Judith Post's Blog, page 25

Jazzi would be proud of me

This is a little gross, but life happens. Our chihuahua is getting old, just like us. And he can’t always make it through the night without having to potty. Unfortunately, he’s started using the bathroom floor as his “to go” place. We bought puppy pads to put down for him, but he stands on the EDGE of them, so that he misses. He’s trying. He just doesn’t get it right. And he’s missed enough, he ruined our bathroom tiles. So we decided we needed to replace them.

HH wanted to use money for another project, so we decided to do the work ourselves. We’ve lived here for 50 years, and we put down new tile three times, but HH never wanted to take up the old tile. This time, to do the job right, we had to pull them up. First, we used a thin trowel to hammer it under the top tile. Then once we got the tile a little loose, we hammered a 15″ utility bar under the rest of the tile to lift it And we had to do this tile by tile for three layers.

It would have taken HH forever to do it himself, so I helped. And I still have the knack. I can still swing a hammer and use a crowbar. And my knees work better than his, so I did a lot of the work in hard-to-reach corners. I think Jazzi would have been proud of me. Yes, she can do a lot more things than I can, but I’m considering the last two days of hard physical labor as research.

Hope you’re writing and NOT doing home renovation:)

Slow As Molasses

My sister loves the movie Romancing the Stone. In the beginning, the villain asks if the girl he’s followed wants to die fast or slow as molasses. That line’s always stuck with me. Maybe for a reason. My writing seems to be “slow as molasses.”

When I say that, people disagree. “You’re already up to the last fourth of your book,” they say. Yes, I am. But it takes FOREVER to get there. And I only make the progress I do because I’m retired and try to write every weekday. I start with doing rewrites of the previous day’s work. And sometimes, that takes me right up until it’s time to stop for lunch. Why? Because I try to ADD details to the scene I wrote yesterday AND I work to polish it. I can spend a couple of hours reworking a scene, adding something, then tightening it, then changing word choices. I fuss over the pages until I’m sick of them and move on.

Usually, after lunch, I start working on NEW words. And I’m slow at that, too. I know people who come up with huge word counts in one day. I’m not one of them. If I finish 7 new pages a day, I’m happy with myself. That’s a little over 1600 words a day. For a manuscript, I aim for 70,000. If everything goes well, that’s 44 days of writing. Except that I don’t write on weekends. And I don’t write on Writers’ Club Day, and who knows how many other things that interfere? IF I was lucky, and my brain didn’t freeze up, I could finish a rough draft–in theory–in 2 months. But it never happens. Life isn’t that cooperative. And when I finish a manuscript, then I give it to my critique partners and wait for them to read it. Then I have to fix what they find. So, if everything works out PERFECTLY, I might have a book done in three months. But does your life ever run perfectly? Mine doesn’t. So, if I’m LUCKY, I can finish a book in four months. That’s my best scenario. And I’m hoping for that with The (Steaks) Stakes Are High.

Who knows? My horoscope says my planets are starting to look less grouchy. I hope so. I’m ready for some happy vibes for a while. But I learned long ago, you get what you get and try to make the best of it. I’m crossing my fingers and hitting the keys. (I know. A little tricky). And I hope to make serious progress this month. Hope you can, too!

Happy writing!

Cliche’

It was a dark and stormy night. I sat, hunched over my keyboard, forming letters into words and words into paragraphs, when a loud pounding sounded at my back door. My husband wasn’t home. Who’d venture out in this weather to visit us? Reluctantly, I went to see who was at the door.

I turned on the back porch light but could see no one. Had I imagined the noise? I was about to turn back to my office when a woman walked through the door. No, not a person. A nebulous being who didn’t wait for me to open the door for her. Not that I would have. I’m not stupid. Who shows up on your doorstep during a terrible thunderstorm?

I frowned at her. I recognized her but had never seen her. Still, she looked familiar Who was she? And then I realized she was Maxine from my first Laurel and Nick mystery.

She put her hands on her hips. “You killed me in the first chapter of POSED IN DEATH. Why? I was a good mother, a good friend. I did volunteer work, for heaven’s sake.”

“That’s what got you killed,” I said. “I needed a sympathetic victim for this book. In mysteries, I try for victims everyone is happy to see dead or victims no one wants to see killed. You were the perfect sympathetic victim.”

“Not fair!” Maxine said. “Being a good mother and a nice person shouldn’t get you killed.”

I shook my head. “How many mysteries have your read? You can’t choose just any victim. I needed someone wonderful or horrible and chose you.”

Maxine shook her head, looking slightly dumbfounded. “So, being a good person is what got me killed?”

I shrugged. “”Let’s face it. You chose a loser for your husband. That put you higher on my list of people to kill. And then you were best friends with my protagonist, Laurel. If you died, she’d be motivated to find who killed you.”

Maxine blinked. “I didn’t know Laurel was your protagonist. That doesn’t seem fair.”

I gave her a sorry shake of my head. “I’m sorry, Maxine, but you don’t seem to realize that you’re just a character in my story. And you had to die.”

“I’ve never been real?” she asked

“Only in my imagination. And thank you for showing up. You were perfect for my story.”

She finally smiled. “Did I make a great hook?”

“It would be hard to beat you. I was fond of you myself. You were only in a few chapters. but drove the story.”

Her smile spread. “I might be remembered?”

“By me, for sure.”

She turned to walk out the door. “How many can claim that at their deaths? To be remembered. I’m grateful, author. Thank you for memorializing me in your manuscript.”‘

I nodded. “You were perfect in your part. Thank you for advancing my story.”

“Any time. And if you ever need a good victim again, change my name and give me a try.”

I nodded. “I’ll remember you, but in the meantime, go to character heaven. You deserve to be there. You did an outstanding job, Maxine.”

She smiled and started to the back door, slowly morphing through it. I admired Maxine. A perfect victim in literature. But maybe not so happy about it in real life. I understood. But then I’d worked hard to find justice for her. And at the end of Posed in Death, her killer was revealed.

On Sale

The podcast of Nuts!, my Laurel and Nick short story, performed by the Down and Out team of T.G. Wolff and Jack Wolff, comes out tomorrow at 1:30. It’s the first story in a series they’re going to perform. I can’t post a link until the link goes live, so I’ll put it up tomorrow, June 3, once it’s available.

But to celebrate, I made Posed in Death, my Laurel and Nick novel, FREE from June 2 – 6. It’s darker than a usual cozy, and that’s why I chose a darker type of cover for it. No friendly pug in front of a murder scene, but it was fun to write. If you try the podcast or the book, I hope you like them!

Happy Memorial Day!

We live in a little town that was swallowed by the city, but we still FEEL like a little town. Our tiny local newspaper office used to sell T-shirts that said, “I wasn’t born in Waynedale, but I couldn’t wait to get here.” Everything’s convenient. The store’s five minutes from our house. The drugstore’s four minutes away. The wine store’s even less. All of the important points covered. There’s a Pizza Hut, a diner, a Wings Etc. and a few other small restaurants. Friends laugh at me when I balk at driving half an hour to get something. And every year, for Memorial Day, a parade goes right down the street in front of our house. There’s no sleeping in. The sirens start at nine a.m. People line the street with their lawn chairs, and the nice family across the street invites us over for sausage gravy and biscuits when the parade’s over. What more could a human being want?

When I was a kid, my parents packed us in the car every Memorial Day, and we went to put flowers on EVERY grave of ANYONE in the family in a reasonable distance. We drove to Bluffton, out north, southwest–anywhere a family member was buried. I hated it. It was a tour of one gravestone after another of people I didn’t remember. Now, the “family” in town is pretty much my sister and me. Mary still takes Memorial Day very seriously. This year, she bought pots of flowers to put on our parents’ graves, another for Aunt Phyllis, and another for our sister Patty. They’re all in a long row at the same cemetery. For the first time, she’s not putting decorations on our grandparents’ graves or anyone else’s. Only those four.

Me? I don’t decorate graves. When I die, I’ve moved on. I don’t care if anyone puts flowers on my grave. I hope they remember me and think about the things I did that made their lives better. And then, I hope they pass it on. I’m going to be in Heaven (because I DO believe in heaven, not hell), and hopefully, having flowers on my grave won’t make any difference to me. I’ll be happy, and I’ll hope that my loved ones are happy, too.

I grew up with a lot of “dying” in my life, and I think that made a difference. My dad had multiple myeloma and took ten years of slowly declining to pass away in his late 50’s. A year later, HH’s dad died from emphysema, then my mom got Alzheimer’s, but she lasted ten more years–sort of. Death or dying has been with me a long time, so being kind to people while they are alive matters a lot more to me than putting flowers on their graves when their dead.

I wrote a book, EMPTY ALTARS, about gods who are old and out of fashion, so no one offers them anything anymore. And you know, what difference does it make? Some of the gods–like Tyr, Freya, and Diana–still stuck it out and helped mortals, because that’s what gave them purpose. And some of the gods retired and walked away. I like Memorial Day. Don’t get the wrong idea. I believe in remembering what people made a difference in our lives. And the people who made sacrifices for our freedom. They deserve to be honored. But I’m not a sentimental person, so no flowers on graves for me. And maybe I’m wrong about that. I’ve been wrong before. How do you celebrate Memorial Day?

I’m excited

A while ago, a fellow writer sent me an e-mail, asking if I’d be interested in sending her a short mystery for a podcast that she and her husband produce. They perform the story with music. I thought it sounded wonderful. She wanted a short mystery with a theme of a last word before dying. Right up my alley!

T. G. Wolff is a wonderful writer herself. https://www.amazon.com/TG-Wolff/e/B07V6N9ZGN?ref=dbs_m_mng_rwt_byln I did a reading with her once but never knew she and her husband did a podcast, MYSTERIES TO DIE FOR. This will be season 4, and my story will be featured on June 3rd. I can’t wait!

Mysteries to Die For is sponsored by Down & Out Books. My story’s title was supposed to be the dying word the victim muttered. So mine’s titled Nuts! The protagonists are Nick and Laurel from the novel POSED IN DEATH. It’s their first anniversary, and they’ve rented a bnb in Michigan to celebrate. When they get there, though, they find the owner lying on the kitchen floor, gasping for air. They call 911, but the woman doesn’t live long enough to reach the hospital. She’s had an allergic reaction and every one of her EpiPens is missing. Hmm… How could that happen?

To celebrate the podcast, I’ve made POSED IN DEATH free on Amazon from June 2nd to the 6th. The Fussy Librarian will promote it on June 3rd. I hope people take the time to listen to the podcast on June 3rd. I’m excited to hear how it turned out. To have it performed WITH music? What a treat!

Here’s the cover for Nuts!

And here’s the info for POSED IN DEATH, free June 2-6.

https://www.amazon.com/Posed-Death-Laurel-Mystery-Thriller-ebook/dp/B09GZX7TT1/ref=sr_1_1?crid=30KRNW9BO7LNL&keywords=posed+in+death%2C+judi+lynn&qid=1653611541&sprefix=posed+in+death%2C+judi+lynn%2Caps%2C68&sr=8-1

16 Reasons to read your work aloud

For any writers out there, this post gives such good advice about reading your work out loud, I thought I’d share it.

Story Empire

All images Pixabay

Most writers have learned the importance of reading their words aloud. It’s advice I heeded early on and am happy to pass along.

Writing works on myriad levels. On one level, it’s the mechanical delivery of a story, the typing of words according to rules. It’s fingers on keyboards, reams of paper, and editing drafts. Beneath the surface, writing is meaning-making through narrative, tapping out universal themes and archetypes that existed before man first etched his carvings into cave walls.

As an art form, writing has the ability to transport a reader into another world. We paint with words on the mind’s canvas, compose the music of language, stirsmells, tastes, and tactile impressions. The goal is emotionalimmersion, being present in the experience.

I have anirksome sensitivity to the sounds of words and the rhythm of phrases and sentences. When I search for the right word, it’s not…

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Starting Out

A new writer has started to come to Scribes, our writing group. She’s read a few chapters from her book to us, and she’s a solid writer. I like her story. But so many talented people have come and gone that it’s a little discouraging. So much about writing is NOT about being “good.” It’s about writing what editors are looking for now. And I don’t know her market at all. Middle Grade isn’t my thing. It was once, when I taught, when the girls were younger, and then when my grandsons were that age. But I’m past all of that. And I don’t know what’s selling now.

There are talented writers in our group, but they’re so innocent. All they care about is writing the best book they can write. Which is awesome. It means I get to hear one wonderful chapter after another. But will readers ever get to see their work? I don’t know. Marketing is as much a part of success as producing a quality product. You get knocked around a lot until you’re lucky enough to find some success. And then success is hard to hold onto. I’ve been trying to crack marketing for a long time, and I’m still not especially brilliant at it.

The last three people who’ve joined Scribes are all excited about writing but don’t have a clue about marketing…or even formatting. I finally wrote out instructions for how I format my drafts for Amazon . And I wrote out sheets about how to promote yourself as a writer., since they don’t have a webpage, blog, or an account on twitter. Nothing. And they’re trying. They really are, but they’re really BAD at it. And they have to get better. I sent them links to how Mae Clair is trying to find an agent. https://storyempirecom.wordpress.com/2022/04/27/literary-agent-resources-agentqueries-queryingforrepresentation/ But they’re so new to publishing, I’m not sure how well they’ll use all the information.

Still, they have a head’s up on me. When I started writing, I didn’t know anybody. I didn’t know anything. I drove to Chicago with a friend to attend a writers’ conference, DARK AND STORMY, and the writers there were SO generous. They read my first chapter and loved it. They offered support. And I was too new to writing to understand what a special treat that was. It took me YEARS to finally start selling my work. And they could have helped me. But I didn’t get it. I still think of Barbara D’Amato, Joe Hensley, and the Chicago group with fond memories. Mary Francis Shura Craig invited me back to her house for a spaghetti supper after my first conference. I was astounded but couldn’t go. I’d told my husband I’d be home that night, and it was a three hour drive from Chicago. They were lightyears ahead of me. Maybe not on writing, (probably that, too), but on knowledge. And that matters! I didn’t understand back then that writing is almost as much about marketing yourself as the words you put on paper.

Our new members don’t think about the business side of writing at all. And I’m trying my best to fill in the gaps, but I know the Chicago writers were doing their best for me, and I just didn’t understand. I hope the new guys in Scribes are faster learners than I was. Because they’re good. And I hope they get published. But good writing, alone, isn’t enough to have a successful career.

Rebirth

My flower bed started out absolutely gorgeous this year. Tons of daffodils. Some tulips and snowdrops and blue pushinkas. A few hyacinths. I had to make myself stop looking out the back kitchen window to gaze at it. It’s still beautiful. The tulips came up, along with blooming “money” plants, and now purple allium. Spring is a wonderful time of year.

I had a sag in energy for a minute, but now I’m back up to par, and I’m ready to write! I don’t know about other writers. I try to write every weekday, but this year had mixed results. Too much going on in the old house to concentrate like I usually do. But things have settled. My daughter has a new job as a traveling nurse, but it’s not in our city, so we won’t be able to see her when she works. Good and bad. I love seeing her. I don’t get nearly as much writing done when she’s here.

But I’m up to 30,000 words now, and the scenes are starting to roll into each other. I always start a book trying to lay out the gridwork, so that one scene rolls into the next. Now, it’s almost automatic. It’s starting to flow. I don’t have to work at it. That always feels good. Until, of course, I hit somewhere in the middle muddle, and then I curse why I ever decided to write. And then the middle passes, and I’m thrilled with the story again. Sigh. I’ve decided it’s just part of my writing rhythm. I’m not sure it will ever change.

At the moment, though, I’m a happy hitter of keys. My plot points are working and adding surprises I didn’t see coming. Everything’s on track, except for my usual worries. Is the pacing right? Does the balance work? I can never tell. That’s why I need my critique partners. If one of them writes “What is this in here for?,” I know I need to fiddle with my story more. But I have a while before I show it to them, so right now, at this moment, I feel good about my writing. Ask me next week, and you might get a different answer. Tomorrow, I’m pressing on!

I lost sleep

Okay, it’s been a big week. I was tired. All I wanted was to sleep. But at six a.m., which I know is morning to a lot of you but not for me, our cat jumped on our bed and wouldn’t stop licking my arm. HH and I are retired. We don’t have to wake to an alarm clock anymore, so most nights, we don’t start getting ready for bed until midnight or later. Then we fiddle around for half an hour before we finally pull up the blankets to go to sleep. If we’re lucky, we wake up at nine a.m.

But when a cat demands to be fed at six in the morning, and you crawl out of bed to make him happy, it’s really hard to go back to sleep. At least, it’s almost impossible if your brain turns on and you start thinking of new ideas to add to your book’s plot line. I told myself over and over again, “Go to sleep.” But my brain kept saying, “If you make Earl look guilty here, it will add a lot of tension.” And then, my mind didn’t quit. It went on to decide why Detective Carmichael would HAVE to think Earl was a suspect, and what Karnie would have to do to prove he was innocent. IF she was right, and he didn’t commit the murder. I mean, Earl was there when Farley Rawlins was stabbed to death in the alley, and he was there again when Charlotte Oates was shot. Wouldn’t YOU think he might be guilty?

It wasn’t until after eight that I finally drifted off to slumber. I’m THRILLED that my brain solved a difficult plot knot for me. I’m dragging because it solved it when I needed decent sleep. But like I said, I’m retired. And I can sleep in tomorrow. I hope. Unless my brain thinks of another twist that I didn’t put into my plot points. But then again, plot points are only ideas to keep my book on track. And if something new and better tugs at my subconscious, so much the better! There’s another day, another morning, Happy writing!

And the truth is, Farley Rawlins ticked off so many people, it will be a miracle to find the one person who killed him.