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The Power of a Rant – Guest post by Leslie Budewitz

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Leslie Budewitz wins 2013 Agatha for Best First Novel

 

It’s always a pleasure when my good friend and Agatha-winning author Leslie Budewitz visits TKZ for a guest post. Today, let’s welcome Leslie with her “rant” about “The Power of a Rant.” 

The Power of a Rant, or How Letting My Main Character Cut Loose Powered a Winning First Novel

by Leslie Budewitz

I love me a good rant. In April 2012, I attended Don Maass’s Breakout Novel Workshop in Hood River, OR, a week that changed my writing life. I had a three book contract with Berkley for the Food Lovers’ Village series. The first manuscript was due August 1. I went to the workshop with more than half a first draft, and felt pretty good.

I came home and started over. Death al Dente won the 2013 Agatha Award for Best First Novel.

What changed? I didn’t change the plot. I do outline, and I had created character sheets where I focused on learning what my characters most wanted and what they would do to get it. I knew where the story was going.

But my writing was too passive. Not bold enough. Not enough tension. My main character didn’t drive the story. Don suggested I let Erin go on a rant. Now, he meant that as a character discovery exercise, not as a way to open the story, but that’s what I did with it.

I told this story a few weeks ago at the Writers’ Rodeo in Helena, Montana, and a writer in attendance asked if I could read the original opening—good enough to sell the proposal—and the version I submitted. We didn’t have time then, so I promised to write a blog post comparing the openings. Debbie Burke was presenting at the same conference—here’s her roundup—and kindly offered me a guest spot.

In Death al Dente, a classic cozy mystery, Erin Murphy’s mother, Francesca, has asked her to come home and take over the Merc, the shop she’s been running in the family’s century-old grocery in the heart of the village of Jewel Bay, Montana. Erin, now 32, left home for college months after her father was killed a hit-and-run that has never been solved. She’s had a successful career as a buyer for SavCo, my fictional warehouse grocery chain headquartered in Seattle. Coming home wasn’t in her plans, but when your mother asks, what can you do?

The difference between the two drafts is mainly in attitude and micro-tension. Our main character has a problem, and you know she’s going to find a way to solve it. You know we are going to have a good, old-fashioned mother-daughter tussle in the form of conflict over a family business—two classic situations—and it’s going to matter to solving the murder, which hasn’t occurred yet. All that from the rant on the first two pages.

In the first draft, Francesca—aka Fresca—is more interesting than Erin, the main character. Fresca drives the scene. As revised, Erin takes center stage, and we know we’ll be following a strong, capable woman as she reshapes a struggling business, and solves a crime.

Rants are also a good way to give dialogue subtext, that is, to get at what the characters are saying underneath the words they’re using. In this scene between Erin and her mother, you’ll detect issues of trust, fear of change, and control over family business.

Rants can also be a great way to explore what’s actually driving a character, whether it’s your protagonist or a secondary character. In my standalone suspense novel, Blind Faith (Crooked Lane, 2022, written as Alicia Beckman), I let my main character, a lawyer facing a crisis of conscience, go on a rant about justice. Little of it made the page, but the process helped me get at the heart of her internal conflict and figure out what she would do in response to injustice.

If you are struggling with your main character, if she’s not quite coming alive for you, give her a rant. It may not make the final edit—but it will help you find out who she is, and find her voice.

Death al Dente, draft one:

CHAPTER ONE

“Oh, smell this Genovese basil, darling.” My mother waved a bouquet of fresh herbs about three inches in front of my nose. “Isn’t it heavenly?” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, an expression that could only be called rapture on her face. Maybe I’d finally discovered her secret for looking youthful at sixty-one.

“You’re making me hungry, Mom.”

“Then eat.” She waved the basil again and the sweet-green scent nearly made me swoon. “Slice up some of those Early Girls from Rainbow Lake Gardens, with that mozzarella from the new Creamery.”

Caprese salad. My favorite. “Mom, there’s too much to do before the Festa opens tonight. We haven’t even started decorating.” The Merc, formally known as The Glacier Mercantile, shared a courtyard with Red’s Bar, the setting for tonight’s kick-off dinner for the First Annual Jewel Bay Festa di Pasta. But Old Ned Redaway–aka Red–didn’t want us to “doll the place up,” as he put it, until his Friday burgers-and-beer lunch crowd had cleared the door. Which would be soon. Which meant I couldn’t give in to my mother’s tempting suggestions, no matter how much my tummy gurgled at the thought.

“Mangia, mangia. All work and no food makes a girl dull and scrawny.”

“Ha.” I’d inherited my late father’s “black Irish” fair skin and dark hair along with enough of my mother’s good genes to avoid most weight problems. But scrawny I would never be, not as the manager of a market specializing in local artisan foods and the daughter of a woman who sold handmade pasta and sauces for a living.

“I’ll wash these up and find a platter and that herbed olive oil,” she said. “You slice a few for each of us.”

“Ah, the truth comes out,” I said, and stepped outside the front door to the produce cart. A cattail reed basket held the season’s first tomatoes–greenhouse, necessarily, in mid June in northwest Montana, but ripe and juicy nonetheless. I plucked two and headed back in. “You want me to eat so you can eat.”

“No good Italian girl ever eats alone,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the demonstration kitchen at the back of the shop.

Ouch. Okay, I was only half-Italian, but I’d spent too many nights eating alone for far too long. Still did on occasion, though now by choice.

She stopped and turned, gripping the peppery-sweet basil. “What I should have said, Erin, darling, is that when you eat good food, grown and prepared with love, you’re never alone, even if no one else is at the table with you.”

“Nice recovery, Mom.” I grinned.

In the kitchen, I drew out one of the locally-made hardwood cutting boards we sold, honed a chef’s knife on a steel, and started slicing. Working together, we stacked layers into a caprese antipasto appetizer: a thick slice of firm tomato topped with a slab of fresh mozzarella and a large basil leaf, drizzled with a fruity olive oil. Too impatient to grab a plate and fork, I picked one up and savored the smells before taking the first bite, my other hand cupped to catch any stray juices. “Mmm. The taste of summer.”

My mother was too preoccupied with eating to bother chiding me for talking with my mouth full.

Death al Dente, as published

CHAPTER ONE

“Who put these huckleberry chocolates on the front counter?” I grabbed the stack of purple boxes crammed with gooey huckleberry-filled chocolate wannabes swathed in purple foil and shoved them onto an open shelf on the side wall, next to the herbal snoose.

“I did, honey,” my mother said. “Our customers love them.”

“Our customers,” I said, “buy one for seventy-five cents and walk around the store, so preoccupied with unwrapping it and indulging their sweet tooth that they can’t fathom buying Montana-made goat cheese, or buffalo jerky, or your pastas and sauces. Then they grab a napkin that costs us five cents apiece to wipe the drool off their fingers, and half of them drop it on the floor. There goes our profit.”

My mother scowled. “Erin, what on earth has gotten into you? Why do you hate huckleberry chocolates?”

“I don’t hate huckleberry chocolates. I love huckleberry chocolates. But we can’t rebuild this business on fake food and chemical sugar.”

She picked up the boxes I’d just moved and carried them back to the cash register. “We have always had huckleberry chocolates right here, where the customers can see them.”

“Mom, you hired me to run the place, remember? To shake things up.”

“Some things shouldn’t be changed.”

“Mom, we agreed. The Merc will die if it’s just another knickknacky gift shop. But an artisan market for local and regional foods—”

“Those are local. They’re made five miles from here, by a woman you’ve known half your life.”

“With high-fructose corn syrup and milk chocolate that tastes like rancid Hershey’s. If we find a vendor using fresh berries, real sugar, and high-quality fair trade dark chocolate, sixty percent cocoa solids or better, I will build the Great Pyramid of huckleberry chocolates right here.” I jabbed at a spot on the oak floor, ten feet inside the Merc’s front door, little changed in the hundred years since my grandfather Murphy built the place and opened the town’s first grocery. “I will worship at her kitchen stove. I will put an ad in the paper and a post on Facebook offering a free huckleberry truffle to everyone who walks in that door. And if they aren’t wrapped in purple paper, I will even consider raising the price split.”

My mother stared as though she didn’t recognize me. Not for the first time since I’d returned to Jewel Bay, Montana, the hometown I couldn’t wait to leave after high school, fourteen years ago, to take over her struggling business so she could focus on building her own product line.

And not, I was sure, the last.

(Excerpt from Death al Dente, published by Berkley Prime Crime 2013, copyright Leslie Ann Budewitz)

Does Erin ever find the perfect huckleberry chocolate? I’ll let you read the book to find out. And don’t fret over that luscious business about basil. It finds its rightful place later in the scene. Because a Caprese salad made with sun-ripened tomatoes, creamy mozzarella, and basil so fresh it’s practically still growing is—like an honest rant—too good to waste.

***

Thanks, Leslie, for a terrific before-and-after comparison with excellent lessons from a winning first chapter!

***

Leslie Budewitz tells stories about women’s lives, seasoned with friendship, food, a dash of history, and a heaping spoonful of mystery. She writes the Spice Shop mysteries set in Seattle’s Pike Place Market and the Food Lovers’ Village mysteries set in a fictional version of Bigfork, Montana, where she lives. Her latest books are Lavender Lies Bleeding, the ninth Spice Shop mystery, and All God’s Sparrows and Other Stories: A Stagecoach Mary Fields Collection, historical short fiction set in Montana. As Alicia Beckman, she writes moody suspense set in Montana. She is a former president of Sisters in Crime.

Find her books in print, ebook, and audio across the US and Canada, wherever you shop for books.

Revisited: How Did I Get Here?

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Kay DiBianca is away from TKZ for a bit longer, so today I am sharing her post on the journey of being a novelist.

How Did I Get Here?

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When I sat down at my desk a few days ago, the room suddenly turned dark, and there was a loud buzzing sound. I realized I had entered a wormhole, and I was being transported back in time to a day several years ago.

* * *

I was running on a dirt trail in a park near my home and I was listening to an audiobook on my iPod Shuffle. The book was one of the Rabbi Small mysteries by Harry Kemelman, and I was enjoying the story. As I jogged by a fence and around a turn, a thought lit a fire in my brain. I could write a mystery as good as the one I was listening to! It would be fun to write a novel just to see what it would be like. I finished my run, returned home, showered and dressed. Then I sat down in a recliner in our living room with my computer on my lap and began to type.

* * *

The wormhole suddenly closed, and I was back at my desk, a relatively new, six-foot-long testimony to my dedication to this writing journey. Desk-reorg day is later in the week, so the desk is messy, piled with papers and post-it notes – reminders of upcoming events and to-dos I shouldn’t ignore.

Two whiteboards sit on the back of the desk, leaning against the wall with lists of books to read and others I’ve read and need to review. A map of the Hero’s Journey is magnetically tacked to one of the whiteboards along with a few inspirational sayings. Reminders to Make Haste Slowly, Be Intentional, Make It Count.

My writing calendar is just inside the middle drawer of the desk. A glance at the page tells me about my obligations this month for blog posts, book promotions, meetings, and everything else that’s writing-related.

The Windows 10 laptop in front of me on the desk houses dozens of directories containing information from branding to short stories, from newsletters to marketing graphs.  This is where I handle email, write articles, post to social media, create jpgs and pngs to market books and share thoughts on writing.

A second laptop, a Mac, sits on the desk’s pullout shelf to my left. It’s owned by the publishing company my husband and I formed in order to publish our own works. I use it to format and publish the final copies.

A third laptop, another Mac, stays on the bar in the kitchen where I can glance over an occasional news story while I eat breakfast. Scrivener lives on that Mac, and it accompanies me to my office recliner, along with a glass of sparkling water when I sit down to spend serious time on my WIP.

A list of writing goals is taped to the back of my office door so I see it every time I close the door to begin work.

Bookshelves against the wall next to my recliner are filled with books on the craft of writing, constant reminders of how much I still have to learn. The bottom shelf contains copies of my three published novels as well as my husband’s recently published debut novel. Three-ring binders contain pages of notes on each of my books as well as several works-in-progress.

Other bookshelves in my office and throughout the house contain favorite tomes. (I really should spend some time reorganizing so I don’t have to go on safari just to find what I’m looking for.)

* * *

How did I get here? I was going to write just one novel. It was going to be fun, an act of exploration, like climbing a mountain. Do it once for the experience.

But then I discovered the craft and the joy of writing.

So TKZers: When did you decide to write that first novel? How did you get to the present moment? Were you surprised by the journey? Are you going to stay the course?

The Wow Factor

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by James Scott Bell

In a 1948 booklet, Pulp Fiction, Robert Turner gave straight-dope advice on what it took to break into the pulp market. In one section he explains what happens to a manuscript when it comes in to an editorial office. What he says here has, I shall in a moment contend, application to writers in the age of AI-slop.

There are, says Turner, two piles in the office. One pile is for authors whose names are “known.” However—

If your name is not known—which makes your stuff an unknown quantity—the script is put at the bottom of the other pile, which is often huge. This is called the “slush” pile. It consists, I’m sorry to say, of about 98 percent junk. This is the fault of the writers, please understand, not the editors. It is also an advantage to you, if you have anything on the ball, because your script will then stand out like a rose on a garbage dump and the editor will make happy little noises.

This is true today, as it has always been true in this game. Most writing is junk. That is an advantage to writers who want to step up their game (which is why TKZ exists!)

The busy editor, says Turner, will always go to the “professional pile” first, as the odds of finding a good story are greater than with the slush. But he adds this note about the pro pile:

The casualties here are often heavier than you would expect them to be. Nearly all of these stories are “useable.” That is, they are professional pieces of work, with not too many outstanding flaws. But the editor doesn’t want merely “useable” stories. He wants damned good ones. He wants to get hold of a yarn that hits him so hard while he is reading it that he can hardly sit still. When he finishes reading he wants to be able to say: “Here’s a hell of a good Smithers story!” This does not happen very often. It takes a wow of a story to get an editor excited. He’s seen them all.

That is true of readers, too. They want a wow story, which is the rarest kind. Add to that all the AI-slop, which is competent. But is it ever wow? Is it ever unforgettable?

Our job is to become the rose in the garbage dump. May I suggest doing a “wow check” at every stage of a project, starting with—

Idea

I have a large file of ideas, things I’ve written down over the years when I’m sparked. I know you get these, too. Don’t ignore them, record them. Revisit them from time to time, seeing what still excites you.

I used to have a box for newspaper and magazine clippings. When something jumped out at me, I’d clip it and toss it in the box. Every now and then I’d go through them, seeing what still had a spark. One of them was a story about cops in L.A. stopping a driver of a convertible. He was a 6’4” guy, had an open container of Jose Cuervo Gold, and was dressed only in a Santa Claus hat and a G-string. This I clipped and threw in the box. Later it became the opening of my Ty Buchanan legal thriller Try Fear.

Development

Idea in hand, I’ll proceed (like a movie studio) to development. My favorite technique is that suggested by the great writing teacher Dwight Swain. I call it “the white-hot document.” It’s a free-form letter to myself, writing down as many plot and character and scene ideas as come to mind, following random threads and rabbit trails. I write without stopping in ten-minute chunks. I rest my brain, then come back to the document the next day.  I highlight the things I like best, and write some more. I do this for three or four days. If I’m still feeling the wow, I move on to—

Structure

I’m a plot and structure guy, so I lay out my “signpost scene cards” in Scrivener, including the “mirror moment.” The mirror moment is, for me, the key to it all. When I nail that—when I feel it—I know what the through-line of the whole book is.

Beginning

Then the day comes when I start writing. The first leg of the journey! This is fun, the scenery is new and fresh. I whistle a tune behind the wheel. But I know at some point I will probably hit—

The Wall

I’ve written before about hitting a “wall” at around the 30k mark. Other writers I know report the same thing. I usually pause here and review my first act, making sure it’s got the death stakes solid and the first Doorway of No Return clear. I make sure my heart still feels the wow factor so I can push on to the finish.

Editing

And then there’s the editing process. I do a read-through in hard copy, make changes, give it to my exacting editor (Mrs. B), incorporate her notes, then off to a beta reader, more changes, a proofreader, then my final polish. What keeps me going at this stage is the opportunity to put in more heart. I know my story now, see the big picture, know the characters, and I look for ways to increase the emotional impact of the whole thing.

So why go through all that when I can just prompt Chat or Claude to do the heavy lifting? Because I need to feel the wow, for myself as a writer and for my readers. Because, as Robert Turner says in Pulp Fiction, “to entertain a reader—in other words, to write a good story—is to play upon emotions, through the things that you make happen to your story characters.”

You don’t get that from a machine, in my (mostly) humble opinion.

Comments welcome.

Words of Wisdom: Risk

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Risk. Your characters have to risk in order to get what they want. Perhaps everything. Writers need to risk failure when they write the next story or book, and when they attempt to grow and improve their skills.

Today’s WoW is features a trio of insightful posts about dealing with risk.

Boyd Morrison lays out what can be at risk for a creative. Jordan Dane’s post isn’t directly about risk, but it is about providing a foundation for success as a writer, which I’d argue is necessary if you are taking creatives. Finally, James Scott Bell breaks down the different kinds of creative risks you can undertake.

When I was in the sixth grade, I desperately wanted the role of the lisping Winthrop in my school’s production of The Music Man. I can’t explain now why I had that inner urge (I’m not sure I had even seen a play before then), but perhaps it was because I shared Winthrop’s shy, self-conscious demeanor and saw myself in his struggle to come out of his shell. I auditioned and got my first taste of rejection. I didn’t even get cast in the chorus. I can still remember the hollow pit in my stomach as I watched the musical, unable to enjoy it the way my fellow audience members did.

It was a whole year before I had the opportunity to audition again, this time for Anna’s son Louis in The King and I. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but I got the part, and the experience on stage was everything I’d imagined it to be. I’ve been in love with acting ever since.

Today, I still act, but I’ve raised the stakes to a level I couldn’t have comprehended when I was that seventh-grader. I’ve just moved to Los Angeles to explore the Hollywood acting business. It’s only temporary, but it means uprooting myself from my wife, who has been incredibly supportive of this venture. I’m also away from the comforts of home, although the discomfort is as minimal as can be because I’m living in my sister’s home and I’m able to continue my writing while I’m here.

Everything I just mentioned involved risk. Of course, it’s not risk in the sense we normally think of it. My life was never in danger; I didn’t fear bodily harm. But a devastated psyche can be even more painful and difficult to recover from. As soon as I auditioned for the first time, I was risking rejection, being told I wasn’t good enough, or at least not as good as the actor who got the role. To get the part of Louis, I had to put myself at risk again.

We constantly face risks. Should I risk leaving the steady job I have now to take a new job offer? Should I ask the cute girl out on a date and risk getting snubbed? Should I get up on stage and risk making a fool of myself? But if I don’t take the new job, I’m at risk of missing a golden opportunity. If I don’t ask the cute girl out, I risk not being with the eventual love of my life. If I don’t go on stage, I risk not exploring a new side of me that will make me more fulfilled.

Being a writer is rife with risk. We face rejection on a constant basis from agents, publishers, critics, and readers. We might spend a year of our lives on a project that ends up being a dismal failure. We may fall on our faces in a very public setting, with Amazon reviews broadcasting the results. If I failed in my old jobs, only my immediate co-workers would know it; now my work is out there for the world to see.

Achieving anything worthwhile requires risk. It means leaving the comfort of the familiar, facing the terror of being judged a failure, and embracing the change, come what may.

Stupid risks don’t count. Don’t mortgage your house to buy lottery tickets. It’s the smart risks that are worth taking. Prepare for the risk by doing your homework. Make it a calculated risk by weighing the pros and cons of each alternative. Minimize the risk by setting realistic goals that you have control over: you can deliver a novel by a certain date at your standard of quality, but you can’t control whether it will be a NY Times bestseller.

Boyd Morrison—February 25, 2013

Just like a good, tried and true recipe is for brisket, we pick up new tips but keep what works. The same goes for writing. There are ways we all use to build upon our craft methods of writing a novel. We try new things to see what works. We discard other methods that we’ve outgrown as we evolve.

Below are some questions I’d like for you to answer if you see anything that fits you. Feel free to add what you’ve learned about writing in your comments. I am a sponge for picking up new stuff.

Writer Questions – Share your Experiences

1.) Are you still finding time to read? Do you read outside the genre you write?Even when life gets busy, reading can be a comfort, but it can also open your eyes to new techniques or interesting POVs or genres. Always be a student when it comes to your writing craft. You will keep growing.

2.) Do you cherish the time you write, where you write and make sure you don’t get interrupted? Life, family/friends and your day job can pile on to add stress in your life. Is your writing the first thing to go? I hope not. Even if you only finish a page a day, that’s progress. I find that once I establish a routine, my body can react in a bad way if I stray from my writing schedule. I can physically get the shakes. Even when I had my day job, I made sure to write every evening and on weekends. It wasn’t easy but it paid off.

3.) How do you capture those big ideas that can spring on you any time of day or night? Do you keep notebooks all over the house or a voice recorder? I get lots of ideas while I’m driving. The best ones, I pull over and reach for my purse where I keep a small notepad and pens. Or better yet, get someone to drive you so your genius is unfettered. Is there a place where you consistently get your big ideas? No pictures if you tell me “the shower.”

4.) Do you have personal rules/discipline when it comes to unplugging from social media and the internet while you are writing? My usual day is writing 9:00 am until 3:00 pm with short breaks to care for my dogs and grab a snack. I try to get up every 3 hours to stretch and walk and replenish the well for a quick change of scenery but I don’t get to emails or social media until after I’ve achieved my word count goal. YES, I have a daily goal. I generally shoot for 1500-2000 words per day and do rolling edits to keep my progress going on the overall project. But social media and emails are a time drain. No sneak peaking as a diversion when you hit a wall. Pick another way to shake out the cobwebs.

5.) Do you read your work aloud? After all these years, I still read my edits aloud. It’s a great way to insure you have a natural cadence to your dialogue and prose. Even if you don’t do this every day, I recommend doing it for important passages/proposals or as one of your final draft processes. This is the best way to find words you’ve left out.

6.) Do you use the first third to a quarter of your book to set up your world building and character introductions? An editor with a large publishing house said something at a writer’s conference about expecting to read the basic set up with characters and conflict within the first 3 chapters. Now it may not be 3 chapters exactly, as I see it now, but he wasn’t wrong about how to establish your world for the reader. Even if you don’t plot ahead of time, expect that readers and editors and agents will expect you to set that foundation for your story and include your cast of characters and their conflicts in the first part of the book.

7.) Do you plan the ending of your book while you’re working on your plot idea or are you willing to let it happen when you get there? If you’re like me, each book can be different. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night with a new character telling me the ending to his/her story. True. That doesn’t happen with each book, but when it’s that strong that it wakes me, I listen. On the other hand, I am flexible enough to see new ways to add twists. I want to be open to new character motivations too. More times than not, I have found better books by staying open to my endings. How rigid are you? Have you ever been pleasantly surprised with an ending you never expected, just because you followed a rabbit trail or discovered something new about your main character?

Jordan Dane—March 21, 2019

Risk the Idea

I think each novel you write should present a new challenge. It might be a concept or “what if?” that will require you to do some fresh research. My new Mike Romeo thriller (currently in final revisions) revolves around a current issue that is horrific and heartbreaking. I could have avoided the subject altogether. But I needed to go there.

My next Romeo, in development, came from a news item about a current, but not widely reported, controversy. It’s fresh, but I’ve got a lot of learning to do. I’m reading right now, I’ll be talking to an expert or two, and soon will be making a location stop for further research.

I do this because I don’t want to write a book in the series where someone will say, “Same old, same old.”

Admittedly, writing about “hot-button” issues these days carries a degree of risk. Especially within the walls of the Forbidden City where increasingly the question “Will it sell?” is overridden by “Will it offend?”

But as the old saying goes, there is no sure formula for success, but there is one for failure—try to please everybody.

Craft Risk

Are you taking any risks with your craft? Are you following the Captain Kirk admonition to boldly go where you have never gone before?

There are 7 critical areas in fiction: plot, structure, characters, scenes, dialogue, voice, and meaning.

You can take one or all of these and determine to kick them up a notch. For example:

Plot—Have you pushed the stakes far enough? If things are bad for the Lead, how can you make them worse? I had a student in a workshop once who pitched his plot. It involved a man who was carrying guilt around because his brother died and he didn’t do enough to save him. I then asked the class to do an exercise: what is something your Lead character isn’t telling you? What does he or she want to hide?

I asked for some examples, and this fellow raised his hand. He said, “I didn’t expect this. But my character told me he was the one who killed his brother.”

A collective “Wow” went up from the group. But the man said, “But if I do that, I’m afraid my character won’t have any sympathy.”

I asked the group, “How many of you would now read this book?”

Every hand went up.

Take risks with your plot. Go where you haven’t gone before.

Characters—Press your characters to reveal more of themselves. I use a Voice Journal for this, a free-form document where the character talks to me, answers my questions, gets mad at me. I want to peel back the onion layers.

How about taking a risk with your bad guy? How? By sympathizing with him!

Hoo-boy, is that a risk. But you know what? The tangle of emotions you create in the reader will increase the intensity of the fictive dream. And that’s your goal! In the words of Mr. Dean Koontz:

The best villains are those that evoke pity and sometimes even genuine sympathy as well as terror. Think of the pathetic aspect of the Frankenstein monster. Think of the poor werewolf, hating what he becomes in the light of the full moon, but incapable of resisting the lycanthropic tides in his own cells.

Dialogue—Are you willing to make your dialogue work harder by not always being explicit? In other words, how can you make it reveal what’s going on underneath the surface of the scene without the characters spelling it out?

Voice—Are you taking any risks with your style? This is a tricky one. On the one hand, you want your story told in the cleanest way possible. You don’t want style larded on too heavily.

On the other hand, voice is an X factor that separates the cream from the milk. I’ve quoted John D. MacDonald on this many times—he wanted “unobtrusive poetry” in his prose.

I’m currently reading the Mike Hammer books in order. It’s fascinating to see Mickey Spillane growing as a writer. His blockbuster first novel, I, The Jury, is pure action, violence, and sex. It reads today almost like a parody. But with his next, My Gun is Quick, he begins to infuse Hammer with an inner life that makes him more interesting. By the time we get to his fourth book, One Lonely Night, Hammer is a welter of passions and inner conflict threatening to tear him apart. His First-Person voice is still hard-boiled, but it achieves what one critic called “a primitive power akin to Beat poetry.” And Ayn Rand, no less, put One Lonely Night ahead of anything by Thomas Wolfe!

In short, Spillane didn’t rest on his first-novel laurels. He pushed himself to be better.

He risked it for the biscuit.

James Scott Bell—September 24, 2022

***

How about you? How do you approach creative risk? What do you do to help yourself prepare?

Reader Friday-Show, Don’t Tell…Sort of

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Good Friday morning, Killzoners! The topic under consideration today is Show Don’t Tell…with a twist!

As writers, we do wax eloquently about this subject, don’t we? But, how about as readers?

Hmm…why, whatever do I mean?

Here’s the deal. Today we, as readers, are tasked with sharing our favorite genre to read. But there’s one rule:

Do not, under any circumstances, name the genre. You must describe it without naming it.

Get it? Show, don’t tell!

And then, the rest of us will try to guess your favorite reading genre. Sound fun?

Here’s mine:

Picture me standing at my stove stirring a pot of savory somethings. Each ingredient I drop in adds flavor and a pinch of surprise.

But wait! As I stir, I see a face float to the surface. Tom Cruise. Oooh!

And what is that he’s holding? A cell phone, with a message staring at him. His glance darts upward as he hears the roar of a helicopter, three gunmen hanging out the doors with automatic weapons trained on him. With the speed of a Tom Cruise move he disappears from view, helicopter hot on his tail.

Are you getting the picture? So…what do you think? What’s my favorite genre to read?

And thanks for playing What’s My Favorite Reading Genre?

 

 

 

The Imposter Nurse

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By Elaine Viets

Florida is the land of scams. Some are cruel and some are bold, like the scammers who made fake phone calls that seemed to be from the Lee County Sheriff’s Office. The crooks told people they had outstanding warrants or subpoenas and were facing criminal charges. To avoid arrest, the victims had to buy gift cards and read the gift card numbers to the scammers.

But one scam makes me sick.

The imposter nurse.

These are people pretending to be nurses. Like the Florida scammer who helped treat more than 4,400 patients. This fake nurse gave the hospital a license number, which matched a registered nurse with the same first name but a different last name. The scam nurse claimed she’d recently married and promised to give the hospital a copy of her marriage license. She slid by with that excuse until she was offered a promotion. The hospital did more checking and found out the woman didn’t have a valid license – for marriage or nursing. The sham nurse was fired, and then arrested. She faces a slew of felony charges.

I couldn’t resist using an imposter nurse in Beach Blonde Betrayal, my new Florida Beach mystery. In this novel, a fake nurse’s bumbling kills an innocent man.

         Beach Blonde Betrayal starts with a heroic rescue. A park employee saves the cat of a rich South Florida woman. The stubborn feline nearly became gator food until the man, armed only with a flimsy litter pick up tool, saves the cat from the jaws of an alligator. The daring rescue was witnessed by Norah McCarthy, the Florida woman who own the Florodora apartments, built in 1923 by her grandmother, a former showgirl.

The Florodora is a four-story white stucco creation with a red barrel-tile roof, built in the Spanish Colonial style that suits the subtropical climate.  Norah’s grandmother sang and danced in the 1920 Broadway musical, Florodora. Grandma met Johnny Harriman, and at 16 she eloped with the millionaire. She loved Johnny until the day he died.

Which was a year later.

Handsome, happy-go-lucky Johnny died in an accident involving a champagne bottle and a chandelier, leaving Norah’s Grandma a rich widow. She moved to Peerless Point and built the Florodora on a narrow strip of land between the ocean and the Intracoastal Waterway.

Grandma’s career as a showgirl was considered shocking, even though her costume was stunningly modest. She wore a ruffled Edwardian walking costume with long gloves, a picture hat, and a parasol. Never mind that the only bare skin was her face. She was on the stage, and that was so wicked her parents disowned her.

Grandma was scandalous enough to be an early Florida Woman. She rented to benign versions of the breed, and Norah honored that tradition.

The book also has plenty of Florida Men and Women. You’ve seen the headlines:

“Florida Man Broke into Random House, Ran Bath, Cooked Dinner to Avoid Going Home to Angry Wife.” He was a wimp compared to the Florida Woman who shoplifted “Seven Lobsters Down Her Pants.”

And here’s my personal favorite:  “Naked Florida Man Tries to Force His Way Into Home Thru Doggie Door.”

Then there was the Florida Man who claimed people were “eating his brains.” He hijacked an SUV and tore across a golf course, fishtailing on the fairway, plowing tire tracks into the sod, and jumping bunkers, spraying sand everywhere.

The chase ended in the most Florida way possible. The man was captured after he slammed his stolen vehicle into a nursing home. No one was hurt, though the golf course’s turf was badly torn up.

The Florodora residents are all a little, well, different. They include an artist, a glamorous ex-model who grows weed, a Shakespearian actor, a writer and an ex-cop in witness protection. One Florodora  resident finds a young woman strangled on the beach. She is the first of several victims, and life comes to a standstill in the beach town of Peerless Point. Worse, one of the Florodora residents is accused of murder. Norah is sure he’s innocent, and sets out to save him.

But back to those imposter nurses. That’s just Florida, right? They have nothing to do with the saner parts of the country.

Except many imposter nurses have sham sheepskins, issued in South Florida.

Turns out the feds shut down three bogus South Florida nursing schools that were selling diplomas and transcripts. The schools issued more than 7,600 fake nursing diplomas.

Seven thousand six hundred nurses around the country with fake credentials.

Nurses installing IV lines, dispensing medication, and changing dressings.

Think about it.

Or maybe not.

 

Beach Blonde Betrayal debuted Tuesday. Buy your copy here:

https://tinyurl.com/3pk7w3tw

 

Quotable

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[Note: had a double Quotable a couple of weeks ago. I’m running this one again for comments. Do you relate? Can you ever “take a vacation” from your writing?]

“Writing is a full-time job, it really is, and you never really take a vacation from it. I could go through a whole day and show you how every conscious moment—and the unconscious ones as well—were part of the business of being a writer. I could, but I won’t….I’ve got work to do.” – Lawrence Block

Amateur Sleuth Amateur Hour

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By PJ Parrish

I have to vent. I hope you all don’t mind. Maybe this has happened to you.

You crack open a new book. It has stellar reviews. It has been nominated for a couple awards. The author isn’t an established bestseller but has some good bonafides. It has a jazzy cover and great buzz. A good and trusted friend recommended it.

It starts out great. A killer opening line. Snappy dialogue, a likeable flawed protag, great pacing. It’s an amateur sleuth, which is not my favorite cuppa, but I was willing to go for a ride.

Then…

Around page 50, it stalled in mid-air. I gave it another 25 pages, thinking maybe it could glide into to a good landing. Nope. It got worse. I gave up. I was in bed, reading, and threw it across the room, scaring my dog. I think I am most angry at the author for that, waking my chihuahua out of his deep-dog sleep.

What happened? How did a story with such promise fail? I’ve given this a lot of thought because often we as readers focus on what we enjoy about a book, why it entertained us or moved us emotionally, why we remember the characters long after we’ve finished the last chapter. (Gus McCrae lived in my head long after I closed Lonesome Dove). And as writers — and we can’t help ourselves here — we also tend to analyze why a book doesn’t work.

This book, as I said, was well written. But it failed, I finally realized, because the writer was dealing with an amateur sleuth who lacked all the basic, vital elements needed to make the plot succeed. Now, I’m not here today to diss amateur sleuths. I don’t write cozies or amateur sleuths. All of my books, save one, have dealt with private eyes or cops. My stand alone She’s Not There featured a skip tracer but he was a failed private investigator.

My lone amateur protag was my other stand alone, The Killing Song. The protagonist, Matt Owens, is a seasoned investigative reporter who tries to unravel the gruesome murder of his kid sister. I learned a lot about writing an amateur sleuth when dealing with him. It was, in many ways, the hardest book I wrote. That book gave me great respect for those of you who attempt to write an amateur sleuth mystery or thriller. Why? Mainly, because you can’t rely on the usual police procedural process and the oft threadbare tropes.

Here is what I learned about amateur sleuths. Maybe it can help some of you who might be struggling with this.

1. Give them a relevant job or hobby. Unlike a cop or PI, an amateur can’t just stumble upon bodies without a logical reason. You have to ground them in a profession or avocation that grants them access and freedom of movement within the world you’re building. They have to talk to towns people and uncover secrets without raising suspicion. Classic examples — hair salon owner, baker, bed and breakfast owner. Or as Michael Connelly did so splendidly in The Poet, a newspaper reporter.

2. Give them a good reason. Mere curiosity isn’t a strong enough motivation. Without a badge or professonal training, the amateur has to have some sort of invested stakes. In my case, Matt Owens is trying to find his sister’s killer. Maybe your sleuth is a primary suspect and must solve the crime to clear themselves. Maybe someone close to them is wrongly accused. There has to be credible motivation or you’re just being cutesy. Oh, look…the local vicar figured out who killed old Maud! Praise the lord and pour the G&Ts!

3. Give them credible secondary skills. Without law enforcement training, an amateur can look just silly. You have to give them something extra — a grasp of human nature or a background in psychology. The owner of a nursery might know about poisonous plants. Our own Elaine Viets wrote a popular Dead End Job series and got great mileage for her protag Helen Hawthorne, on the run for an ex while she grinds out a living in lousy jobs. (Helen is the main reason I over-tip hotel maids and never use the coffee pots.)

4. Give them a supporting cast. This one’s important because an amateur needs some access to law enforcement, forensics folks, and other crime specialists to be credible. The amateur cannot operate in a vacuum. Maybe your protag has a business partner, or is close friends with the local police chief. And don’t forget to give your hero a sidekick or foil whose prime role in the story is a sounding board for the amateur’s investigations and plain old figuring out stuff.

Back to my character Matt Owens. Yes, he was grounded in the basic skills of any investigative reporter. But I found it wasn’t enough. His deep grief and guilt over his sister’s gruesome murder was blinding him emotionally. Plus early in the story, he realizes the killer might be in France. In my ardor to set a story in Paris, I had painted myself into a real corner. (I am a rabid pantser). He was truly a poisson out of water. So I had him pair up with a biracial Parisienne police woman, who, subject to chauvinsim and racism within her department, has her own demons to tame. Their friction — and then prickly friendship — made for what I consider one of my best stories.

So…back to the book that I threw across the room. Where did it go wrong?

  • First, the main character’s motivation is never well defined and when the reason for her wanting to snoop is finally revealed, it comes so late in the book that it makes the protag seem dumb as a bag of rocks. Hello, Marty McFly!
  • Second, the protag has no acess to anyone in police work, and in fact she is fatally antagonistic toward law enforcement, especially those leading the murder investigation. She is isolated by her own stubborness and social anxiety.
  • Third, she’s unemployed, whiny and a little too concerned about finding a man to bed and to right her life ship.
  • Fourth, she is operating in a near emotional vacuum. When she does finally trust a friend to help her solve the murder, the friend comes across as the more vivid character, who gets all the great lines and insights.

Normally I feel bad when I don’t finish a book. But not this time. Life is short, my bookshelf is full and I have miles to go before I sleep. So does my dog.

Postscript. Thanks for letting me vent. I hope those of you who write amateur sleuths will weigh in.

 

 

Eyes Reveal Our Age at Death

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Forensic science is always evolving to better aid in the apprehension of criminals. What if a killer leaves his victim with no fingertips, DNA, or teeth? One way to determine the age of a victim is by examining their eyes.

Sounds bizarre, doesn’t it? The soulless eyes of a murder victim allow investigators to determine their age at the time of death. This process is called Radiocarbon Dating.

Radiocarbon Dating

You’re probably familiar with how to tell the age of a tree by examining a split piece and counting the number of rings. Same basic idea when examining a victim’s eyes.

How is this possible?

Each of us, whether we realize it or not, have been exposed to naturally occurring levels of radiation. Most prominent in the 1960’s and 70’s, particles of radiation released into the atmosphere while testing nuclear weapons. Over the years — decades — these particles have fallen to trace proportions. However, there still remains naturally occurring levels of carbon in the air. Different forms of carbon are ingested every day, introducing trace elements into our system. Many carbon compounds are crucial to our way of life. Others are toxic (like cyanide, a carbon-nitrogen bond).

Radioactive particles and naturally occurring carbon settle in the crystallins of the eyes, and Radiocarbon Dating is the process of detecting this manifestation.

What are Crystallins?

Crystallins are microscopic proteins that bind together and collect on the lens of the eye. According to Explore Forensics (one of my favorite sites), crystallins got their name because of how they react under a microscope – like crystals, allowing light to pass through. From the time of conception (conception! Let that sink in…) until age two, these crystallins form in and around the lens of the eyes. At which point the formation stops. When this happens, trace elements of carbon permanently fuse in between the crystallins.

So, when an investigator – usually a scientist or pathologist – conducts a Radiocarbon Dating examination, they’re looking at levels of the carbon fused with the crystallins. To calculate age, they subtract the current levels of radioactive carbon in the eye from the naturally occurring levels of carbon in the atmosphere today. By comparing the levels of radiocarbon in the crystallins to the atmospheric levels they can determine the precise year of a victim’s birth.

Cool, right?

Determining the Sex of a Skeleton

There are many differences between the two sexes, and the variation runs as deep as our bones. This is especially important for corpses in advance stages of decomposition. All that might remain is the skeleton, perhaps teeth, and possibly some hair. Even if the pathologist has teeth and hair to work with, that doesn’t mean enough material remains to ID the victim’s sex

This is where the skeleton offers more information. The only exception would be that of a pre-adolescent, where sexual dimorphism is slight, making the task much more difficult.

The most common way to determine a skeleton’s sex is by bone size. Not the most accurate, but it’s a starting point. For the most part, male bones are larger than female bones because of the additional muscle that increases on the male through adolescence and into adulthood.

Another good inclination of sex is the pelvic area.

The sub-pubic angle (or pubic angle) is the angle formed at pubic arch by the convergence of the inferior rami of the ischium (loop bone at the base) and pubis (top of loop) on either side. Generally, the sub-pubic angle of 50-60 degrees indicates a male, whereas an angle of 70-90 degrees indicates a female. Women have wider hips to allow for childbirth.

Female sub-pubic angle
Female sub-pubic angle
Subpubic_angle,_male
Male sub-pubic angle

There are also distinctive differences between the pubic arches in males and females. A woman’s pubic arch is wider than a male’s as is the pelvic inlet, to allow a baby’s head to pass through.

The pubic arch is also referred to as the ischiopubic arch.
Incidentally, this difference is noticed in all species, not only humans. Same with Radiocarbon Dating.

The area around the pelvic inlet (middle of the pelvic bone) is larger in females than in males. A female skeleton who has given birth naturally will be identifiable because this space widens during childbirth. Even though it contracts afterward, it never fully returns to its original size. In the picture above notice the heart-shaped space.

Other Body Clues

The acetabulum — the socket where the femur (thigh bone) meets the pelvis — is larger in males. Also, the head and skull have several characteristics indicative of one sex or the other.

  • In males, the chin is squarer. Females tend to have a slightly more pointed chin.
  • The forehead of males slant backward, where females have a slightly more rounded forehead.
  • Males tend to have brow ridges. Females do not.

These differences and more tell the pathologist the sex of the deceased.

What Do Forensics and Skeletal Differences Have To Do With Writing?

Everything! Use the differences between male and female skeletons to add realism to fiction. Let’s say, a body is discovered in the blistering heat of the summer. The victim hasn’t been found for months, leaving only the skeleton. By showing the pathologist or Medical Examiner measuring the pelvic inlet, arches, and angles, we’ve essentially ensured our reader isn’t going anywhere.

Same holds true for the lab conducting a Radiocarbon Dating Test on the eyes of a murder victim. Adding forensic details is a lot of fun, too, for the writer and the reader. The trick is to disguise the research in a compelling storyline rather than dumping the information all at once.

Why is the hanging skeleton in doctors’ exam rooms always named Fred? Half the time they’re female. If they make me wait too long, I’m more apt to bring it to their attention. “Fred might need a new name, considering that’s a female skeleton.” And this always surprises them! They’re also less likely to leave me unattended for long in the future. 😉

That Old-Time Omniscient

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by James Scott Bell

We all know about the “rules violation” known as “head hopping.” This is where we get the thoughts (inside the head) of one character, then suddenly “hop” into another character’s head within the same scene.

Technically, however, this isn’t a sin. It’s Omniscient POV (though it usually happens by mistake).

POV is broken down into First, Second (rare!), Third, and Omniscient (though some label Omni a type of Third, but let’s not confuse things right now). The main deal with Omni is that it can float above the action and dip into any character’s head. The Omni voice can be “objective”  (straight description) or “editorial” (the author offers opinions or insights).

Omni POV is not so much in fashion these days (just don’t tell that to Delia Owens, author of Where the Crawdads Sing.) But it was the default choice of most fiction prior to the twentieth century. Here is a clip from Jane Austen’s Emma, where she hops into three different heads in the same scene:

“Emma,” said Mr. Knightley presently, “I have a piece of news for you. You like news—and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will interest you.”

“News! Oh! yes, I always like news. What is it?—why do you smile so?—where did you hear it?—at Randalls?”

He had time only to say, “No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls,” when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him.

“Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse—I come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be married.”

Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so completely surprised that she could not avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound.

The above is an example of objective omniscient. There’s no author voice “intrusion.” With editorial omniscient we are more aware of the voice. Here is one of the most famous editorial-omniscient openings:

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. (Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities)

That is, of course, Dickens giving us his opinion on matters. Compare that to Margaret Mitchell’s objective-omniscient opening for Gone With the Wind, limiting herself to description:

Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were. In her face were too sharply blended the delicate features of her mother, a Coast aristocrat of French descent, and the heavy ones of her florid Irish father. But it was an arresting face, pointed of chin, square of jaw. Her eyes were pale green without a touch of hazel, starred with bristly black lashes and slightly tilted at the ends. Above them, her thick black brows slanted upward, cutting a startling oblique line in her magnolia-white skin—that skin so prized by Southern women and so carefully guarded with bonnets, veils and mittens against hot Georgia suns.

The knock against Omni POV is that it removes immediacy and intimacy. When the narrator is “telling” the story, the action is slowed, and when it “hops” the reader is distanced from any one character.

I think both notions are wrong. In the hands of good writer, Omini can actually increase intimacy and connection. That’s what makes Theodore Dreiser a great novelist despite being a clunky stylist (“The world’s worst great writer” some wag wrote).

Let’s look at a bit of Dreiser’s Jennie Gerhardt. Jennie is a poor working girl employed by an older man, a U.S. Senator. He becomes infatuated with her, and one day draws her to him and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh!” she cried, straightening up, at once startled and frightened.

It was a new note in their relationship. The senatorial quality vanished in an instant. She recognized in him something that she had not felt before. He seemed younger, too. She was a woman to him, and he was playing the part of a lover. She hesitated, but not knowing just what to do, did nothing at all.

“Well,” he said, “did I frighten you?”

She looked at him, but moved by her underlying respect for this great man, she said, with a smile, “Yes, you did.”

“I did it because I like you so much.”

She meditated upon this a moment, and then said, “I think I’d better be going.”

“Now then,” he pleaded, “are you going to run away because of that?”

“No,” she said, moved by a curious feeling of ingratitude; “but I ought to be going. They’ll be wondering where I am.”

“You’re sure you’re not angry about it?”

“No,” she replied, and with more of a womanly air than she had ever shown before. It was a novel experience to be in so authoritative a position. It was so remarkable that it was somewhat confusing to both of them.

“You’re my girl, anyhow,” the Senator said, rising. “I’m going to take care of you in the future.”

Jennie heard this, and it pleased her. He was so well fitted, she thought, to do wondrous things; he was nothing less than a veritable magician. She looked about her and the thought of coming into such a life and such an atmosphere was heavenly. Not that she fully understood his meaning, however. He meant to be good and generous, and to give her fine things. Naturally she was happy. She took up the package that she had come for, not seeing or feeling the incongruity of her position…

Dreiser then “hops” into the Senator mid-sentence:

…while he felt it as a direct reproof.

“She ought not to carry that,” he thought. A great wave of sympathy swept over him. He took her cheeks between his hands, this time in a superior and more generous way. “Never mind, little girl,” he said. “You won’t have to do this always. I’ll see what I can do.”

Dreiser’s An American Tragedy (a whopping 900 pages) is, for me, unforgettable (as is the movie version A Place in the Sun with Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor). He takes us deep into Clyde’s head and heart, step by step tracing the choices he makes that take him down, down, down. It’s like watching a terrible traffic accident in slow motion, starting with the first wrong turn.

One final note. An intrusive Omniscient POV is perfect for an author with a singular and humorous voice (e.g., Douglas Adams, Tom Robbins, Kurt Vonnegut). But that kind of voice is the hardest of all to pull off.

All that to say, I wonder if classic Omniscient POV could make a comeback. It requires a writer of great skill and intention…and readers with an attention span longer than seven seconds. In this age of apps that’s quite a challenge.

What say you?