Slowly aging detectives in a quickly changing world

There was a good article in the Wall Street Journal a couple months back about aging detectives in long-running mystery novels. Since it can take years to write a book, find a publisher, and see the dawning of publication day, how does an author handle the passage of time in a character's life?

Unless one is Michael Connolly and can produce two books a year, keeping up with technology and the calendar is a challenge. I found that to be so while I was writing Death Over Easy. Granted, it was my first murder mystery and took longer to write than expected. Still, between the time I started and wrote The End, I had to get Emma Trace texting, taking pics on her cell phone, Tweeting, switching from the six o'clock news to getting news on her computer, and burning evidence to a disk. Companies went out of business while I wrote. New words entered the lexicon. But it was easy for me to manage, because all the action took place in the week before Emma's 40th birthday. That was a constant.


In the WSJ article, some authors talk about being surprised by their own success and wish they'd started their detectives at age 30 instead of 40. Now these sleuths have creaky knees and arthritis. Patricia Cornwell stopped aging Dr. Kay Scarpetta once she reached 50. Sue Grafton's solution was to age her character slowly, adding just eight years to Kinsey Milhone's life over the life of the series.


I've been thinking about dialing back Emma back to 35, or maybe 32, for her first adventure. It would mean changing the ages of several other characters and the dates of historical events, but it would be doable. I'd feel sad moving her birth forward from the year Van Morrison released "Moondance," but maybe I could finagle things to keep the connection.


My next book, Death Under the Radar, takes place a mere four months later. I'd like to set the action soon after the first book, when Emma's learning to fly. I'd like to show some continuity and growth in her relationship with Tony. Can't skip it all and age her to some guess-point when the book may be published, which may be years from now. So maybe she'll be 32...and four months.

A slowly aging detective in a quickly changing world. Series writers, how have you solved this problem?

It's good to be back! Where I've been:
- plotting Death Under the Radar
- revising some short stories
- painting and installing new carpet
- enjoying daughter #1's wedding
- looking forward to daughter #2's wedding next summer
- missing you all!

Ida Strub, and other randomly generated names

Frau Blucher!

When I wrote DEATH OVER EASY (now completed, per yesterday's happy blog post), some of the characters' names came to me easily, while others did not.

Luckily I found a random name generator that did exactly what I wanted it to do. It spewed infinite pairings of first and last names taken from the U.S. Census, all geared to my "obscurity factor" preference, which I could set numerically from 1 (least obscure) to 99 (most).

You want personalities that jump off the page? Back stories that appear almost effortlessly? Horses that whinny at the mere pronunciation of―never mind.

The old lists you see above show some of the names I considered. Notice that I generated Ina Strub, who evolved into Ida Strub, a minor character. Seeing that I had Clifford Bisbee pegged as the short order cook makes me laugh. He ended up playing a far different role.

I'm busy using the random name generator again as I plan my sequel, DEATH UNDER THE RADAR. Who will get the roles of Tony's wife and his business partner in the thriving upscale restaurant he left?

That sweet feeling of completion

Notes from December 1998

Hello, hello! What a sweet feeling this is, having finished my book. Yes, finished, finished in my heart.

DEATH OVER EASY is on its maiden voyage in the Ocean of Hope.

Tiny tweaks will still happen, future edits will definitely happen, but I have said goodbye to the story in a way I hadn't before. When I finished the umpteenth first draft, I knew there were still areas of disconnect, vagueness, lack of payoff. I revised and then revised again, and I shortened it by 10,000 words, trying to adhere to recommended word counts. I already write very tight, it's my style. And then I gave my baby over to three very special, carefully selected readers who I felt would give me three different perspectives on my book and help me see where to revise.

When they did give me feedback, I went into a deep state of the grumbles. Man, it needed work. While everyone felt that the characters were vivid, some of the plot points were not. And all that cutting I had done had, in fact, made parts of the story confusing. The tale lacked a satisfying resolution of the key story areas. The beginning was choppy and overworked. Chase scenes were unrealistic.

I took my three printed copies back with all the sticky notes and the writing in the margins and the extra pieces of paper asking for clarifications of this or that, and I compiled them into six pages, single-spaced, called "changes to final." And then I put it aside for several months.

Changes to final

Somewhere near the end of May I knew it was time, and I tackled the book again, spending six weeks revising the entire thing. I woke up every weekday at 4:30 and just started working. When I got to the end, on June 21st, I had this very strange, calm feeling.

I read the book as a reader. Yeah, it needed a bit of finessing, so I finessed. But it was good. I got teary at the emotional parts and scared at the scary parts. Wow.

And then I started researching agents. I came up with a starter list of 20 agents and wrote a query letter for the first time in my life. You know something? Writing a query letter is harder than writing a book! I thought the first one I wrote was great until I showed it to a writer friend who tore it apart, and then I wrote letter B which is what I'm using now. It may change again. So far one agent has asked me to send him the book. I know this will be a long process, but what a happy little dance my heart did when I pushed "send" last night. Now I can write the next book.

The most amazing thing is the feeling that there's so much room inside my head now. The weight of this project that has taken me so many, many years is gone. I love my characters so much, and I see them smiling and nodding at me, kind of a "you did good" nod. Even Zahn is smiling at me, and he rarely smiles. Emma is feeling so proud. So proud. And I'm so proud of her. What I wouldn't give to sit down with her now and talk about everything and how it all changed at the end. I'm so curious to find out what will happen next.

Author Stephen Messer (Windblowne, The Death of Yorik Mortwell), talked about his method on this blog a while back when he was a guest at Three for Tea: "I immerse myself in anything that engages me with the invented world of my book – each one has its own soundtrack that I listen to while writing, as well as art which surrounds me in my study, and books and movies too. I even go so far as to make thematic screensavers for my writing laptop. I don’t exclude much. This could be seen as distracting, but for me it helps keep my mind fixed on the mood and feel of the story. It’s desirable to have outside stimulation that might encourage an unpredictable choice or a striking detail."

In that vein, I've been allowing my daydreaming mind to spread out in all directions by playing my Van Morrison CDs. Why Van Morrison? My character, Emma Rose, is named after a Van Morrison song, because her parents were and still are huge fans. Playing his music makes her come alive to me. I can see her in all sorts of snips of life―reading her pilot training manual at the racetrack between races, laughing at something Tony says, watching football with her Dad. There are so many locations and situations in which she may find herself as she moves through the next part of her life.

I love Emma and her instincts, but I worry about her limited understanding of herself. Growing up relying on luck and what is meant to be and finding security in betting correctly has allowed her to skate by the necessary task of knowing herself. She has run from that. And she regularly misinterprets others' feelings about her. There is something about real cause and effect that she is missing and that I have only begun to explore. Will Emma crack that open in the sequel?

Which, by the way, will be called DEATH UNDER THE RADAR.

Over the next few weeks, I'll post more exhibits from the writing of DEATH OVER EASY, and talk about it more. No spoilers, I promise.

Poetry Friday is here!

Welcome, one and all, to Poetry Friday! I'm delighted to be your host again and I look forward to rounding up your poetry links as the day goes along.

Early birds can begin leaving your links tonight. Please make sure you weigh them down with a good, solid brick. It's been windy here, and papers and pollen and poems have all been airborne both inside and outside my window.

Speaking of wind, here is the second poem in my unpublished collection, Wind Voices.

Whizzing through the pines on a downhill saucer,
when you leave your breath behind you
and you're screaming all the way,
when the packed snow glitters
and pine needles cascade
and the trees are decked in dangling icicle earrings,
I'll race you to the bottom
on my maple leaf toboggan.
Who am I?

I am Winterchill. Meet me at the bottom of the hill.

You can read poem #1 in the series here.

Visiting your posts throughout the weekend for inspiration as I (again) revise portions of Death Over Easy is a pleasure I look forward to. (I really think I'm coming to the end of this! Optimism has returned.) I'll also be shopping with my mom for dresses to wear to my daughter's wedding in August, so it will be a happy couple of days. Enjoy your weekend, everyone!

Early bird offerings:

Charles Ghigna has a delightful dragonfly dance at Father Goose and a portrait of Degas at Bald Ego today.

Quadruple blogger Diane Mayr treats us to a triple Amy Lowell feature: you can read her poem, "The Sand Alter" at Random Noodling, an "Interlude" featuring strawberries and love at Kurious Kitty's Kurio Kabinet, and a very short poem at Kurious K's Kwotes. Follow your strawberries with some ice cream (a poem by Adrienne Rich and an original haiku by Diane) over at The Write Sisters.

Amy LV shares a Poetry Peek inside a first grade classroom, an original poem about kitten love, and some words about notebooks, the treasures of all writers (I love the photo!) at The Poem Farm.

Gregory K. has two posts today at GottaBook: an original poem inspired by a school year that stretches into June, and another by our new Children's Poet Laureate, J. Patrick Lewis.

Two poems about keeping courage by S.E. Kiser come to you from Tanita Davis. I was not familiar with this 19th century poet before; thank you, Tanita!

The amazingly in-tune-with-the-arts Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference offers up some poetry selections from one of her favorite magazines, Rattle: Poetry for the 21st Century.

Janet at Across the Page has a poem by Kenneth Rexroth about the rose-breasted grosbeak and a video to listen to while reading. Wonderful!

At A Year of Reading, Mary Lee is thinking about dictionaries this week, and she features an original dictionary created by one of her fourth-graders as well as a funny poem on the subject by Gregory K. Here's a sample definition from the dictionary: Fearouge: having fear and courage at the same time.

Laura Shovan at Author Amok talks about the challenge of teaching the concept of voice and shares two portrait poems by third graders written in response to magazine clippings. They're so good, I can hardly believe third graders wrote them!

At There is no such thing as a God-forsaken town, Ruth has a poem by Grace Paley about making a pie instead of writing a poem...and yet we have a poem here...but it is a tasty poem to go with your morning tea or coffee.

Amy at Hope is the Word reviews a charming Alice Schertle book in verse, Little Blue Truck, that her son received for his first birthday. Happy birthday to your DLM, Amy!

Laura Salas has a treat and two poetry challenges for us today. At Writing the World for Kids, she shares an ode to Pho written by a sixth grader. An intriguing photo awaits your creative input at 15 Words or Less Poems. And if you find it hard to come up with titles for your poems, this week's Write After Reading: Living the Life Poetic book club (the feature Laura shares with the lovely Susan Taylor Brown) invites you to write a poem to a given title.

Mid-morning edition:

Carol of Carol's Corner offers serenity in the form of Wendell Berry's "The Peace of Wild Things."

The verbally dangerous David Elzey knocks us for a loop with a surprising poem that answers the question: What is the most dangerous thing to a 12-year-old? Read it at Fomagrams.

A poem by Bob Hicok on the matter of not obtaining a permit to not move stones, and cleverly so forth, can be enjoyed at Rasco from RIF. Thank you, Carol!

At Wild Rose Reader, Elaine Magliaro shares Lillian Morrison's poem, "Holes," in memory of her dear friend, Dr. Stephen Hayes, whom she'd known for fifty years. Those holes, whose hollowness is more like a solid presence than an absence....

Jone at Check It Out shares an original poem about library books that are resisting being returned. I'm not sure what shadorma style is and would love to know―can someone help?

At Semicolon, Sherry posts the mysterious "Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel" by Walter Savage Landor. Maybe you'll be the one to 'splain it.

The indefatigable Jama Rattigan is in with, ohmigosh, peas, over at alphabet soup, and sharing the pod today are poets Kelly Fineman and Penny Harter, as well as Jama's special brand of pea philosophy, which you will find magnificent. And just in time for National Fresh Fruit and Vegetable Month!

Sara Lewis Holmes at Read Write Believe gives us "Morning," by Billy Collins, which captures it all for me, pre-dawn riser that I am! Many of you will relate.

From the profound Jeannine Atkins, who's also on the winterchill wavelength today, a review of Elizabeth Bradfield's collection of narrative verse, Approaching Ice. Read it here, from the warmth of a sunny windowseat.

Karen Edmisten at The Blog with the Shockingly Clever Title gives us a Ted Kooser poem on one of my favorite topics―spiral notebooks. I've been reading a lot of Ted Kooser lately and enjoying his down-to-earth voice. Yoo-hoo, Amy LV! More notebooks for you!

JoAnn Early Macken at Teaching Authors gives us a much-appreciated (by this poet!) lesson in writing a triolet, which looks easier to do than it actually is, and tries her hand at it. I like.

At All About the Books with Janet Squires, Janet reviews City Kids: Street and Skyscraper Rhymes by X.J. Kennedy.

Afternoon poetry delights:

The fabulous Heidi Mordhorst over at my juicy little universe asked second graders to recompose her poem "Botanical Jazz" with vibrant results (and a cool rewrite), which well match her green and yellow page.

Our number one Monday Poetry Stretcher, Tricia, muses about the number one with a mathematical poem by Mary O'Neill over at The Miss Rumphius Effect.

From Beth at Endless Books comes "Robin at Dusk" from poet and Carmelite nun Jessica Powers, a meditation on the power of song to reach its audience.

Shelley is in today with another poem in her long-term project, a narrative in verse called Rain: A Dust Bowl Story.

Tara at A Teaching Life points the way to a useful poetry website for teachers and includes an old favorite by T.S. Eliot. Meow!

Liz over at Liz in Ink shares a glimpse into her family's transition to summer and a concrete poem written by her daughter.

Judy at Learning to Let Go has the poem "Alders" by Amy Clampitt, about returning to the past and finding nothing as it was.

And Myra Garces-Bacsal from Gathering Books brings us a review of Maya Angelou and Jean Michel Basquiat's beautiful book, Life Does Not Frighten Me.

The wind is
cooling off
my tea
too quick!

Wind Voices, for Poetry Friday

Happy Poetry Friday!

Some years ago I published a book of poems called Water Voices. It was a collection of riddles (originally titled Water Riddles) with beautiful watercolors by Julie Downing. Each poem, or riddle, ended with the words, "Who am I?" When you turned the page, you found the answers: Morningmist, Sprinklerspray, Oceanwave, Bedtime Bath, and the like. Each riddle was spoken by one of the many, varied voices water might have.

Here's one, to give you an idea how it works:

When you wake to the banjo strumming of frogs

and the lake is a silky soup

where turtles dive from island-logs

and herons glide and dragonflies skate

and faraway ripples from distant oars

make their slow voyage out,

I trail my white net over the lake

and wait for sunrise.

Who am I?

[turn the page]

I am Morningmist -

doing a disappearing trick.

Originally the collection was meant to be one of a quartet of books about the elements, with Earth Voices, Wind Voices, and Fire Voices to follow. My publisher did not want to commit to all four, so they published the first one and said we'd see how well it sold.

Well, it did okay, but not well enough for the publisher to take a chance and publish the other three. Eventually, even with a recommendation from the Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books and other good reviews, Water Voices went from the warehouse to the jobber's.

I had already written Wind Voices and sketched out poems for the other two in the series. I still hold onto the hope that all four books might be in print someday, somewhere, somehow. I thought I'd offer a wind poem here for Poetry Friday. It's a bit out of season.

After leafdown, after appledrop,
when tiger clouds go prowling
and trees send long-distance messages to a sad and moanly tune,
when shadows hurry
and the red sun sinks
and pumpkins think, and think,
I sweep the leaves all scattery with my broom.

Who am I?

I am Autumngust. Last one home is a green leaf!

You'll find the rest of the poetry roundup at my juicy little universe, blog home of the lovely Heidi Mordhorst. Stop by there and see what everyone else is posting for Poetry Friday. And have a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend!

Mint tea
is good
with
malted milk balls.

Rain and chirping, for Poetry Friday

If the Eskimos have 50 words for snow, based on the local weather this week we should have at least that many for rain. It has rained every day in a different way.

Wednesday won the prize. All day we had torrents of rain alternating with mist. Now and again it would dry out, then a sneaky drizzle would begin, followed by instantaneous massive flooding. There was no escape if you got caught in it.

After work I parked in the shopping center during one of those brief dry spells. I was in the second row of cars from the curb. What is that, 20 yards? I got out and made it ten feet before the drizzle came, and was soaked before I reached the curb.

Amazingly, despite the dark days, every morning I've awakened to the most joyful sound of birds singing in the trees outside my window, chirping their little hearts out.

This week, too, I've been enjoying former Poet Laureate Ted Kooser's book Delights & Shadows, and I found a poem that seems just right. I love it for its simplicity and for the way the poet wraps so much sensory information―sound, temperature, heaviness, thirst―around a single idea.

The Early Bird

Still dark, and raining hard
on a cold May morning

and yet the early bird
is out there chirping,

chirping its sweet-sour
wooden-pulley notes,

and the rest is here.

I'd like to add my congratulations to J. Patrick Lewis on being named the third U.S. Children's Poet Laureate! I was so excited to hear the news, as I love Pat's work. His humor, wordplay, intelligence with language, child-friendliness and range of subject matter make him an excellent choice for this award. We are so lucky! Congrats to Pat!

I reviewed his wonder-ful book, Skywriting: Poems to Fly, in September. If you step over to last week's Poetry Friday menu at Jama's, you'll find links to many more posts about J. Patrick Lewis.

The poetry roundup today is at The Drift Record.

Things I miss about the low-tech life

Pencils. Erasers.

That callous on my middle finger.

Only as much information as I can healthfully process at a time.

Work alternating with rest.

No phone calls when I'm away from home or work.

No constant games. No apps. No news about everything that was never news before, except by way of mouth, friend to friend, neighbor to neighbor.

No beeps, flashing lights, urgent incoming this or that. More of a search for stimulation when desired, not a turning off or turning away from it.

Deadlines that come from within.

Paper and books.

Real things, not screen things.

Time to think.

Time to find a rhythm.

Time to feel the open space of creativity.

A joy in discovering something new, not a sense of anxiety that a thousand people on Facebook have discovered it before me.

What do you miss about the low-tech life?

Giant kites, for Poetry Friday

Happy Poetry Friday! Where are all these kites heading?

They are flying over a windy hillside at the Berkeley Marina on their way to...

...jama rattigan's alphabet soup, where I'm today's guest in her wonderful Poetry Potluck series for National Poetry Month. I should say, Kashi and I are her guests, and kite-fishing is the theme. Stop by to read my poem on the subject and all about lighthouse keepers and this ancient sport done from the high windows of lighthouses. While you're there, be sure to check out Jama's previous Potluck poets, their poems and recipes. You will be inspired. You may also suddenly feel hungry.

Here's another photo I took at the Berkeley Marina that will give you a better idea of the size of these kites:

and there's this one, which I love for its sky and the tininess of the kites and kite-flyers:

oh, and if you're not bored yet, this last one with its dogs going in two directions:

What a fabulous place it was, but incredibly windy on the day my daughter Vanessa, her boyfriend Erik, and I went to buy and fly a kite. We did the buying, then headed to Alameda Beach, where it was somewhat less windy, to do the flying.

Vanessa flying her kite

Today's poem is "kite," by Valerie Worth.

kite

The kite, kept

Indoors, wears

Dead paper

On tight-

Boned wood,

Pulls at the tied

Cord only

By its weight―

But held

To the wind,

It is another thing,

Turned strong,

Struck alive,

Wild to be torn

Away from the hand

Into high air:

Where it rides

Alone,

Glad,

A small, clear

Wing, having

Nothing at all

To do

With string.

Today's Poetry Friday roundup is at Random Noodling. Fly over and enjoy some poetry snacks. Thank you, Diane, for hosting!

Tea goes well
with
NaPoMo.

Happy birthday to my blog!

It's hard to believe The WA is one year old today! Please, help yourself to a piece of pink and purple cake.

When I began I wasn't sure what my blogging goals were or if I could keep it up. But here I am, 365 days and 149 posts later. What do I like about blogging? What have I learned so far?

I've developed a voice and several features I enjoy―Three for Tea, author and illustrator interviews, and Scrips and Scraps. Three for Tea in particular is a fun way for me to invite all of you into my virtual living room and to learn more about the authors I most admire. It's been gratifying for me to see that this feature resonates with so many of you, too.

Interviews are also fun, but require a greater time commitment. I am still interviewing Long Island authors and illustrators, although with less frequency. Related to the interviews are the LICWI Roundups, which now appear only when I have a critical mass of information to impart.

Scrips and Scraps is my commonplace book of blog quotes. I'd like to give this feature more prominence, but I may format it differently (one quote at a time on a specific day) and I may rename it. Stay tuned.

Alas, Kashi does not have her own column yet, but she's been known to step in occasionally and take over on...

... Poetry Friday. I love this special day. Even when I'm not participating, visiting other PF participants' blogs has introduced me to new poets, new forms of poetry, stretches, literary magazines, contests, and of course ever more blogs and bloggers. It's gotten me reading more and writing more. I've purchased many books by members of our amazing poetry community, and I'm so grateful for the new friendships that have come from blogging with you.

For example:

Amy VanDerwater, me, Mary Lee Hahn,
Laura Salas, and Mary Ann Scheuer at Kidlit Con 2010

Since last March 30th, I've made progress in two important areas. First, I completed my second draft of Death Over Easy and am finishing up the third. This is monumental! How did I make it happen? Easy. I visualized DOE in book form, then went at it with determination and gusto.

Just kidding. What I actually did was I put my commitment out there on the blog for all the world to see, so I couldn't back out. I found that this is an excellent way to achieve one's goals!

The second area in which I made progress is my journey toward write-tirement. Here is where visualization did in fact help. I worked up specific goals, crunched numbers, and now have a target date and a way to get there. Happily, I am a whole year closer to write-tirement than I was last year at this time.

I think I'll have another piece of pink and purple cake.

Thank you all for following my blog this year. Thank you for your friendship, support, your warm and wise and funny words. And Kashi thanks you, too.

Happy National Poetry Month!
(April 1 to 30)

After late snow, for Poetry Friday

Happy Poetry Friday! This is what the world looked like outside my window yesterday morning.

Fortunately, the sun came out right away and melted it. But the view brought to mind a poem I once wrote after a late snow.

After Late Snow

Blow up a wind,

blow softly,

blow up a soft wind,

says Spring.

Send a bloom,

send ripening.

Such seedling thoughts are grounded

where they lie.

The garden looks the other way,
adrift in sky.

I've been a little adrift, too, retooling the first 15-20 pages of Death Over Easy. After going over some two dozen earlier drafts, I decided that my first attempts were the best. They gave a better sense of who Emma Trace was and why she was on the brink of change. I had such a fear of overwriting and making the reader wait too long for action that I'd cut too much and flattened her. So I've been putting things back.

With the exception of the action scenes, which were much harder to write than I'd imagined, the rest of the revisions are straightforward. There are details I forgot to tie up (what happened to the letter?), a few impossibilities (a daring escape), and some inaccuracies (time of day, length of swim).

I still have diary entries to write. These will be painful because of the subject matter.

The ending needs to be filled out. A few more things―but not all―should be resolved by the turn of the last page.

And then I will be done (again). And then it goes to a few more readers, including a friend who's a retired homicide detective. And then―off to agents or publishers. I'm not sure which way to go yet.

Next week I will literally be adrift in sky as I head to California to visit my oldest daughter and her boyfriend. I get to spend a few lovely days inhaling the jasmine in Berkeley, watching the Afters do improv, getting my hair cut by my fave stylist, sightseeing, shopping at the Berkeley Bowl and Mrs. Dalloway's Bookshop, laughing, talking, and catching up on our lives. Hooray!

Go visit the fabulous Mary Lee over at A Year of Reading for the rest of the Poetry Friday roundup.

6 more days till
National Poetry
Month!

"After Late Snow" © Toby Speed 2011. All rights reserved.