Peg Herring's Blog, page 41
July 9, 2010
The Crazed Killer
If fiction were fact, America would be flooded with maniacal, smart-but-evil murderers who lead the police on macabre chases that follow some twisted idea of order evident only to them, at least until some smart cop/P.I./amateur figures it out.
Reality is, of course, that most murderers are stupid, illogical, impulsive, and easily caught. A cop at a con I attended attested to this, citing the example of two drugged-out men in a shelter who got into a fight over a cheap pendant. One of them later killed the other over a two-dollar necklace.
It's more fun for a writer to invent and then reveal a crazed and clever killer. Why does he kill? Whom does he hunt? How does he cover his tracks? In writing HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER, I enjoyed creating the killer's character, setting the "rules" for his crimes, making him appear normal, and then revealing his ugly underside.
Reality shows us what the mind does, all on its own, to some people. Through drugs, brain anomalies, and even stress, it is truly possible for otherwise normal people to become convinced that they are threatened, persecuted, or even under orders from God. I don't know what the line is between guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity, but I am convinced that, whether the culprit is clever or klutzy, a great number of murders stem from causes that exist only in the mind of the killer.
Reality is, of course, that most murderers are stupid, illogical, impulsive, and easily caught. A cop at a con I attended attested to this, citing the example of two drugged-out men in a shelter who got into a fight over a cheap pendant. One of them later killed the other over a two-dollar necklace.
It's more fun for a writer to invent and then reveal a crazed and clever killer. Why does he kill? Whom does he hunt? How does he cover his tracks? In writing HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER, I enjoyed creating the killer's character, setting the "rules" for his crimes, making him appear normal, and then revealing his ugly underside.
Reality shows us what the mind does, all on its own, to some people. Through drugs, brain anomalies, and even stress, it is truly possible for otherwise normal people to become convinced that they are threatened, persecuted, or even under orders from God. I don't know what the line is between guilty and not guilty by reason of insanity, but I am convinced that, whether the culprit is clever or klutzy, a great number of murders stem from causes that exist only in the mind of the killer.
July 8, 2010
A Simple Thing Like Water
We are aware that Americans are wasteful, but nothing brings the truth home like being without something we use in large quantities every day, like water.
Our pump is taking a vacation, and while my husband has spent two days now in the well pit, making funny noises and occasionally saying things his mother would not approve of, we have no water running through our pipes and into our home.
I'm trying to look at it as historical research. Having buckets all over the house and measuring usage based on the knowledge that when that bucket is empty, we'll have to go find more is a great way to understand what people of the past went through every single day.
Everything I do seems to be tied to water. The toilets are a given, but it's amazing how many times I automatically reach for that flush handle. And how often did I turn on the faucet in the last day before remembering that rinsing off my hands isn't an option right now? (Thank goodness for hand sanitizer!)
How many things in our lives would change drastically if we had to carry water into our homes from somewhere else? In the past, what consideration had to be given to the different purposes of water, e.g. drinking water as opposed to water for scrubbing floors? How aware were the upper classes of what the lower classes went through to provide them with water each day? And did they care?
See? It's a great lesson I'm getting from this mini-catastrophe in my home, but as I write this, my husband came in to say he's fixed the pump. Water flows again into upstairs and down, sinks and toilets. I can go back to not thinking much about whence go the pipes.
Our pump is taking a vacation, and while my husband has spent two days now in the well pit, making funny noises and occasionally saying things his mother would not approve of, we have no water running through our pipes and into our home.
I'm trying to look at it as historical research. Having buckets all over the house and measuring usage based on the knowledge that when that bucket is empty, we'll have to go find more is a great way to understand what people of the past went through every single day.
Everything I do seems to be tied to water. The toilets are a given, but it's amazing how many times I automatically reach for that flush handle. And how often did I turn on the faucet in the last day before remembering that rinsing off my hands isn't an option right now? (Thank goodness for hand sanitizer!)
How many things in our lives would change drastically if we had to carry water into our homes from somewhere else? In the past, what consideration had to be given to the different purposes of water, e.g. drinking water as opposed to water for scrubbing floors? How aware were the upper classes of what the lower classes went through to provide them with water each day? And did they care?
See? It's a great lesson I'm getting from this mini-catastrophe in my home, but as I write this, my husband came in to say he's fixed the pump. Water flows again into upstairs and down, sinks and toilets. I can go back to not thinking much about whence go the pipes.
July 7, 2010
Picky, PIcky, Picky
A friend told me yesterday that I have become a picky reader, and she's right. I've admitted as much in former posts. She, on the other hand, when asked what kind of books she likes, will ask in return, "Do they have words?" and then, "Are they in English?" Two affirmatives are enough to satisfy her.
Another friend in the industry often commiserates with me on the perils of examining the books we read. As writer and reviewer, the two of us find that we can't just relax and enjoy a book these days. The mind begins dissecting the plot, the characterization, the chosen storytelling method, and the writing style. And we want it all wrapped up in a neat package. While others wax eloquent on the charming description or the fascinating protagonist, I wonder why she didn't get some sort of negative vibe from living twenty years with a multiple murderer at the family picnics.
Do I realize that others like me are likely to mentally slice up my work the way I do when I read? Of course. It isn't likely that everyone is going to love every author, or even every work by a given author. I just hope there are a lot more readers in the world like the friend who calls me "picky", because my books do have words in them, and so far, at least, they're all in English.
Another friend in the industry often commiserates with me on the perils of examining the books we read. As writer and reviewer, the two of us find that we can't just relax and enjoy a book these days. The mind begins dissecting the plot, the characterization, the chosen storytelling method, and the writing style. And we want it all wrapped up in a neat package. While others wax eloquent on the charming description or the fascinating protagonist, I wonder why she didn't get some sort of negative vibe from living twenty years with a multiple murderer at the family picnics.
Do I realize that others like me are likely to mentally slice up my work the way I do when I read? Of course. It isn't likely that everyone is going to love every author, or even every work by a given author. I just hope there are a lot more readers in the world like the friend who calls me "picky", because my books do have words in them, and so far, at least, they're all in English.
July 6, 2010
Have You Read This One?
A frustrating part of being a reader is that you're never, ever, done. People are always mentioning books that sound interesting, recommending authors whose work I might enjoy, or even handing me books with a "You've got to read this."
But there isn't time!
Although I never made it to a lot of the old classics, there are new classics, prize-winners, best-sellers, and unread works of authors I like lined up on my mental TBR list, waiting for my attention. I used to read everything, but now I can't even keep up with mystery, my own genre. I'm several behind on most of my favorite authors' books, haven't even tried books by people I've met at cons or online. Titles, blurbs, reviews, and recommendations come so fast I don't even remember most of them, much less find the book and actually read it.
The upshot of all this is that I read a mish-mash of books, mostly chosen by the mood of the moment when I walk into a bookstore or visit amazon.com. My Just-read list in no way represents order or even orderly intent. You may find me erudite on the subject of one book or author and totally clueless when it comes to another. I suppose I should attempt some sort of system, but I doubt it would work. No matter what I say I'm going to read next, I'll always respond when someone waves something different in front of my face and says, "Have you read this one?"
But there isn't time!
Although I never made it to a lot of the old classics, there are new classics, prize-winners, best-sellers, and unread works of authors I like lined up on my mental TBR list, waiting for my attention. I used to read everything, but now I can't even keep up with mystery, my own genre. I'm several behind on most of my favorite authors' books, haven't even tried books by people I've met at cons or online. Titles, blurbs, reviews, and recommendations come so fast I don't even remember most of them, much less find the book and actually read it.
The upshot of all this is that I read a mish-mash of books, mostly chosen by the mood of the moment when I walk into a bookstore or visit amazon.com. My Just-read list in no way represents order or even orderly intent. You may find me erudite on the subject of one book or author and totally clueless when it comes to another. I suppose I should attempt some sort of system, but I doubt it would work. No matter what I say I'm going to read next, I'll always respond when someone waves something different in front of my face and says, "Have you read this one?"
July 5, 2010
Putting Away Society
What great fun to have company: amiable relatives, a lovable baby, and an energetic dog the size of New Hampshire. Now, the morning after is here, and the mundane returns.
I don't mind the return of quiet; in fact, I need long stretches of it in order to be able to write. Still, the interruptions life provides are essential, too. Leaving my computer to its own devices for a day or two. Leaving my mind to weave stories in the unconscious or the subconscious--I'm not sure which one works for me, I just know it works. And giving my body other things to do seems to help, as well.
It's been a busy few days. Now, when society has gone back to wherever it goes, I am ready, re-energized and ready to start that next book, the one that fell into place while I was playing with the baby.
I don't mind the return of quiet; in fact, I need long stretches of it in order to be able to write. Still, the interruptions life provides are essential, too. Leaving my computer to its own devices for a day or two. Leaving my mind to weave stories in the unconscious or the subconscious--I'm not sure which one works for me, I just know it works. And giving my body other things to do seems to help, as well.
It's been a busy few days. Now, when society has gone back to wherever it goes, I am ready, re-energized and ready to start that next book, the one that fell into place while I was playing with the baby.
July 2, 2010
I Am a Mercan
That's how it sounds when some people say it.
Politics aside.
Religion aside.
Culture aside.
Economics aside.
Enjoy the weekend that celebrates our accomplishments, our spirit, and our good points.
Politics aside.
Religion aside.
Culture aside.
Economics aside.
Enjoy the weekend that celebrates our accomplishments, our spirit, and our good points.
July 1, 2010
I'd Rather Be Right
One of the scary things about being published is that one might (probably will) get something wrong. There it is, for all the world to see, and it can't be fixed.
Something equally vexing to me is that people THINK you've got something wrong. One can't hunt them all down and argue the point, but--well, this one would like to.
It has been pointed out to me, twice now, that I used the word "dollar" in HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER. Yeah, I did, in the idiom "squeeze the last dollar" out of something. It does sound anachronistic, and I probably would not have used it outside the idiom. Still, my unabridged Webster's Dictionary tells me that the word "dollar" was in use in the 1540s as a synonym for a five-shilling coin more often referred to as a crown.
The same two readers took issue with my reference to potatoes, arguing that they came to Europe later in history. Again, sources I find say that the Spanish brought the potato to Europe in 1536. I don't think it's unrealistic to say that ten years later, those useful little tubers might have made their way to a table or two in England.
I did get the rhododenrons wrong. A reader informed me that those flowers did not exist until the 1600s, and he is correct. Having visited England in summer, it seemed to me that they were elementals, existing since time immemorial, but then, I never had a botany class in my life.
I suppose I must accept that I can make mistakes, and that people will be critical, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly. I suppose for some there is an urge to tell the author how wrong she is. I once saw an author almost attacked on an elevator by a man who went far past the bounds of decency to show how clever he was in finding mistakes in the author's work.
My guess is that authors in such situations have two reactions. The first is a defensive thought. "We're novelists, not scientists. We try, but we never said our purpose was anything but a good story." Second might be what one would like to say to the self-appointed critic: "When you write your book, have it edited multiple times, and get it published, send me a copy. I'll see what I can find to point out to you."
Something equally vexing to me is that people THINK you've got something wrong. One can't hunt them all down and argue the point, but--well, this one would like to.
It has been pointed out to me, twice now, that I used the word "dollar" in HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER. Yeah, I did, in the idiom "squeeze the last dollar" out of something. It does sound anachronistic, and I probably would not have used it outside the idiom. Still, my unabridged Webster's Dictionary tells me that the word "dollar" was in use in the 1540s as a synonym for a five-shilling coin more often referred to as a crown.
The same two readers took issue with my reference to potatoes, arguing that they came to Europe later in history. Again, sources I find say that the Spanish brought the potato to Europe in 1536. I don't think it's unrealistic to say that ten years later, those useful little tubers might have made their way to a table or two in England.
I did get the rhododenrons wrong. A reader informed me that those flowers did not exist until the 1600s, and he is correct. Having visited England in summer, it seemed to me that they were elementals, existing since time immemorial, but then, I never had a botany class in my life.
I suppose I must accept that I can make mistakes, and that people will be critical, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly. I suppose for some there is an urge to tell the author how wrong she is. I once saw an author almost attacked on an elevator by a man who went far past the bounds of decency to show how clever he was in finding mistakes in the author's work.
My guess is that authors in such situations have two reactions. The first is a defensive thought. "We're novelists, not scientists. We try, but we never said our purpose was anything but a good story." Second might be what one would like to say to the self-appointed critic: "When you write your book, have it edited multiple times, and get it published, send me a copy. I'll see what I can find to point out to you."
June 30, 2010
On Fudgies and Cone-lickers
The Fourth of July approaches, and with it, armies of fudgies, cone-lickers, and cabin critters, otherwise known as tourists.
I don't know what people in other parts of the nation or the world call those who come to visit, gawk, and enjoy their home territories, but here in Michigan, "fudgie" is the accepted term. It began on Mackinac Island, where fudge shops abound and every visitor seems destined to purchase a slab of sugary chocolate. Fudgie is not really an insult, although it can be. The people who work at the gas staions in my hometown laugh about fudgies who complain that they can't find our McDonalds. We have several families of McDonalds living in the area, but that's not what they mean. The answer is "We don't have one, but if you drive twenty miles due east, there's a town that does."
I once told a visitor that there is only one stoplight in our whole county. She froze in disbelief, a look one might call "the fudgie stare". It comes with the realization that they really, truly are removed from hospitals, movies, professional entertainment, box stores, 24-hour Rite-Aids, fast food, and sometimes cell phone and Internet connections. It's a culture shock they may have understood intellectually before arriving, but being unable to use one's iPad is another thing entirely.
In return, the fudgies sometimes call us cedar savages, picturing us holing up during the winter with a chain saw by the back door and jars of canned fish in the basement. Like most stereotypes, there's a grain of truth in both images. Fudgies do buy lots of fudge, ice cream, and silly tourist things like birch-bark notepads and pine cone coasters. And cedar savages do a lot of cutting and stacking wood so we'll be ready to get through the winter.
Not me, of course. I could keep warm for months just burning the multiple editions of my last manuscript.
I don't know what people in other parts of the nation or the world call those who come to visit, gawk, and enjoy their home territories, but here in Michigan, "fudgie" is the accepted term. It began on Mackinac Island, where fudge shops abound and every visitor seems destined to purchase a slab of sugary chocolate. Fudgie is not really an insult, although it can be. The people who work at the gas staions in my hometown laugh about fudgies who complain that they can't find our McDonalds. We have several families of McDonalds living in the area, but that's not what they mean. The answer is "We don't have one, but if you drive twenty miles due east, there's a town that does."
I once told a visitor that there is only one stoplight in our whole county. She froze in disbelief, a look one might call "the fudgie stare". It comes with the realization that they really, truly are removed from hospitals, movies, professional entertainment, box stores, 24-hour Rite-Aids, fast food, and sometimes cell phone and Internet connections. It's a culture shock they may have understood intellectually before arriving, but being unable to use one's iPad is another thing entirely.
In return, the fudgies sometimes call us cedar savages, picturing us holing up during the winter with a chain saw by the back door and jars of canned fish in the basement. Like most stereotypes, there's a grain of truth in both images. Fudgies do buy lots of fudge, ice cream, and silly tourist things like birch-bark notepads and pine cone coasters. And cedar savages do a lot of cutting and stacking wood so we'll be ready to get through the winter.
Not me, of course. I could keep warm for months just burning the multiple editions of my last manuscript.
June 29, 2010
The Problem with Mystery Readers
We've heard it all. We see where you're going, we know where you have to end up. We know how you think, and we know a clue when we see one. In short, we're pretty darned hard to fool.
I started reading mysteries at about fourteen. I've been from Donald to Dexter, from Paretsky to Poirot, and honestly, I'm not nearly as savvy as a lot of my friends in the mystery community. But familiarity with the genre means that when you, the author, spend a little too much time commenting on the nosy neighbor or the blue cashmere sweater, I, the reader, pick up on that, knowing it's important. It's like the minor role in the TV cop show that's played by a major actor. You just know he's coming back later in the story.
Conventions have to be used very carefully, therefore. Drawing everyone together to reveal the killer is WAY overdone, and it hardly ever makes sense unless we're all on a train or trapped in an abandoned mine. When it's done these days, it is often with humorous effect, a tactic demonstrated quite nicely by L. C. Tyler's TEN LITTLE HERRINGS. When the author's tongue is out of his cheek, however, it is fake, theatrical and flat for me, and I suspect that's true for many seasoned readers of mystery.
So what can a mystery author do? Whatever plot, scenario, or denouement he chooses has been done somewhere, sometime. If it hasn't, it's probably because it won't work. I think what we must strive for is freshness of character, excellence of style, and precision of plot. Maybe I've read ten versions of the-police-think-I-killed-her-so-I-have-to-clear-my-name this year, but if I like your protag and you tell the story with panache, I'll still enjoy, even when you mention that blue sweater for the third time.
I started reading mysteries at about fourteen. I've been from Donald to Dexter, from Paretsky to Poirot, and honestly, I'm not nearly as savvy as a lot of my friends in the mystery community. But familiarity with the genre means that when you, the author, spend a little too much time commenting on the nosy neighbor or the blue cashmere sweater, I, the reader, pick up on that, knowing it's important. It's like the minor role in the TV cop show that's played by a major actor. You just know he's coming back later in the story.
Conventions have to be used very carefully, therefore. Drawing everyone together to reveal the killer is WAY overdone, and it hardly ever makes sense unless we're all on a train or trapped in an abandoned mine. When it's done these days, it is often with humorous effect, a tactic demonstrated quite nicely by L. C. Tyler's TEN LITTLE HERRINGS. When the author's tongue is out of his cheek, however, it is fake, theatrical and flat for me, and I suspect that's true for many seasoned readers of mystery.
So what can a mystery author do? Whatever plot, scenario, or denouement he chooses has been done somewhere, sometime. If it hasn't, it's probably because it won't work. I think what we must strive for is freshness of character, excellence of style, and precision of plot. Maybe I've read ten versions of the-police-think-I-killed-her-so-I-have-to-clear-my-name this year, but if I like your protag and you tell the story with panache, I'll still enjoy, even when you mention that blue sweater for the third time.
June 28, 2010
Local News on the Eightball
I know I pick on them, but jeez! I used to be a speech teacher, and I wonder what happened to all those speech classes that one assumes newspeople must take.
A few hints:
Read/scan your copy ahead of time. If you don't know how to pronounce something, ask somebody and then write it phonetically. Giving the audience multiple choice versions is not cool.
Keep your lame attempts at humor to yourself. You're only revealing what we already suspected: that weathermen are nerds, that girl anchors are ditzes, and that sports guys are just a hair on the manic side.
Try to match your facial expression to the copy. Your big ol' smile as you tell us about that fire where three children died is disturbing.
And ladies, answer this: what did your eyebrows ever do to you to make you shave them off and draw them back on? Is it a rule somewhere that the morning show girl has to look like someone has a gun to her back?
A few hints:
Read/scan your copy ahead of time. If you don't know how to pronounce something, ask somebody and then write it phonetically. Giving the audience multiple choice versions is not cool.
Keep your lame attempts at humor to yourself. You're only revealing what we already suspected: that weathermen are nerds, that girl anchors are ditzes, and that sports guys are just a hair on the manic side.
Try to match your facial expression to the copy. Your big ol' smile as you tell us about that fire where three children died is disturbing.
And ladies, answer this: what did your eyebrows ever do to you to make you shave them off and draw them back on? Is it a rule somewhere that the morning show girl has to look like someone has a gun to her back?
