Peg Herring's Blog, page 39
August 10, 2010
One-liners...I Want 'em
I'm not a particularly jealous person, but I do covet the ability some have to think of witty, clever shots, short but with lots of punch. Here are just a few.
Calvin Coolidge was asked after church one day what the minister's sermon was about. "Sin," the notoriously terse Cal replied. "And what did he say about it?" the reporter asked.
"He's against it."
Winston Churchill was apparently irritating, at least on one occasion, and a woman said to him, "Mr. Churchill, if you were my husband, I would put poison in your tea."
To which Churchill replied, "Madam, if I were your husband, I would drink it."
And a Canadian comedian I saw just last night tells of his entry in Australia. The customs guy asked, "Do you have a criminal record, sir?"
And his reply: "I didn't think we needed one to get in here anymore."
Now why can't I think of such clever replies when the conversation becomes inane or proscribed or too personal? I am a victim of houritis, the condition where that witty remark occurs to me when it's too late, and the moment for rapier wit is lost forever. It doesn't do to chase folks down and tell them, "You know, when you said what you said, I wanted to reply... "
Give it up, and hope to do better the next time.
I did actually get the Golden Chance once when a man asked me (English teacher, remember) if I liked Kipling.
Should I? Did I dare? I did.
I replied, "I don't know. I've never kippled."
Calvin Coolidge was asked after church one day what the minister's sermon was about. "Sin," the notoriously terse Cal replied. "And what did he say about it?" the reporter asked.
"He's against it."
Winston Churchill was apparently irritating, at least on one occasion, and a woman said to him, "Mr. Churchill, if you were my husband, I would put poison in your tea."
To which Churchill replied, "Madam, if I were your husband, I would drink it."
And a Canadian comedian I saw just last night tells of his entry in Australia. The customs guy asked, "Do you have a criminal record, sir?"
And his reply: "I didn't think we needed one to get in here anymore."
Now why can't I think of such clever replies when the conversation becomes inane or proscribed or too personal? I am a victim of houritis, the condition where that witty remark occurs to me when it's too late, and the moment for rapier wit is lost forever. It doesn't do to chase folks down and tell them, "You know, when you said what you said, I wanted to reply... "
Give it up, and hope to do better the next time.
I did actually get the Golden Chance once when a man asked me (English teacher, remember) if I liked Kipling.
Should I? Did I dare? I did.
I replied, "I don't know. I've never kippled."
August 6, 2010
Brain Wiring
I'm nobody's fool. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
So why does nothing about the computer compute?
Oh, I can word process with the best of them. I know my style guides and my formating and all the little tricks that make writing easier. I bless Modern Times, because I cannot imagine writing a novel with a typewriter and those little rectangles of white stuff that sort of covered a person's mistakes.
But ask me about an RSS feed or a URL and I feel my palms start to sweat. Creating a website would give me palpitations, and "helpful" tutorials leave me screaming at the monitor as if I can shame it into behaving.
It isn't age, at least it isn't totally that. I have lots of friends my age and older who have conquered such foes. They send out mass newsletters, manage two or three websites with all sorts of gadgets and widgets, and even create podcasts and videos for YouTube.
My brain just isn't wired for that. But I'm really, really jealous.
So why does nothing about the computer compute?
Oh, I can word process with the best of them. I know my style guides and my formating and all the little tricks that make writing easier. I bless Modern Times, because I cannot imagine writing a novel with a typewriter and those little rectangles of white stuff that sort of covered a person's mistakes.
But ask me about an RSS feed or a URL and I feel my palms start to sweat. Creating a website would give me palpitations, and "helpful" tutorials leave me screaming at the monitor as if I can shame it into behaving.
It isn't age, at least it isn't totally that. I have lots of friends my age and older who have conquered such foes. They send out mass newsletters, manage two or three websites with all sorts of gadgets and widgets, and even create podcasts and videos for YouTube.
My brain just isn't wired for that. But I'm really, really jealous.
August 5, 2010
TME--Too Much Emotion
I just started THE LOVELY BONES, and while the writing is wonderful, I find the subject matter painful. It seems (and I'm only a few chapters in) that the whole book is focused on the pain resulting from a horrible crime. For me, it may be TME--too much emotion.
Laura Lippman has dealt with the effects of tragedy on a family, and I loved it. Other writers touch on it. Most recently I read William Kent Kruger's HEAVEN'S KEEP and loved how he handled Cork and his family's struggle with not knowing how great their tragedy would eventually be. So I'm not sure why THE LOVELY BONES started whispering to me last night as I read that I won't like where it's going, won't, as a friend of mine puts her philosophy of reading, be a better person for having read it.
Oh, I'll finish it. As I said, the writing is excellent. But it may be one of those books I wish I'd never picked up. The world is too much with us, and for me, these days, literature has to be an escape from TME. Exploring the raw holes tragedy pokes into a person or a family seems not only painful, but counterproductive. I'll let you know if I find that I am wrong.
Laura Lippman has dealt with the effects of tragedy on a family, and I loved it. Other writers touch on it. Most recently I read William Kent Kruger's HEAVEN'S KEEP and loved how he handled Cork and his family's struggle with not knowing how great their tragedy would eventually be. So I'm not sure why THE LOVELY BONES started whispering to me last night as I read that I won't like where it's going, won't, as a friend of mine puts her philosophy of reading, be a better person for having read it.
Oh, I'll finish it. As I said, the writing is excellent. But it may be one of those books I wish I'd never picked up. The world is too much with us, and for me, these days, literature has to be an escape from TME. Exploring the raw holes tragedy pokes into a person or a family seems not only painful, but counterproductive. I'll let you know if I find that I am wrong.
August 4, 2010
Swept Up in a Bestseller
Everyone agrees that nobody knows what makes a bestseller. Books that were BLOCKBUSTERS often leave me asking, "On whose block?"
Those who know me can guess that I do not care about vampire boyfriends, Glenn Beck's rantings, or the people you meet in heaven. But even in my favorite genre, mystery, I'm puzzled by what others like that I find insipid or overdone or unbelievable. It may be Grouchy Reader Syndrome, which results, I believe, from reading so much that anything average isn't good enough.
So it is with trepidation that I approach Steig Larsen's GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. Friends have told me I will like it if I wade through the long initial setup. Friends have said things like that before, sometimes rightly, sometimes not so much.
I want to like it. I want to be swept up in the bestseller that everyone else has already read and formed opinions on, from terrible to terrific.
I'll let you know how it goes.
Those who know me can guess that I do not care about vampire boyfriends, Glenn Beck's rantings, or the people you meet in heaven. But even in my favorite genre, mystery, I'm puzzled by what others like that I find insipid or overdone or unbelievable. It may be Grouchy Reader Syndrome, which results, I believe, from reading so much that anything average isn't good enough.
So it is with trepidation that I approach Steig Larsen's GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. Friends have told me I will like it if I wade through the long initial setup. Friends have said things like that before, sometimes rightly, sometimes not so much.
I want to like it. I want to be swept up in the bestseller that everyone else has already read and formed opinions on, from terrible to terrific.
I'll let you know how it goes.
August 3, 2010
Moments to Remember
There's a poster somewhere that says something about not remembering days but moments. I think it's true, but why do some moments stick with us and others fade?
Why can you remember that day in elementary school when you were humiliated by some nasty teacher, but you can't remember the day they gave you the attendance award? (You have it; your mother saved it, but you don't recall receiving it.)
Why can I remember the feeling of that first roller coaster ride but have no memory of the first time I drove a car? Surely that was a big day, but it's gone.
Sadly, a lot of my vivid memories are bad ones: the doctor's face as he looked over my father's shoulder and shook his head at me, indicating the prognosis was bad. The time I went to the wrong funeral and realized it only after I'd said some things that undoubtedly puzzled those in attendance. The time I fainted in the emergency room...I wasn't the patient. I was holding my daughter's hand while they stitched up a cut in her foot.
Those moments seem to come back more intensely. I can almost feel the emotions again. But my wedding, the news that my first book was chosen for publication, our many happy vacations? There's a glow, yes, but it's dim, like a faraway campfire. It's the cutting memories that stay close, reminding us that life is always ready to keep us from becoming too secure.
Why can you remember that day in elementary school when you were humiliated by some nasty teacher, but you can't remember the day they gave you the attendance award? (You have it; your mother saved it, but you don't recall receiving it.)
Why can I remember the feeling of that first roller coaster ride but have no memory of the first time I drove a car? Surely that was a big day, but it's gone.
Sadly, a lot of my vivid memories are bad ones: the doctor's face as he looked over my father's shoulder and shook his head at me, indicating the prognosis was bad. The time I went to the wrong funeral and realized it only after I'd said some things that undoubtedly puzzled those in attendance. The time I fainted in the emergency room...I wasn't the patient. I was holding my daughter's hand while they stitched up a cut in her foot.
Those moments seem to come back more intensely. I can almost feel the emotions again. But my wedding, the news that my first book was chosen for publication, our many happy vacations? There's a glow, yes, but it's dim, like a faraway campfire. It's the cutting memories that stay close, reminding us that life is always ready to keep us from becoming too secure.
August 2, 2010
MysterEbooks This Week
Here is the list of ebooks featured on mysterebooks.blogspot.com this week:
Monday
Title: L.A. HEAT
Author: P.A. Brown
Genre: Police Procedural w gay characters
Setting: Los Angeles
Tuesday
Title: TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY
Author: Stacy Juba
Genre: Mystery/Romantic Suspense
Setting: New England
Wednesday
Title: JOURNEY TO DIE FOR
Author: Radine Trees Nehring
Genre: Mystery/senior citizen detectives
Setting: The story opens on the (real) A&M Railroad historic excursion train operating between towns in Northwest Arkansas, unfolds in the 1809 Arkansas River town of Van Buren, moves to Kansas City, and then back to Van Buren. Though the book refers back to historic events, action time is present day.
Thursday
Title: THRILLED TO DEATH
Author: L.J. Sellers
Genre: mystery / suspense / police procedural
Setting: Eugene, Oregon
Friday
Title: HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER
Author: Peg Herring
Genre: Historical mystery
Setting: Tudor London (1500s)
Monday
Title: L.A. HEAT
Author: P.A. Brown
Genre: Police Procedural w gay characters
Setting: Los Angeles
Tuesday
Title: TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY
Author: Stacy Juba
Genre: Mystery/Romantic Suspense
Setting: New England
Wednesday
Title: JOURNEY TO DIE FOR
Author: Radine Trees Nehring
Genre: Mystery/senior citizen detectives
Setting: The story opens on the (real) A&M Railroad historic excursion train operating between towns in Northwest Arkansas, unfolds in the 1809 Arkansas River town of Van Buren, moves to Kansas City, and then back to Van Buren. Though the book refers back to historic events, action time is present day.
Thursday
Title: THRILLED TO DEATH
Author: L.J. Sellers
Genre: mystery / suspense / police procedural
Setting: Eugene, Oregon
Friday
Title: HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER
Author: Peg Herring
Genre: Historical mystery
Setting: Tudor London (1500s)
July 30, 2010
Romance Writers of American Conference
I'm at the RWA's annual conference in Orlando, Florida. I didn't know what to expect, being used to mystery cons. What I've found is a group of professionals who are interested in understanding and improving the business of publishing in the romance genre and the various subgenres that relate to it. I'm learning a lot.
Nora Roberts is funny, intelligent, and charming. Publishing workshops are informative and interesting. And my workshop, Dress for Historical Success, will be helpful for historical writers and fun for everyone else. I expect two more worthwhile days: a great resource for aspiring and active writers in romance and related genres.
Nora Roberts is funny, intelligent, and charming. Publishing workshops are informative and interesting. And my workshop, Dress for Historical Success, will be helpful for historical writers and fun for everyone else. I expect two more worthwhile days: a great resource for aspiring and active writers in romance and related genres.
July 29, 2010
It Is a Small World, After All
We arrived at Disney World yesterday, which is a bit of an ordeal in itself. We made it with the help of GPS navigation and lots of signs. The place is impressive, a shrine to Mickey and to money. Everything costs a little extra. It's done well, but one is best off if she doesn't think too much about the three-dollar drinks, fifteen dollar salads, and the extra fees for wi-fi, parking, and enforced baggage service. There is no way to economize, no place else to go, so put up and shut up.
That said, it is well done, and it's no worse than what a lot of large hotels do. In D.C. this spring I stayed at a hotel that charged extra for wi-fi in the room. One had to go down and sit in the lobby to connect or pay ten dollars more per day. The conference rate was around $150, but when I asked to stay over into the week, they quoted me a cost of $300+/day for a single room. Double?
A visitor to places that chisel money out of their guests in this way leaves me feeling, if not raped, at least molested. It seems to me that corporate at these places should be looking for ways to make guests feel pampered, not rooked. Maybe it is a small world after all--small minds seeing only profit rather than return trips from their guests.
That said, it is well done, and it's no worse than what a lot of large hotels do. In D.C. this spring I stayed at a hotel that charged extra for wi-fi in the room. One had to go down and sit in the lobby to connect or pay ten dollars more per day. The conference rate was around $150, but when I asked to stay over into the week, they quoted me a cost of $300+/day for a single room. Double?
A visitor to places that chisel money out of their guests in this way leaves me feeling, if not raped, at least molested. It seems to me that corporate at these places should be looking for ways to make guests feel pampered, not rooked. Maybe it is a small world after all--small minds seeing only profit rather than return trips from their guests.
July 28, 2010
What Do You Need for Your Writing?
I'm traveling, and I often talk to people along the way about being a writer. A motel clerk yesterday mentioned that she would like to write but claimed she doesn't have the patience for it. That got me thinking. What does it take--beside talent--to be a writer?
Patience is one thing, I suppose. It takes a long time and a lot of focus for a novel to get written. The idea for a novel, which everyone supposedly has in his head, doesn't just float onto paper or into a file. It's hard work to sit and make it happen, and a lot of the BITCH (butt in the chair, honey) is required.
I find that I need a chunk of semi-conscious think time. Driving or walking does it for me, but it works best if it's long-term. Car trips like the one I'm on are particularly valuable as I try out different scenarios, let my characters talk to me, and invent the antagonists who will make their lives difficult in the next book.
Ironically, I cannot write all that down on a road trip. I can make notes. I scribble on paper in the car (hubby drives, don't panic). I transfer those notes to the computer at night in whatever hotel room I inhabit. But I can't settle down and write. That takes extended time and a focused mindset.
I have friends who can write for an hour, even fifteen minutes on their lunch break. That isn't me.
After this trip, I plan to schedule several days of concentrated writing, putting everything I've been thinking about to work.
It's how I roll.
Patience is one thing, I suppose. It takes a long time and a lot of focus for a novel to get written. The idea for a novel, which everyone supposedly has in his head, doesn't just float onto paper or into a file. It's hard work to sit and make it happen, and a lot of the BITCH (butt in the chair, honey) is required.
I find that I need a chunk of semi-conscious think time. Driving or walking does it for me, but it works best if it's long-term. Car trips like the one I'm on are particularly valuable as I try out different scenarios, let my characters talk to me, and invent the antagonists who will make their lives difficult in the next book.
Ironically, I cannot write all that down on a road trip. I can make notes. I scribble on paper in the car (hubby drives, don't panic). I transfer those notes to the computer at night in whatever hotel room I inhabit. But I can't settle down and write. That takes extended time and a focused mindset.
I have friends who can write for an hour, even fifteen minutes on their lunch break. That isn't me.
After this trip, I plan to schedule several days of concentrated writing, putting everything I've been thinking about to work.
It's how I roll.
July 27, 2010
My Daddy Sold Used Cars
...And a lot of other stuff. Mom used to tell us not to stand too long in the front yard, because Dad would start dealing on one of us if someone made him a decent offer.
The urge to sell things is more complicated than it might first appear, at least for some. My father liked the dickering, the conversations, the compromises involved, but he really didn't care that much about the money. For him, I suspect, the satisfaction came from meeting someone's need. That's why we never got rich, but it's also why his funeral attendees crowded the church and stood in the overflow room and even the hallway and vestibule. Half the people in town had bought a good used car from Bud and were grateful that he hadn't gouged them, had made sure it had decent tires and didn't burn too much oil.
Dad once gave a man a car to test out for a while. The man drove it for three years and then brought it back, saying he didn't want it after all. Dad said not a word, because the man had five children and a terrible job, and he'd needed that car.
Now I'm the salesperson, offering books to readers. I can't get excited about the money part of it, although it would be nice to see a profit someday. What I enjoy is meeting readers who like what I write. Then I simply let them know it's out there. I can't press my work on someone who doesn't read mysteries, can't insist that a person will love my work just to get a sale. But when someone says, "I love reading about the Tudors" or "I like stuff about the '60s", I can feel that used car salesman in my background whispering in my ear, "It's time to deal."
The urge to sell things is more complicated than it might first appear, at least for some. My father liked the dickering, the conversations, the compromises involved, but he really didn't care that much about the money. For him, I suspect, the satisfaction came from meeting someone's need. That's why we never got rich, but it's also why his funeral attendees crowded the church and stood in the overflow room and even the hallway and vestibule. Half the people in town had bought a good used car from Bud and were grateful that he hadn't gouged them, had made sure it had decent tires and didn't burn too much oil.
Dad once gave a man a car to test out for a while. The man drove it for three years and then brought it back, saying he didn't want it after all. Dad said not a word, because the man had five children and a terrible job, and he'd needed that car.
Now I'm the salesperson, offering books to readers. I can't get excited about the money part of it, although it would be nice to see a profit someday. What I enjoy is meeting readers who like what I write. Then I simply let them know it's out there. I can't press my work on someone who doesn't read mysteries, can't insist that a person will love my work just to get a sale. But when someone says, "I love reading about the Tudors" or "I like stuff about the '60s", I can feel that used car salesman in my background whispering in my ear, "It's time to deal."
