Judy Alter's Blog, page 312

When writing goes well....and Kindlegraph

A couple of weeks ago I received two pages of critique from my mentor/beta reader/friend. He was merciless--I had too many balls in the air--and he was right. So I set about the arduous task of cutting, though eventually I was able to save many passages in the work-in-progress and put them in a different order. I slashed, but I also added new material as I went along. It was a long process, and then I was stumped--where did I go from there?
So I reread the existing draft. I am a pantser, write from the seat of my pants rather than from an outline. So when I come to a halt, it's really a crashing halt. But rereading helps, gives me new ideas--and it did this time.  I began to forge ahead, adding new material, incorporating bits of the old.
At first, when I started the rewriting process, I lost 10,000 words--I hate to write to word count, but I confess that sometimes I do because I'm always afraid I'll write short. 75,000 words is a good count for a cozy mystery--65,000 is okay. But I was back down to 40,000--a way to go.
This week I've been on a compulsive writing kick--2,000 words a day for three days. If I can keep that up for two more days,  I'll have made up for all the lost text and be well on my way to working this one out. Always fun to see how a mystery will come out. I know the villain, and I have a general idea of what will happen--but it's all that in-between stuff that bothers and worries me. Seriously, that's when three o'clock in the morning thoughts come in.
Today I fully intended to get right to the manuscript--after emails, Facebook, the newspaper, and yoga. But something came up that took priority and I had to deal with right away. Guess what? I still wrote my 2,000 words. Some of the saved passages I thought would speed me along proved not to be as lengthy as I remembered them. New material seemed to flow as though I was not even thinking about it. When writing goes well like that, I really hate to quit--but lunchtime, school's out and other deadlines followed. Tomorrow is another day, and I hope to write all morning--my best time--without interruption. Oh, after emails, Facebook, the newspapr and yoga. One has to have priorities.
Notice anything new on Judy's Stew? I've added the kindlegraph link--you can get autographed e-copies of my books. I've had this for some time but I figured nobody knew about it. All around me, authors were posting this widget on their blogs, but  I was like the really slow learner in the class. Finally figured it out, with the help of the Kindlegraph creator, and I couldn't be more proud! Hope some of you will take me up on it. And,  yes, it's my signature--just neater than if I'd scrawled it on a book myself.

Tag! You're it!

My work-in-progress has been tagged by author Ryder Islington--visit her at http://www.ryderislington.word.press.com. and read about her work in progress--Ultimate Game, a Trey Fontaine Mystery. It's the second book in her series and though she says it's a mystery, it could be a thriller or suspense.
Now it's my turn to answer ten questions about my WIP, so her goes:



What is the title of your book?

You know I'm just not sure. I played with A Puzzle in Many Pieces, Trust No One, and Danger Wears Many Faces. Right now, the working title is Innocents in Danger. I'll welcome opinions--which title would draw you to the book?

Where did the idea for the book come from?

The book actually started out to be totally different--about a recluse in Kelly's neighborhood, but I couldn't figure out where it was going. When a body was found near the railroad tracks in my neighborhood (honest, a perfectly nice neighborhood), I worked that in and suddenly the book took a totally different turn. What they say is true--your characters tell you what's going to happen.

When genre does your book fall under?

My Kelly O'Connell Mysteries are cozies--all violence, murder, and sex is off-stage. They are also women's lit, because Kelly and her life are so prominent, but I've had many men tell me they've read and liked them, so go figure!

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I so rarely (as in almost never) go to the movies, I have no idea. I'll ask some of my more movie-oriented friends what they think and get back to you on that one.
What is the one-sentence synopsis of the book:

Drug trafficking in Kelly's beloved Fairmount neighborhood is on the increase, and it draws a helpless young girl, classmate of Kelly's daughter Maggie, into danger, along with Theresa, a newly married young woman Kelly is very fond of, into danger--and Theresa's husband, Joe, a good guy but with a bad background.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agent?

Neither. My Kelly O'Connell Mysteries are published by Turquoise Morning Press and I'm delighted to have found this growing press as a home. I don't have an agent.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Months. I'd work, then life would draw me away, then I'd go on a writing spurt. Truth is the first draft is not finished yet. My critique guru suggested I had too many balls in the air and I went through, cutting out distracting side stories and enlarging the major plot lines. But I still lost about 10,000 words and am now back to actively writing forward. I hope to finish by Thanksgiving, maybe sooner.

What other books would  you compare this to within your genre?

Gosh, it seems presumtuous to compare my books to others but maybe Murder Takes the Cake, by Evelyn David, or some of Susan Schreyer's Thea Campbell Mysteries, such as Bushwhacked, or Claudia Bishop's Dread on Arrival.

Who or What inspired you to write this book?

My central figure, Kelly O'Connell. I really like her and lots of my readers do too, so I want to keep telling the story of Kelly and her family--husband Mike and two daughters Maggie and Em--and the trouble she gets into.

What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?

I think the setting of Fairmount, an older, inner city neighborhood with lots of Craftsman houses--Kelly specializes in renovating those. But the neighborhood, with its historic buildings and close-knit atmosphere, is a major character in the book. Local readers are usually delighted to come across restaurants and buildings, even streets and houses they know.



So that's the story of my work-in-progress. Stay in touch, please. I want your opinion on the title, and I'll be tagging five other authors to take part. I'll let you know later who they are, and I'll tell you each time one posts.
 

Oh, that full moon

Do you believe in the effects of a full moon or phases in the moon or, as saying goes, spots on the moon? Saturday night was a full moon, and those who follow such things advised that we stay inside and keep our heads low--bad things were bound to happen. But after that, on Sunday, all would be rosy. So I awoke Sunday morning expecting a glorious days--and in some ways it was but in others went oh so awry.
One of the wonderful parts of the day was church. Our church has a first grade inclusion service, which essentially means after they enter first grade, children are included in the adult worship service. All first graders went up to the front of the church and as a name was called each received a chalice pin. Jacob was clearly the most handsome, most composed child to greet the minister. What? Me prejudiced? Never. Afterwards, his parents and grandparents went for lunch at The Star, where owner Betty Boles, my friend best known to Jacob as Aunt Betty, met us. Jolly lunch, good food, but suddenly I was done, ready to be out of there and home.
Digital disaster waited for me at home. My printer wouldn't work; I installed an upgrade on my iPad and then couldn't connect it to Wi-Fi. I struggled with both all evening. Unplugged the printer so it could collect itself, which it failed to do. Finally Elizabeth came in, tried all the things she knew and most of which I had tried, and we decided the printer was telling us goodbye. Meanwhile, the iPad was working furiously for hours to connect itself.
I'm happy to say that today the gods seem in place--or maybe the full moon has spent its after-effects. I got a medium-line printer which will be installed tomorrow--yes I paid for installation because I don't need any more frustration. I called up the Apple site and fought through their help page to one that I thought was giving me the directions I needed, only to find that when I turned it on, the iPad ws connected to my home Wi-Fi. My world looks a lot better today, but I do hate technical problems.

Facebook makes me angry and ashamed today

One of my morning habits is to read Facebook and catch up on friends, gossip, inuendo, and occasionally, some solid opinions. This morning two things disturbed me. The first was the obvious international interest in exposing (literally!) the British Royal family. I'm not condoning Prince Harry's wild escapade in Vegas, and I don't want to know if my sons were guilty of such in their salad days. And, yes, he is a Royal, so he should be held to a higher standard--sorry, Harry, but that's the way the world goes. Privilege hath its drawbacks. But did we have to see those pictures plastered all over? And what kind of journalism is it to print them? Granted You-Tube isn't journalism--it's too often just prurient. I think the Royal Family did a good job of holding their heads high and trying their best to ignore it.
Then came pictures of Kate, Duchess of Cambridge, topless. Okay, topless is pretty benign these days, but cheers to the French for banning reproduction of the photos and a big raspberry to the Irish press that printed them. And three cheers for Kate who went on with the world tour and showed great grace. Now comes bottomless pictures of the Duchess, and all  I can wonder is how low we've sunk. Generational difference: just as I don't want to know if my sons pranked about like Harry, I doubt I would ever change bottoms outside a bedroom or bathroom, even if I thought I was on quite private land. And especially if I were a highly public figure. But Kate thought she had privacy, and the papparazzi invaded that.
My strong view: let's leave the Royals alone and show them respect. I'm not a fan of the principle of monarchy, but I love the British Royals and all they represent, and I don't think I'm alone.
And then, believe it or not, I think Ann Romney deserves a little respect. To me, she comes off as whiney, privileged, and self-centered every time she opens her mouth, and her husband would do well to say, "Stifle!" to her. But now she's said she'd be concerned about her husband's mental health, and liberal folks are all over making mockery of that. Hey, it's a legitimate concern for someone about the person they love. The liberal reaction is like looking for the tiniest mistake. Yes, laugh at her when she says, "This is hard"--sorry you had to eat tuna fish and live in a basment apartment, Ann, but I slept in a converted chicken coop and ate tuna fish and loved it. I don't think it's fair, though, to look for fault with every single word the woman utters. She's concerned about her man. So was Hillary. Leave it alone.
I think we go too far a lot of the time.

My Michael Jacson afternoon

I am weary tonight. Yesterday I got up with my piddling shoe on--I wanted to read, fiddle on the internet, run errands, do anything but work. Today I got up with my work shoe on, determined to get lots done. It didn't quite work out that way. I spent a large chunk of the afternoon watching Michael Jackson clips on my computer
It goes back to this morning when Jacob arrived in the driveway and proudly showed me the small journal his mommy had left for him while she's out of town. He was so proud and so excited, and he gave it to me with strict instructions to take good care of it. Thinking that the coffee table is where he drops his backpack in the afternoon, I put the book there. Forgot to take Sophie into that equation.
Right. She chewed it badly and ate the sparkly pencil that went with it. I worried all day about how to tell him, knowing he'd be heartbroken. I was ready to run him to Barnes and Noble to pick out a new one.
When I told him I had bad news and mentioned the journal, he said simply, "Sophie." And I confirmed. We had tears, we had anger, we had a deep pout. No, he did not want another one--his mommy got that one from the treasure chest (not sure if that is at home or at school) and wrote a note about how much she loved him. Sophie was never ever getting a treat again. I tried to explain that Sophie by this time had no idea what she'd done, and he was not to kick, scold, any of those things. I told him I was so sorry, it was largely my fault, and I'd do anything I could to make him happier. Eyes lit up. "Anything?" "Well, within reason." "Will you pull up Michael Jackson on your computer?" So began my marathon session of watching hip-hop or whatever it is.
He finally agreed to break for homework, ice cream and sparkling cider, and TV. Then his Aunt Betty and I took him for Mexican food, and he seemed to enjoy the evening. But once home, he wouldn't be parted from his pillow and his animals, and whenever he saw Sophie he said, "You're mean."
Before he went to bed he got the mangled book and had me spell so he could write, "Sophie is mean." Wonder how long it will take him to get over this? Meantime I haven't gotten a lick of work done today except the two hours between yoga and the retirees lunch.
Tomorrow is another day.

This dog is not a poodle

Let me be very clear about this: I have nothing against poodles, but Sophie is not a poodle. She's a cross between a border collie and a miniature poodle. Her black coat, lightly tipped with silver, is rough but not as curly as a boodle. It is the typical doodle non-shed coat, and I keep it trimmed at about a half inch, longer on the face, tail, and ears.
But tonight she looks like a poodle again, and I'm frustrating. I've spoken to the groomers, and today I took them specific instructions: hair on the head to be twice as long as the coat and not shorter any place. They shaved part of her face, leaving her that shelf across the top of her head. I know, I know, it will grow out, but I'm frustrated. I've used the same grooming parlor for years and will now be making a change. In the interest of making easy for me, I'll use the groomers who come to your house. (Sophie gets so enthusiastic and excited on trips that I'm truly afraid of being draged to the ground--or losing control on a busy street.
At home, with me, Sophie is playful but calm. She spends a lot of time sleeping at my feet, as she is now--tuckered by her day away. She knows sit, stay, drop it, leave it. She ignores "Come" when she's outside until I close the door and walk away, which causes her to bolt for the door. She is also bad about jumping when she wants attention. But hey, she's just a teenager--sixteen months.
But she is not a poodle.

A reviewer and my bruised ego

An online reviewer, who shall remain anonymous, wrote a good  review of Skeleton in a Dead Space, a medium one of No Neighborhood for Old Women, and what amounts to a plot summary of Trouble in a Big Box. But he took the time and had the graciousness to explain to me that yes, I had racheted up the suspense in the third book as I promised him, but he still found that Kelly was drawn into crime-solving rather than being an active participant. He politely said my series was just not for him One of the first lesson an author learns on publication is that you never protest a review, so I wrote a short note thanking him for his honesty and his efforts on my behalf and promising not to send him any more books. But yes, my ego was a bit bruised.
And what he said went against everything I heard from the book group last week and have heard continuously from readers--they like Kelly as a person, they like knowing about her personal life and they admire her compassion. They also like envisioning all the characters and their relationship to each other--some said they could see them in their mind's eye. So do I listen to a reviewer or readers?
Of course, as I've mentioned often here before, when I need advice on writing I turn to Fred Erisman--he shepherded me through a Ph.D. in Western American Literature some forty years ago and has remained my friend and advisor ever since. He reads almost everything I write, and he's read all or part of each of my three mysteries. His take on this dilemma was reassuring and echoed what I hoped was true  He pointed out that of course Kelly is drawn into crime-solving--that's the point of any cozy mystery. The heroine/protagonist is an amateur, not a professional detective. She is going her merry way about her life, when she is drawn into solving a crime. And, he wrote, the qualities that make her interesting are the ones that compel her to poke about in a mystery--curiosity, compassion, outrage. The picture I present of her personal life helps the reader understand her in that context--a reader has to know the character to grasp the larger issues of the novel.
The reviewer was not allowing me the general characteristics of the genre in which I am writing.
Fred's parting advice? Pout a bit and then go on about your business. He, by the way, is not a fan of cozies but he accepts the genre for what it is, rather than looking for thriller touches where they would be inappropriate.
How about you? Do you read cozies with just enough mystery in them? Do you listen to other readers or to reviewers?

My surreal day

What an odd day. Mondays are always long and hard for me, because I rarely have anything on my calendar--just a desk full of work. So I stay home, alone except for Sophie, with my face in the computer screen. I'm a person who thrives on other people, so much as I love working I like the break of lunch or dinner with a friend, even errands.
This morning I dallied--email, Facebook, a couple of blogs, anything to put off working. Then I did my yoga routine, made the bed, tidied the kitchen (which doesn't get messy with one person eating cottage cheese--one small dish, one coffee cup) and marched into the office. Don't get me wrong--I get wrapped up in what I'm writing and carried away with it and time passes, in spite of the late-morning grumbling of my stomach which would prefer lunch at, say, ten-thirty. At eleven-thirty I fixed my lunch, did some household stuff, and went back to the desk.
It wasn't as though I was without human companionship all day. By three I had Jacob in hand, and at his insistence we reworked two puzzles we'd already done. He is good with spatial relationships--whizzes through his math homework, and that trait shows in working the puzzles. Granted, we'd already done both of them, but he was off on his own, putting things together. I'm afraid he still doesn't get the straight edge concept--he prefers to work by picture, choosing today to begin with the zebra in the jungle scene. He also doesn't quite understand about looking to see if not only pieces but the picture fits. But he put a lot together and was delighted with himself, crowing, "I am so good!"
As he was leaving with his dad for a baseball game, Elizabeth came in for supper. I'd experimented and made her a gluten-free meat loaf, substituting potato flakes (long in the cupboard, purchased for one recipe, and then left for me to wonder what to do with them) for bread crumbs, threw in an egg plus some tapioca to bind it (a trick my mom taught me) and seasoned it with red wine and thyme. We agreed it was pretty darn good. A bit salty.
But al the time I was doing all this I had the subconsciious feeling that I was dealing with my long day alone--and that's what made my day surreal. It was like there were two of me--one functioning on one level and another struggling to function on a different level.
Sophie however continues to be a joy and a source of amusement, though today I had a fright. I know full well she will bolt out the front door if she gets a chance, and I'm paranoid about someone opening the door when she has the run of the house. Today, after lunch, I brought her in, put the leash on her so I could catch her for our nap, and headed back to my office. Saw the postal carrier coming up the walk and threw open the door in a neighborly gesture forgetting all about the dog--Sophie darted between my legs but fortunately she didn't want to go any farther than to greet the woman, and I was able to step on her leash. The lady was nice about it, even the jumping, and we had a chat about Bordoodles.
Sophie's newest trick: when I open the back door and ask if she wants to come in, she simply stares at me. So I say, "Okay, bye," and close the door--and she bolts for it. At sixteen months, she's still ornery, msichievous puppy.

A day at the lake

Today, with my manuscript crying out to be revised, I went off to spend several hours with friends Pat and Hal Normand at their Lake Worth house. I'm ashamed to say it's been over three  years since they tore down the cabin they'd had there and built a new house. Pat tells me it's built on a plan from Coastal Magazine, and though she described it as modified Craftsman, I'd describe it as modified Cape Cod, maybe because of the partial shingles of the outside and the narrow, tall construction.. Either way, it's lovely but unpretentious. Inside the main living area is all one open space--kitchen, living room, dining to the side, screened-in-porch off the living room, all with a direct and uncluttered view of the lake. To the side, out the dining room windows is a view of a small cove, and behind the house is undeveloped wild land. They have deer and other wild animals--in fact a deer jumped the fence and landed in their yard recently.
Hal tells me he loves to sit and watch the lake because something is always happening. I couldn't see that, but I have always loved a view of water since my childhood days spent at the Indiana Dunes, and I confess to a bit of jealousy. There is one room downstairs, just off the front door, that is used for an office but could be a third bedroom; upstairs there's a spacious landing that Pat has filled with her mom's Victorian furniture and two bedrooms. The master has that magnificent view of the lake again with a small porch which they never use because they love the screened-in-porch (especially important in these summer of West Nile virius). The guest room upstairs looks out on the woods, which once again reminds me of the Dunes where we had water in front and woods in back. A special place: what they call the atrium, a courtyard between the house and the garage that has a table and chairs and is absolutely overflowing with plants. Hal paved it with flagstones himself, one by one. It's spectacular. I want to transport this house--and the lake--to my beloved inner city neighborhood. I guess you can't have everything, but in a big way I envy them. On the other hand, I'm glad they're so happy there. I wish of course that I'd taken pictures, but I didn't--kept thinking about it.
After a big brunch of flat enchiladas and a good catch-up visit, I came home to work on my manuscript and made good progress. Then I had a long, great nap, and got up and cooked vegetables--a cauliflower salad (actually it was broccoflower but I couldn't taste broccoli), beets and greens, and an ear of corn that needed to be used. Elizabeth and I feasted on that and the roast chicken she had brought, though she won't eat my beets! Drat!
 

Reason #67 that I haven't written the Great American Mystery

I had lunch today with my beta reader, mentor, whatever you want to call him--the wonderful man who reads and critiques everything I write. I'd gotten his comments earlier by email--too many balls in the air was the basic one--but I wanted to talk to him and get the manuscript back. Besides we always have fun at lunch and the talk ranges widely about his projects, mine, and other unrelated subjects--even politics on which we agree. I came home from lunch determined to start revisions right way, but by the time I dealt with emails and some other business details, I just had time for a much-needed nap before I got Jacob.
Then I realized I had to get the neighborhood newsletter to the designer, so there went the one last calm hour of the day. Jacob watched TV and I worked on the newsletter and sent it. After that, chaos reigned--but a wonderful kind of chaos.
Jordan arrived and then my former neighbor, Meredith, with four-year-old Abby and Grayson, who is not quite two. Jordan had planned and prepared elaborate snacks for the kids, some of which they ate. She put out popcorn which they ate by the handfuls, and I put out some small oatmeal cookies that fascinated Grayson. He wanted to carry more and more in his hands. It's amazing how quickly you forget how much watching a two-year-old requires. Grayson is adorable but typically boy-busy. The girls and I tried to visit but spent a lot of time kid-monitoring, although Jacob is good about watching the younger children, and he did, at Meredith's request, do his Michael Jackson routine. This was a long overdue visit, and we all enjoyed it. As they left, Meredith met Sue, who had lived in the house next door before her and was now coming for a happy hour visit. When Christian heard that Sue ws here, he said, "Pour me a glass of wine. I'll be right there." So the four of us sat in the living room (mosquitos really bother Sue on the porch) and had a high old time, full of laughter (maybe the wine helped). Sue left, but Jordan and Jacob had to play with Sophie, and they were so cute we all had to take pictures It was seven before they all left and almost seven-thirty by the time the kitchen was tidied and I could re-heat that leftover lasagne from lunch. Finally I settled down to dinner at my desk, red pen in one hand, the manuscript in front of me, and Fred's notes beside it. I've actually rewritten one chapter--pretty good accomplishment, I'd say. But the first chapter didn't need much--it will get a lot harder as I get into it. May get one more done tonight.
Long story short: the reason I haven't written the Great American Mystery is that I have a life, one filled with family and friends, and I feel so blessed.