my carefully mounted example which had frisbeed somewhere to my left as I'd flipped upside down. It was a really, really great example of an important principle relating to eye path in design and now, as far as I knew, it was gone. How could I make the points I needed to make without it? How could I possibly replace it by the time I got to Dayton?

Time seemed to stand still. Truly, I have no idea if this nightmare lasted seconds or minutes or even longer. At first, I thought I could handle the situation with aplomb.

Then, as panic set in, I stopped thinking. I suddenly realized the true horror of my situation. I was upside down in a trash can with no hope of getting out.

People weren't laughing, but I didn't take this to be good news. I figured they were stunned, and thus silent; mortified, and therefore ignoring the situation; or so embarrassed on my behalf there was no comment worth making. I decided to stay in the trash can until every single one of those seventy-six participants left the room. I figured that eventually someone from the hotel would arrive and haul me out and I could skulk away, never to return.

Two men seated nearby approached the can, peered down, and with a quiet "you take the thigh, I'll take the hip," hoisted me out and set me upright. They stepped back. I smiled and thanked them politely. Then I thought of my hair and my suit. The trash can was filled with dry goods: discarded newspapers, crumpled napkins, and unwanted advertising flyers, that sort of thing. This was good news. My naturally buoyant optimism leapt forth as I realized that I wouldn't have to worry about clumps of cherry Danish matting my hair or staining my skirt. It was my lucky day—I'd fallen into the dry goods trash can. Can you imagine how awful it would be to do a header into the discarded coffee bin?

During those first few seconds of recovery, I had the presence of mind to thank my rescuers, smile broadly as if everyone knew this was nothing more than a really clever goof on Jane and they should therefore relax and share the joke, and accept the offering of my beloved, nicely mounted example of excellent design from the woman six rows back who assured me that the bruise she'd received when it struck her shoulder would soon fade from memory. I went on with enormous (if I do say so myself) savoir faire. The seminar was a success.

Which goes to show you that sometimes things that start out bad can end up good. My protagonist, Josie Prescott, for example, got chased ut of her high-powered New York City job because she was the whistle blower in a price-fixing scandal, and she ends up owning her own company in beautiful, business-friendly New Hampshire.

The trick is not to panic and to show grace under pressure. Remember that the next time you fall into a trash can.

I love speaking to readers and writers—and I'm fearless. Bring on the trash can! If you're hosting an event, I'd love to deliver a keynote address. I have speeches on Killer Antiques, Finding Stolen Art: A Detective Takes on the Nazis, and Behind the Writer's Veil. Please contact me directly.

So, tell me, have you have fallen into a trash can lately? I welcome your comments.

April 16, 2008

A Stupid Detective and a Nightmare

Tonight, I awaken in a dark room, with my husband sleeping peacefully beside me and my little cat wrapped around my head on my pillow. In the shallow area between sleep and wakening, I realize I'm struggling to loosen the grip of a nightmare.

I take a deep breath and peer into the shadows. Nothing seems out of whack, but my anxiety mounts nonetheless.

I leave the room and walk through the apartment seeking signs of normalcy. The light on the microwave shines like a familiar beacon. From the dining room, I can see the flagpoles in front of the United Nations. The red neon Pepsi sign sits atop a building in Long Island City, on the far side of the East River. I watch its reflection shimmer on the undulating water. Another cat is comfortably tucked into the sink, his regular sleeping place.

Then I sit on the couch in the living room for a while. I remember some lines from Shakespeare:

O, I have passed a miserable night,

So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams.

Check.

After awhile, my pulse quiets and the ghoulish images become less sharp. And then it comes to me, the origin of the nightmare I endured.

I read a book last night where a plucky female heads up some stairs that anyone with the brains of a grasshopper would know was a stupid thing to do. Obviously, it was devil-made trap. As I was reading, I silently screamed, "Don't go up the stairs! Don't go up the stairs!" to no avail. The woman, an amateur sleuth, went up the stairs.

Even though the attack on her was predictable and inevitable, it scared me to death, and my fear didn't recede—it festered, ultimately leading to my nightmare and subsequent disquiet, and providing me with yet another reason not to allow any character to do stupid things unless the character really is stupid.

Josie Prescott, my protagonist, is smart. She may be an amateur sleuth, and a female, but she never does dumb things like dash into dangerous situations. On the contrary, if Josie thinks there's a bad guy around, she calls the police. She runs away from trouble. She hides. She does what any of us smart gals would do when faced with peril. And I think that makes for a more interesting read, don't you?

In Antiques to Die For Josie helps a 12-year old orphan find a missing treasure. I invite you to watch the book trailer. Can you imagine what it would be like to be a 12-year old orphan whose sister is murdered? Can you imagine what it would be like if your sister told you that you owned a treasure—a priceless antique—but you don't know what it is or where it is? Using her knowledge of antiques, Josie finds the valuable treasure—and solves the crime. And in doing so, she gives a young girl hope. And not once does Josie do anything stupid.

Please visit my website www.janecleland.net. You'll find an excerpt of the book (text and as a downloadable podcast), along with oodles of fun, give-away drawings and challenges (including the antiques appraisal challenge called What's It Worth? You Be the Judge), all for free!

Meanwhile, I'm still awake. The dappled light trickling into the living room signals dawn, and finally I'm ready to sleep again, this time, with luck, the sleep that Keats described as, "Full of sweet dreams...."

I hope you slept well last night... and I'd welcome your comments.

April 15, 2008

The Origin of Ideas

One of the questions I'm most frequently asked is where the ideas for the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries come from. Because so many people have asked, I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about the question, and still, I don't have a definitive answer.

Sometimes I hear or see something, or read something, and it sticks, and then later, when I need something to move the plot along, out that long-forgotten fact comes—usually, I might say, bearing little resemblance to the original.

For example, twenty years ago, when I was in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I visited a woman's house. It was a business call—I owned a rare bookstore and she wanted to sell her books. I was there to look at them and make an offer. She was older, born, at a guess, in about 1910, so at the time, I figured she was about 75. Her house was distinctly middle class, but her decorations were anything but.

Every inch of wall space was covered with oil paintings. I spotted a Van Dyke, two Renoirs, and a Matisse. They weren't arranged artfully; they were wedged in without any thought of relating one piece of art to another or to the space itself.

At first, I assumed they were reproductions, but they weren't.

"It's beautiful," I said to the woman, pointing to a Monet.

"Yeah," she remarked casually. "My brother brought them home from the War."

I was young then and naïve and gullible, and I grew up in a sheltered environment, one in which my parents tried to shield me from evil intentions and acts, so I assumed that she meant that her brother had purchased the art in Europe.

More than twenty years later, I read an article about how Holocaust survivors and their heirs were suing governments, institutions, and individuals for the return of the art the Nazis had methodically ripped off the walls of Jewish homes. For me, it was an epiphany—it was as if someone had slapped me awake. The art on that woman's walls weren't the carefully chosen objects of a devoted art collector; they were the bounty of a thief.

And that's the origin of the plot of Consigned to Death, the first Josie Prescott antiques mystery.

I invite you to read the excerpt (or listen to the audio podcast) of Antiques to Die For. The idea for this book came from Josie's experience growing up—her mother died when she was 13, so she empathizes with the 12-year old orphan, Paige, who is the central character in the book. In using her knowledge of antiques, Josie is able to find a missing treasure, solve the murder—and give a young girl hope.

So here's the bottom line—where do ideas come from? Life, mostly.

I hope you slept well last night... and I'd welcome your comments.

April 14, 2008

An Antique Is Worth... What?

My protagonist, Josie Prescott, is an antiques appraiser. It's her job to set prices rationally, which means prices that can be understood by potential buyers and that make sense in the context of the marketplace. Think it's easy? Give it a try yourself! What's It Worth? You Be the Judge is a fun promotion on my website—www.janecleland.net —that challenges you to pit your antiques appraisal skills against those of the professionals at the world-renowned antiques auction house, Leslie Hindman Auctioneers.

Given that the world of antiques is one of the last bastions of pure capitalism—after all, an antique is only worth what someone else will pay for it—some dealers price the customer, not the object. Not Josie. Josie is as honest as the day is long. She never cuts corners in her appraisals. If she needs to bring in an expert, she does so; if she needs to conduct a chemical analysis or another specialized test, she does that, too; and if an appraisal takes longer than a client wants, she'll explain why, but she won't hurry a process that takes time.

Among the factors that Josie considers are:

§ Rarity

Rarity refers to how many units were produced. Small writing desks are common today; they weren't in the eighteenth century. First designed, it was thought, by Captain Josiah Davenport in 1790 for his use on a trans-Atlantic journey, the original Davenport desk was produced by a maker named Gillows. By the mid-nineteenth century, the term "Davenport" was used to refer to any small desk with multiple cubbyholes; it was a popular style. But a Davenport built by Gillows in the first decade after the captain designed it, holy cow—that's rare!

§ Scarcity

Some objects are fragile—china, pottery, porcelain decorative items, and so on. How many survive the generations? The fewer that are extant, the higher the value.

§ Age

Dating objects is tricky. Consider a table with a drawer, for example. While some fine furniture bears stamps or marks indicating its heritage; most does not. An expert would compare the object to what was common to certain periods. Consider the table's height, for example—in previous centuries, people were shorter, so tables were lower. Other factors used in dating the table might include the type of wood and the style of drawer pull.

§ Condition

If the object has been repaired, modified to suit modern tastes, or otherwise changed, the value is lowered. The closer the object is to its original condition, including normal wear and tear, the higher the value.

§ Trends

In the 1980s, cookie jars were an enormously popular collectible. No more—the fashion has passed. It may come back, of course, but right now they don't sell at a premium, whereas 20-25 years ago, they did. Go figure!

§ Quality

Certain makers are known for their superb craftsmanship—Paul Storr, for instance, is known as one of England's foremost silversmiths working in the nineteenth century. He often created simple shapes that were embellished with various decorative elements, such as a soup tureen featuring chased fluting, gadrooned borders, and lion's faces and paws. Storr's ability to create embellishments of such fine detail consistently is unparalleled; quality such as this commands a higher price.

§ Provenance

Provenance refers to an unbroken trail of ownership. In addition, an appraiser needs to consider whether the object has clear title. As Jennine pointed out in her comment: "'Provenance' is different than 'title.' While something can have the perfect provenance (or chain of custody), that does not necessarily preclude that it has a clear chain of title. Something can be held in one family for many decades and have the perfect 'provenance' but if the work of art is not properly probated through an estate, then it does not have clear title."

In addition to those factors, an antiques appraiser frequently needs specialized knowledge—he or she has to know what to look for. I find the appraisal process fascinating—and I enjoy writing about how Josie uses her knowledge of antiques to solve crimes.

On my website, www.janecleland.net, you'll find copies of all my newsletters. Each issue of my newsletter discusses an intriguing aspect of the antiques appraisal process.

March 26, 2008	Top	Listen to the Blogcast
Gravitas for Cozy Gals At the recent mystery conference, Left Coast Crime, I moderated a panel entitled, "What's My Niche? Cozies With a Theme." As the author of the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, that topic is right up my alley. My panel was intended to include four authors of themed-cozy mysteries, but one fell ill, and one had a day job, business emergency, so I was left with only two authors: Rosemary Harris and Cricket McRae. Don't get me wrong—these two are fabulous—they're terrific writers, engaging speakers, and all around nice gals... but two participants does not a panel make. Enter Edgar nominee, Reed Farrel Coleman, who writes gritty New York noir sorts of mysteries. I told him about the situation and he jumped in, offering to be a panelist. I eagerly accepted. I know Reed to have keen insight into the overall world of mysteries—he was the former executive vice president (EVP)—read chief operating officer—of the Mystery Writers of America, and a couple of years ago, before be became EVP and before I became the president of Mystery Writers of America/New York Chapter (MWA/NY), I'd worked with him for several months—we were both on the MWA/NY board of directors. From my perspective, I pounced on the opportunity because I knew Reed would do a great job, and I thought that he would lend us cozy gals gravitas. More on that in a moment. I hadn't known that Reed has another qualification: he teaches a short summer course at Hofstra University on mystery writing. As he put it, he needs to know how to guide his students in all sub-genres, including cozies. A podcast of the panel is available on my website, ready for you to download. (As an aside, I audio record all of these blogs, and they're available as podcasts, too. So are all of the other panels I participated in and on at LCC. Various interviews are posted online, too.) Back to Reed adding gravitas: Cozies get little to no respect in the mystery community. Many of us who write in this sub-genre prefer the descriptor traditional—to some people the term "cozy" connotes poorly plotted books in which a cat solves the crime. That's not true of course, or at least it's not always true, but it's a stigma that has stuck. Cozies are, in fact, among the fastest growing sub-genres in the mystery world. Readers like them. They like series where they get to know the town and its characters, where order is made out of chaos, and where good trumps evil every time. My books, the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, do just that—but they're also serious and literary. Kirkus Reviews, one of the most prestigious reviewing entities, has a reputation for not liking most books. So far, I'm thrilled to report that they've liked mine. They've called the series "erudite." As you might imagine, I was over the moon when I read that! I ran around the house calling, "I got the ‘E' word! I got the ‘E' word!" They also wrote: "Antiques Roadshow fans and mystery lovers will delight!" I love Kirkus Reviews. Sometimes, looking at my book covers, you've got to wonder, though. We're morphed from serious (the Consigned to Death hardcover) to playful (the about-to-be-released Antiques to Die For). My style of writing hasn't changed—the stories are still fair-play traditional mysteries with a literary ethos—but more books sell with lighter-hearted covers. Fine by me. But because the books look un-serious, and because I'm a niche writer of a themed cozy series—I was delighted that Reed joined us. His literary muscle; multiple awards and award nominations; his stellar reputation in the field; and the sheer beauty of his prose added gravitas to us cozy gals. Thanks, Reed.
February 21, 2008	Top	Listen to the Blogcast
Finding My Way: Thoughts on Plotting In Antiques to Die For, the third Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery, I wrote without an outline. Boy, was that a mistake. Twenty-twenty hindsight and all that. Writing without an outline worked out pretty well in the first two books in the series, but man, it sure didnt with this one. Not that I knew it at the time, but what I think happened is that I succumbed to the allure of the moment. I fell in love with minor subplots, unnecessary characters, and intriguing, but irrelevant descriptions. I lost my rhythm. Luckily, my brilliant St. Martins Minotaur editor, executive editor, Hope Dellon, helped me understand where and how Id gone astray. Her specific observations enabled me to get back on track. But theres a cautionary tale in all this: revising it was a nightmare. Id gone off on so many tangents and got myself so completely confused that I, essentially, had to start all over. Id wasted time creating engaging, but distracting and irrelevant, characters; it was a mess. Dont get me wrong—Im completely thrilled with the final product—and Im delighted to report that Antiques to Die For is getting great reviews. Publishers Weekly, for instance, wrote that Antiques to Die For was "a cleverly crafted cozy." Isnt that nice? Very gratifying. Kirkus Reviews, which many authors report frequently publishes negative reviews, has consistently been good to me. They said that Antiques to Die For features "a fine array of suspects." Here's the macro lesson: by listening to my editor, I was able to find my way back to the story. It's always about the story. I wanted to write about a 12-year old girl who was all alone. I wanted Josie to be able to help her. Instead, I was writing about a porcelain expert in Asia. Let me explain. My problems fell into three broad categories: Tangents, sub-plots, and irrelevant characters. Tangents. I got caught up in my own writing. I don't mean to sound immodest, but it's true. There I am, writing along, when all of a sudden, I realize I've gone into a long, fascinating (to me) description detailing the background of a porcelain expert. For example, this expert had a love affair with an international student when he was at college, which led him to follow her back to her country after graduation. Okay, I'll stop there. But in my manuscript, I didn't stop at all. I went on and on for pages. All for what should have been a one paragraph cameo appearance. Sub-plots. My problem with sub-plots is related to my problem with tangents. For instance, I thought the porcelain expert's experience in Asia could become a nifty sub-plot about fake pottery. While I always include sub-plots about antiques and collectibles, this one, while interesting, took me in the wrong direction. My sub-plots must meet these standards: they're antiques-oriented, not character-oriented; they're local to New Hampshire either because they occur in New Hampshire or they feature a New Hampshire person or object; and they showcase Josie as an expert. Whew, was I on a misguided mission by heading off to Asia. That might be a great story—but it's not appropriate in this story. Irrelevant characters. It's so, so hard for me to resist painting mini-portraits of every character I mention in the book, from the mailman to the Asian girlfriend that the porcelain expert followed to her home. I love people and I love discovering their quirks and peccadilloes. But it's an indulgence, and it's not good writing. Having to focus on minor characters distracts readers from the main event. By following Hope's guidance, I succeeded in finding my way back. And by finding my way back, I was able to tell the story I wanted to tell. I hope you enjoy Antiques to Die For. Here's what the book is about: After setting up shop as an antiques appraiser, Josie Prescott's life has not gone according to plan: business is booming and she has good friends and a promising romance—but dead bodies keep crossing her path. And now, in Antiques to Die For , a friend is killed just hours after confiding a secret to Josie, leaving a bereaved sister who reminds Josie of herself when her mother died. It turns out that the victim had other secrets, too: a mysterious treasure she told her sister she was leaving behind—and a secret admirer who now seems to be turning his creepy attention to Josie. Can you imagine what it would be like to be a 12-year old orphan whose sister is murdered? Can you imagine what it would be like if your sister told you that you owned a treasure—a priceless antique—but you don't know what it is or where it is? Set on the beautiful and rugged New Hampshire coastline, Antiques to Die For is filled with antiques lore and complex plot twists. In the end, using her knowledge of antiques, Josie finds the valuable treasure—and solves the crime. And in doing so, she gives a young girl hope. I hope you'll give it a whirl. A text and downloadable podcast of Antiques to Die For, and a book trailer, are available on my website. For Josie #4 (due out April 2009, tentatively titled Killer Keepsakes), I wrote a detailed synopsis. It ran almost 40 pages. Forty pages! Can you imagine? It was the first time I'd ever attempted to create an outline of this complexity. Now, as I write this blog entry, I'm within spitting distance of the end, and I can report with confidence that I'm very glad I wrote that synopsis. From now on, I'm an outline girl!

January 21, 2008

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The Anatomy of Persuasion

I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about the nature of persuasive arguments. Why is one person good at it, and not another?

Certainly, one needs well-framed and well-developed content and a delivery style people find pleasant to listen to or read—after all, people aren't stupid and they won't pay attention unless they want to. But that's all theory... in order to become more persuasive in person or in print, I needed to understand more about the structure of persuasion. I developed the Matrix of Persuasion to help me persuade others to my points of view.

You'll notice that across the top I'm contrasting two variables: are people "on your side"? Or not? On the left, I'm considering whether people have the resources they need to do as I ask. Are they constrained? Or not?

As an aside, I'll mention that while I'm presenting the matrix to you as black and white—people either are constrained or they aren't—it's not that simple. There's degrees. Someone might have the money, but not the time, for instance. Likewise on the variables of whether they're on your side or not—they may know you only a little bit. Think of the matrix as a bit amorphous—more gray than black and white.

Matrix of Persuasion

By identifying which of the four quadrants your persuasive task fits into, you'll be better able to identify your readers' or listeners' needs, and thus write or speak more effectively.

As you review the matrix, note that you're first asked to determine if your target readers are "On your side" or "Not on your side." Think about the people you're trying to reach. Do they know you? Do they like you? Are they predisposed in your favor? Or not?

Next, consider whether they're capable of doing as you ask, or are they constrained? Do they have the requisite time, authority, interest, motivation, money, or whatever resources are needed to do what you're hoping they will do? Or are there constraints that you'll need to help them overcome?

The implications are expressed as bullet points within each quadrant. Doesn't it make sense that if you're trying to persuade someone to do something they're capable of doing, it's an easier persuasion task than trying to persuade someone to do something when they don't know who you are? In that case, first you have to educate them as to why you're credible.

The Matrix of Persuasion is a "big-picture" tool. It will help you get your thoughts in order. It allows you to take what you know and consider how best to use this information to influence outcomes by analyzing the anatomy of persuasion.

December 9, 2007

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Write to Touch Your Readers' Hearts and Minds

Kate White, editor-in-chief of Cosmopolitan magazine and the best-selling author of the Bailey Weggins mystery series, said she frequently reminds herself to write big and bold—to find the best way of expressing exactly what it is she wants to say to knock her readers' socks off.

"I have a tendency to hold back with my writing," she wrote, "be a little tentative about going big and bold." She added that she doubted she was the only one.

I think that's true and I think it relates to trying to please all the people all the time. Can't be done, of course, but that doesn't stop many of us from trying.

The idea of writing big and bold appeals to me in every way. I like the words themselves—big and bold—and I like the image those words conjure up for me. If I write big and bold, it's possible that my words will impact people, will make them think, encourage them to do their best, or inspire them to take courageous action.

But it's far easier said than done because what speaks to one reader's heart and mind doesn't necessarily touch another at all. You know that old adage, One man's meat is another man's poison. Certainly that's true in mysteries. To paraphrase, One reader's "big and bold" isn't another reader's "big and bold." The trick, I think, is knowing what's big and bold to your target readers.

Julia Spencer-Fleming, who won the 2007 Nero Award, told me that in her new novel, I Shall Not Want (coming in May 2008 from St. Martin's Minotaur), she has an ungrammatical line that the copy editor tried to "clean up." The line is: "In the church."

Think about that! When readers of her Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne mysteries read one of the series, they know what they're getting. Julia describes them as "novels of faith and murder for readers of literary suspense." Big and bold in this context is: "In the church."

I'm currently writing the fourth entry in my traditional mystery series featuring antiques appraiser, Josie Prescott. As I'm writing, I ask myself what's big and what's bold to my readers. I know that big and bold is evocative and meaningful. And I know that big and bold statements relate to the themes that reoccur in the books, and that seem to resonate with my readers.

Those themes include Josie's emotional strength; her romantic and tender relationship with Ty Alverez; her Portsmouth-based company's growth; the ever-presence of the ocean tides and the enduring beauty of Rocky Point's dunes and sandy beach; Josie's efforts to establish a community and fit in; and antiques lore.

Here are some big and bold statements that will occur in Josie #4, Killer Keepsakes:

Prescott's: Antiques and Auctions was featured as the top small antiques auction house, and I was proud as punch.
"Cope first, fall apart later. Your friend needs you, Josie," my father told me. "Cope first, fall apart later."
I'd felt sucker-punched, as if I'd fallen into a black hole I couldn't climb out of, a dark downward spiral filled with jarring misery.
After I got settled, I pressed my forehead against the bay window and cupped my hands over my eyes, trying to see the lighthouse on the far bank. I knew it was there, but in the darkness and rain, I couldn't make it out. Its light shone through, however, a wide sweep of gold arcing rhythmically side-to-side, over and over again, alerting ships that they were approaching land. It was hypnotic.

What about it? Do any of those words speak to you? Do they touch your heart or mind? I hope so, and of course, as always, I welcome your comments.

November 19, 2007

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A Cynic's Views of Thanksgiving Volunteers

Here's an example of why I sometimes have trouble admiring people who volunteer on Thanksgiving and Christmas at organizations like soup kitchens. I overheard a woman explain her intentions by saying, "My son is going to his girlfriend's family, so we might as well." In other words, she and her husband are volunteering because they have nothing better to do.

Most soup kitchens don't need volunteers on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Lots of people volunteer on those days. Since the commitment is minimal, it's actually not that much effort, and it sounds so good when you mention it at holiday cocktail parties.

Soup kitchens—and many other kinds of organizations that function year-round and depend on volunteers—like suicide prevention hotlines, homeless shelters, hospital gift shop clerks, and so on—need volunteers every day except Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some are desperate for qualified helpers. You want to impress me at a cocktail party, tell me about that kind of volunteer effort.

I worked on a 24-hour suicide prevention/crisis intervention hotline for more than seven years, and I wish I could still do it, but I can't. I can't do it because I work two full-time jobs and volunteer in two additional roles. My jobs include my "day job" as an instructional designer/corporate trainer and my "other job" as a novelist. My volunteer commitments include serving as the president of Mystery Writers of America/New York Chapter and the chair of the Wolfe Pack's literary awards. (We're the folks that give out the Nero and the new Black Orchid Novella award.) I barely have time to sleep.

I confess to daydreaming about the day that my career as a novelist takes off so that I can cut back on day job work (which, by the way, I'm fortunate enough to love). One of the first things I'll do is volunteer at the suicide prevention hotline, or a similar organization, again.

The hotline I volunteered for was humanistic, non-religious, non-therapeutic, and non-intervention-based. I loved my work there. We volunteers fielded more than 45,000 calls a year from our fellow citizens. To qualify for work on the hotline, I had to complete a 13-week certificate training program. Most of the training focused on communications. To stay "Active," I had to fulfill a once/week commitment of four to five hours, plus a monthly overnight. A commitment like that is different from serving soup once or twice a year.

America has a very high rate of volunteerism, and I honor everyone who donates time. That said, and perhaps you find me cynical, but I admire people who volunteer all year round more than those who only volunteer when it's convenient and easy.

As Dr. M. Scott Peck once wrote, "Love equals time spent."

October 8, 2007 — Read Jane's blog as guest on The Lipstick Chronicles (scroll down the page to October 8)
October 28, 2007	Top	Listen to the Blogcast
Managing Time Wisely: It's All in Your Head For many years, I was the official "cookie baker" for my family's holiday get-togethers. Chocolate chip cookies were my specialty, but I dabbled in sugar, chocolate, apple, creamy fillings, and other gourmet styles, too. As the years passed, and I became busier at work, I grew less entranced with the prospect of baking dozens of cookies under enormous time constraints. In fact, to me, baking cookies for the holidays became a duty, not a pleasure. Then came the year when I was up past midnight completing the task. I was irritated and snappy. The next day, I grumbled to my husband that this had to stop. "I'm too busy to bake all these cookies!" I complained. And, cleverly, I thought, I asked him to call my mother and tell her that I was no longer going to bake cookies. He declined. The next year, as cookie-baking time approached, I girded myself, picked up the phone and said, "Ma, I've made a decision. I'm just too busy. This year, I'm not going to bake cookies. I'm going to buy them instead." I'd expected a long, sad silence, followed by, "All right, dear," or some similar, kindly worded phrase that left me feeling inadequate and guilty. Instead, do you know what my mother said? "Sounds smart!" And in that one flash of a moment, I learned an important lesson. I learned that what I'd perceived as an obligation had never, in fact, existed at all. My family thought I liked baking cookies. And I did! I just didn't like having to bake them. I'd volunteered once, then a second time, then a third, until finally it became an expected part of family get-togethers. I could have stopped any time, but I didn't think I could The sense that it was a non-negotiable duty was all in my own head. I recall that story a lot when I'm struggling with time management issues. I really, really want to spend my time doing things I value—not doing things other people value—or doing things because I think other people value them—or doing things that have become part of a tradition simply because they're been done in the past. That's pretty unconventional thinking, I know. Most people value traditions for their own sake. I don't. I value traditions for the deeper meaning they convey to me at that moment in time. And those deeper meanings shift as my circumstances and needs change. For instance, I used to decorate like a wild woman for every holiday. I don't anymore. For Halloween, as an example, I'd suspend paper skeletons from the ceiling in front of windows, adding backlighting so they'd glow eerily as they fluttered, and I'd hung a metal wreath of black cats with raised backs on the front door. To say nothing of the spiders and cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns! Now I put a few mini-pumpkins on the fireplace mantle and call it a day. Why the change? I liked my big-time decorations—a lot. It was fun to do and fun to live with. I don't do it anymore because I don't need the joy the decorations provided to fill a void and I'd rather spend my time doing other things. During the period when I'd decorated every nook and cranny of my apartment, I was enduring a tough time in my life—my mother had died, my brother had died, my beloved cat had died, and I'd gotten divorced after a 20-year marriage—all within a year or so. Decorating provided joy during a joyless time. Things are different now. I'm happily remarried and doing work I adore. For the moment, all is well in my world. Time—we all have only so much of it. If you're like me, you strive to spend it wisely, by your own definition of "wise." But if you bake cookies for the holidays, may I please have one?

September 23, 2007

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Living by the United Nations

I live on the block that ends at the United Nations. The General Assembly is about to sit for its annual meeting. Many countries' leaders are in town. Security is high.

Security has always been high, but since 9/11, it's been astonishing. Last year, for the first time ever, I was stopped from entering my own block. The president of Pakistan was stepping out from his hotel into a limo as I stood watching, a block away. I wonder if anything similar will occur this year.

During this two-week period, routine security precautions include a heightened police presence, ID checks in order to step onto the block, and bomb-sniffing dogs that cruise up and down the sidewalks.

There will be snipers on the U.N. roof gazing at me as I watch them from my dining room window, but there won't be many cars. Almost no vehicles are allowed on the block during this time, and those that are have been checked six ways to Sunday. There'll be a staging area set up on the block before mine to vet automobiles. They use a nice-looking tent as an office. It covers half the street, and between you and me, I burn with curiosity about what transpires inside.

There's also lots of Secret Service fellows around—you can recognize them by their handsome dark suits and the flesh-colored curly wire that runs from their ears along their necks, disappearing under their jackets. Last year I spotted two females. They wore dark suits too. I wonder whether there'll be more women this year.

Remote car door openers don't work. Somehow, the signal is blocked and locked cars have to be opened the old-fashioned way—with a key.

I get a kick out of all the fervor. Being in the presence of so much earnest security makes me feel that I'm in the thick of things. It's exciting! And as I think of it, I am, in fact, in the thick of things. The Egyptian Mission to the U.N. is next door. Kuwait is across the street. Nigeria is on the corner and India is half a block away, near the tent.

I love living in New York City all the time, but I especially love it when the weather's crisp, and the trees are dappled with deep orange and fiery red and iridescent yellow, and the apples I buy at the Green Market at Union Square are fresh and crunchy and sweet, and the diplomats return for another season of trying to keep the peace.

For me, this experience of dramatic security measures on the street where I live is one of the first signs of autumn. How do you know when it's autumn? What happens in your neck of the woods that's unique? I'd welcome your comments.

September 12, 2007

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Josie's Going on a Road Trip

Josie Prescott, my protagonist, is an antiques appraiser. As her reputation grows she receives offers from farther and farther afield. In the fourth book in the series, as yet untitled, and in fact, as yet unwritten, Josie finds herself in the suburbs of Boston. Her reputation has grown and I decided to take her on a road trip!

Do you remember the charming television series, Murder She Wrote? Do you remember how most of the small town died violently giving the protagonist, Angela Lansbury fodder to investigate? I always wondered about that—I've heard it referred to as the Cabot Cove effect—realistically, how many people can you kill off in a small town before people flee the region? Aren't you surprised that, towards the end of the series, Angela Lansbury's neighbors didn't flee when she approached? Knowing her seemed to be the kiss of death.

One way around the Cabot Cove effect is to take your protagonist out of town, and in the last several years of the television series, the writers did just that. Angela Lansbury spent several episodes in New York City, and I recall her going skiing, boating, and to L.A. as well. Anticipating the problem, I'm getting Josie out of Dodge sooner rather than later.

In the third book in the series, Antiques to Die For, which will be out in April 2008, Josie is still in New Hampshire... although she does drive across the bridge into Maine. But I decided that in book four, Josie was going farther afield. I like to travel and have done a lot of it over the years, so in considering where to send her, I have a fairly wide range of place options to call on, places where I've actually been.

For awhile I thought of sending Josie to Hong Kong. I love Hong Kong, but the truth is I love the Hong Kong that existed before the handover in '99. A sultry mix of British formality and Chinese mystique, Hong Kong was vibrant and multi-layered and infinitely fascinating. Now it seems to be a nice, big Chinese city, but to me, it's no longer romantic or exotic. Morocco was another possibility, or Tunisia, or even Egypt. I decided against all of them because I concluded that it would be impossible to write a mystery without integrating the turmoil that's currently a fact of life in the Middle East, and I didn't want to write that book. Someday Josie will travel to Europe—London and Paris, for sure, and maybe Rome. And if all goes according to plan, she'll be in New York City in the fifth book. But for book four, I decided to keep her closer to home, so she's going to the suburbs of Boston.

I know the area well; I grew up there. Funny isn't it, how sometimes, traveling takes you home again.

August 12, 2007

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Writing Fear

Anticipation, writers agree, is more fearful than the act.

At tonight's New York Public Library panel entitled, "WOMEN OF MYSTERY: PEEK UNDER THE WRITER'S VEIL," which I moderated, New York Times bestselling author Mary Jane Clark described a scene in one of her books that takes place at the Home Depot.

Picture this—a character cruising the store's aisles. Into the cart goes an ax. Then rope. Then plastic bags. I don't know about you, but that's scary. You know what's happening, and maybe you even know why. And you're powerless to stop it.

Mary Anne Kelly, author of the mystery series featuring the ever bewildered amateur sleuth, Claire Breslinsky, agreed. Mary Anne mentioned the recent news story about Lisa Nowak, the astronaut charged with driving more than a thousand miles hoping to kill her romantic rival. She had duct tape in the car.

"Duct tape," Mary Anne said. "I can't get the duct tape out of my mind. Imagine driving all that way with duct tape. Don't you just know that she planned to do something awful with it?"

Simple everyday products with no specific information given about how they'll be used. As readers, we don't need the details. Our imaginations take over and fill in the blanks.

What scares you? How about a cell phone ringing—not yours—when you think you're alone? A knife that should be on the kitchen counter, and isn't. A dripping sound coming from the bathtub, and when you walk in to turn off the leaking faucet, you see that the bathtub has been filled. Maybe there's soap bubbles from an aromatic bubble bath product you've never seen before. Every day items and every day situations. Hmmm, now I'm thinking.

July 12, 2007

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To Outline, Or Not to Outline, That Is the Question

Jane & Chris Graberstein It was my pleasure to interview Chris Grabenstein at this year's Deadly Ink Conference. He was the Guest of Honor. He was good!

I focused my questions on two broad arenas: his writing and himself.

For instance, I asked him whether he outlined—he doesn't. Despite writing three books a year, he doesn't structure the stories in advance. It's all in his head. He walks or runs with his dog, Fred, a refugee from the Broadway show, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, by the way, and thinks about each day's work. Chris so hates writing outlines—and from them, synopses, he'd rather write an entire book on spec than write a synopsis first. It's a strategy that has worked well for him.

I take a different tack—with new projects, I have always created an outline, and from it a synopsis, but with existing projects, like the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries, I haven't. I just jump in and start to write. No more. I'm going to start outlining everything.

Don't get me wrong. I know who done it and how. I know why the murder occurred. I know a few clues I'll plant along the way. But that's it. I've got a real big picture view and nothing else.

Let me explain my thinking by explaining the process I go through to sell a new book idea. I write a proposal.

In order to write an articulate and persuasive proposal, you need to provide enough detail so that acquiring editors "get it," without loading them down with so much minutia that reading the synopsis becomes tedious. If you think it's easy, try it sometime.

What works for me is to create a detailed, chapter-by-chapter outline and use that as a framework to write the synopsis. The hidden benefit: If and when the book sells, you've got a solid foundation to build on. Writing the book is easier and far more efficient. Which is why I'm going to start following this procedure even when I don't have to.

Here's my thinking. I'm just about done with the third book in the Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery series. It's titled Antiques to Die For. Cute, isn't it? What a tough time I had writing it. I was all across the board with plot points getting tangled with subplots. It took me longer to write and revise it than I think it should have. Next time, for Josie #4 (still untitled), I'll create an outline. I'll bitch and moan and fret and announce to all who'll listen how much I hate to outline. But you know what? I'm going to be way happier come time to write the book. I can have pain throughout or I can have pain now, and less pain later. I vote for Plan B.

Speaking of less pain, did you know that Chris and his delightful wife, Jen, don't much like to travel on vacations? I asked what they like to do on vacation and was fascinated to hear his answer: nothing. Chris said they used to travel so much—him on advertising business, her as a member of the cast of various traveling theatre productions, that now, when they want a rest, they go to Central Park. Chris and I differ in this way, too. I like vacations.

My husband, Joe, and I like to snorkel. But we're skipping this year. This, we've decided, is The Year of Work.

We will sneak away for one delicious weekend this summer for our annual rafting trip on the Delaware River. We go with friends. It's glorious—but don't misunderstand. It's more of a float than it is white water. We call it riffle rafting. On nice days, I spend most the trip swimming alongside the raft. But even if it's gray and dreary, or cold, or rainy, we have fun. We talk about everything from food to jobs to plans for the future to politics and religion. We're good friends who respect one another's views. And then we barbeque. And then we go our separate ways.

Next year we expect to go snorkeling again. I miss looking at fish. And of course, we'll go rafting as usual.

I hope you have a wonderful vacation. And if you haven't read Deadly Appraisal or Consigned to Death, I gotta tell you... they make terrific beach reads! Send us a photo holding one of the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries and we'll post it on the Greetings Page of my website.

I'd love to hear about your vacation plans, or your comments on outlining. Back to work for me!

June 20 , 2007

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Selecting the Finalists for the Nero Award

I'm the chair of the Wolfe Pack's literary awards. We're the folks who give out the Nero—an annual award presented to an American author for literary excellence in the mystery genre that honors the tradition of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe stories.

On some level, my job as chair is largely one of project management. Well, it's actually more hands-on than that, as I think of it. It's my responsibility to maintain the publisher lists, solicit submissions, ensure that my team of readers (five members of the Wolfe Pack and me) has the books, and create a decision-making model to objectively interpret their opinions.

This year, I asked the readers to rank their findings. Many of us found that tough to do. But it was helpful to me in selecting the finalists to have the books ranked.

For instance, let's say two books appear on three of the six lists. If the lists were submitted in no particular order, how could I differentiate between the two options? If, on the other hand, when I looked at the rankings, one of the books is the fourth or fifth favorite on all three lists, that makes a different statement than if the other book is the number one choice for two readers and the number three choice for the other person who selected it. Suddenly, my decision is clear.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. The readers took their assignments very seriously and often annotated their rankings explaining why one book was chosen ahead of another even though both were top-drawer contenders. Should I consider the merit of their opinions? Or should I simply go with the numerical rankings? One reader had a favorite, and then listed six others as a six-way tie for second place. One reader thought the field was especially strong this year, and couldn't narrow her listing to fewer than eight options. And so on.

As objectively as I could, I narrowed the field to three—and we're all pretty excited! All three books are stellar examples of literary excellence in the mystery genre. I encourage you to give them a whirl. This year's finalists are:

Kidnapped Jan Burke, Simon & Schuster
All Mortal Flesh Julia Spencer-Fleming, St. Martin's Minotaur/Thomas Dunne Books
A Stolen Season Steve Hamilton, St. Martin's Minotaur/Thomas Dunne Books

Four additional readers will render our final decision. The final readers include a member of Rex Stout's family; one of the script writers of the Arts & Entertainment television series; a successful novelist; and a publishing executive.

It is an honor to serve in this role—I am such a huge Rex Stout fan that to do my part to keep his wonderful books alive is a great joy. Are you a Rex Stout fan, too? You'll find all sorts of fun trivia in my books. From one of Wolfe's favorite words to the name of Eric's dog and Archie's most-hated cop, you'll find these and many other references tucked into the prose!

As to this year's Nero Award... want to know the winner? The award is announced at the Black Orchid Banquet, which will be, as it is every year, held on the first Saturday in December in New York City. It's a blast! Come and join us!

For details about the Banquet—and all things Nero Wolfe, please visit www.nerowolfe.org.

May 26, 2007

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June's Questions

June decided to give Consigned to Death a whirl. Here's what she said: "I read it in ONE day. I LOVED it!!!"

Made my day to read that, I can tell you!

She went on: "I tried to get a copy of your new book, Deadly Appraisal, but EVERY library in Eastern Massachusetts has this book checked out! I went on a wait list but it's a six week wait. I couldn't wait that long to read it, so my husband surprised me with it the other day. He bought me a copy at Borders in Nashua. I've already started reading it, and I love this one as well."

Isn't that nice? June went on. "I loved the 'sayings/quotes' that Josie's parents told her. Are these just part of your writing or did your parents ever say these things to you?"

Well, let me answer that. [answer is on audio]

"Josie was nervous about moving and starting over in a new state/city. Did you find it hard to give up your shop in Portsmouth and move to NYC?"

Before I answer this one—and the next—read what June wrote about Portsmouth:

"I can only imagine how hard it must be to start over in a new place. How long did you have your shop for in Portsmouth? My sister lived in Portsmouth and when I visited her, we would walk around downtown to the different shops. I even had my fortune told by a fortune teller there. It's a wonderful place."

[answers are on audio]

June went on:

"As I was reading Consigned to Death, I could picture in my mind a lot of the settings. Especially the diner where Josie and Wes met. I hate driving the big circle rotary in Portsmouth. I pictured the diner right near there. I also could picture Josie's Antique Shop mixed in with all the other wonderful shops in Portsmouth. It was wonderful reading about a place you actually have been to and can relate to."

As an aside, I want to mention that Josie doesn't actually have a shop. Josie's weekly tag sale venue is as close as she comes to running an open shop. Plus her location is off I-95—not near other charming shops. Don't you hate people like me—people who pick up on the details? (That's a joke... I assume you all love details and precision, as much as I do!)

June wrote: "The best thing about your novel was the ending. You did NOT reveal the Murderer until the very end. I hate stories where the Murderer is revealed too soon. You hold the reader until the LAST page!!!"

I'm editing now... because June gives a spoiler, but her comment that she enjoyed the ending of the book is so thrilling to me! Thank you, June. I'm so pleased I kept you guessing!

June adds, "Your knowledge regarding Antiques is outstanding. My husband has been collecting antique clocks and other items for years. You should hear my house at twelve o'clock when they all go off. (LOL)

"Did your love of Antiques help with your decision to write?

"Or, have you always been interested in writing?

"Will you continue with further Josie novels? I HOPE SO."

[The answers to June's questions are on audio.]

"I noticed on your website you do book signings," June wrote. "Do you ever get to Massachusetts or New Hampshire? I want to Thank You for reading this email. I hope you don't mind my asking questions?"

No, June, I'm thrilled that you asked. I look forward to hearing from you again.

May 11, 2007

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SUCCESS WITHOUT WINNING

Forever more, I will be a finalist for the Agatha Award. Which is to say, Consigned to Death wasn't selected as the Best First Novel. While the book didn't win, I still feel like a winner.

So many people at the Malice Domestic Conference offered kind comments, it would be hard to feel anything but good -- and special. My publisher, St. Martin's Minotaur sent 800 copies of Consigned to Death -- one for every participant. I'm incredibly grateful for this vote of confidence.

I'm in the early-middle portion of my book tour, so I'm not writing this BLOG – or the newsletter – as frequently as I do when I'm in New York City.. But I'm meeting scores of my favorite kinds of people: book lovers and booksellers, and I'm getting reacquainted with old friends around the country and introducing readers to Josie.

Here's my upcoming schedule. Please stop by if I'm coming to your neck of the woods! It would be a pleasure to meet you. With regards, Jane

I would welcome your comments.

Just wanted to say that I have great admiration for people who take the time to acknowledge others who have influenced their lives.

All the best.

Regards,

Donna Carrick
www.donnacarrick.com

April 12, 2007

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My Good Friend, Karen Quinn

Years and years ago, an American Express vice president named Karen Quinn attended my Dun & Bradstreet seminar, and based on that experience, hired me to do training for her company's marketing education group. That began a long relationship that continues to this day. Karen has influenced my life in countless ways, and I suspect she doesn't know the full impact she's had on me.

Karen has always been a role model of mine. She's smart and trusting. She gave me the opportunity to provide top-notch training under her aegis. Although I'd been training in blue-chip corporations for a decade or more, this was one of the first times that a client gave me such latitude. During the years we worked together there, I developed seven seminars for their particular needs, and to this day, American Express remains one of my favorite work experiences.

Karen's assistance and support didn't stop there. She also introduced me to several other professional contacts. A large part of my business career traces directly to Karen.

Oddly, we both ventured into fiction at about the same time. Karen's first book, The Ivy Chronicles, was a huge success and will soon be a movie starring Catherine Zeta-Jones. It's available in paperback, by the way, and contains a fictionalized account of Karen's departure from American Express that is so funny... well, I don't want to spoil anything for you... trust me... buy the book! Her new book, Wife in the Fast Lane, promises to be another winner. Here's what it's about:

Christy Hayes is a case study in successful living. She's won two Olympic gold medals, built a multimillion-dollar business, and landed a gorgeous and powerful CEO husband. But Christy's dream life begins to unravel when she inherits custody of an eleven-year-old girl named Renata. Suddenly she finds herself battling three formidable opponents: a treacherous business partner bent on ousting her from the company she founded, a ruthless stay-at-home mom who'll stop at nothing to maintain her PTA power base, and a stunning single woman scheming to steal her husband. Throw in the demands of one high-maintenance spouse and it's clear: something's got to give. But what? Her marriage? Her career? Her sanity?

Doesn't that sound wonderful? It does to me, too! I've bought the book, and I encourage you to do so, too. Read an excerpt at Karen's website: www.karenquinn.net.

Karen continues to be an inspiration to me. I admire many things about her, but none as much as her generosity of spirit. It is a pleasure to be able to write about, to talk about, someone I so admire.

I would welcome your comments.

Just wanted to say that I have great admiration for people who take the time to acknowledge others who have influenced their lives.

All the best.

Regards,
Donna Carrick
www.donnacarrick.com

March 31, 2007

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Libraries and Librarians

I have a lot of librarians in my family. Smart people who value data-driven decision-making and who try to create order out of chaos.

Consigned to Death is doing very well in libraries. It's popular enough to be on waiting lists, still after almost a year. That so excites me. I can imagine readers asking their librarian for a certain kind of mystery, and Consigned to Death is one of the recommended reads. How completely cool is that?

Here are two wonderful librarian stories.

In New York City, when they renovated the main branch on Fifth Avenue, the scholarly lions in front were adorned with yellow hard hats. I love that.

As a novelist, I've spoken at libraries in Portland, Maine and Bowling Green, Ohio. (Where, by the way, I learned that librarians tell Dewey decimal jokes—isn't that a hoot?)

A copy of Consigned to Death is in the Linden Hall library in Belfast, one of my favorite places on earth. And this coming December, I'll be speaking at a branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. The librarian at that location told me that Consigned to Death was one of their most requested volumes. Isn't that great?

Probably most humbling was the call I got just a week or two ago—the State Library of New Hampshire selected Consigned to Death as its book of the week. Imagine that—Consigned to Death is one of only fifty-two books that the New Hampshire State Library selected for the year. I'm amazed and thrilled all at once.

It's so very special to me to be honored by people I hold in such high acclaim—librarians.

March 10 , 2007

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Agatha Award Nomination:
Best First Novel

When the call came telling me that Consigned to Death had been nominated for an Agatha award, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I was just shocked. It had never occurred to me that I would be honored in this way. Now, more than a week later, the shock has worn off—a little. I'm completely thrilled!

The Agathas are fan awards. No committee chooses the nominees—readers are the ones who vote. How great is that? Readers of traditional mysteries have decided that my novel was one of the five best debuts this year. I'm nearly speechless at the tribute. Don't misunderstand... I have no problem with awards chosen by committee. In fact, I chair such a committee!

I'm the chair of the Wolfe Pack's literary awards—we're the folks who give out the Nero Award each year. We have a carefully constructed system to ensure fairness. And certainly, all members on the committee are readers. But the books earning Agathas aren't selected by a subset of the group as is the book that's awarded a Nero—the Agatha nominees and winners are selected by the entire group. Wow. I'm awe-struck at the thought that traditional mystery readers could nominate any book they chose—and they chose mine.

The winner will be announced at a Saturday night banquet during the Malice Domestic conference in Washington D.C. the first weekend in May. The entire weekend is going to be fun! There are several special events for nominees. At the Friday evening opening ceremony, I understand that I'll receive a certificate of nomination. I'll be on a nominee panel, moderated by the great Margaret Maron. (Margaret wrote a wonderful review of Consigned to Death when it was first published. Part of her comment was featured on the hard back's cover: "Beautifully crafted. Thoroughly enjoyable," she wrote. Isn't that wonderful?) And then there's the banquet where they announce the winner. I have no expectation of winning—that's not the point. The point is that I've been singled out in this wonderful way.

I'm over-the-moon, and I wanted to share the excitement!

February 23, 2007

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Intangible Legacies

Last evening, Kathy in Trumbull, CT, hosted a book club discussion of Consigned to Death. The attendees were savvy, insightful, and articulate, and it was a great pleasure to participate. I'd hoped to be there in person, but the icy storm which is raging here in New York City as I write intervened. I couldn't visit in person, but I was able to visit on the phone. Thank you again for inviting me!

One woman commented on how much she enjoyed Josie's dad's sayings. She liked them for them—for their content—but they served another purpose, too. They helped her realize that the way she says things to her daughter matters. She has the opportunity to convey her values, to guide her daughter's actions—to create a living legacy—one that will endure.

I love that.

Another woman explained that she's a high school counselor and a student came into her office recently, distraught. He'd broken up with his girlfriend and was so beside himself, he was, for a while, suicidal. He'd relied on his girlfriend for support and direction, and now she was gone and he was alone.

The counselor told him about a book she'd read—Consigned to Death—and how Josie found solace and support in remembering her father's words, even though he wasn't physically with her. She suggested that the young man could do the same thing—he could ask himself "What would she say?" and recall the words she used that had helped him in the past, and derive comfort and support from them in the present—and know that they'd be with him forever into the future.

Words—the way we phrase our thoughts—matter more than we might realize. Our words linger on and can provide enduring strength to those we love. Our words become part of our legacy. Just as an antique's value increases over time, so too does the value of our words increase. And that's part of the value of the Josie Prescott Antiques Mysteries—as readers, we experience both the tangible and the intangible legacies of Josie's past, and we benefit from both.

If you participate in a book club, I'd love to join you when you discuss Consigned to Death or Deadly Appraisal, the second Josie Prescott Antiques Mystery, which will be published in April 2007. If your book club limits its reading to paperbacks, I have good news! Consigned to Death will be released as a mass market paperback in April 2007. You'll find book discussion questions on this website—along with recipes for the martinis Josie enjoys! Please contact me about joining in at your book club discussion group.

And I'd welcome your comments about the tangible and intangible legacies in your life.

January 31, 2007

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Orientation for a Newly-minted Prez

I expected to enjoy the Mystery Writers of America (MWA) National Board orientation. I love learning, and since I had no previous experience as an officer of a non-profit board, I knew that everything would be new. It was even better than I expected!

First, I learned that our mission demands a strong focus on education—we were formed to educate others about mysteries and ourselves on how to write better ones. Second, our mission also requires us to assist our active members in every way we can. Which explains our tag line: Crime Doesn't Pay – Enough.

The outgoing executive vice president, Reed Farrel Coleman, and the MWA administrative manager, Margery Flax, created an engaging, informative, and quick-paced orientation curriculum. And I got to know my fellow chapter presidents. And I got a very cool T-shirt.

At my chapter, New York, we've always prided ourselves on the quality of our programming. We choose speakers for our monthly dinners that fit into one of three "buckets": technical (i.e., subject matter experts such as police detectives, medical examiners, forensic dentists, arson investigators, et al.); marketing (i.e., how to promote yourself to the media, how to drive traffic to your website, et al.); and writing (i.e., interviews with successful authors, discussions on how to improve the quality of our work, et al.).

Want to attend? You're welcome! We meet on the first Wednesday evening of each month—most months, anyway. (Even if you're not a member, you're welcome to join us at a meeting. In fact, you're welcome to join the MWA as well whether you're a published writer or not!)

Check out our new website: www.mwa-ny.org for a listing of upcoming programs; I'd love to meet you and welcome you to our world.

January 14, 2007

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Where Ideas Come From

Sometimes I hear or see something, or read something, and it sticks, and then later, when I need something to move the plot along, out it comes—usually bearing little resemblance to the original.

For example, more than twenty years ago, when I was in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I visited a woman's house. It was a business call. She was older, born, at a guess, in 1910 or so. Her house was distinctly middle class, but her decorations were anything but middle class.

Every inch of wall space was covered with oil paintings. I spotted a Van Dyke, two Renoirs, and a Matisse. They weren't artfully arranged; they were wedged in without any thought of relating one piece of art to another or to the space itself.

At first, I assumed they were reproductions, but they weren't.

"It's beautiful," I said to the woman, pointing to a Monet.

"Yeah," she remarked. "My brother brought them home from the War."

I was young then and naive and gullible, and I grew up in a carefully sheltered environment, one in which my parents tried to shield me from evil intentions and acts, so I assumed that she meant that her brother had purchased the art in Europe.

And that's the origin of the plot of Consigned to Death, the first Josie Prescott antiques mystery.

So here's the bottom line—where do ideas come from? Life, mostly.

December 27, 2006

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Plotting in Your Sleep

The great American author, Edna St. Vincent Millay, once wrote that she couldn't get the woman onto the porch. What she meant, of course, was that she couldn't figure out an organically sound reason for the character to do as the plot demanded.

I struggle with this situation all the time. Plotting a mystery is, for me, a combination of architecture and sleight of hand. I lay the foundation, plan the structure, and use language to entice my readers to pay attention to something over here while something else is happening over there, unnoticed. In order for this complex process to flow seamlessly, I need to create characters whose actions mesh with the plot's development.

It's hard. If I have a boorish man, for instance, who blusters and creates awkward moments, certainly my readers will focus on him. But if, later, the plot demands that the character finesse something, I'm sunk. A boorish man who blusters would never finesse anything. Reconciling these two needs—a solid, architecturally sound plot and actions driven not by the plot's needs but by the characters' personalities is, for me, the most challenging part of writing.

How do I do it? I don't know. I don't know why, when I'm mentally outlining the plot, I know that a certain female character is well-dressed and socially savvy. The fact that she is, however, becomes important later in the plot—she hosts a ladies' luncheon. It's a good thing she's that sort of woman because I needed her to host that event—but I didn't know that the luncheon would occur when I started to write the book—at least not consciously.

I've concluded that much of the intricacy of plotting occurs on some unconscious level. For instance, I know that when I need to resolve something, I get the problem clear in my head just before I go to sleep, and when I awaken—I have the answer. Sleeping on it, for me, actually works when I need to figure out how to get the woman onto the porch.

December 9, 2006

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Awards and Nominees

I'm now the Chair of the Wolfe Pack's literary awards which include the Nero Award, given for best novel of the year and the brand new Black Orchid Novella Award, in partnership with Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, for the best novella in the tradition of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe stories. I can't tell you how thrilled I am to help keep one of my hero's books in play—Rex Stout.

Last Saturday we awarded the 2006 Nero Award to Tess Gerritsen for her book Vanish. It's a gripping story.

The award is granted at our annual winter banquet each year. The banquet, sometimes called the annual Black Orchid Banquet—we vary—always occurs on the first Saturday of December.

It is such a complete blast, I can't tell you. We sing songs. We give toasts. We have fabulous keynote speakers. This year, our keynote speaker was Lawrence Block.

He was a hoot. He was beyond a hoot. He explained how he was nominated for an award with four other authors and felt gratified—too gratified, as it turned out. When his name wasn't called as the winner, he said he went into complete shock—that literally, he couldn't speak for half an hour or so. It hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't win.

Not long afterwards, he got a call that he was the winner of the Nero Award. He thought this was great. He'd never heard of the Nero Award—no surprise, since his award was the first time it was granted—but he said he loved the experience because there were no nominees, there was no suspense. All he had to do was show up—and he got a free dinner. That's all he got, actually—dinner. At the time, we didn't have a tangible award—now we do. For the last several years, the winner of the Nero Award gets a wonderful, distinguished-looking bust.

Think about his experience—you're told you're the winner. You show up, get dinner, and are honored. No suspense. It's true.We don't announce nominees, only the winner. We've a pretty convivial group, not much into high drama. Maybe that's why we don't announce them. I don't know. It's part of our tradition.

Did I mention that we sing songs? We write the lyrics to common tunes, click our glass to get the Pack's attention, stand up, and sing our heart out. If you read Tess' blog on the subject, you'll see that she says we sing bad songs. With all due respect to a well-deserving Nero Award winner, she's wrong. Our songs are wonderful.

Last year, or was it the year before—a table (not mine) wrote and sang this:

Archie ate a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb
Archie ate a little lamb ‘cause Nero ate the rest

How can someone call that a bad song?

Our table's song this year was great, too! Can you recognize the tune?

Don't cry for me, Montenegro...

Okay, I'll stop there—I know I can't sing.

Go and see Tess' blog at http://www.tessgerritsen.com/blog/ Look for the December 3rd entry. Also, if you love charming, witty, clever, erudite mysteries, read Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe books and join the Wolfe Pack (see www.nerowolfe.org). If you do join the Pack, I hope you'll come to our fantastic winter banquet next December 1st—and if you're any good at writing lyrics, sit at my table!

November 27 , 2006

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The Principle of FURY

No one will be surprised, I suspect, to learn that I love words. There is no greater pleasure to me as an author than to find just the right way of saying something. In my book, Business Writing for Results (which was published a few years ago by McGraw Hill), I write about The Principle of FURY, a tool that helps me in selecting specific words and phrases.

The word FURY is an acronym that stands for:

Familiar

The word sponsorship is a better word choice than aegis, for example, even though it's longer, unless your character is the sort of person to know and use a highfalutin word like sponsorship.

Unique

Unique words include technical terminology and industry jargon, as well as some common English words. Dog, for instance, is an example of a unique word in conversational English. No way would you refer to your dog as a canine, a mongrel, or a cur, except in special circumstances.

Rich

I like to add special words for texture and pacing—but not too many of them. Every couple of hundred words or so, I'll make a point of adding a word that has a little pizzazz to it, like, in fact, pizzazz.

Your favorite

We all have favorite words and expressions, and I'm a believer in using them—not too much, but to give voice to my own style. My goal is to produce writing that sounds like me.

In other words, in my view, the best word is the one that's most Familiar to your target readers unless the word in question is Unique, was selected to add Richness to the text, or is Your favorite. This tool is a handy way to make decisions about which words and phrases to use.

November 7 , 2006

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Thanksgiving in Belfast

This year, my husband and I will spend Thanksgiving in Northern Ireland with friends.

I've been delivering seminars on marketing communications for almost twenty years, and for about a dozen of them, the workshops have been offered in Dublin and Belfast. I love both cities. In fact, I love all of Ireland, and everything about it—the people, the locale, and the culture.

In Belfast, I have, over the years, formed enduring friendships. I could live there, I think, and sometimes, when I feel overwhelmed by big city life, I'm tempted to do so. I fantasize about what it would be like to live within walking distance of the serpentine walkway that snakes along the coastline of the North Sea or eat at the Grill Room whenever I choose. (Where, by the way, they have the best smoked salmon on earth, which isn't a surprise, and the best baby back ribs in the world, which is.) I can't really imagine what it would feel like to be only a drive away from the rugged, unending beauty of the North. It would certainly be different from New York City where we walk through Beekman and Sutton Place, with glimpses of the East River. There is no one restaurant that's a favorite, and in New York, I don't own car, so a trip to the gorgeous New York countryside, while possible, is an event, not an impulsive excursion.

Don't get me wrong—I love living in New York. I live near the United Nations, a beautiful, vital, and diverse part of Midtown.

Usually, we're here for Thanksgiving. But this year we're going to be in Belfast where our friends are cooking us Thanksgiving dinner. I can't wait! It's their first time! It's going to be fun and different. And I look forward to the many toasts we'll share about all we're thankful for. And there's a lot to be thankful for this year.

Among other things, the Troubles that marred Belfast life and business for too many generations, seem to have passed, at least for now. And there's evidence of the renewal of hope everywhere. For example, I did a program in the Waterfront Hall, an all glass building near Belfast's city center, perched near a river. That venue represents the height of optimism. Think about it! There's a new, all glass building in Belfast!

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I hope yours is filled with as much pleasure and joy—and thanks—as mine is certain to be.

October 26 , 2006

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Angela, My Little Love Bunny

My little cat, Angela, is a love bunny. She's affectionate, sweet, and devoted to me.

She's also whip-smart about getting her own needs met. She has quite a vocabulary of mews that make it clear what she wants. A gurgling mew means she wants to be picked up and cuddled. A guttural series of mews instructs me to perform "rump rub." That's where she stands on the bed, legs spread in what we call "rump rub grip" and prepares for ecstasy. A staccato mew is her way of requesting brushing.

We have other cats, and anyone who knows cats knows that they each have a distinctive personality. But Angela is special—she's the most loving, touchy little creature I've ever known. She sleeps on my pillow and sits by my computer as I work, and when she's in my arms, she clings to me, wrapping her little kitty arms around my neck and nuzzling me, her purring loud and steady.

I've recently realized that over the decade we've been together, she's trained me far better than I've trained her. I know her likes and dislikes and I happily do things her way. For example, we play "sheet" when she helps me make the bed, so of course I allocate extra time for the task. It is a pleasure to do what she likes because she gives me so much love.

I do worry about her a little. She frets. She gets frown lines when she's unhappy or confused. And she over-grooms, leaving the lower part of her legs naked—her poodle look, I call it. Her doctor assures me that while it's unattractive, it's not unhealthy, but, to me, it serves as a constant reminder that she internalizes stress. I wish I could find the words to reassure her. But I don't speak her language. She speaks mine, though, communicating effectively every day how much she loves me. All I can do is hope that through my actions, she knows that she's my adored little love bunny.

October 11 , 2006

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Come October, I Miss My Mom

I miss my mom a lot all the time. She died several years ago when she was close to ninety, and while her death was, and is, a great sadness to me, it was, after all, not a tragedy—she lived long, and by most standards, well.

The truth as she experienced it differs, however, from what an outsider looking in might perceive, like a piece of furniture that appears to be magnificent from a distance, yet upon examination, is discovered to be constructed of cheap materials and thin veneer. Don't misunderstand me—I'm not saying there was less to my mother than met the eye. Hardly. Instead, I'm reporting on my mother's view of her own life—she never gave herself a break. Where I saw effort and substance, she saw shirking and superficiality. It's so sad to think about.

What I recall when I think of my mother was her enduring dissatisfaction with her life. She never stopped struggling to do more, succeed bigger, find answers, fit in, and be admired. I've come to realize that ambition like hers is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, her restlessness fueled her drive and led to her accomplishments; on the other hand, as far as I can tell, she never knew contentment. Where most people would have seen success in their achievements, she beat herself up for what she perceived as her deficiencies. She spent most of her time disappointed. She never counted her blessings, only her perceived failings.

I share her ambition. I'm impatient to do more, and I try hard to think big. What I don't want to do is share her lack of satisfaction with life, and it's a constant effort for me to focus on the positive and not to flagellate myself for what I haven't done.

This time of year, though, the tumultuous skirmish inside of me gets easier to quiet. I love October, a lesson I learned young from my mom. My mother relished October. Many people struggle with depression in the autumn, perhaps experiencing a visceral reaction to nature's transition from birth and growth to death and the dreary isolation of hibernation. Not my mom. October was, to her, crisp and clean, filled with the fun of walking through crunching leaves, picking apples, and baking apple pies and apple cake, always using lots of cinnamon. I remember our shared delight as we pulled out the afghans that had been stored for the summer, readying our world and ourselves to hunker down for the winter.

October was a special time, a joyous time, a time when my mother's disappointment and disillusionment took a back seat to the innocent pleasures of the season. So while I miss my mother all year long, come October, I miss her in a different way. For eleven months a year, I miss the whole woman my mother was. But in October, my mother was just my mom, and that's what I miss most.

September 29, 2006

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A Moss Garden Grows in Manhattan

I have a moss garden. It's in a window box that lives on my little terrace in the summer and hibernates on a ledge in the dining room all winter long. The garden, a sort of eco-system of a forest includes a huge asparagus fern, some plants with delicate blue flowers, some clover, a miniature palm tree, and lots of moss. There's a good-sized rock and some pieces of bark. But it's the moss that's most special to me.

Several years ago, my husband, Joe, who as you may know is a professional musician, traveled throughout the country with the Broadway show, Les Miséarable. He was gone most of two years. To be with him, I traveled to wherever he was playing as often as I could, and sometimes in our wanderings, I'd find beautiful moss—by the edge of Puget Sound, for example, under a tree in Balboa Park, near a curb on a street without sidewalks in Des Moines, and by a purling brook not far from Salt Lake City. In each place, I carefully scooped up a bit of moss, wrapped it in moist paper towels, enclosed it in a plastic bag, and transplanted it into my moss garden.

The long, narrow box is about ready to come inside for the winter, and today, when I was primping it a bit, admiring the thick, lush moss, some of it ripe with little tendrils of growth; some fuzzy, like a peach; and some, mature and lawn-like; I stroked my treasure—the teeny piece from Brewster, New York that I'd tucked in a corner several years ago. Today when I touched it, the soft moistness soothed and tickled my skin.

Think about the things that you have that endure—and those that fade with time. Of those that endure, those that last, those that have a deeper meaning and more significance to you than the other things in your life that are transitory and fleeting—do you cultivate them, as I do?

For me, it's moss. What's it for you?

September 15, 2006

I recently had a delightful interview with Julia Buckley. Man, did she ask good questions! You can read it at http://www.juliabuckley.blogspot.com/.

September 14 , 2006

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Using Suspense to Build a Character

Today I want to talk about suspense in traditional mysteries.

Consigned to Death is considered to be a "traditional mystery." Each sub-genre has certain structural protocols and conventions. For instance, in a traditional mystery, you need a murder in the first chapter or two. The murder usually happens "off stage," meaning there's little or no explicit violence. While there's usually a romance, or at the least, romantic elements, there's no explicit sex. Nor is there any cussing. The suspects are all known to the victim—no serial killers, random murders, or anything of that nature. And there's suspense.

There's two kinds of suspense—that which moves the plot along, and that which reveals something about the character—usually, what's revealed is how he or she handles the suspenseful event. Does the protagonist faint? Fight through the fear? Scream? Run and hide in a closet? For me, the ideal is when I'm able to accomplish both—when I succeed in creating a suspenseful scene that both develops the plot and offers insights into the character.

I'm going to read you a short excerpt from Consigned to Death that is, I hope you'll agree, suspenseful. (By the way, for those of you who want to follow along in the book itself, instead of reading it here or listening to it, you'll find it on page 55 of the hardback.)

After listening to or reading the excerpt, I'd love to hear what you think this scene reveals about Josie's character. Please send me a note with your thoughts and we'll post it here.

That said, here's the excerpt (click to listen to Jane read the excerpt):

As I was girding myself to step out from behind my hiding place, I heard another rustling sound and stopped cold, allowing myself to trust my instincts. I wasn't imagining things. I'd heard something, a movement, a kind of rubbing, fabric maybe, brushing against wood.

In the high-ceilinged, open warehouse, sound reverberated. I thought the soft noise, a hiss or a scrape, had come from near the crates, but I might have been wrong. I pressed my back into the wall and scanned the room, seeking out something that would account for the noise, that would explain an odd shadow behind the tall stack of crates, but I saw nothing out of the way.

I swallowed. My heart was pounding so hard I was having trouble breathing. To hell with it, I told myself angrily. Probably the noise was the building settling, and I'd imagined the shadow. Silently cursing the anxiety that clung to me like barnacles to a rock, I stepped out from the corner. I was tired of jumping at shadows and fretting about small noises. No one could make me fearful but myself. Straightening my shoulders and lifting my head, I began the descent, circling down the staircase.

I heard a click and froze. The door. Someone had quietly latched the door. Were they going out? Or coming in? I stood and listened. Nothing.

August 28, 2006

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Fake It ‘Til You Make It

I am fortunate not to suffer from writer's block. Years ago, I struggled, staring at blank pages and computer screens endlessly, waiting and hoping for inspiration to hit.

What cured me might not work for you—but maybe it will. Here's what I do: I write. It sounds simplistic, I know, but I find the technique to be an effective way for me to get back on track.

Specifically, I give myself a writing task and I complete it. For example, I might challenge myself to write a description of a character. Or maybe I'll write some dialogue around a certain situation. Or I might give myself the assignment to create a situation where there's suspense. Before I know it, I've completed the task and have moved on in the plot. The cure is so effective, I no longer am even aware of having writer's block or overcoming it. I just write. (A lot of what I write is bad, by the way. Sometimes I revise those sections, and often I just delete them!) Interestingly, the cure has also become the prevention. I have so assimilated my policy of writing—whether I feel like it or not—that I no longer even recognize when I might feel blocked.

This policy—and its success—is an example of an oft-repeated adage, one Josie's father is quoted as saying in Consigned to Death. "Fake it ‘til you make it." If I'm not able to write, I fake it by writing anyway, and sure enough, before I know, I'm writing for real.

I'm currently writing Lethal Legacy, the third in the Josie Prescott series, and it is such a pleasure being with Josie. She's very human to me and I feel incredibly fortunate that no "faking it" is involved. But I know that if I had the need to do so, I could call on the process I've created, and it would work for me again just as it always has.

I would welcome your comments.

I agree with you 100%. The old way IS the best,but the whole world is getting soooo lacks. I pray for my poor grandchildren!!!

Also, Josie's father is right "fake it till you make it" has always worked for me : )

I enjoy your site..........Thanks,Geta

August 9, 2006

There Used to Be Rules

When I was a girl—God, don't you hate any sentence that starts that way? Well, hateful or not, it's true that when I was a girl, there were implied and stated rules about how men treated women.

One of the rules had to do with dating and drinking. It was explicitly not allowed that a gentleman would take advantage of a lady if she was in inebriated. In other words, no guy worth his salt would try and get a girl drunk so he could have sex with her. Nor would he capitalize on her vulnerability if she happened to be drunk or get drunk whether he encouraged or facilitated the behavior or not. It just wasn't done. There were no mitigating circumstances. Period, end of discussion.

So you can imagine my astonishment when I heard a fellow wedding guest refer to a lovely pink cocktail as a "panty remover." Seems that when he was at college, he and his frat brothers loved it when co-eds drank Guavatinis, or any other strong drink. Can you imagine? What kind of men are these? And if their strategy worked, what kind of love were they making? None, of course. They weren't looking to make love—they were looking for friction and a warm place to put it.

I don't know what upset me more—the disrespectful tag line itself or hearing about it in the presence of this man's wife and three year-old son. What a message to send his wife and what a lesson to be teaching his son. His wife, by the way, thought it was funny.

Don't get me wrong—I'm a feminist.

I don't want to revert to a time before women were allowed to enjoy a fulfilling sex life without shame. But surely we can have great sex without men using nefarious tools like "panty removers," for God's sake. Is it that big of a mystery what it takes to get a woman to eagerly jump into bed? Harry Woods, Jimmy Campbell, and Reg Connelly knew what it took back in the 1930s when they wrote the song, "Try a Little Tenderness." Nothing's changed guysjust try a little tenderness.

July 25, 2006

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The nature of inspiration

I got an e-mail the other day from a delightful woman named Mary.

Hi Jane,

I thoroughly enjoyed Consigned to Death. It was definitely a fascinating story and a memorable reading experience. The book was beautifully written.

What inspired you to write the book?

Best, Mary

Here's my reply:

Hi Mary:

Thank you so much for letting me know that you enjoyed the book. That's just great!

You asked what inspired me to write Consigned to Death—so many things—the time in my life, my agent, and my mom come to mind off the top of my head. You've given me an idea—I'll explore this question more in my next BLOG entry. (It will be posted in late July).

Warmly, Jane

Mary's question got me thinking about the nature of inspiration.

It seems to me that what motivates one person doesn't necessarily motivate another person. In other words, I don't think that there's a "one size fits all" way to motivate oneself—or others. That said, here are three things that seem to work for many people:

Knowledge is power—sometimes, but not always. (If information alone worked reliably, no one would smoke.) How this principle applies to me: I learned my craft and researched the market.

Other people's expectations sometimes motivate people to work harder. (My father, for instance, had extremely high standards for me. When I got an A, he'd ask why I hadn't done extra to earn an A+. For me, his approach was motivational—I took it to mean that he thought I could excel. Sometimes, though, having standards that high backfires, leading not to success but to rebellion, frustration, even to self-loathing. If people conclude that their best efforts aren't good enough, they're not likely to persevere.) How this principle applies to me: My father's comments continue to inspire me.

Your own vision for your future, whether articulated or unexpressed. Picturing the future can provide the roadmap to success. Ask "In order to..." questions and work your way backwards so you delineate a step-by-step plan. How this principle applies to me: I am methodical by nature, and diligent.

When Mary asked what inspired me to write the book, my reaction wasn't general, but specific. I mentioned my agent, my mom, and the time in my life. Let me explain.

My agent, the magnificent Denise Marcil, was the first to suggest that I give writing fiction a try. She had just sold my non-fiction book, Business Writing for Results, and said, "You use so many examples and anecdotes in your writing—why don't you try your hand at writing a novel?"

So I did.

As to my mom—she'd been an author, and I knew that she'd understand the challenge I'd taken on. When searching for the right word or an approach to a plot twist, it was, in my mind, my memories of my mother that encouraged me.

It was unconscious, but if I look back on the events of my life during the period leading up to writing Consigned to Death, it seems to me that it can't be an accident that I created Josie—a strong woman coping with tough times.

In the year before I began the novel, my mother died, my brother died—even my cat died—and I got divorced. To say it was a bad year, doesn't even begin to describe it. I kept reminding myself of some of the wise things my parents told me—those sayings attributed to Josie's dad in the book—and somehow, I managed to get through.

Also, there were practical reasons that I gravitated toward this setting: I'd owned and run a rare book store in Portsmouth, New Hampshire for four years, so I knew a bit about the environment.

Still and all, when I think about the question—what inspired you, I feel obliged to say that, bottom line—I don't know.

I don't know where I found either the courage to try or the discipline to finish. I suspect that the answer is quite simple—a kernel of secret excitement was released when Denise suggested that I give it a whirl and my ambition carried me forward from there.

July 4, 2006

Nightmares Awaken Need

I have nightmares. Not every night, but often.

Sometimes I awaken, every muscle tensed, filled with dread, the memory of the bad dream vivid. Other times I wake up fretful and exhausted, with only faint tendrils of the nightmare lingering in my memory. Always, I get up, drink some water, and circle my apartment, reassuring myself that all is well. I touch my orange-flecked kitchen counter, the cool twill slipcovers in the living room, and my computer in my office. I pet my cats. I don't awaken my husband. I've done so in the past, and I've learned that it doesn't help. He's my rock, and would be happy to succor me. But I've learned to listen to my mind and body. If I'm a having a nightmare, his tender strokes and whispers of love will quiet the panic, but will leave the underlying issue unresolved. Nightmares signal trouble, and only by dealing with the underlying issue can I rest.

Now that I've learned to listen to what my nightmares are trying to convey, I know what to do. After I circle my apartment and pet my cats, I talk turkey with myself. If I'm fretting about a presentation I'm scheduled to deliver, I drag out my notes and rehearse. If I'm troubled by some aspect of a personal relationship, I'll write a letter expressing my feelings. (Although I won't mail it! I live by Joan Crawford's admonition — she warned people never to mail a letter they write at three in the morning!)

In other words, I use the early morning hours to think. And through this process, I've discovered countless strategies and tactics that have helped me resolve problems in ways that never would have occurred to me in the hustle and bustle of my day. As a bonus benefit, I've boosted my confidence in myself to handle problems as they arise. And knowing that I have this ability helps me sleep peacefully.

Do you have nightmares? Do you know why? I'd love to hear from you about sleep and dreams and trouble in the night. But for tonight at least, I wish us all a good night's rest.

I would welcome your comments.

Jane,

For years I had what I called "night terrors." I'd awaken … but my eyes were still closed … absolutely scared to death. I just KNEW that there was something bad in the room with me (childhood monsters?) and that if I opened my eyes "it would get me." I'd lie there for what seemed like hours (probably minutes), my eyes closed (not tightly because that would let the monster know I was faking sleep), not daring to move. Eventually I'd fall back asleep … and I would be fine. I remember I finally confessed to my college roommates about these nightmares … they were kind and supportive … "Just wake us up; we'll take care of you." But I never did wake them. I already knew, intellectually at least, that there was no monster … it was just my fear that paralyzed me. Eventually, like you, I learned to face the demon myself and the night terrors eventually stopped.

As for good dreams… there is one I particularly remember … at least 10 years later. I'm swimming in the ocean and notice a sea lion swimming near by. Suddenly I'm surrounded by them. I turn to swim to shore, but there are too many of the sea lions in the water and the shore is too far away. I'm frightened. But then I hear a voice that tells me that they won't harm me. And I calm down, and tread water, watching and enjoying this wonderful acrobatic water ballet as they swim and surface and dive around me.

Just thinking about that dream calms me … and I've purposely recalled it several times over the years when I found myself feeling particularly anxious. Works every time.

Tessa

Dear Jane -- I have really enjoyed your blog and find may similarities in our opinions. I really connected with your latest blog on nightmares. I get them pretty frequently and am still looking for a way to overcome....Literally they tend to turn into panic attacks unless I can get a hold of them and wake up in time. Once or twice they have upset me enough that I have called in late to work in order to have enough time to shake them off. Thank you for your hints on getting them under control. Thank you for your candor. I can not wait to meet you.

Meesha

June 28, 2006

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The Second Printing Sold Out!

More good news: I just learned that the second printing of Consigned to Death has sold out! Isn't that just great? What's especially gratifying is what that implies— lots of people are meeting Josie. I'm so very pleased!

On a different note... I'm moderating a panel at the ConMisterio conference that's coming up in Austin, Texas in July on how our hobbies affect other people, and it's gotten me thinking. For those of you who have read Consigned to Death, if I asked you to name Josie's hobbies, could you?

Josie likes to cook... but is that a hobby, or does she enjoy cooking as a tribute to her mom? She reads Rex Stout mysteries to ease herself into sleep... but is that a hobby or a relaxation technique?

Me? I snorkel. I garden a little, creating beauty in small window boxes on my narrow balcony. I cook, chicken mostly. I read. I pet my cats. But don't ask me why I do these things. I couldn't tell you why I do what I do, and that's okay with me. It's part of the mystery and complexity of individuality. The affect of my hobbies on others? I'm not sure I want to know that either because even posing the question makes my hobbies fair game for others to comment on, assess, and value or not. And my hobbies are mine.

June 22, 2006

I am often asked how I write.

Sometimes the questioner wants to know how I approach the task from a practical perspective — do I write at a certain time of day, or for a proscribed number of hours, or in a certain environment, for instance. (No, no, no.)

Other people want to know about the internal process — where do my ideas come from and how to they get from my head onto paper.

I don't perceive myself to be a creative person — although my good friend, Jenn, is Charlie-on-the-spot ready to argue with me about that. I perceive myself to be diligent, methodical, research-oriented, and a word smith. I think of my abilities as much more technical in nature than creative.

One thing I know for certain is that I love language. I relish hunting for ways to surprise readers and nail whatever it is I intend to express — and it's a thrill to get it right. If I succeed, is it the result of creativity or industry?

This week, I was asked a question that got me thinking about the writing process in a new way. A participant named Dee, an attendee at a writing seminar I facilitated in Richmond, Virginia, asked if I had imagination. Her question struck a chord with me because she clarified that she was asking about imagination, not creativity. In listening to her, I realized, once again, the power of words. In my mind, I do have imagination, but I'm not creative. Isn't that funny? Not ha, ha funny, but amusing and telling. The word "creative" doesn't speak to me in part, at least, because it seems to me to diminish the role of hard work. When I think of creativity, I think of someone having a flash of insight as opposed to someone methodically working, step-by-far-away-step to reach a goal. I'm a worker. I don't have flashes of insight.

How do I write? I have a good imagination and I'm observant and I try very hard to find the right words to express my thoughts clearly. There's a movie playing in my head and I can pause or fast forward it at will. What I do is write what I see.

More about my take on creativity can be found at http://mjroseblog.typepad.com/backstory/ — my essay was posted today, June 22.

May 22 , 2006

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Hello from Dublin

I'm in Ireland for the week for my "day job," facilitating seminars on marketing communications. In Dublin, I'm sponsored by The Irish Times; in Belfast, my sponsor is CIPFA. They're both wonderful organizations.

I love Ireland. I really, really love Ireland. It's beautiful, and that's part of it, but mostly, it's the people. I've been coming here on business for more than a decade, and never, not once, has a person been anything other than kind.I wish I could say the same about the American man I overheard while boarding my flight from Newark last Saturday.

Here's the context: In the Tony Barnes private-eye mystery waiting for revision (he's hot... he'll be back), I mention a guy wearing a T-shirt reading: Party Till She's Cute. Isn't that awful? I just find that unbelievably sad and sick and upsetting.

Boarding the flight to Ireland, I was just ahead of a group of a few 40-something guys off to Ireland on a golfing junket. (I didn't eavesdrop, exactly. We were in line on the jetway -- one couldn't help but hear.)

One of them said he wasn't going out partying with Tim. "The last time I went out with him, we partied so hard I woke up naked, face down in someone else's bed." (Thankfully, he didn't provide details.)

As he spoke, a flight attendant passed by and said, "Wow, that sounds like quite a night!"

It was a friendly, innocuous comment, a Gee, I heard you! comment, and it meant nothing. She wasn't flirting as anyone with the brains of a mollusk would know. These guys--at least some of them--took her comment differently.

One of his companions said, "She's all yours."

"I'll pass, thanks," he said.

They laughed--at least some of them did--subdued chuckles.

Then the face-down fellow added, "Although by Wednesday, I bet she'll be looking pretty good."

I didn't hit him, but I wanted to. He's toxic.

As you can tell, I had a very strong reaction to his comment -- as I did to the Party Till She's Cute T-shirt I saw that man wear. That was in New Orleans twenty years ago. He was young. I thought it was obnoxious. That's it. This time, the similar affectation affected me in a deeper way. It's still with me, days later. Someday, it'll be in a Josie Prescott mystery.

Different subject: St. Martin's has offered me another multi-book deal -- and I accepted! Woo Hoo! AND they're bringing Consigned to Death out in paperback. (It will appear in paperback about two weeks before Deadly Appraisal comes out in hardback in April 2007.)

It's been a good week...more good book reviews of Consigned to Death are out, more Josie Prescott mysteries are in the works, and I'm in Ireland. It's cold and rainy here, but I know the places to go where the heat is on, the drinks are good, and people treat one another with kindness and respect.

COMMENTS

I just read your blog from Ireland. Ugh! Pigs! Really, I'm surprised you didn't smack him. The group mentality when men get together (i.e.Duke lacrosse team) is all too common. Too much testoterone!!

Laura

May 4 , 2006

Texas

I'm enjoying this leg of my book tour, and there's been one unanticipated benefit. My focus is on introducing Josie to as many readers as possible, and one of the ways I've done that is to contact people around the country with whom I've been out of touch -- sometimes for a dozen years or more. It's thrilling to become reacquainted with people and see how our conversations pick up as if we'd been apart for hours or days, not years.

Yesterday, at the reading/signing at Remember the Alibi, a delightful independent bookstore in San Antonio, a question was asked about why I selected antiques as the setting for Consigned to Death. The first part of my answer is that I'd owned a rare books and antiques store for a few years in the 1980s, so I knew the environment. The second part is that I've become fascinated with the concept of ownership. Why does someone collect 18th century pitchers, not thimbles, for instance? Why does someone love the color blue in curtains, whereas someone else loves red or purple? Why do you own the things you do? I will be delving into this concept in a future book. Antiques are, almost by definition, sentimental. What do they mean to you? I'd love to hear your thoughts or questions surrounding this subject.

With regards, Jane

April 21, 2006

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I'm writing this from the Malice Domestic conference, a wonderful annual event just outside Washington, DC in Arlington, VA.

My editor, Ben Sevier, officially accepted Deadly Appraisal, the second Josie Prescott mystery. I'm thrilled! (It will be available from St. Martin's Minotaur in April 2007.)

The third novel, Lethal Legacy, is coming along nicely. When I think of the challenge of planting clues, it reminds me of a magician's sleight of hand. I need to capture the reader's attention over HERE, while something else is going on over THERE. Putting the accent on the wrong SYL-LAB'-LE, if you know what I mean. Fun. And challenging.

As you may know, I've been appointed to the New York Chapter of the Mystery Writers of America Board of Directors -- I'm so pleased to be able to help. I'm also assuming the chairmanship of the Nero Award effective 2007 -- the Nero is given out each December to the best novel written in the tradition of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe mysteries. We'll be updating the eligibility standards soon. Check out The Wolfe Pack's site for details.

With regards, Jane

April 16, 2006

I've heard from several of you that you enjoy hearing about the writing process. It's my pleasure to keep you posted as I work.

I'm writing the synopsis of Josie #4 (not yet titled). The synopsis is a one page summary that describes the plot and some aspects of the characters' development. I've already finished the second Josie Prescott mystery, Deadly Appraisal, and the synopsis for Josie #3 (tentatively titled Lethal Legacy). So now it's time to work on Josie #4. I have the structure of the plot for Josie #4 in my head -- I know who dies, who did it, why, and how. Before I can write it though, I need to think of more clues and red herrings. My mind is whirring! Deadly Appraisal will be published in April 2007, Lethal Legacy in April 2008, and Josie #4 ( not yet titled), in April 2009.

I'm just back from visits at Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale and Phoenix and Mysteries to Die For in Thousand Oaks, CA. This week I'll be at Kate's in Cambridge, MA, then Malice Domestic in DC. Then I'll be at the Mystery Lovers Festival in Oakmont, PA. After that, it's back to Massachusetts -- I'll deliver two speeches at Temple Israel in Sharon, MA. Then I'll be at Just Books, Too in Old Greenwich, CT followed by the Edgars! I'm excited! I got a new dress! The end of the month finds me in Los Angeles at Mystery Bookstore. I'll be signing at the store as well as in their booth at the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books. I'll also be signing at the Sisters in Crime's and Legend Books' booths. Early May has me in Texas at Murder by the Book in Houston, Remember the Alibi in San Antonio, Book People in Austin, and Borders in Dallas. Any chance you can stop by? It would be an honor to meet you.

As you know, I live in New York City. Our apartment has a narrow terrace lined with window boxes. I planted pansies and they're flourishing. My husband and I plan on having a drink on the terrace this evening -- our first foray outside all season. I'll light the torch lights and plug in the mini-lights and our outdoor space will become our private haven.

The actual publication date for Consigned to Death is April 18th -- before it's even official, I have received two pieces of good news. The book has been selected as a Reader's Digest condensed book (out in December), and the first printing has sold out. I hope this means that we're having some success in getting the word out about the book. I'm so eager to introduce you to Josie -- she'd be our friend if she were real!

Please let me know your thoughts. This blog is intended to be a space where we can communicate directly. Send an e-mail to blogger@janecleland.net and we'll post your comments unedited and uncensored. I intend to update this blog at least a couple of times a month. I look forward to hearing from you.

Warmly, Jane

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