Stacy Verdick Case's Blog, page 18

Some People Just Look Better In A Chalk Outline

My register of people I wished would kick off and make the world a better place to live could rival Santa's naughty list. Belinda Stanley had just recently been added to my ever - growing catalog, but I never took the matter into my own hands. Wishcraft was all the further I was willing to go. ~ Catherine O'Brien, A Grand Murder

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Published on September 20, 2011 18:33

Puzzling Through My Obsession

Recently I was asked if I have always liked mysteries. It's a natural question for someone to ask a mystery writer, but not one I have thought much about. I said, "Yes" and the person who asked the question moved on with their life. I, on the other hand, kept thinking about their innocuous question.

I own the complete Columbo Series on DVD. I begged for the Thin Man series for my birthday one year. I get up early on Saturday morning if there's a marathon of Basil Rathbone playing Sherlock Holms on television. CSI, 48-hours, Bones, or Lie to Me are constantly running in the background if I'm cooking or folding laundry. Don't even get me started on my bookshelves. But these were all recent acquisitions. How long have I been a mystery fan?

I remember watching Hounds of the Baskerville on a reel-to-reel projector rented from the local library when I was about 10. I eagerly scrambled to the television set when the opening strains of Scooby-Doo started to play. And when I think back on my favorite books growing up the first ones to pop into my memory are The Boxcar Children mysteries.

I'm obsessed with mysteries and have been for as long as I can remember.

Then I started to wonder why was I so enthralled with whodunit? Do I have a blood lust? A nefarious streak running through me? Would I shank someone for the last coconut on a dessert island? Is there something wrong with me?

Others don't seem to have the same desire for murder and mayhem. No, others seemed able to walk past a riddle or a puzzle without even a second thought. So why do I feel so strong in my need to solve everything?

After much debate with the voices in my head, I came to the conclusion that I have two inherent traits that all mystery fans share:

1) an overweening need for justice

2) a powerful curiosity

Mystery lovers are people who want to make sense of the world, and figure out where all the pieces, that have somehow come undone, fit. We cannot pass up an opportunity to solve a puzzle or play a logic game. Some people are just hardwired to want to solve puzzles and I'm one of them. There is no need for me to worry. There is nothing nefarious or blood thirsty about me and I think everyone's coconuts are safe.

My two-year-old daughter just waved a dog-eared piece of die-cut cardboard at me and said, "Play puzzle Mommy?" Now how did she know that was an offer I couldn't refuse?

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Published on September 11, 2011 14:16

If It Wasn't For My Mom I Wouldn't Be A Writer Now

Turning points in life rarely come at regularly scheduled intervals as they do in our writing. One of the most significant turning points for me came when I was in second grade,, my teacher called my Mom in for a meeting. There were some concerns about my reading abilities.

I remember sitting next to Mom worried that I was in trouble for something but I couldn't think of anything I had done to warrant a parent being called into school.

The teacher smiled at me and then announced that I had been struggling with reading. She, or whoever decides these things, had decided that I had a learning disability, and that I would never learn to read at a normal level. She would pass me on to the third grade but I would have to attend special education classes.

I don't remember much of what was said after that point. The phrase "special education" had knocked all conscious thought from my mind. Images swam through my head, magnified and slow, like viewing them from the outside of a fish tank. It wasn't until we were in the car on the way home that I finally spoke.

"Am I stupid?" I asked my Mom with the bluntness only an eight-year-old can manage with any success.

"Do you want to be?" Was her response.

With teary eyes, I whispered, "No."

She looked me in the eye and said with equal bluntness, "Then you won't be."

She spent the entire summer working with me on my reading. The next year my was tested again. This time I wasn't below normal, or even normal, my reading had advanced two grade levels. My Mother, an avid reader, had passed her love of reading to me.

I've loved to read ever since.

In writing we talk about an ideal reader, the person we write for. My Mother has always been my ideal reader. Without her belief in me, I would have been shunted into special education classes and I would have never had the confidence to be a writer.

A few years ago, my mother was diagnosed with macular degeneration, a disorder of the eye that will leave her blind. Though the disease is progressive, hers accelerated faster than expected.

Her diagnoses left me as numb as that day in second grade. I questioned the existence of God. I questioned the wisdom of her doctors. Most of all, I cried. None of it helped.

Though my ideal reader can no longer read my work — I can. Thanks to my Mom, I can read and I can read to her, because without her I would not write at all.

Thank you Mom for the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.

I love you.

(Author's note: I had written this for my Mom some time ago but with the release of my first book

this past week it seemed valid to post it here as a thank you to my Mom again for giving the greatest gift. I hope you pause to thank a champion in your life.)