Debra H. Goldstein's Blog, page 39

Guest Blog: Those Voices in My Head by Lois Winston

Lois Winston and Mop Doll

Two kinds of people listen to the voices in their heads — schizophrenics and mystery writers. I'm the kind who doesn't talk back. Usually.

I say usually because every so often it becomes necessary for me to argue with one of those voices, otherwise known as my characters. They can be very demanding. For instance, in Death By Killer Mop Doll, the second book in my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries series, I got to a point while writing the story where Anastasia went on strike. My amateur sleuth absolutely refused to continue on the path laid out by the synopsis my editor had approved. No matter how much I tried to force her into the next chapter, she wouldn't budge.

Have I mentioned what a royal pain in my butt she is?

Being on deadline, I had no choice but to cave to her demands, especially since she'd gotten the rest of the characters to line up in solidarity behind her. Then they pooled their resources and sent my muse off on holiday.

Have I mentioned the voices in my head play dirty?

So there I was, staring at a blinking cursor for hours on end, my deadline looming closer and closer. I had no choice but to give in to Anastasia's demands. And boy did she toss a monkey wrench into my previously approved plot!

"You're taking the easy way out," she screamed at me. "I demand more conflict! Another red herring! One more plot twist!"

"My editor had no problem with the story the way it is," I whined.

"Get her on the phone. She'll see things my way."

I wondered how much editors really know about those voices in our heads. Would she think I'd gone nuts? I decided it wasn't worth the risk. Anastasia was a fictional character and only a fictional character as far as my editor knew. Best to keep it that way.

"Fine, you win," I said. "I'll write the story your way."

"You'll thank me in the end," she said.

And you know what? Damned if she wasn't right. She usually is. I've learned my lesson. I recently completed the third book in the series, and this time I didn't even bother arguing with her. I just wrote the book the way she wanted it written.

—-Lois Winston is the author of the critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mysteries published by Midnight Ink. Assault With a Deadly Glue Gun, the first book in the series, received starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist and was recently nominated for a Readers Choice Award by the Salt Lake City Library System. The new year brings with it the release of Death By Killer Mop Doll, the second book in the series. Read an excerpt at http://www.loiswinston.com/excerptap2.html. Visit Lois at her website: http://www.loiswinston.com and Anastasia at the Killer Crafts & Crafty Killers blog: http://www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com. You can also follow Lois and Anastasia on Twitter @anasleuth.

Lois is currently winding up a month-long blog tour where she's giving away five signed copies of Death By Killer Mop Doll. To enter the drawing, post a comment to this blog or any of the others on the tour. You can find the complete schedule at her website and Anastasia's blog. In addition, she's giving away 3 copies of Death By Killer Mop Doll on Goodreads, http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/15173-death-by-killer-mop-doll

The Bobbsey Twins and Agatha Christie

When I was a child, I was given a copy of The Bobbsey Twins of Lakeport by Laura Lee Hope.  It's book jacket claimed "Ghosts!  Everyone agrees that the old Marden House is as haunted as a chimney on Halloween, but when there's a mystery to be solved, the Bobbsey Twins, Bert and Nan, Freddie and Flossie, don't intend to let a little thing like ghosts stop them."  I became a diehard mystery reader from that moment forward.

Mysteries let me escape from school, chores, piano practice, and my pesky younger sister.  Reading the entire Bobbsey Twin series let me be part of solving a mystery at the circus, the beach, the mountains, and by the end, even Japan.  I explored more places and felt like the series' characters became my friends as I read my way through Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, and Trixie Belden.  Then, I found Agatha Christie!  Not only were the characters of Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot addictive, but their reasoning abilities challenged me to read carefully so that I could beat them to figuring out whodunit.

To this day, I relish the plot line in Christie's The Pale Horse because it stumped me.  When I finished the book, I realized that Agatha Christie had hid the clues in the plot's twists and turns, but I had been so engrossed in the story that I forgot to focus on putting them together.  It was at that moment that I realized the complex analysis and delicacy of writing that makes a good mystery just plain fun to read.

Authors like Sara Paretsky, Sue Grafton, Faye Kellerman, Carolyn Hart, Nevada Barr, Linda Fairstein, Diane Mott Davidson, Janet Evanovich, Mary Higgins Clark, Anne George, Patricia Cornwell, Carolyn Haines, Donna Andrews, John Grisham, Brad Meltzer, Richard North Patterson, James Patterson, Alan Bradley, and Alexander McCall Smith, just to name a few, remind me of the technical skills of word choice, plot, and characterization necessary to write an enjoyable mystery each time I read any of their works.  Not only is each a good storyteller, but each utilizes the fundamentals of writing to perfection so that their books are, as Flossie of The Bobbsey Twins would say, "bee-yoo-ti-ful!."

—-Debra H. Goldstein is the author of several short mystery stories including "Legal Magic" and "Malicious Mischief."  Her debut mystery novel, Maze in Blue, was published by Chalet Publishers in 2011. She still has her original copy of The Bobbsey Twins of Lakeport.  — January 2, 2012

Maybe I Should Hug You

MAYBE I SHOULD HUG YOU ........

When I turned 50, it was like a switch flipped and caused my knees to ache, my cholesterol to go sky high, and my upper arms to get a flabby chicken look. My kids gave me a bored look of sympathy, but my friends got it. No matter that we say 50 is the new 30, and that we are more dynamic, community involved, and athletically inclined than our mothers at this age, we realize we have become them right down to the last detail of kvetching over our aches and pains. We also understand, even as we avoid the subject, that the mortality issues we thought belonged to our mothers’ generation are now ours.

Like most of my friends, when I heard about somebody diagnosed with cancer or a debilitating disease, I was sorry, but relieved that it wasn’t me or someone I was close to. I might send a card, donation, or food for the family, but I really didn’t know and didn’t want to know what to do or say. Those were the kind of things and exchanges of my parents and their friends, not my crowd.

Pretty naïve.

When my friend Susan’s husband was diagnosed with lung cancer in July and was dead by September, I thought it was an anomaly. Jack was older than we were. People our age weren’t getting sick and dying. After his death, for the first year, her friends, me included, tried to be available for dinners, movies, or taking a walk, but when she settled into a routine focused on attending church and playing tennis, we let our efforts fall off.

Then, my best friend, Caryn, was diagnosed with a recurrence of the breast cancer she thought she had beaten 12 years earlier. I wanted to hug her; tell her she would be all right, and reassure her that she would be part of many lifecycle events still to come in her children’s lives, but I was so lame about it. The best I could do was provide her with detailed research on her disease stage and available treatments, try to make a bargain with God that it would go away, and cry on my husband’s shoulder.

In the three years since then, I’ve tried to be a sounding board, a cheerleader, and too often a critical voice of reason when I see her reach a point of extreme pain and exhaustion because she wants to do everything she always has, and more, rather than let the cancer get the best of her. During this time period, it has seemed that bad things keep happening to good people our age: throat cancer diagnosed in a woman who never smoked, a brain hemorrhage in a community volunteer whose only symptom was a bad headache, death from metastasized cancer of the 58-year-old mother of one of my 20-year-old daughter’s friends, and finding out my criminal law professor, who was just a few years older than the students who comprised one of his first classes, is terminal and has left teaching to spend his remaining time with his family. Yesterday, we learned the husband of the couple we laughed with over dinner last Saturday night has a mass. Surgery is Wednesday. Oh, I almost forgot, two years ago, on the same day, two friends my age lost their respective battles against pancreatic cancer and HIV.

Not only do I feel helpless and inept to help these people through the difficult journey they face, but as I’ve discussed with friends, I’m scared. They are too. None of us want to admit that the “D” word is creeping into our lives. We are afraid of becoming ill or just learning who might be next. It isn’t paranoia, depression, or obsession about death, but dealing with the reality that the joy of life has an unpredictable ending. We stress making the most of our golden years, but then get bogged down in everyday minutia. At work, we notice we no longer are on the fast track; our kids are. Laughing, we wonder how long our houses will seem cleaner since we threw away so much clutter when we downsized. Bottom line — we keep busy moving forward knowing there is nothing we can do to avoid our eventual fate.

Like my friends, I can intellectually accept the concept of death, but I want to run away from it. There are times when I see someone who is ill, or worse, will be the person left behind, and I want to hug them, but being touchy-feely doesn’t come naturally. Sometimes I just want to ask “how are you doing?” or I get the urge to call up to chatter, but I’ve never been good at small talk, especially now. Besides, I really hate the telephone. In fact, I hate the telephone almost as much as I despise the fear that has colored our futures since we turned 50.

Subconsciously, I believe that if I don’t talk about death, avoid hugging, and ignore the phone, everything will stay as it is. The reality is that despite silence, life changes each year. So, unless I resolve to give those hugs or pick up the phone to listen or crack jokes, I will miss the very things that will shape and define the remainder of my life.

----Debra H. Goldstein is the author of several short mystery stories including “Legal Magic” and “Malicious Mischief.” Her debut mystery novel, Maze in Blue, was published by Chalet Publishers in 2011. "Maybe I Should Hug You" won a 2009 Alabama Writers Conclave Nonfiction Award. A revised version was published online as "More Hugs, Less Fear" by MORE Magazine in April 2010. "Maybe I Should Hug You" is being posted as today's blog at the request of a special friend and because, when it comes to DHG's Blog, "It's Not Always a Mystery." Check out DHG's Blog at www.DebraHGoldstein.com

The Bobbsey Twins and Agatha Christie

When I was a child, I was given a copy of The Bobbsey Twins of Lakeport by Laura Lee Hope. It's book jacket claimed "Ghosts! Everyone agrees that the old Marden House is as haunted as a chimney on Halloween, but when there's a mystery to be solved, the Bobbsey Twins, Bert and Nan, Freddie and Flossie, don't intend to let a little thing like ghosts stop them." I became a diehard mystery reader from that moment forward.

Mysteries let me escape from school, chores, piano practice, and my pesky younger sister. Reading the entire Bobbsey Twin series let me be part of solving a mystery at the circus, the beach, the mountains, and by the end, even Japan. I explored more places and felt like the series’ characters became my friends as I read my way through Cherry Ames, Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, and Trixie Belden. Then, I found Agatha Christie! Not only were the characters of Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot addictive, but their reasoning abilities challenged me to read carefully so that I could beat them to figuring out whodunit.

To this day, I relish the plot line in Christie's The Pale Horse because it stumped me. When I finished the book, I realized that Agatha Christie had hid the clues in the plot’s twists and turns, but I had been so engrossed in the story that I forgot to focus on putting them together. It was at that moment that I realized the complex analysis and delicacy of writing that makes a good mystery just plain fun to read.

Authors like Sara Paretsky, Sue Grafton, Faye Kellerman, Carolyn Hart, Nevada Barr, Linda Fairstein, Diane Mott Davidson, Janet Evanovich, Mary Higgins Clark, Anne George, Patricia Cornwell, Carolyn Haines, Donna Andrews, John Grisham, Brad Meltzer, Richard North Patterson, James Patterson, Alan Bradley, and Alexander McCall Smith, just to name a few, remind me of the technical skills of word choice, plot, and characterization necessary to write an enjoyable mystery each time I read any of their works. Not only is each a good storyteller, but each utilizes the fundamentals of writing to perfection so that their books are, as Flossie of The Bobbsey Twins would say, “bee-yoo-ti-ful!.”

----Debra H. Goldstein is the author of several short mystery stories including “Legal Magic” and “Malicious Mischief.” Her debut mystery novel, Maze in Blue, was published by Chalet Publishers in 2011. She still has her original copy of The Bobbsey Twins of Lakeport. www.debrahgoldstein.com/dhgblog.html

LET FREEDOM RING!

LET FREEDOM RING!  July 4th, not the day independence was declared, but the day the Declaration of Independence was signed.  A day of trepidation for our forefathers who didn't know if they would really see a free nation or would end up being hung for treason.  A day for celebration for us – freedom, a day off from work, fireworks, John Sousa marches being played by local bands, barbecue and barbecues, politicians making campaign appearances, and family get-togethers.  While I will enjoy and participate in all of the above before I go to sleep tonight, for a few early morning hours, July 4th is my quiet time of independence.

I don't turn on the television or music, but instead take a moment to reflect in solitude staring out my back window.  My husband is out walking with a friend before the heat of the day becomes oppressive, but I am vegging.  It already is too hot for me to want to leave my air-conditioned room, but I am observing the stillness in my yard.  The grass is a little long, but neither it nor the trees are swaying in the absence of any wind.  It is a far cry from a few weeks ago when tornadoes devastated homes just a few blocks from our house while our trees bent from the force of the wind, before bouncing back upright.

The quiet makes me think of a cherished memory from my childhood.  It is the memory of the first time I ever realized the power that comes from solitude.  My family had just moved to Michigan; but dad was away on a business trip.  Mother had spent the night shortening curtains by hand so our apartment would seem more finished.  As she worked and listened to the radio, she observed snow falling and began to hear school closings, but none mentioned the Jackson schools where she had just enrolled us so I was sent off to the junior high school, a few blocks away.

Snow was falling lightly, but sticking with drifts that made me step carefully as I crossed the road in front of the apartment complex and took the shortcut to school.  The shortcut was a paved sidewalk between houses that had been built on multiple lots.  It enabled children living in our fairly populated area to independently walk to the elementary and junior high schools without having to cross two busy roads that bordered these houses.  I searched for the shortcut path, but no footsteps had marked it for me to distinguish from random sandlike dunes.  Everything was silent and white.  I had my bearings, but I stopped to look around for a bird, a squirrel, or another child.  There were none.  I was about to start walking again when I saw a single bird perched on the branch of an evergreen tree.  It seemed to notice me at the same time.  We stared at each other and then the bird shook itself and flew away.  Finally, I forced myself to continue to my closed school.  I got home in time to keep my mother from taking my sister to school.

The memory of being cold faded, but the silent beauty of solitude I felt stayed with me.  So, on the 4th of July, I am glad to celebrate our country's independence and to take a few minutes to enjoy my own independence.

Judge Debra H. Goldstein is the author of Maze in Blue, a murder mystery set on the University of Michigan's campus in the 1970's.  www.DebraHGoldstein.com

I Love Independent Bookstores!

I love independent bookstores.  I don't think of them as being a salon of knowledge or a place to meet people and exchange ideas, I think of an indie as being a second home.

Just walking into an independent bookstore and observing its physical layout excites me.  My senses become heightened.  I observe the number of floors it has, its alcoves and nooks, and the way titles are displayed, but it is the smell of the books (and occasionally of coffee) that draws me in.  It is immaterial whether the books are neatly arranged, specialized by genre, or just haphazardly shoved into any available space.  I pace the aisles absorbing the colors of titles and covers, slowing only if one catches my eye to pull it from the shelves.  I turn it over to read the blurb on the back before glancing at a few pages between the covers.  My reaction is immediate: add it to my maybe pile or relegate it back to the shelf as boring.

Obviously, I can address the bookshelves of a superstore in the same way, and I often do, but I don't explore as much in a superstore as I will in an indie.  I tend to be more of a designated shopper in a superstore — looking for the mystery on aisle 27 or checking out the blue light special on aisle 11.  The same is true for me when I shop online.  In an independent store, I browse more.  I also shyly engage in conversation with the staff as I begin to recognize the same faces each time I visit the store.  As I get to know them, I immediately wonder what gem will become mine because one of the familiar faces I trust recommends a book as a personal favorite.

I always leave any sized bookstore having made a purchase, but I can guarantee that I will leave an independent bookstore with far more books than I intended to buy.  What about you?

Debra

Debra H. Goldstein's new mystery, Maze in Blue, will be available by May 1 from independent bookstores, including Little Professor Book Center (www.littleprofessorhomewood.com ) and Jim Reed Books (www.jimreedbooks.com) as well as online at www.amazon.com.