Christopher H. Jansmann's Blog, page 16

Driver’s Ed

As I was headed into my day job this morning, it began to rain.

It was a gentle shower, nothing close to the sorts of downpours we normally experience during the summer; just enough to wash away the mass of pollen that has descended upon us here in the southwest while making the driving just a little bit more interesting. The skies have been threatening such an event for a few days now, with amazing red-and-periwinkle sunrises hinting at what was to come; given how rare the occurrence tends to be in Arizona, it’s often a welcome change of pace — though it also forces me to remember how to turn on the windshield wipers in my car. The awful scraping nose they made on their first pass reminded me that given their lack of use, it would probably be wise to replace them before the true monsoon season hits later in July.

That very unique sound also — for some strange reason — sent me down a memory rabbit hole as I continued along the interstate. The pavement had darkened with the rain, buttressing a memory of my very first time driving in less-than-ideal conditions; it had been the occasion of my second two-hour outing with a driving instructor, part of the course I was taking in order to qualify for my permit at the ripe old age of fifteen.

My instructor was an amazing person: calm, methodical, patient. It probably didn’t hurt that his real job was as a firefighter in Portland; anyone capable of that sort of daily stress was more than cut out to handle teenagers who thought — mostly incorrectly — they knew what they were doing while behind the wheel.

Although those lessons are now more years than I care to admit behind me, I still hear his voice when I encounter certain situations out on the road. Turning on the wipers this morning was one of them, for his advice had always been to simultaneously enable the headlamps as well — years before it had become common practice (and the law) in many states. He also sagely warned that the first few minutes after the rain began to fall were always the most dangerous, for that was when the accumulated oils and other fluids left behind on the pavement tended to mix with the rain to make the surface its slickest. And he was the one to teach me the trick of turning on the air conditioning while running the defroster in order to clear the windshield faster; again, years before defrosters actually did that automatically.

Thanks to his efforts, I still feel like I am safe driver; I’ve brushed up on my defensive skills every now and then, mostly because driving in California more or less demands it. Still, the base education I received has stood me in good stead. At the time, it was a means to an end, but now, I can see it was another one of those subtle life-changing events that continues to affect me to this day.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

This is a repost of an article I wrote a few years ago talking about two other things I love: Disneyland and Chocolate Chip Cookies.

We had a staff meeting this week, and enough new faces were in the room that we went around the table introducing ourselves and, in true team building fashion, sharing our favorite hobby with the group. Since I happened to be a row or two from the front, I had plenty of time to decide what I was going to say; I thought through the various after hours and weekend activities that I often turn to in order to relax away any given stressful week, trying to find one that seemed sexy, funny and not so terribly insider that everyone would understand in a moment what it was that I liked.

The first few folks shared what you might expect, but when the spotlight landed on a fellow colleague on my appdev steering team, she without hesitation said “Visiting Disneyland, as many times as I can.”

I found myself smiling, for that is also one of the activities my wife and I enjoy as well. We’d been longtime Annual Passport holders until they simply priced us right out of the market. But we try to get out annually if we can.

When it was my turn, I decided to share something similar: “Eating chocolate chip cookies on Main Street, U.S.A. at Disneyland.” The room erupted as I expected it would, since by that point almost everyone else had joined the Disneyland theme in some form or fashion, which in itself was a little surprising. It reminded me once more just what sort of a special significance all things Disney can have for people.

But why cookies, you might be asking?

It’s a purely romantic story, for on the day my wife and I were married (at Walt Disney World, in fact), we actually went back into Magic Kingdom that evening and toasted to our future happiness with a diet cola and a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie from the Main Street Bakery. And it’s a gesture we repeat each time we find ourselves lucky enough to be together in that very magical place.

So chocolate chip cookies it is, now and forever.

About That Star Trek Convention (2016 Edition)

A quick note – this is a blog entry I originally published on August 26, 2016 after attending The Official Star Trek Las Vegas Convention the year fandom celebrated the 50th anniversary of the show we adore. I no longer manage that other blog, but thought it would be fun to share my story here a few days after the 2022 season finale of one of the more recent iterations of Star Trek aired.

Replica of the bridge set from Star Trek: The Original Series.

It’s just a few weeks since I returned from the massive fiftieth anniversary edition of Star Trek: Las Vegas, one of the largest official meccas held each year for fans of the series. Despite what I would think of rather impressive Star Trek fan credentials, last year was the first time I’d ever attended a convention — “Con” as it apparently called in proper parlance — of any kind, Star Trek or otherwise. It was an incredibly welcoming experience, one that my friend and I happily re-upped for when dates for this year’s version became available.

But I feel obligated to point out that the very prospect of being surrounded by others who know as much (or possibly more) about the intricacies of this universe I have grown to love was, frankly, a bit intimidating — and the leading reason why it took so long for me to go in the first place.

Yes, I have a poster of the USS Enterprise hanging on my office wall. Yes, I could quite likely quote you almost every line from the classic movies. No, I don’t have a pair of pointed ears in a drawer somewhere, though I will admit to having a Next Generation costume hanging in my closet. I have books and books and books on the production history of the show, ranging from how the sets were designed to the thoughts behind the various models used throughout the various movies and television incarnations. I even know (somewhat obscurely, to be sure) that Lucille Ball lost Desilu over Star Trek — but that without her support, the show would never have made it onto the air in the first place.

Yes, they recreated the doors to the Holodeck; guests would be introduced as they came through the portal.

My fear, going into that first convention, was that I knew too little about the series to fit in among the fans that would attend such an event. I don’t remember every single episode of any version of the show, a problem that made it rather difficult to recognize the various guest stars that were at the convention but had only been in one (or perhaps two) episodes in some minor way. But on the other hand, seeing these obscure actors encouraged me to go back and re-watch those old episodes again, an experience that became something like visiting with an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

This year more than last year, I started to feel like I was really part of the crowd. I can’t even begin to explain how amazing it is to tell a Star Trek-related joke, and have everyone in the immediate area actually (1) understand the context and (2) get the punchline without any additional explanation. I’ve even come to understand how important the show has been to others, sometimes on incredibly personal levels.

“A question. Since before your sun started to burn, I have awaited a question.”

I’ve gone to plenty of corporate conferences and learned how to work a room full of colleagues; working through a room full of passionate Star Trek fans, though, is a different creature entirely (pun intended). I have found that what sets a Star Trek convention apart is the genuineness of the people who attend and the almost uniform belief in that more perfect future the show represents. It’s almost breathtaking in scope.

This year also helped me to realize, or perhaps to simply remember, how important a show it was to me growing up. The more “evolved sensibilities” of the future (yes, I am quoting) provided an intelligent, thoughtful universe that helped me to survive the daily grind of teenage politics. Star Trek successfully taught me that there was a better future in store, and not just in the twenty-third century.

I had plenty of solid role models in my life, but I can’t deny they were all buttressed by Mr. Spock’s cool logic, Dr. McCoy’s vibrant humanism, and Mr. Scott’s can-do attitude. Captain Kirk told me that leaders can also be human, while Captain Picard taught diplomacy was usually the better course of action. And accomplished female characters such as Chapel (with a Ph.D. and an M.D.), Uhura (fourth in line for command), and Janeway (in command and a scientist of renown) taught me that men and women could work side-by-side as equals.

I could go on and on, but you see my point. Who wouldn’t want to live in that universe?

I wasn’t brave enough to try the Roasted Tribble, but I hear it’s tasty.

Tucson Festival of Books

It’s one of my favorite times of the year – the annual Tucson Festival of Books takes place this weekend on the beautiful campus of the University of Arizona. My wife and I generally go in person for it’s an incredible experience wandering through author tents or taking in a talk from a writer neither of us has yet read. I’ve picked up so many awesome l books over the years that we stumbled upon while working the event – and had the insane chance to get up close and personal with some of our favorite authors.

One wonderful side effect of attending a few years ago was the discovery of BookTV. Up until we visited the RV they had at the festival, I had no idea CSPAN regularly covered various festivals — and that they kept the archives available long after the event had ended. I still have the canvas book tote they handed out – and now regularly tune in to see who might turn up in their coverage.

One of my fondest memories is meeting a favorite author from my childhood, Katherine Paterson. Like many of my generation, I loved (and was infinitely moved by) Bridge to Terabithia, and broadened my horizons with Sign of the Chrysanthemum. She was in Tucson just after publishing her memoir and I have to admit to being a bit of a super fan and rushing to get my copy autographed after her talk. Ms. Paterson was so nice, taking time to thank everyone that came up to her. It’s a moment I’ll treasure forever.

Someday I hope to be an author at that festival. That’s been one of my goals from the beginning — a long term one, of course — but one that will mean the world to me once it happens. Sharing in the experience of sharing the joy of reading is something I’m looking forward to doing.

March

March was always a funny month for me while living in Maine.

In some respects, it signaled the end of our long winter season was nearly over, and that the warmth of spring was on the horizon; but in others, it reminded us that massive piles of white snow were just as likely to appear before the calendar finally flipped over to April. And even April was no guarantor of good weather: I remember at least one year growing up when we had the delight of a late season snow day around the middle of the month. Then there was another year where my father struggled to get the lawn mower running four weeks earlier than normal because the grass had grown gangbusters.

So yeah, March was always a funny month.

When I moved to Arizona, I kind of assumed winter was a different experience altogether, and for that most part, that has held true. What continues to surprise me, though, even after two decades, is the extreme variance in temperature we see. It’s not all that unusual to go for a run first thing in the morning, bundled up against the chill of a 24 degree pre-dawn, and then be able to eat lunch out on the patio at the office in shirtsleeves relishing in a balmy 75 at noontime.

Maybe someday I’ll get used it. Maybe.

The wind is the same on both coasts at this time of year, though. It never failed that the old phrase — in like a lion, out like a lamb — always seemed to apply back home; if we had a blustery start to March, the final days leading to April would be guaranteed perfect camping weather. Conversely, don’t even think about packing up your cold weather gear if we snuck into March without a hint of weather. About the only difference in Arizona is our wind now tends to kick up massive amounts of dust, leading to some terrible conditions during the day but amazing sunsets at night.

How I was personally affected by the weather has definitely percolated into my writing; that, and my incessant cheerleading for warm places such as Anaheim or Orlando. I suffered through too many long, cold winters where the wind felt like it sliced through you not dream of spending those months someplace nicer. While I’ve not always managed to get to those warm places myself each year, there’s no reason Sean or Vasily couldn’t do that on my behalf — allowing us to live vicariously through them.

Destination Radio

Photo by Skylar Kang on Pexels.com

Now that Ditched is complete and while I await feedback from my loyal beta readers on Downhill, I started my first thorough edit on the latest Sean Colbeth book, Canceled. Taking place nearly from the moment Downhill ends, there was actually about a year between the writing of the two books, so I was a bit concerned about maintaining a smooth connection between the two stories. My goal has long been to make each story feel like it seamlessly moved into the next one in the series; I’ve caught a few things that have had to be adjusted, but on the whole, I feel pretty good that the average reader will be able to go from Downhill and right into Canceled as if they were back-to-back episodes on their favorite streaming service.

Canceled is bit of an experiment for me; among other things, I wanted to ratchet up the stakes a bit for Sean, but also have a realistic reason why he might once more partner with Vasily to take down some nefarious actor. Since my two main characters are now separated by more than just distance, it felt important to me to maintain that believability. As odd as it sounds, the idea for how to. make that happen in Canceled came from my memories of making the long drive from Portland to Fort Kent, endlessly searching the radio dial for something to pass the hours with.

In this age of podcasts and satellite radio, it’s sometimes hard to imagine there was a point in time when people would tune in for a particular show or disc jockey; in my case, I never failed to carve out time for NPR’s much-missed Talk of the Nation, which through the benefit of a wide-ranging public radio station in Maine, I could hear nearly anywhere along my route. Even today, I try to make sure I catch Science Friday or Fresh Air, though now it’s just as likely I’m streaming it on my smart device or laptop than my trusty desktop radio.

This idea of destination radio resonated as I was coming up with the plot for Canceled, along with the notion that somewhat supremely talented in the art form might just be able to hang on to being relevant despite all of the headwinds in the broadcast industry. Mix in a little bit of family intrigue and add a dash of murder… and, well, now you’ve got something that might just draw Sean and Vasily back together.

Though it won’t be out until sometime next year, I’m pretty excited with the story and can’t wait to share it with you! But for now, it’s back to editing… and thinking about the next story in the series…

Snowbound

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It feels a little crazy to me.

Ditched is finally put to bed — that is to say, the final versions for Kindle, paperback and hard cover editions are all prepped and ready to appear on February 8. You’d think that would mean I’d take a minute to breath and consider the lilies of the field, but (at the risk of mixing my metaphors), time waits for no one as the next novel due out — Downhill — requires two more passes before publication in April. Not that I mind, especially, for I often find reviewing the story in deep detail gets me back into the minds of the characters — an especially helpful activity seeing as though I’m on the cusp of my next two-month writing binge.

Downhill is my third Sean Colbeth novel, and one that I explicitly wanted to take place back in Windeport during the winter. Partly to capture the essence of the season, I wrote the initial draft in late January of last year, as the last vestiges of the holiday spirit hovered in the air — and the temperatures here in Arizona turned about as frigid as they can get for the Southwest. It had the desired effect, for I found myself plunging my poor characters into the storm of the century while the dealt with a murderer intent on using the weather as cover. (I won’t say more at the risk of spoiling the story.)

Writing scenes featuring tall snowbanks and icy cold winds brought me back to my childhood growing up in Maine; while I’m sure the snowbanks were nearly as high as I remember them to have been, the cold is something no one truly every forgets. Nor, perhaps, that peculiar squeaking sound super-frozen snow makes when you carefully pick your way over it. There were several points in the manuscript where I found myself apologizing to Sean and company for being forced to relive some of the worst moments I remember, but in the end, I feel as though the scenes ring true.

All I can say is this: there truly is nothing like waking up in your home in the middle of the night with the dread of knowing the power is out, and along with it, any chance of staying warm for the duration of the snowstorm raging just outside your window…

Potatoes

Photo by Victoria Emerson on Pexels.com

My first book, Blindsided, revolves around the murder of a local professor who, as it turns out, happened to be peer reviewing research regarding a new “super potato” that purportedly was able to fend off all manner of blight, thus increasing the potential yields for the farmers in Maine. It might seem like an unusual plot line, but as it happens, it’s based on an actual research project I briefly worked on while I was a freshman at the University of Maine.

One of the more interesting aspects of being a science major at UMaine back in those days was a one-credit course we were required to take called, appropriately, Majoring in the Sciences. Entering college, I had plans on being either a biologist or a physician, so it was appropriate then that whole idea behind the course was to expose students to the realities of what it meant to be a scientist. The faculty advisor I was assigned to turned out to be a fascinating person in his own right, a brilliant biologist who was pragmatic enough to understand that the key to keeping his funding at a land grant university was to produce research appropriate to the economy of the state. In our very frank discussions about what it took to run a lab, I discovered he’d actually wanted to do research in other areas but had settled on potatoes because he loved living in Maine, and knew it was an important enough area for the state that he’d be able to find funding for his lab. (As a case in point, he showed me the empty lab of a colleague that was just down the hall… and completely empty; apparently, research into bugs hadn’t been as financially sound.)

I spent a few hours two or three times a week working in the lab as a volunteer, helping to transplant potato seedlings or transferring bacteria from one Petri dish to another; it was in that lab that I stumbled onto my actual profession of application development when I became fascinated by the DNA mapping one of the Ph.D. students was doing at a bulky PC terminal off in the corner. While I may have left the idea of being a research scientist behind when I moved into the computer sciences, the way research was conducted — and how brutal the environment could be to those who participated — always stayed with me, along with the idea of a “super potato.”

At the time I was in the lab, I thought it was science fiction that my mentor would be able to craft a potato by shifting around some genes; now, decades later, I find myself buying genetically modified items at my local grocery store (whether I know it or not). I suppose that’s why I thought it would be at least believable that such a potato as depicted in my book could, in theory, be created by some enterprising scientist. It also felt right that if such a thing happened, it would be done by someone up in Maine — completely in honor of that hard working mentor I was privileged to meet back when I was young enough not to truly appreciate the full measure of the experience.

What’s Behind My Titles?

Things to do… things to do…

I had an amazing opportunity to spend some time with friends back in November and December — a real treat considering how COVID managed to disrupt most of my travel plans for 2020 and 2021. (2022 is shaping up to be another interesting year on that front, but I’ll save that discussion for a later time.). We’ve known each other for more than twenty years now, a friendship that began around all things Disney before blossoming into something my wife and I truly treasure.

I’m not sure I can entirely recall now how the discussion came up, but somewhere along the line we were talking about Peril and what lay ahead for my characters. Though I tend not to divulge my upcoming plots — even to friends and family — I did tell them I’d already settled on themes for the next five, and that the titles were a reflection of that. (You can see what’s coming on my Books page if you are curious.)

That led to the next question, which was one I’m sure every author gets: did I write the novels first, and then give them a title? Or did I give it a title, and write the novel after? My answer was appropriately cryptic, but the truth is I tend to come up with the titles first because they do reflect what the book is supposed to be about. I have the added difficulty of also needing to squeeze the names into the mystery genre, too, or at least what I feel would be an appropriate sort of title for a police procedural/murder mystery.

On top of all of that, I generally set myself an additional challenge: the titles all have to reflect the most obvious aspect of the story, but also need to tie in to the less obvious (but in many cases, more important) point I am striving to make with each edition. Blindsided, for example, definitely referred to the unexpected death of a key faculty member on the eve of an announcement of a major breakthrough in agricultural research — and the ensuing fallout in the small village of Windeport; less obvious, perhaps, is how that same term applies to the personal and professional challenges Sean Colbeth is forced to face while he works the case. In a similar way, the name of my upcoming novel, Ditched, directly references the murder scene Vas encounters fairly early in the story — but a solid case cold be made that it might more appropriately call back to the chaos of Vasily’s past actions, both in Windeport and Rancho Linda.

At the end of the day, I want the name to feel right to the reader; I have actually changed a title or two after a beta reader got done with my manuscript, but on the whole, most names selected prior to writing wind up sticking all the way to publication. It’s a fun exercise for me, one that has made me appreciate all the more the titles of books from authors that I enjoy reading.

Christmas Gift

Thank you for making the end of my year so wonderful!

It’s been just a few days since Peril went live; I have to admit, I’m always something of a nervous wreck during a book launch. Will the new story resonate with my readers, I always wonder, or will anyone actually find the new book in the first place? Honestly, I thought after publishing Blindsided the anxiousness would ameliorate somewhat.

But it hasn’t.

I’m sure it’s a natural reaction to crafting something for others to enjoy. These two characters — Sean and Vasily — feel like part of my family, which I suppose is pretty accurate considering how much time I’ve spent with them over these past two years. I want them to succeed almost as if they were truly out there on their own, making their way through the world. Much like true children, though, once they take those first tentative steps to leave the nest, there are limits to how much you can actually help them in their quest for success.

While not a perfect analogy, it does allow me a measure of gratitude for what I discovered Christmas Eve…

Hang on, are those my books…?

Not one but two of my books — Peril and its successor, Ditched, were on the Bestselling New Releases list for my genre. It was a welcome surprise gift that continues to give, for as I write this, the Kindle edition of Peril has moved up to #18…

…wait, those are my books…

…and is threatening to break the top 100 overall for LGBTQ+ Mysteries. So people have found me! How insanely cool is that…?

My immense gratitude to all of the readers who decided to find out a little bit more about Vasily Korsokovach and the world he lives in. Now that you’re here, I hope you hang around for a bit, for there is far more to come both series. The most up-to-date information will be here on my blog, so be sure to subscribe to stay in the know.