Peg Herring's Blog, page 25

Please Tell Me Your Brain Does This Too

I'm driving home from yet another road trip. My brain starts in with an oh-so-familiar lie.

"I'd like to lose a few pounds. Starting when I get home, I'm going to eat sensibly--no crash diet, just smaller portions and smarter choices. I'm going to exercise more, too, not just my daily walk but some

cardio and some stretches and maybe some weights."

LIES! It's all LIES, I tell you!!

Why is it that it seems so logical and easy to plan a new lifestyle in theory and so impossible to accomplish those plans in the real world?

I know from past experience: now that I'm home I will eat whatever John cooks and cheat with those darling little Hershey's Gold things. I'll decide I can't exercise today because I've got all that laundry from the trip. In fact, I might not even be able to go for a walk, because it's raining, and I wouldn't want to get wet, for pete's sake. It will all get put off until tomorrow, which, to the brain, never comes. It's perfectly happy to let me put off the plan and live in the present, which is all any of us is really able to do.

The brain is unable to comprehend the future. It can consider it, but it can't "be" there. When we make plans, the brain in all its logic says, "Yup, that's doable. We won't overspend on Christmas this year and we'll put away the money we save for that trip in the spring."

The brain doesn't know it's lying. It understands that we're capable of doing what we plan to do. It just doesn't know how it will feel when temptation steps into its way. Since it only exists in the present, it can't recall that enthusiasm we felt when we promised ourselves we'd act rationally. Nope. The brain can only see what's happening right now and say, "Wow! Chocolate!"

It's All About the New Book

I won't deny it: I'm excited about the book that's coming out this month, KILLING SILENCE. Really excited. It isn't up on Amazon yet, but it will be soon. (And I'll let you know!)

As a writer, I believe that everything I do should be better than the last thing, else why am I writing? Subgenres make that a little hard to judge. I write historical mysteries, and there are people who love them and wish I'd write nothing else. I also write a paranormal series, and some are intrigued by the idea of the Dead Detectives and want to know more about the world I imagine after this one.

The new series is mainstream mystery/suspense and what I like most about it is the protagonist, Loser the loser. She's homeless, she's damaged, and she's going to help a little girl keep her daddy, even if it kills her.

I was surprised at my workshop on Saturday when someone suggested that it must be hard to write a book with a homeless protagonist, since I have to "dumb down" the vocabulary and take into account her inability to think clearly.

I know there are homeless people who are scary or disgusting or pitiful, but Loser doesn't want you to think of her in any of those ways. Even though she considers herself the world's biggest loser, it doesn't mean she's any less a person than you or me. She might not believe it, but with the right incentive, I know she can crawl out of her despair.

(But I have to warn you: that's going to take two more books!)

Halloween Survey

What's your favorite Halloween/scary song/poem?

What's the scariest story you ever read?

What movie scared you so badly it took ages to recover?

I'll go first!

My favorite poem is James Whitcomb Riley's "Little Orphant Annie."

"...An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!"

The scariest story I ever read is probably Poe's "The Premature Burial," because I have big-time claustrophobia. (As a side note, I had some trouble writing the ending for *Dead for the Money,* because they were climbing the Mackinac Bridge, and I also have big-time acrophobia. I'm just a bundle of phobias.)
The scariest movie was *The Birds.* I had to drive home after watching it by myself, and I was terrified that birds were going to start dive-bombing my windshield. (Hey, I was seventeen--and Hitchcock was GOOD!)

So Was It Good for You?

I returned last night from Bouchercon, the mystery writers' conference I mentioned last week. Now the question I'll be asked is, "Was it a good conference?"

Yes, for various reasons.

Julie Hyzy, a great person and fellow Midwest Mystery Writers of America member, won Best Paperback Original for her book Buffalo West Wing [Berkley Prime Crime/Tekno] at the Anthony Awards Ceremony Saturday night. I was very happy that she's getting the recognition she deserves for that clever, fun series.

I got to see friend like Beverle Graves Myers, Diane Stuckart, and Deb Baker and catch up on their news, their books, and lots of chocolate.

I actually had people waiting in line to get me to sign books they'd bought, which, when you share the stage with hundreds of authors, many with really BIG names like Lee Child, Sara Paretsky, and Laurie King, is a thrill. There was also a really positive response to my upcoming new series, which begins with KILLING SILENCE on November 18th.

I sat on a panel with other historical writes Albert Bell, Jeri Westerson, Sharan Newman, and Marilyn Todd, which I'd feared would be without much of an audience, being held on Sunday morning (the last day of the con) at 9:00 (after lots of Saturday night parties). Instead it was well attended and lively, with lots of good questions.



I hosted a table at the librarians' breakfast and met some lovely people from the Cleveland Library system. We heard a talk by literary legend Mary Higgins Clark, who is a great speaker.



I could go on and on: the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame was awesome, and we took it over for a full evening, about 750 of us (1500+ in attendance at the con). We found a lovely Spanish restaurant in downtown Cleveland called Majorca, which was amazing. We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton, where the staff was a good as any I've seen in my travels.



So I'm exhausted--I ate too much--my face hurts from smiling and my back hurts from too many hours in the car, but yes, it was good for me.

What in the World Is a Bouchercon?

I've given up telling people I'm going to Bouchercon next weekend, at least the people who aren't rabid mystery writers like me. Instead I say I'm attending a big meeting for mystery readers and writers in Cleveland. Most of the time that gets me a funny look that might mean, "I knew you were a little nuts."

Mystery conferences are in some ways like the teachers' meetings I used to have to attend. There has to be programming, a sort of raison d'etre, so panels on various aspects of reading and writing are slated. These turn out a lot the same, so after a few years of attending cons, the panels aren't as alluring. Some I know don't attend the panels at all, and I find I'm more interested in learning what an author or agent is like as a person than in what they can tell me about writing or publishing. Like those long-ago teachers' meetings, however, there's often a gem of wisdom that I file away for later, something that fits my style and work habits.

Conferences provide a chance to get together with others who are as passionate as I am about writing, reading, and the business that we must participate in if we're to continue to be published writers. Meeting new people, touching base with acquaintances, and (to be honest) being seen in public as a writer are important aspects of promoting our work. Bouchercon is a big conference, so there are lots of "little" authors like me who are published but not PUBLISHED. It's humbling to see so many of us scrambling for what notice we can garner while the big names are feted and praised, but it's also fun to meet those big guys and gals and learn that they were once where we are, struggling to get some agent or publisher to notice them and give them a chance.

Bouchercon, I suppose, is less like teachers' meetings and more like an author circus: the headline acts in the center ring, the secondary acts in the other two rings, the sideshows that people seek out if they have an interest, and if the truth must be told, the freak shows. It's all great fun--some time away from the daily grind, a chance to admire the talent of the stars of the show, and a chance--however small it might be--to grab that brass ring, something that turns the spotlight on me and my work. I just hope if that happens, I don't fall on my dupa in front of everybody.

The Noah Syndrome

Why, when we buy something new, do we always keep the old one for a backup? Is having two of everything somehow a hedge against being left with nothing?
I threw away an old dustpan this morning. Now I have only one. What if it breaks? (For those of you who don't even one ONE dustpan: I like to sweep. I like to see the dirt, cat hair, and apple stems pile up in the middle of the floor and then I like to whisk them away.)
My husband is worse than I am, going beyond Noah's two and tending toward the Coneheads' mass quantities. Our optometrist asked if he had a spare pair of glasses for his upcoming trip to Canada. He replied that not only does he have his previous pair, he's held onto the pair before that. Probably can't see out of them, but they're there if he needs them.
And if he can find them. That's the crazy part of keeping spares of everything. Are you really going to hunt through the basement, the garage, or the cupboards to find the older version of the thing you just broke or lost, or (admit it!) are you going to get in the car and go buy a new one that's unscratched, up-to-date, and in style?
Noah had a reason for collecting two of everything. I'm not sure why the rest of us do it.

"Labor" Is a Funny Word for It

We call it Labor Day, but we take the day off. Interesting.
I love word play, as do most writers. I enjoy those lists of English eccentricities, like "Why do we park on the driveway and drive on the parkway?"
I drive my husband nuts by nitpicking at commercials that offer "lower prices than anyone!" How can you offer lower prices than your own, and aren't you part of "anyone"?
"People know what they mean," he tells me. I suppose so, but why can't they treat my native tongue with some respect?
In honor of Labor Day, I'm keeping this one short. No overtime on (Non-)Labor Day.

Monday: High-up or Low-down?

Monday: High-up or Low-down?
Mondays sneak up on me. Sundays I spend the afternoon frittering time away: crossword puzzles from the newspaper, baseball or football games on TV (happily, both in August!), taking long walks, and eating too much junk food. It's blissful. It's relaxing.
It's over.
Monday the World returns with business hours, demands, schedules, and to-do lists. Things I vaguely thought of last week as "I'll get to that next week" now wait expectantly. Next week is here, and they need to get done.
Phone calls.
Edits.
Chores.
Appointments.
It can get overpowering, especially when Thing A has to get done by Date X. Worse are Mondays in the last half of the month, when what hasn't gotten done this month begins to collide with what I said I'd do next month. Really? I said I'd do a newsletter in August? But there's only one more Monday after this one!

The good side of it, I suppose, is that I get busy. Things get done. Appointments are scheduled. Edits are started. A schedule forms that might not be totally realistic, but I'll be working at it. By noon on Monday I usually feel productive. It's different from the lazy Sunday afternoon feeling, but it isn't bad. If Sundays are for recharging, then Mondays start the next charge. Onward and upward!

Teethpaste and Other Essentials of Language

I have more than one tooth. I brush them all at once, so why don't stores sell teethpaste? Of course, we don't have to call it toothpaste if that doesn't make sense to us. We can call that stuff in the tube a "dentifrice," like the scientific community does. Dentifrice? Really?

It's no surprise that language does not, and probably cannot, make sense to all people all the time. We all have to use it, but we come from different places, mind-sets, and education levels. Purists raise their noses when others use "may" and "might" interchangeably, but is meaning really lost if I say, "I may go to the store or I might stay home"?

I see a clear difference between the words "farther" and "further," but the dictionary doesn't. And I have a friend who refers to her "hairs" behaving or not behaving from day to day. She's right; there are a whole bunch of them, and some behave better than others, at least on my head. So who decided "hair" is a collective noun?

When things that make sense to linguists don't resonate with everyone else, rules are ignored. My students used to argue the pronoun/number rule in sentences like, "No one brought his umbrella." I had to agree that the sense of the sentence indicates a lot of people did this thing, though the pronoun and the single umbrella indicate only one and therefore require a singular pronoun. That results in confusion about whether the "one" in the sentence brought "his" umbrella or "her" umbrella. To keep the peace, I usually suggested rewording the sentence to eliminate the problem: "No one brought an umbrella." Of course, to a purist, that's cheating.

It does no good to grouse about it. Language is imperfect and probably always will be. But it seems to me that the farther one wants to go as a writer, the more important it is to further her understanding of words and how they work together. This is true whether she uses toothpaste, teethpaste, or some other choice of dentifrice.

Facial Recognition Software, Please

On TV, it works in about three seconds and it's right every time. I want it.

I know the face is familiar, but where have I seen it, what is my connection to it, and most importantly, what name is attached to it?

It happens often at book signings, but first, know this: I taught school for many years. Decades, even. Figure somewhere between a hundred fifty to two hundred students each year. Then add in all the people I worked with, especially those who moved on after only a year or two: teachers, administrators, even bus drivers. That’s a lot of people.

In addition to my old career, there's my new one. I have gone to a few author conferences every year for a decade or so. There I meet author after author, fan after fan. Now add in book signings, book groups, bookstore staff, and book producers: editors, agents and the like, not to mention writing groups that ask me to come and talk about how to get started in publishing.

There are even people I’ve “met” only online. I’ve seen their photos on their websites, in their books, and on Goodreads or Amazon.

So back to that book signing. A woman walks by and says, “Well, how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Um, hello…there.”

“I see you’re still writing. Are you enjoying it?”

“Um, yes. I love it.” (Of course I’m thinking, Who is she who is she whoisshe????)

Lots of times the name comes to me after the person has gone away, which is sad, but at least I can stop obsessing about it. This time, I thought I had it. On the way home, a name came to me, the name of an author I’d spent some time with more than a year ago. But when I got home and checked her website, I was wrong. The face in the picture didn't match the face I'd just seen.

So here's what I want: facial recognition software built into my phone. When someone approaches who obviously knows me from somewhere, I’ll pretend I’m reading my email, snap a picture, and run the software until the name comes up. Then I can say, “Yes, I still love writing, Angela Mansolopolis. And do you still have that collie you were so fond of?”