Showing posts with label Thelma Straw. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thelma Straw. Show all posts

The Night I Almost Shot the Sheriff…

1. THE SETTING:

It was a dark, quiet night in Sewanee, Tennessee. No moon or stars. A narrow paved road, dark silent woods on one side, horse pasture on the other. The road to the school's main building and the dormitory for teenage female students. No street lights. My cottage sat a few yards off the pavement, beside the pasture on one side, near a narrow dirt road that led beyond the barn down a winding mountainside to an unknown number of active stills, operated by local moonshiners, studiously ignored by local law enforcement. I'd been warned by our school handymen to turn a deaf ear to the nocturnal trips on the dirt road. "If you don't bother them, they ain't gonna bother you."

The moonshiners were related to the handymen, to all the other daily workers in the small academic town and their relatives who lived in the nearby "hollers", putting bread on the table by selling their "white lightning," or crawling to early deaths on their bellies in the coal mines a few miles away.

Subbing as the school night watchman, I kept my rifle by my bed. About 2 A.M. I heard the sound of a car coming up the road. I jumped out of bed, threw on a dark raincoat and grabbed the rifle.

I could see the outline of a car. No lights, crawling up the road, just enough noise to be scary. Bootleggers usually came by in rusty trucks with grumbling motors. This was the soft purr of a well-maintained motor, coming closer, ominously.

I'd formed a nightly ritual of lifting my gun to the sky, shooting off a few rounds—this seemed to work in keeping interlopers away. The sound of gunshots reverberated through the maze of mountains—it sounded like a whole battalion, with the echoes, not one lone rifle. The shots echoed in the hills. Then I raised the rifle and pointed just above the top of the car. One, two, three shots.

Suddenly, to my horror, a familiar round-shaped red light appeared on the roof of the vehicle.

Ohgodpleasehelpme, I prayed.

I'd almost shot the local sheriff!!!

There are no rules or scripts for such a moment.

Terrified, I lowered the gun and slowly walked to meet the car as it stopped in front of my house. A tall man in uniform, complete with stiff hat and shiny badge stepped out.

"Good evening, Sheriff, I'm so pleased to see you!" I stammered, as if we were at a cocktail party!

I was stiff with fright, aware I had no papers - nothing to show legal ownership of a gun!

2. THE BACKSTORY:

Since all the local candidates for the job as night watchman for a girls' school were kin to one another, we'd had no luck in retaining men for that job. Every qualified male was related either to someone who moonlighted as a moonshiner, or their cousins. Families stuck together. No one was going to squeal on or report a bootlegger—or intruder at the dormitory. With the centuries-old customs regarding local "Town and Gown" the dividing lines were deep and strong.

So I decided to try my hand as night watchman. I asked Fred, our chief maintenance man, to get me a rifle. I'd never even HELD a gun—and I figured a rifle would be safer to handle than a small weapon. This was mountain territory where every man hunted. He showed me how to hold, point, load and shoot. I practiced by aiming at the far hills behind the barn and soon felt comfortable in holding the thing. I kept it on the passenger seat of my car when I drove into town at night. The word got around like wildfire—beware that lady at the girls' school with the gun! I felt safe on those lonely dark mountain roads. The moonshiners slowed down their nocturnal trips to their hidden, illegal stills.

After that night, the Sheriff and I remained friendly. He respected the unspoken rules of "Town and Gown." The academics versus the native townspeople. He was Town. I was Gown...

Soon after, a qualified man stepped up to the plate and I had no further need to shoot at the hills in the night.

The establishment of the ruling class in the small university town (often called the Princeton of the South) went on its law-abiding way, keeping a friendly surface peace alongside the illegal moonshine business, that continued to thrive...

I moved on with my life and relocated to Manhattan.

3. FAST FORWARD - TO THE PRESENT:

Today if this incident with the Sheriff happened, I'd probably be writing this from a narrow grey cell, sans window, dependent on the state for three squares and a hard cot.

That night in Tennessee took place in real time—but on a different planet!

I have become a spinner of tales around crime. Murder is often our beat. We research crime, we attend trials, we take courses in criminal methodology. Visit jails and psychiatric institutions, study millions of people on subways, planes, streets, in bars and parks.

But after these last years of abominations involving guns, most of us who walk these mean streets take a hard look at how we express violence through guns.

The death of the Martin child in Sanford, Florida, was a recent wake-up call. The increased maiming by guns in Colorado, Arizona and Connecticut have focused us on a deeper examination of the tools we use in our stories.

Our readers see the reality and horror daily on screens. No longer is the written word closed off from real life.

I find my experience that night—knowing I'd almost shot a law enforcement officer—haunts me constantly.

I shrink from writing about a gun as a killing weapon.

My brain sees the experience as both a form of self-preservation and atonement.

Would I shoot at a person again?

NO.

We all recall Mary Higgins Clark's famous challenge… "What IF"

That episode in Tennessee will haunt me as long as I live… the " What IF?"

As I think of the various possible endings to my true story—my own crime writing increasingly has a firm center:

"Justice will be served."

T.J. Straw

Keeping Three Career Balls in the Air

How Many Hats Do You Wear?

Crime writers are rarely monolithic beings. Creatures who wear only one hat. Many are fascinating creatures who seem to function with several brains, are proficient on diverse levels and create in several cerebral spheres.

The nature of crime itself is so multi-faceted it evades simple scrutiny. So the chroniclers of its universe have to be more daring than chameleons!

Today's guest, Lois Winston, usually dons a minimum of Three Hats - writer, agent, designer. A longtime friend of CWC, (see her posts Jan. 31, 2012 and Aug. 26, 2012) she has graciously stopped by to share her triple-persona with us.

After you read her article, tell us how many hats YOU usually wear, when, how, where—and share your mental/creative chapeaux with us!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw




I juggle three full-time careers. I’m a published author, a literary agent, and a designer in the consumer crafts industry. Most people think I’m either nuts or rolling in money. The first is probably true, although for other reasons; the second couldn’t be further from the truth. I juggle three full-time jobs because I couldn’t live on what I make on one, let alone two of those careers. Heck, truth be told, it’s a good thing my husband has a steady job because there’s no way I could support both of us on what I earn.

That wasn’t always the case. My design career came first, and at one point I was the sole breadwinner for much of a three year period. During that time, we had one son in college and another in private high school. We ate a lot of mac and cheese during those years, but all the bills were paid each month, thanks to a booming consumer crafts industry and a demand for my designs.

Those days are long gone. People still craft, but the industry is much smaller now. Many of the companies I once worked for have gone out of business or been bought up by their competitors. The complex needlework projects I design have fallen out of favor, replaced mostly by instant gratification crafts that consumer can finish in an evening. Designers don’t make money on those types of projects, at least not the kind of money I command designing needlework. I now make in a year what I once made in a good month.

Around the time the crafts industry began shrinking, I began writing. Naïve innocent that I was at the time, I thought it quite realistic to expect to earn around thirty thousand dollars a year from my books. I sold my first book in 2005. To date I’ve published five traditional novels, five indie novels, a novella, two novelettes, an anthology of short stories, one non-fiction book, and been part of a non-fiction collection of essays. Altogether I haven’t earned thirty thousand dollars from my writing.

Some of that is due to bad luck. My first publisher went bankrupt, owing me and many other authors thousands of dollars in royalties. I only began indie publishing a little over a year ago, and I don’t write the super-sexy or erotic books that seem to rake in the most e-dollars. I also entered indie publishing at a time when it’s becoming very hard to stand out in an extremely crowded field.

But I mentioned three careers, didn’t I? Shortly after my first book sold, the agency that represents me invited me to become an associate. This was due in part to the fact that over the years while I waited for my own publishing break, I had helped several friends get published by rewriting their proposals for them. With my two other careers not producing much in the way of income, I jumped at the chance. After all, who needs sleep?

I began by reading queries and slush, eventually working my way up to having my own clients. I’ve sold books to both large New York publishing houses and medium-sized independent presses. However, with an ever-shrinking industry and writers turning more and more to publishing their own works, agents are no longer earning what they used to, either.

Sometimes I think I’m the Typhoid Mary of business. Each time I enter a new profession, it begins to suffer. And it’s not just the crafts industry and publishing. I began my working life as a layout artist for John Wanamaker. For those of you unfamiliar with the name, Wanamaker’s, headquartered in Philadelphia, was the first department store in the world. However, department stores are a dying breed, soon to become extinct, thanks to big box stores like Walmart and buying clubs like Costco. Anyone remember Gimbel’s? Altman’s? Bonwit Teller? Bamberger’s? Hess? They’re all gone, either bankrupt or gobbled up by their competitors. Just like the crafts industry. Just like the publishing industry.

So that’s why I spend my days attempting to keep three career balls in the air. I’m not nuts, and I’m not rolling in Benjamins, although I’d love to know the feeling. I even buy lottery tickets occasionally. (I’ve never won more than seven dollars!) I’m simply trying to keep ahead of the bill collectors, much like Anastasia Pollack, the reluctant amateur sleuth star of my Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series and the companion ebook-only Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mini-Mysteries. Mosaic Mayhem, the latest Mini-Mystery recently released, and this time I’ve sent Anastasia off on an adventure in Barcelona:

So much for a romantic getaway...When cash-strapped mom and reluctant amateur sleuth Anastasia Pollack is offered an all-expense paid three-day trip to Barcelona, her only worries are whether her passport is still valid and arranging care for her semi-invalid mother-in-law during her absence. However, within hours of landing in Europe, she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun and needing to convince a Spanish crime syndicate they’ve kidnapped the wrong woman. Why do people on both sides of the Atlantic keep trying to kill this pear-shaped, middle-aged single mom, and magazine crafts editor?

Lois Winston

www.loiswinston.com
www.emmacarlyle.com
www.anastasiapollack.blogspot.com
follow her on Twitter: @anasleuth
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/anasleuth/crafts-and-recipes-from-killer-crafts-crafty-kille/

Help! Torn Between Two Men

July 1, 2012, Earl Staggs enchanted us with his tale of teaching kindergartners about being a writer. From Fort Worth he is again adding to our pleasure, as readers and fellow writers, with his ongoing series of two men, different, honorable, intriguing, likable—Adam Kingston and Tall Chambers. After Earl and I discussed what might be a thought-provoking topic for his visit to Crime Writer's Chronicle today, I reread both novels, MEMORY OF A MURDER and JUSTIFIED ACTION, to make sure I had in the front of my mind the two personas that ground his crime novels. This year I've watched several readers storm the barricades, crying to this author, "More, please!"—and am delighted Earl is going to comply—with more of Adam Kingston and Tall Chambers in the near future! I read a lot of NYT bestsellers and find that most of these books lack the touch Earl Staggs has . I do not finish many of the bestsellers—but I have read his books twice! Do you hear a message here?

As a fellow southerner, today I am "mighty pleased" to welcome Earl and Adam and Tall back to our increasingly popular blog—Crime Writer's Chronicle!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw




The title of this post would be great for a Romance novel, don’t you think? Since I write Mystery, not Romance, I suppose I’d better explain who the two men are and why I’m caught in a conundrum. Or is it a quandary? A quagmire, perhaps. Whatever it is, I have an important decision to make and you may be able to help.

Adam Kingston is the first of the two men crying out for my attention. Adam’s a quiet, unassuming kind of guy who doesn’t look for or start trouble. Unfortunately, trouble comes to him. You see, Adam was once an FBI Special Agent.

After a near-fatal auto accident, a strange thing happened. During his recovery, Adam discovered the accident had jarred loose some latent psychic abilities. Doctors and Professors with lots of initials after their names told him it’s not unusual for a traumatic incident to do that. He began to get flashes. Not hot flashes. His flashes were quick mental images of things that happened in the past. For example, if he touches an object related to a crime or visits a crime scene, he may get images containing clues to what happened. Sometimes the images are so vague, confusing and enigmatic he has no idea what they mean. Those experts with all those initials also told him that’s not unusual for psychic images. It’s not an exact science, they explained.

Instead of returning to the FBI, Adam became a private investigator. Now he works mostly on cases for the FBI and other law enforcement agencies and they keep him fairly busy. His gift is often helpful in solving cases, but it always comes down to good old fashioned police work.

Adam first entered my life in a short story called “The Missing Sniper.” We hit it off right away and when the story was published, a lot of readers liked him, too. The response was so encouraging, I decided to give Adam his own novel. The result was MEMORY OF A MURDER. Many more readers became fans of Adam and have asked me when there will be a sequel.

That’s part of the problem plaguing me.

The other part of my vexing situation is Tall Chambers. Tall spent twenty years in the Army, mostly in the Middle East as a Special Services officer. After the Army, he joined a secretive agency which made good use of his skills and experience. The agency tracks down terrorists and puts them out of business before innocent people are killed. If the terrorists want to meet Allah and collect their virgins, the agency puts them in the express lane.

Tall Chambers began taking shape in my mind shortly after the horror of 9-11. He was an embryonic fixture in my imagination for several years. At first, his story was about taking out terrorists. Eventually, that became only the backdrop and Tall’s personal life became the focus. While Tall was taking care of business, someone close to him was murdered. He put everything else aside and devoted his skills and experience to finding the killer and setting things right. Writing Tall’s story was a great opportunity to explore people who do what he does and how it affects their everyday lives.

A few months ago, Tall’s story was published as a novel called JUSTIFIED ACTION. Reaction from readers and reviewers has been fantastic. That, of course, raises the question of a sequel. Will there be one? Of course. Tall and his crew have a lot of stories to tell, so there is no reason why there can’t be a series.

Adam Kingston is also a perfect candidate for a series.

The two men are quite different, but both are exciting, challenging, and fun to write. While Adam is more of a laid-back kind of guy, Tall’s responsibilities require him to go where the action is and meet it head on. Adam is more the cerebral type. He looks before he leaps. Tall leaps and shouts “Look out!” on the way down.

And therein lies my conundrum. Or my quandary. Or quagmire, or whatever you want to call it.

Which sequel should I write first? I can’t do them at the same time. I don’t write that way. I have to concentrate solely on one project until it’s finished.

Should I spend the next few months on a sequel for Adam because he came into my life first? Or, since Tall is new and fresher, should I concentrate my time and efforts on getting him out there again in a new story?

If you’ve ever had to choose between two men in one way or another, maybe you have some advice or suggestions to offer.

Earl Staggs
earlstaggs@sbcglobal.net
http://earlwstaggs.wordpress.com



Earl Staggs earned a long list of Five Star reviews for his novels MEMORY OF A MURDER and JUSTIFIED ACTION and has twice received a Derringer Award for Best Short Story of the Year. He served as Managing Editor of Futures Mystery Magazine, as President of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, is a contributing blog member of Murderous Musings and Make Mine Mystery and a frequent speaker at conferences and seminars.

I Miss You, Mitch Rapp...

Sometimes, some of our dearest friends are people in a favorite book. Characters we have met, known, shared life's ups and downs with. I've had three favorites for many years, Nelson DeMille's John Corey, WEB Griffin's Charley Castillo and Vince Flynn's Mitch Rapp.

I never met Vince, but he was so gracious in his fan emails and his guest appearances on Imus in the morning, I felt he and I were friends too. Julie Kramer has written a lovely piece about Vince and the tributes to him at his funeral in a piece with the International Thriller Magazine. (Look it up, if you too were a friend of Vince.)

Mitch appeared in the second book by Vince and from the first page about this guy I haunted the book stores for the next novel.

Along with many of you, I suspect, I cried when Mitch Rapp's beloved wife, Anna, was killed in his book, Consent to Kill. When Mitch was in mourning, and thereafter in each new book I kept hoping Vince would bring in someone else who would heal the wounds in Mitch Rapp.

When the author began to share with all of us, thousands, millions, of readers, the stages of his fatal illness, we all somehow felt that if he could write about such a strong guy like Mitch, he would come through it.

Vince would get well! He would make Mitch Rapp happy again!

At 47 Vince had so many more books in that brilliant, creative mind!

Do you have this kind of relationship with an author you never met, or a character you grew to love?

Please write me and tell me about it, here as a comment or at tstraw2@verizon.net

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

How Mystery Writers Can Use Pacing as a Tool

"Who's Got the Money?"

Morgan St. James has the answer… Did you know federal prison factories manufacture $800,000,000 of merchandise every year? Read this amusing crime caper by Morgan and her co-author Meredith Holland, and find out how some sharp women make the bad guys pay.

The authors toured prison factories and military warehouses, then wrote this amusing novel. The book is fiction, but a former FBI Agent and NYT bestselling author wrote that "It really could happen."

This book tells us about million dollar greed and ironic justice in an industry few of us know even exists.

Please welcome mystery writer, speaker and columnist, Morgan St. James.

Thelma Jacqueline Straw




Pacing is a tool for aging characters or holding them at certain places in their lives, showing how events impact the plot or how timing affects a particular event. How fast or how slow should parts of the story unfold? What does it take to pull the readers through the events, hold their interest and keep them turning the pages? When have you revealed enough and when is it too little?

Think of pacing as the act of changing gears. If you’re driving a manual shift car or watching the gauges, the car tells you when it’s time to shift from second to third or gear down. The same holds true for fiction. The story is moving along and you become aware that something has to slow down or speed up to maintain the effect you envisioned.

SPEEDING IT UP

Cliffhangers

If you leave something unresolved or hint at something yet to come in the next chapter, that’s called a cliffhanger. It is one of those devices that naturally picks up the pace and compels the reader to turn the page. After all, they have to find out if something happened. One good way to accomplish this if the scene ends with dialogue is to have a character say something cryptic that foreshadows eminent danger, fulfillment or any other number of events. If you are using an omniscient or third person narrator, the same opportunity exists. Example: If Martin had even a slight suspicion of what awaited him, he might not have taken that fateful step into Joan’s house.

Tools for speeding it up

As a writer, your arsenal is filled with many tools proven to speed up the action. Action is best written in short and medium sentences that move the story along. Some of those sentences might be as short as one word like Run! or Stop! You get the idea. The short bursts heighten the anticipation and, if appropriate, the fear or elation.

When writing action, long descriptions or expository speeches just don’t work. All they do is distract the reader from the purpose of the scene. They rarely resonate as real. That doesn’t mean the scene should be bland—not at all. But stay on point. For example, the person must get from here to there to find the bomb and defuse it. They aren’t going to stop to look in a store window and admire the merchandise. They are going to do anything and everything possible to get there, and that establishes a heart-pounding scene. Obstacles are good because they increase the tension.

Keep it entertaining or heart-pounding

In my upcoming Silver Sisters Mystery Terror in a Teapot, the protagonists, twins Goldie and Godiva, are desperate to get to a house where their mother and uncle are in danger. Stuck in a traffic jam, Godiva tries to change lanes and hits a truck in the next lane. This delays the action (getting to the house), induces tension (they are trying to do whatever they can to get back on the road), and creates the fear that something will happen to the oldsters before the twins can reach them.

One tool is to draw from things that happened to you and make them fit your scene. We used this: Several years ago Phyllice clipped a car at a strategic point that caused our front bumper to fly off, sail over the truck next to us and land on a median strip. Seeing how upset we were, after Phyllice and the fellow we hit exchanged information, he retrieved the bumper of the rental car from the median strip and fitted it into our back seat so we could be on our way. It was hanging out the windows on both sides, but we were back on the road! When we turned the car in, eyebrows raised when we said they would find the front bumper in the back seat. In Terror in a Teapot, a version of this happens to the twins.

Keep it real

By all means don’t put long thoughts in your character’s head when they are working on sheer willpower. Think of what you would do in a life threatening situation. Would you have the presence of mind to think in beautifully constructed sentences and map out what you had to do point by point? Of course not, unless you are one of the few who actually think like that. More often, thoughts are static and disjointed when faced with these situations.

Using scene cuts

Scene cuts are sometimes called jump cuts. Without explanation, the story is moved to a new location or time, and the characters might even be different ones than in the previous scene. This has to be done carefully so the reader is not confused. The main purpose of a scene cut is to speed up the action. Back in the days of heavy movie censorship, the actor Andy Griffith put out a comedy album and in one track he summed up scene cuts neatly. He said something like: He kisses her with passion and just when he is ready to make his next move, time passes and the scene changes. In this case, the viewer was expected to fill in the details between the cuts with their own imagination.

SLOWING THINGS DOWN

While it is great to have a story that keeps zooming along, sometimes it makes good sense to slow it down—let the reader catch their breath and put everything into perspective. This technique will also serve to build tension. Slowing down the pace is one way to let it layer, leading up to the maximum payoff.

After the cliffhanger

Okay, assume the last chapter ended with your version of “The Perils of Pauline,” or the pretty woman tied to the railroad tracks as the train speeds toward her. What next? How do you slow something like that down unless Superman puts out his hand and stops the train? The answer is to prolong the outcome. If you stretch it out instead of giving the instant outcome, the end result is that it actually speeds up in a way. The reader rushes ahead to find out what happens, reading as fast as possible but not wanting to miss a word. So, how do you slow it down?

Some types of scenes that could benefit from a slowdown:

Romantic interludes

Everything has been happening at breakneck speed for your male and female protagonists. Maybe the detectives are attracted to each other, but who has time to find out? We see this all the time in TV shows. The tension is kept alive with the “will they, won’t they” question. All of a sudden it happens. Do we want to speed past this as well? If the plot calls for it, slow things down. Let the reader enjoy the scene where they kiss...and more.

Emotional decisions

Give your characters ups and downs. Vary the scenes so intense emotions don’t dominate every single page. Let them be confused, afraid or undecided about something. Are they reluctant to take the next step? Why? Does something stop them in their tracks? All of these things can slow the pace but leave the door open for picking it up again anytime you want to. If you give the reader some low moments, they will savor and enjoy the high ones even more.

Descriptions

Descriptions are good devices, but there is a narrow path to be walked here. Too much description and it becomes snooze time. Too little, and the reader might feel cheated. Like they were just beginning to get a sense of the overall picture, but it wasn’t completed. Evaluate how much description you need, and where. Ask others to read these scenes and listen to their reactions. You have lived the scenes over and over and have probably become jaded, but they will read it with fresh eyes.

Flashbacks

Flashbacks always slow the action, either in a major or minor way depending upon the content and how long the scene lasts. Again, just as with descriptions, be careful with flashbacks and moderate how you use them. Good flashback scenes will fill in the details and help deliver the backstory, but too many or too long, and you might lose the reader. They begin to flip pages to revisit some of the things they’ve read, because they might have lost the thread of the story. Flashbacks are like having a franchise to peek into the past, but franchises can only be exercised a certain number of times.

Let your protagonist make mistakes

You’ve heard the often-used expression: One step forward, two steps back. If circumstances undo some of what the protagonist has accomplished and another way has to be found, the story is going to slow down for the period of time they are getting back on track. It can be short or drawn out. In either case, mistakes work. The same goes for unexpected events. The protagonist approaches their destination holding a paper with the address. But the building has been torn down. Where do they go from there? Whether pursuing a lover, an opportunity or a killer, this is an opening where you can choose the pace.

Morgan St. James

www.morganstjames-author.com

Rejection

Do You Ever Experience Rejection As a Writer?

Not long ago I read a blog by the crime writer Connie Archer titled " Rejection" and it occurred to me this was a topic the readers of Crime Writers Chronicle might find helpful, perhaps a tiny ray of light on a dark and stormy day, when you just got " that letter " from your agent or publisher. I got in touch with the author of the blog and invited her to lend her article to us here. I hope this will help you feel your are in good company - we all have to experience rejection - it is as common as the air we breathe…

Thelma Jacqueline Straw




Rejection… that thing we all dread—not just those of us who are writers, but every soul on earth. That cold dismissal, or the possibility of it, strikes terror into our hearts. How do we deal with it? How do we recover? As writers, we send our creation, our baby, out into the world to be possibly torn to shreds and rejected—the product of our blood, sweat and tears, the story we have labored over for months, perhaps years. How do we pick ourselves up and continue? Do we toss our manuscript in the rubbish heap and nurse our wounds? Curl into a fetal position and crawl under the covers? Weeks later, are we able to return to the keyboard to peck away at a new idea?

I came to writing rather late in the game after years of working as an actress. That craft was my first love (notice that I use the word craft, not business). But I’ve always been an avid reader and a rabid mystery and thriller buff, and finally worked up the courage to try my hand at one myself. Grinding out that first book took me a long time—a few years in fact. It wasn’t easy. It was terribly hard, but I was very lucky indeed because I was offered a contract with a wonderful agent. In fact, at the time, even though I was thrilled and over the moon, I really didn’t grasp just how fortunate I was.

During that time, I had a phone conversation with my new agent who, bless her heart, cautioned me that (1) there really wasn’t a whole lot of money to be made and (2) there was always the possibility, likelihood in fact, of rejection. Well, since I was amazed I had managed to not only finish a book but find an agent, I wasn’t too put off. My instinctual response was to say, “Rejection? Are you kidding? I’ve been an actress for years. I could write the book on rejection!” But for once I wisely kept my mouth shut.

I’ve heard from and read about writers who were devastated by rejection. Okay, that’s tough, I thought. But suck it up! Make your book better for heaven’s sake and stop whining about it. Rejection is when you finally get the interview with the theatrical agent you’ve been struggling to meet and at the end of the session, she says, “Thanks, dear, but I’ll pass. You’re different, but you’re not that different. I love the bracelet by the way, you can drop it on the desk when you leave.”

Disappointment is when you’ve signed with your next agent, then discover he’s been arrested for sexual assault—only on non-union women I might add. He didn’t want any hassle with SAG or AFTRA. Devastation is when your agent goes bankrupt and didn’t bother to tell you. In fact, they were holding your residual checks and now you can just get in line with other creditors for your money. Rejection is when you’re halfway through that riveting monologue you’ve worked on for weeks, paid a coach for direction, and a flat bored voice calls out “Next!” from the back of a darkened theater.

When I received my first rejection from a publisher, I was amazed! Okay, they didn’t go for my idea, thought it wouldn’t sell. But they WROTE BACK! I actually heard from someone that they didn’t like my book! Wow! Amazing! They responded. More than I ever got as an actress. Rejection always came in the form of deadly silence—the phone refusing to ring. For days you delude yourself that it’ll probably take a while for the powers that be to make a decision—after all there were only three people called back to the producer’s session. Surely I stand a good chance, don’t I? When in reality the producers made the decision three seconds after the last actress left the room. No one ever bothers to tell you or your agent.

I received a call one day from a good friend who was on a studio lot after an audition and had suddenly become incapacitated by depression.

I asked, “What happened? Didn’t it go well?”

He said, “Oh, yes, it went fine. But I was walking back to my car and passed a dumpster. A HUGE dumpster and guess what it was full of?”

“What?” I asked.

“Eight by tens. Thousands and thousands of 8x10’s. All those hopes. All those dreams. A dumpster full of them.”

Another friend once said, “The best reading is the one you give in the car on the way home.” She was referring to the phenomenon of kicking oneself in the backside for hours after the audition, wondering why you weren’t as brilliant in the casting session as you now are in traffic.

As an actor, you’re lucky if you have the script a day or two in advance. You memorize the lines, you research the show, catch an episode if you can, suss out the style, the pacing, second guess the producers and directors as to what they might want. Do your best not to psych yourself out that you’re not right for the job, fight the waiting room nerves, and when you’ve spent anywhere from twenty minutes to (I’m not exaggerating here) two hours to hear your name called, you walk through the door and face the firing squad. You’re being judged the second those people lay eyes on you. You must, you absolutely must, exude confidence. You’re prepared, you can do this, you have just a few seconds to slip into that character, cry, laugh, convince them that you are the person they need to hire. And then the director’s cellphone rings. He says, “Excuse me, it’s my location manager. I have to take this.” How rude, you think. And you know in your gut it’s more likely his wife calling with a grocery list.

So how do you deal with it? Rejection? Is there an easy answer? If there is, I certainly don’t have it. The only thing I’ve ever found is to do the very best job you can—no matter what the medium. Listen to criticism with an open mind. If it’s valid it will ring true. If it’s not, then trust your instincts and your hard work and keep on believing that what you have to offer is worthwhile.

We can’t control the marketplace. We can’t be all things to all people. Not everyone is going to love us, or love our work. But what we can do is to do the very best job possible, not be thrown off base, not be sabotaged by someone else’s ego or judgment. Know in your heart that your idea, your plot, your book is the very best it can be. The only true solace is to know you did the very best work possible. (And sometimes that even works in traffic.)

A well known director once said to me, “Always remember this. Those people on the other side of the table can’t do what you can do. They wish they could, but they can’t. There’s no reason to be intimidated by the ones who have the power to hire you. After all, they’re really just hoping you’re perfect because they want to break for lunch.”

Connie Archer

Website: www.conniearchermysteries.com
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/ConnieArcherMysteries
Twitter: @SnowflakeVT


Fact Into Fiction

Dennis Palumbo ends his stunning book WRITING FROM THE INSIDE OUT with a quote by screenwriter Frederick Raphael: "Work is... having pages in the evening that weren't there in the morning."

And his own words: "You. And Your writing. That's all there is. That's all there needs to be. So go. Write!"

If I were doing a book on "Writing," I'd want to say everything Dennis says. Both a gifted writer and a well-known psychotherapist, Dennis tackles the weighty issues that confront every serious writer: Rejection, solitude, fear, isolation, struggles, envy, tumult, joy and triumph! This book is not a manual for the neophyte. Or a person who toys with the art. Rather, it is like going to your own personal guru, who is experienced both as a fellow writer and as a wise shrink.


Informed, compassionate and funny, Dennis gives you the confidence that you ARE on the right track, ARE okay and all WILL be well!

That all your agony on this journey IS worth it!

That you have a compassionate friend, a steady guide and a wise companion - that you are NOT alone!

Author of acclaimed crime novels MIRROR IMAGE, FEVER DREAMS and NIGHT TERRORS ( Poisoned Pen Press), a collection of short stories, FROM CRIME TO CRIME ( Tallfellow Press), Dennis has been a Hollywood screen writer for popular series, including "My Favorite Year" and "Welcome Back, Kotter," short fiction in
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, The Strand, articles in the NYT, the LAT, The Lancet, Psychology Today and the Huffington Post. He has been named UCLA "Outstanding Teacher of the Year"!

Today, as a licensed psychotherapist, he works with established screen writers, directors and novelists, often dealing with issues of anxiety, depression and relationship difficulties.

He has stated "The most challenging aspect of crime/mystery writing is the plotting—making sure there are enough twists and turns!" ( Sound familiar, dear friends?)

He makes us feel "If you seek wisdom, sample every tent in the bazaar!"

We are never too smart, gifted, clever, famous, well-published—to think we are above seeking good advice!(From many years in the challenging world of crime writing—as reader, reviewer, writer—I'm always on the lookout for a superior teacher on how to write better or how to navigate the Slippery Slope of Writing Fiction!)

In Dennis Palumbo I've found a writer who is sage, inspired, experienced, exceptional.

I can't wait to begin his new crime novel, NIGHT TERRORS, that sits beside me as I write this page.

Please welcome Dennis Palumbo to our esteemed blog - Crime Writers Chronicle!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw




In my latest Daniel Rinaldi mystery, NIGHT TERRORS (Poisoned Pen Press), the Pittsburgh psychologist and trauma expert is asked by the FBI to treat one of their recently-retired profilers. After a twenty year career inside the minds of the most infamous serial killers, Special Agent Lyle Barnes can no longer sleep through the night. He’s tormented by a cascade of horrifying images, along with intense feelings of dread and imminent danger. Until, sweat-soaked, heart pounding, he wakes up screaming...

He’s not alone. Once considered primarily a pediatric diagnosis, more and more adults are currently being treated for night terrors. Why the upsurge in night terrors in adults? Most clinicians—including therapists like myself—are blaming the increased uncertainty of contemporary life. The economy, terrorism. Even natural disasters, like tsunamis, earthquakes, and super-storms. The daily anxiety suppressed by adults during waking life, now invading their sleep.

And since science hasn’t yet discovered what exactly causes night terrors, treating it can be quite difficult. In my novel, Rinaldi’s approach is to get the retired FBI agent to open up about his years as a profiler. His thousands of hours of contact with the most heinous and notorious serial killers. Since Barnes’ work was his life, Rinaldi believes that the best way to address his nocturnal demons is to get him to open up about the real-life demons with whom he spent most of his career.

Not an easy task, since Lyle Barnes is also the target of an unknown assassin who’s already killed three others on a seemingly-random hit-list...

***

As it happens, I got the idea for the fictional narrative of NIGHT TERRORS from reading about the real-life sleep disorder in a clinical journal. In my dual careers as both a therapist and crime writer, the worlds of psychotherapy and mystery fiction are often equally intertwined.

Take, for example, an institutionalized patient I knew called Angie. All the other patients called her Angie the Android. She was a deeply delusional teenage girl who believed she was actually a machine. Like Pinocchio, her biggest and only dream was to become a real person.

I met Angie the very first week of my internship at a private psychiatric hospital in West L.A. She was one of dozens of schizophrenic patients I worked with at this final stage of my training to be a psychotherapist. It was a thrilling, challenging, enlightening and ultimately humbling period of years. (Even though my former career as a Hollywood screenwriter, working with various film producers and network executives, had already given me valuable experience dealing with psychotics.)

Of course, my internship at the private hospital took place many, many years ago. Now I’m a licensed psychotherapist in private practice, but I’ve woven some of the situations and people I encountered during my clinical training—people like Angie—into my series of crime novels. In fact, it was the opportunity to blend aspects of both my clinical experience and personal biography that prompted me to create the series in the first place.

For starters, my protagonist, Dr. Daniel Rinaldi, is a psychologist. And, although my internship was in Los Angeles, the novel takes place in Pittsburgh, my home town. Moreover, Rinaldi shares a similar background to my own—from his Italian heritage to his love of jazz to his teenage years spent working in the Steel City’s sprawling produce yards. (However, unlike me, he’s a former amateur boxer, and, in general, a lot braver and more resourceful than I am!)

But it’s my clinical experience that most influences my writing, that (hopefully) helps ground my stories and characters in reality. For example, Rinaldi’s best friend, Noah Frye, is a paranoid schizophrenic, his delusions tempered by medication (when he stays on it). Foul-mouthed, funny, and disconcertingly intuitive, this character is based on another real patient with whom I worked.

However, it isn’t just my experience as a therapist that informs some of the material in my crime novels. It’s also the emotions, conflicts and confusions that accompanied my career transition from screenwriter to psychotherapist. To say it was a rocky journey would be an understatement. For one thing, it wasn’t a decision that came easily. Or quickly. After almost 16 years as a Hollywood writer, the idea of changing careers—involving graduate school, years of supervised internships, and the difficulties of setting up a clinical practice—seemed… well… crazy. Frankly, I was so unsure about it that I kept the fact that I’d gone back to school a secret from all but a select group of friends. (It didn’t help that most of them thought I was crazy, too.)

In a similar way, my psychologist hero, Daniel Rinaldi, goes through an emotional upheaval before finding his calling. Though what happens to him is much more painful and life-shattering than merely deciding to change careers. My decision was the result of years of ruminating, of debating the pros and cons. His was in response to a single, overwhelming event—one that leads to his becoming a trauma specialist, treating the victims of violent crime.

No question, what makes the writing of this series so engaging for me is that I’m able to weave together aspects of my clinical training at a psychiatric facility, my current experience in private practice, and the police procedural details of a mystery thriller.

Which is why I knew from the very beginning that the protagonist of my series was going to be a therapist. But not merely because I am one, too.

Let me explain: some years back, I did a Commentary for NPR’s “All Things Considered” in which I lamented the depiction of male therapists in today’s TV shows and film.

In fact, I referenced two iconic images, from two memorable films: In Now, Voyager, kindly therapist Claude Rains walks in the garden with troubled patient Bette Davis. He’s paternal, insightful, and obviously knows what’s good for her.

In The Three Faces of Eve, Lee J. Cobb helps Joanne Woodward parse out the three distinct personalities tormenting her. Like Claude Rains before him, he’s a model of the patriarchal culture, a therapist of unquestionable motives and unimpeachable authority. One of the good guys.

Which raises the question: how did we get from there to Hannibal Lecter?

Because, I testily pointed out, with rare exceptions that’s where we are. And I still think this is true. Whether in print, in film or on TV, male therapists are serving more and more as convenient villains. Instead of being caretakers, they’re portrayed as troubled, predatory, even psychotic. It seems that every other mystery best-seller or Hollywood horror film features a demented shrink. Not to mention TV shows like Law and Order: SVU and the CSI franchises, where a male psychologist or psychiatrist is as liable to be the bad guy as any garden-variety contract killer or spurned lover.

Now I know enough to be skeptical about pop culture’s notion of any profession, but I can’t help wondering what’s going on. How did the image of male therapist go from father figure to the most likely suspect?

Maybe this change simply reflects one that’s occurred in the culture at large. After all, the past forty years has seen a challenge to the whole idea of male authority. In terms of image, professors, doctors and scientists of the male persuation have suddenly gone from being saints to sinners. Same with therapists. No wonder today’s crime novelists, TV and film writers find them irresistable as villains. All that education, respectibility and power, turned to the Dark Side.

But it isn’t just society’s growing mistrust of male authority that turned Lee J. Cobb’s gray suit and pipe into Anthony Hopkins’ face muzzle and leather restraints. After all, the world’s a pretty treacherous, confusing place nowadays. Our most sturdy institutions—government, the church, education—traditionally headed by men, seem to be letting us down. It’s no different with therapy. Whether fairly or not, I believe the way in which male therapists are portrayed in popular fiction reflects a similar disenchantment with both the profession in general, and its male practitioners in particular.

The truth is, nowadays—much like priests—male therapists suffer from the failed expectations of a disillusioned public. Which is why I wanted my series hero to be a therapist. Flawed, yes. Troubled, stubborn, and with a temper. But someone trying desperately to make a difference. To help others on the path to healing, even if only as a way to come to some kind of peace himself.

I guess what I’m saying is, if Daniel Rinaldi’s mission as a therapist is to treat those crippled by trauma, my mission as a writer is to help resuscitate the image of the mental health professional. Particularly male. Particularly in today’s harsh, cynical world.

Which brings me, by an admittedly circuitous route, back to Angie the Android. Believe it or not, we’re all a bit like Angie. We all want, in both our lives and our work, to be real. Authentic. For most writers I know, myself included, it is—as it was for Angie—our biggest and only dream.

That’s why I’m grateful I got to know her, all those years ago. As I am all the patients with whom I’ve been privileged to work since then. Just as I’m grateful for my lifetime of experiences, both personal and professional. Because everything we’ve ever done informs who we are, how we think, what we write.

The Beat poet Allen Ginsberg once said that our main job in life is to track our consciousness. That’s certainly true for patients in therapy. But I believe it’s also true for those of us who feel the need not only to keep track, but to write it down…

Dennis Palumbo

Happy Birthday to My Taurean Twin, Linda Fairstein

It was my birthday. Little did I know, trudging to school along a sandy path on Willoughby Beach in Norfolk, Virginia, that on that same day a little girl was born in Westchester County, New York, who decades later would play a big role in my adult life.

Of all the bonds on this fragile planet, so full of surprises, finding another human who was born on your own birthday is a galactic coincidence unlike any other. Nationality, age, gender, ethnicity—none of these has the same tie as knowing that—in the light of eternity—this other human being first saw the light of day on the same calendar marker that was assigned to you!

I'd never met anyone born on my day, May 5, so years later, when I read that a stellar crime writer, someone whose books I'd devoured for what had been decades, a notable whose speeches I'd been glued to at meetings of writers' groups, was also a May 5 child, I felt an instant bond, and knew then, even if I never met this literary giant, I'd be her champion for life!

I finally did meet Linda Fairstein, as a fellow member of the Board of Directors of the New York Chapter of the Mystery Writers of America.

What charming games the universe plays with human lives!

I'd read every book by this gifted writer, was immersed in every plot of her novels, after her debut novel, Final Jeopardy, never knowing all those years that there was an ethereal bond between this famous lawyer and star on the world stage of literature and—little ole moi!

Today with over 14 bestselling novels under her legal belt, this talented honor graduate of Vassar and the School of Law of the University of Virginia has won high acclaim in many languages on countless shores. She has created her own unique spot in literary history.

Few writers have transformed historical places and moments in the colorful history of New York City into such memorable word tapestries!

Her novels should be required reading in all courses of New York history, as well as in advanced curricula on American literature.

From Final Jeopardy ( 1996) to Angel of Mercy (July 2013) I join the throngs of readers who are also fans—and wish my Taurean Twin many more years of success, joy and a special place in the annals of literary talent!

Thelma Jacqueline Straw

Danger in the Depths of Manhattan

Could the Killer Be the Mud?

The limos and cabs picked up and deposited their fur-clad passengers over on Park Avenue, local dwellers headed for Bergdorf, Tiffany's, the Colony Club and the glitzy bars downtown.

Nannies walked their charges in elegant strollers that cost more than their own modest housing rentals in the burbs.

Dogs of every breed, color and size ran in orderly, well-fed packs, with handlers from the elite high schools cheering them on to the next rest spot, in front of smiling doormen.

Little did they know that only a few blocks east, a fifty-one year-old construction worker from Lyndhurst, New Jersey, was fighting for his life, a struggle so death-threatening the New York Fire Department brought a chaplain to the man, trying to ease his agony, if he had to make the ultimate sacrifice.

The worker was stuck waist deep, almost 100 feet beneath Second Avenue, where frigid water and mud were churning into a "slushy tomb" to take him to his death.

The worker had lost his footing in a tunnel near 95th Street, less than four blocks away from the tony life on Park Avenue!

While the richbitches went about their safe, cozy lives, the hypothermic subway construction worker's life was touch and go in the thick and viscous mud below the ground, that threatened the best resources of the New York Fire Department, the anxious crews of paramedics, the chaplain and the scores of valiant subway workers.

They pulled in every known resource of the great urbanopolis—a pulley system, a backhoe, a manual griphoist machine—and the sweat and courage of over 150 firefighters, who "crouched in the slop to dig him out by hand."

Terrified not only of drowning, but of being swallowed whole by clay and mud, the man was finally rescued after his four hours of hell, accompanied by several firefighters who also suffered injuries in the same mud.

One of the main improvisations of the rescuers was to set up an intravenous tube in the mess and find a way to warm the victim.

Veterans of subway construction beneath New York's streets and waterways are always alert to the dangers that face workers underground.

But rarely had an urban rescue involved such ferocious enemies as mud, muck, man-made caverns, mattings, plywood, concrete, wall-bracing bars, ropes and suction.

But it was the mud that they recalled most. "As soon as I started walking down there, it felt like your boot was going to rip off your foot," a fire fighter said.

The muck had such a grip on the worker that as the firefighters finally pulled him free of the muck it pulled a bunch of his ligaments.

Reports that the New Jersey worker is on the road to recovery show crime does not always pay, even if the criminal is the underbelly of nature.

Perhaps one of my colleagues who writes those wonderful novels about man versus nature, like WABC's Bill Evans, will take on this story!

Maybe even YOU, my dear reader!

Thelma Straw( who lives two blocks away from the evil mud!)

The Historian Sleuth

Triss Stein, multi-talented mystery author, is a bright star in the firmament of mystery writing. A former native of Watertown, New York, after degrees at Brandeis and Columbia in history, classical studies and library science, she embarked on a fascinating career that would provide material and talent for future exciting novels, including consulting for McKinsey and Company, children's librarian, and staffs of publishers DC Comics and Conde Nast.

Her successful novels,
Murder at the Class Reunion and Digging Up Death, paved the way for her current popular novel, published by Poisoned Pen Press, Brooklyn Bones.

Active in MWA-NY and SinC, Triss recently managed the SinC research study on mystery readers.

We are delighted to welcome this gifted, creative New York writer here today!

Thelma Straw




I have a confession to make. I might be the only woman mystery writer in the US who never liked Nancy Drew. My interest in mysteries did not come from my childhood fiction reading at all, but I am beginning to suspect that it might have come from my interest in history and archaeology.

Think about it. The historian or the archeologist digs down through the facts, documents and artifacts to arrive at the truth. Or anyway, “A” truth. Or at least a narrative. Doesn’t that sound familiar? The PBS program, History Detectives, shows us how they do it, and naturally I adore the show. Of course I know that in the show they take a few short cuts, but that’s television. And I have on my desk a 1968 book called The Historian as Detective: Essays as Evidence, edited by Robin Winks, who was all of the following: a distinguished Yale history professor, a mystery fan and an Edgar winner for Best Critical Work.

Real history is full of real unsolved crimes. What did happen to those princes in the Tower? Did Robert Dudley’s wife fall down the stairs or was she pushed, and how much did Queen Elizabeth I know? Poe’s lost last days? Meriwether Lewis’ questionable demise? And who can forget Judge Crater?

In fact, I started Brooklyn Bones not with a sleuth but with a crime—old bones in an old house—and a historian came to mind as the right person to solve it. I made her an urban historian so she would naturally be interested in the context—the time and place—of the crime. I gave her a partly-written dissertation about the dynamics of neighborhood change in Brooklyn because I live in a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood, so does she (not coincidentally, the same one), and the old house with the bones is hers. I gave her a child, because I wanted to write about being a parent. I gave her a teen-age child because—well, conflict is good for plotting!

As she came alive in my mind and started talking to me, I realized I had found my perfect heroine. She’s younger than I am, has a completely different background, she’s a lot more impulsive, a lot less worldly, a lot more street smart. But I know what drives her and I can send her to research life in the past in a way that smashes right into conflicts of life in the present. The mini-mansion mausoleums of historic Green-Wood cemetery? The Jewish gangsters of Brownsville? The Brooklyn Navy Yard when it was operating around the clock to help save the world? The lost and found freed slave community of Weeksville? Erica is never going to run out of old Brooklyn stories to research. And because there are more than bones in those mausoleums, Brownsville still has gangs, and the later fate of the Navy Yard, a large piece of waterside real estate, was much debated, I am never going to run out of modern crimes.

Asking questions. Digging up answers. Understanding what happened then and how it affects now. A historian sleuth makes a lot of sense to me.

Triss Stein
TrissStein.com

You Had Me at "Hello"

Sharon Wildwind, a member of the blog team Poe's Deadly Daughters, is our guest for today. We are delighted to have this Canadian crime writer share her thoughts with us!

Thelma Straw



According to the New Yorker, Pulitzer-winning author Philip Roth and newly-published writer Julian Tepper had a small lifestyle opinion difference in a New York deli.

Tepper presented Roth with a copy of Teppler’s first novel. Roth supposedly advised him to give up writing because being a writer was a soul-killing way to spend one’s life. The Paris Review Daily published an essay Teppler wrote about the encounter.

Enter into the fray Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love; Committed; The Signature of All Things). She defended writing and writers.

Enter Avi Steinberg, who wrote the New Yorker article referred to above. This is not a he said, he said, she said, he said blog. There are links. Anyone can read what was reported for herself. What stopped me in my tracks was when Steinberg ended his piece with this quote:

“That’s the kind of a person it takes to be a writer: someone who’s zealous and ready to argue, someone who has Philip Roth tell him, “It’s torture, don’t do it,” and replies, “You had me at ‘torture.’”

That’s a play on Dorothy Boyd’s line from the movie Jerry Maguire. “You had me at hello.” With the implication being that writers are innately in love with torture and would love a profession in which they experienced it.

I laughed. I pumped air and said, “Go, Avi.” I copied the quote and put it in my inspiration folder. In short, I had a hugely politically-incorrect moment. Once in a while it’s relief to have someone tell it like it is, and at the same time, an embarrassment that I would make a joke out of torture.

Being a crime writer is full of politically-incorrect moments. Our subject matter, be it fiction or real-life crime, focuses on the dark, darker, darkest sides of being human. A couple of years ago a relative died. For multiple reasons I had several contacts with the Medical Examiner’s Office. The young women I spoke with tried to be delicate about details. It was only when I convinced them that I had a working knowledge of autopsies, body identification, and the backlog in DNA labs that any real communication happened. One woman said, “We can’t talk like this with most of the people we contact.”

Knowing a lot—probably a lot more than is good for us—about what human beings do to one another is a crime writer’s curse, as is the knowledge that, in some countries, being a writer leads to torture. The real kind. The nasty kind, and yet writers endure.

For many of us torture isn’t what other people do to us, it’s what we do to ourselves. It’s doubt, self-recriminations, feelings that I should have done this or that different. I should have put more effort into writing. Promoted the book harder. Stood up to that editor. Caught that stupid mistake in the proofs. Demanded a retraction on that horrible review.

I’ve never heard a crime writer, no matter how well established, say, “After a while all doubts go away. I get up every morning knowing that I’m a sane, competent writer, who is solidly on the career track I laid out for myself.” But I’ve heard a lot of writers say, “I’m not sure I can pull off this new book, these new characters, this different kind of marketing plan. I’m having a hard time right now with the beginning, the middle, or the end.” None of us are sure, but a lot of us are working very hard to cope, even to thrive.

Coping, day in and day out, gets horribly tiring. In general, our society isn’t set up to lay laurels upon our creative brow. We survive on grants and grants get cut. We have the good fortune to bond with a wonderful agent or editor. They move or leave the business or get sick or even die and we have to start over. The publishing rules change and the book we wrote under the old rules is now unsalable. The question I get most often from people I see occasionally is, “Are you still writing?”

It’s not the question, it’s the tone in the question, with the hidden meaning being, “Surely by now you’ve come to your senses and moved on to something more productive?”

Yep, still writing. Still here. Still coping. Still dealing with the dark side of humanity. Still living the crime writer’s life, and darn glad of it.

Sharon Wildwind

A Role Model for Crime Writers… The Real ARGO Guy!

One man stands out in the shadow world of spy trade. Antonio Joseph Mendez.

Tony led two lives. A gentle, soft-spoken guy, a born artist, now retired and doing his painting in the Maryland Blue Ridge Mountains, he became THE master of disguise.

You may know of him now as the real life engineer of the escape of six fellow Americans from Tehran in 1980.

Partly because of the Oscars, America has been gaga over the word ARGO in 2013. It all began with a modest, talented man born in 1940 in Eureka, an old mining town in the Diamond Mountains of central Nevada.

Quiet. Gentle. But things are seldom what they seem…

Tony worked the night shift at Martin Marietta as an artist/illustrator. This job led him to the Technical Services Division of the CIA. And the rest is history!

At the CIA he was known as the undisputed master of disguises, who was both magician and psychologist. History knows him as the engineer of the masterful escape in 1980 of six brave American citizens from Tehran via Swissair Flight 363, a DC-8 named " ARGAU".

In 1979 Tony had been named Chief of Authentication for the Graphics and Authentication Division of the Office of Technical Services. He was responsible for disguise, false documentation and counterintelligence forensic examination of questioned (possibly forged) documents and materials. Where his friends saw him as a soft-spoken, nondescript bureaucrat, the top guns at Langley HQ saw him as their master of disguise, an "undisputed genius who could create and entirely new ID for anybody, anywhere, anytime."

He was a magician with the analytical insight of a shrink. Bob Gates, the former head of CIA, said of him," He was one of the most imaginative and courageous unsung heroes..." A former chair of the CIA Publications Review Board said of him, "Tom Clancy would be hard-pressed to envision what Tony Mendez has done…"

In his own words, Tony wrote, "I served as professional intelligence officer, creating and deploying many of the most innovative techniques of the espionage trade…. Those who know me best will realize that I would never knowingly betray a trust or reveal a secret that would jeopardize a comrade, a source, or my country's interests."

I became interested in the story of Tony Mendez 13 years ago, never thinking he would be the hero of an Oscar film award today! He was one of many "creative problem solvers", one of my heroes, whose careers inspired me to try my hand at spy novels.

I read all I could find on Tony, and recently I found a little niche for this guy in my WIP, as a close friend of POTUS, the President of the United States, who finds the White House upstairs too confining, and asks his old pal, Tony Mendez, to create a disguise for him to get outside the walls of the big house occasionally, to breathe fresh air and go among the real people! (Ah, the glorious liberties fiction gives the crime writer, provided you play fair!)

After decades of imaginative jobs, Tony was assigned the job that brought him into the 2013 spotlight, the chaos of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, triggered by the Islamist fundamentalist Ayatollah Khomeini and his followers.

The valued Iranian agent named "Raptor" was key to a rescue situation of American diplomats that years later would be the topic of worldwide cinema with our friend Tony as the mastermind of the historic rescue.

The name of the venture was to be ARGO, a contraction of " Ah, go f*** yourself!" We'll never know the real story, I feel, but Tony gives us a good yarn that will keep us intrigued for many decades.

My own feeling about this charming, gifted man, is that with so much bubbling in the world's cauldron, it is quite possible he'll be called back for duty. The world could use his gifts once more!!!

Thelma Straw

WHO Done It? And WHY?

Writers who track John Douglas, the FBI's legendary "mindhunter," recognize those words from his own writing.

This former chief of the FBI's Investigative Support Unit is revered by many crime writers as THE pioneer of modern behavioral profiling of violent criminals.

In a crime novel the negative force must be strong enough to wage a good fight with the good guy.

The legendary editor Ruth Cavin told us often that you can fix plots, but your characters have to hold their own.

After the first time I heard John Douglas speak at MWA-NY, I became fixated by his ideas. I read all his books – Mindhunter, Unabomber, Journey Into Darkness, Obsession, The Anatomy of Motive, Sexual Homicide, The Cases That Haunt Us, including his own fiction, Broken Wings and Man Down.

He explained that the law enforcement community moved from sole reliance on the "Bible" – the DSM, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders – into the CCM, the Crime Classification Manual that Douglas, with his colleagues Ann W. Burgess, Allen G. Burgess and Robert K. Ressler, developed. A catalog of crime behavior that showed investigators not only that X type behavior was a form of mental illness, but how dangerous it might be!

Douglas and his associates developed a method of profiling criminals that has been the foundation of many criminology professionals, not only at the FBI Behavioral Science Investigative Support Units, but to police departments and prosecutors worldwide.

As a profiler and interviewer of countless notorious criminals, Douglas' landmark studies have guided numerous crime writers.

John Edward Douglas was born in Brooklyn and served in the U.S. Air Force. Well-educated, with a doctorate, he served at FBI as a SWAT Team sniper, a hostage negotiator and taught hostage negotiation and applied crimnal psychology at Quantico.

As a consultant worldwide, he was the model for Jack Crawford in Thomas Harris' novels Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs, as well as consultant for the films.

Countless crime writers have learned from John Douglas about the inner working of personalities whose main goals in life are to kill and to hurt.

To manipulate, dominate and control.

Few of us have walked into danger freely as Douglas has, "through an open yard where violent prisoners roamed freely, a scene that reminded me of Dante's Inferno. Where the most violent criminals might try to kill us for the prestige for having murdered an FBI agent."

Douglas believes that most violent offenders came from dysfunctional backgrounds. That most psychopaths "seemed so charming, so ordinary." That behavior reflects personality. That many violent criminals are "ego driven." That behavior is consistent. Even in its inconsistency, it's consistent.

That criminals find "overwhelming emotional satisfaction in manipulating, dominating, controlling and exerting life-or-death power over another person."

That "with the exception of a very few truly insane (and generally delusional) individuals, these people choose to do what they do."

Douglas is a valid guide for any writer who wants to dig deeper into the motives of his/her villains.

In his own words, he gives one path a writer might want to try: "As I had so many times before, I put myself into the mind of the killer." (Journey Into Darkness, p. 15.)

We crime writers can also remember the words of Raymond Chandler for our heroes… "Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid." (The Simple Act of Murder)

Thelma Straw

Remembering Robin

Robin Hathaway at Partners and Crime Booksellers,
April 8, 2008. Photo by Margaret Mendel



Robin and I weren't "girl-friends". We were fellow warriors, in similar but different foxholes.

She followed her star, I followed mine, but we were able to trade strengths where needed.

Our stars were different, but compatible.

We recognized each other's toughness, and though our personal paths were different, we sensed we both fought many of the same wars.

Early on, I championed her doctor books in my reviews for Marilyn Henderson's LADY M.

I could always count on Robin to deliver the goods.

I believe she knew I'd deliver for her too.

On my first trembling initiation seat as a member of the MWA-NY Board, Robin was there to welcome me.

I returned the favor with my positive reviews of her books.

She was always a generous, willing mentor to the Mentor Committee. If we needed another volunteer, Robin was always there for us!

To show her my gratitude, I concocted a fancy dummy prize for the Deadly Ink DAVID prize and gave her a little party at Juliano's to showcase the strange huge creation in public, having invited another Smith English Major to show the flag to please her!

Always ready to help, Robin joined Marge Mendel and me in preparing food for our mutual friend, Bob Knightly, for his book party at my place and the table was laden with food for an army!

A fellow animal lover, Robin often had us in stitches with stories about the wild life on her place on the Jersey Shore. I can still see the ducks and cats following her!

Sophisticated, highly-educated, Robin was always a plain, simple person, a lady, but never haughty or mean, a worker, but never domineering, a fiercely strong soul, but outwardly gentle.

Not long ago, we lunched at the Lex on Lexington East 91st Street, where she interviewed me about what I'd seen as a kid in WW2, for her current WIP. She took careful notes on the Nazi boxes I'd found on the Norfolk beach, the boyish German soldiers, ferried and bound on the Norfolk Naval Base, the blackout curtains tacked up over our windows at night on Chesapeake Bay.

I knew this was a hard book to write, even for her.

Robin, I hope you completed it, but, if you didn't, I hope you'll finish it from way up there, where I know you'll have tons of time now to create your lovely stories…

We'll miss you, but I believe firmly that good people on planet Earth have a good time in Eternity!

God bless, and thank you for your gifts while you made this brief stop down here on our little planet…

Thelma Jacqueline Straw



I met Robin Hathaway at the Mentor Program MWA put on at the Mystery Library on E. 47th St. years ago. She was on the dais as Poster Girl for the MWA Mentor Program, having had her novel, The Doctor Digs A Grave, bought by St. Martin’s as the Best First in the Contest. She always gave the credit to Eleanor Hyde, her Mentor, who stayed around and saw her through to publication. (Eleanor was always a very fine writer and generous friend.) Two of a kind.

But I remember Robin most from our infrequent face-to-face meetings in recent years. In 2011, I was invited to be on a mystery authors panel at the Mid-Atlantic Cultural Something-or-other Convention being held at a hotel in Philadelphia, Robin’s home town. My head turned by the high-sounding invitation, I mentioned it to Robin who offered me a bed in her home for the duration of my stay. I met her impressive, gracious husband, Dr. Bob Keisman.

As things panned out, the mystery authors made their excuses except for me so I was paired with three PhD adjunct Community College English teachers who all spoke on the potboiler novels of Mary Shelley. Well, actually they read their ‘papers’ to the audience of nine in a hotel room the size of a ‘studio’ with a hotplate in an SRO. Robin was there and taking notes (I swear). I’ll always remember that.

Bob Knightly



Click here to see Robin's obituary on Philly.com.

Jenny Milchman, Living Proof Wonderful Things Can Happen

Rarely have the mystery communities so wrapped their various arms around a new writer as these last months they embraced verbally Jenny Milchman, a young crime writer from the great state of New Jersey!

Yes, Jenny, there IS a reward for perseverance!

I've been watching with awe for months the generous communal embrace of Jenny Milchman – on Dorothy L, Murder Must Advertise, Sisters in Crime – the generous adoption of this novelist.

Hundreds of mystery writers have cheered her on, in word, thought or prayer.

As Americans, we admire our comrades who show they are gutsy enough to keep-on-keeping-on. Through the wind, the rain, the snow, the ice, the storms life often throws our way.

Jenny, we're proud to know you and we all wish you success with Cover of Snow – and – all the books waiting to be released from your talented brain.

Folks and friends of Crime Writers Chronicle, I just finished Cover of Snow – and bygolly, all those First Rate Writers who gave praise on the back cover – they all recognize a Fellow Hitter Out of the Ball Park!!

Welcome to the gang, Writer Milchman!

Thelma Straw

P.S. Marilyn Stasio in her NYT Review today praises Jenny Milchman's COVER OF SNOW! Congratulations, Jenny - you really hit the ball out of the park!




The Journey of a Thousand Miles

Begins with just one step, according to a great Chinese philosopher. This was about as true as it gets when it came to my publishing journey.

This past January 15th my debut novel, Cover of Snow, came out. The moment arrived after thirteen years, fifteen-almost offers from editors, three agents, and eight novels. Cover of Snow is my debut novel, but it wasn’t the first one I wrote.

That first novel was an 180,000 word utterly unpublishable behemoth—although no one could’ve told me that. I thought it was wonderful, perfect, don’t change a single comma.

It was 1998, query letters were sent by snail mail, and I was backing up on floppy disks.

(Actually, I still back up on floppy disks, but that’s for another blog post.)

If Lao Tzu’s quote is true, what was the first step I took? How did I wind up writing eight novels before I finally sold The One?

I had always wanted to be a writer, but during my sophomore year of college, my decidedly non-directive parents asked me how my vocation would result in bills getting paid. I didn’t have much of an answer besides some hand-waving about writing poetry and living in a log cabin, so I decided to go to graduate school in psychology.

By 1998, I was working as a psychologist-in-training at a rural mental health center. Suddenly my life was like something out of a suspense novel. I was treating a cherubic blond child who’d just happened to kill the family pet; another patient took a gun out during group therapy and threatened to shoot herself.

All of a sudden it hit me that while I’d written a lot of poetry and quasi-Victorian novellas while studying English Lit, what I really loved to read was suspense and crime fiction. That was a watershed moment for me—to realize that I could (and should) write the kind of book I decompressed with in bed every night.

I began my first novel, and the words just poured out of me. 180,000 of them, as I’ve mentioned. I was wedded to every single one, and with the arrogance of the green, never-rejected writer, I began sending out query letters.

I was lucky enough to get responses, including one single-spaced, packed sheet of paper (snail mail, remember?) from Jonathan Kellerman’s agent. Among other things he said that he didn’t like spending so much time in my “neurotic protagonist’s head.”

“What the hey?” I thought. “My protagonist isn’t neurotic.”

I was stung because, in the way of most semi-autobiographical first novels, my protagonist was an awful lot like, well, me.

After I received this rejection, I sat down at my non-internet-enabled computer and looked at the novel again. And I saw why the agent thought my protagonist was neurotic, and I saw what I could do. I cut 60,000 previously essential words in just two weeks.

That novel—however trimmed down—didn’t get published, but it did earn me offers of representation. And so began the next ten years of my life when I was on more or less continuous submission. At a certain point, I said to myself, “Well, published writers write a book a year, and I want to be a published writer, so I’m going to try and do that.” At the very least, it would give me more chances to write something someone might like.

I wrote eight novels in eleven years, slowing down some when I had two babies. I had to switch agents twice because after representing two or three projects, getting close without getting to puff on any cigars, it’s usually better for an author and agent to part ways. Success often depends on a new set of contacts, or a certain scent of freshness.

This wasn’t the case with my eighth novel, though.

I had been working for three years with the agent I now call my forever agent. We were about out of options. My seventh novel had climbed all the way up to the publisher at the helm of the house that was considering it, only to be turned down at the very top.

My agent had said to me, “I am your agent. No matter how you publish, even if it’s with the smallest of presses, no real money to be had, you can count on me.”

At the same time, the world had changed. Self-publishing had become a viable option. It had become in some ways, for some writers, a better option even.

But it wasn’t a better option for me.

At this stage of the game, self-publishing precludes or at least sorely limits a writer’s entrance into bookstores and libraries, and for me that was a huge part of trying to publish, as opposed to simply penning stories in my garret. I had this dream of meeting readers and booksellers and librarians all over the country.

I had come to admire many authors during my long road, and one had written a novel in 2010 that particularly spoke to me. She knew about my many near misses, and although she had told me, quite understandably, that she couldn’t read unpublished manuscripts, at a certain point she agreed to take a look at my latest.

It was during the early dark of a January evening, just after my agent had made her forever pledge, when this author sent me an email.

“Jenny,” it said. “I couldn’t wait to tell you how much I am enjoying your book. If it doesn’t let me down at the end—and I can’t imagine that it will—I will want not only to offer you a blurb or endorsement, but to put it into my own editor’s hands.”

That editor turned out to like my book as much as her author did.

And that is how I finally came to be published.

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a step so far back, it’s sometimes hard even to remember. But if we keep walking, we will come to the right place.

At long last, my book has just been published. It’s time to take the first steps on my next 1,000 mile journey.



Jenny Milchman is a suspense novelist from New Jersey whose short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Adirondack Mysteries II, and in an e-published volume called Lunch Reads. Jenny is the founder of Take Your Child to a Bookstore Day, and the chair of International Thriller Writers’ Debut Authors Program. Her first novel, Cover of Snow, is published by Ballantine.

Jenny can be reached at jennymilchman.com and she blogs at suspenseyourdisbelief.com