The LadyKillers

That Pesky Body Language

I’ve never really had a problem writing dialogue for my books. Maybe it’s because I started having conversations with my imaginary friends when I was a young child. I’d sit in my room each night after my parents put me to bed at a ridiculously early hour and chat and chat and chat with myself. I’ve stopped doing that now (good thing, or it might freak out my husband), but I find it fairly easy to imagine all these conversations the characters in my book are having and then jot down their words.

The problem comes with what my characters are doing while they’re talking. I have a horrible
time describing the body language as they chat. You can have someone shrug only so many times before it gets old. Or smile. Or grimace. Or frown. I’ve noticed lots of conversations in books take place in bars and restaurants, and I think it’s because it’s so easy to have people take a bite, chew, wipe their mouth with a napkin, and sip whatever they’re drinking. When you stick them in a car
together or have them stand outside with nothing to do but talk, it gets harder to fill in these physical movements.

I’m always telling myself I need to watch a good dramatic film with a wide range of emotions so I can see how the actors behave. That way, I can describe some of those techniques and give my writing an authentic air. Of course, I always get sucked into the plot and forget to pay any attention, but maybe those gestures and behaviors are settling into my subconscious. I can’t find them when I poke around in my brain, but I’m sure they’re there somewhere.

I could also plant myself in a chair at my local Starbucks and watch how people act while they’re conversing. The people are bound to sip lots of coffee and stir in lots of sugar packets, but I can still observe their facial expressions and nervous habits to see what else they do. It might be fun
trying to figure out what exactly they’re talking about. Is it a couple arguing over why the wife came home late last night? Is it a first date that isn’t going well? A job interview that the candidate is excelling at? I can almost imagine the dialogue in my head already.

Where else is a great place to watch people talk?

Coming to Social Media

I’m not sure how I came to writing, since I feel like I’ve
always been writing, so I thought I’d talk about coming to social media. Let’s
just say that I haven’t arrived yet. I mean, sure, I’ve got this blogging thing
down, but that’s basically a type of writing that I then post online. It’s the
rest of the social media world that I’m lost in.

I’ve mostly figured out Facebook (well, if you don’t count
the fact that half the time when I try to search for someone, I type inside my
status box instead). My biggest Facebook problem is what to post. What on earth
would people find interesting? What do I want to share? Because of this, I
don’t post as often as I’d like. Instead, I’m mostly a lurker. I check in a
couple of times a day to keep up with what my friends are doing. And while I
initially didn’t care for the Like button, it’s now my best friend. It lets me
acknowledge that I’ve read someone’s post and enjoyed it without having to
think up a witty comment to add. My brain doesn’t think in such brief snippets.

Which makes Twitter an absolute nightmare. Just looking at
the list of tweets from other people makes me sweat. Do I need to include hash
tags in my comments? How do I even make a tiny url? And what’s with all the @
signs? I don’t even know what they mean! My Twitter account is currently
dormant until I can think up something so pithy and earth-shattering that it’s
worth the trouble to figure out this secret language. It might be a while.

Since Twitter is so complicated (at least to me), I thought I’d
try Pinterest. How hard could it be to simply pin a picture to a bulletin
board? Ridiculously hard, apparently. First I requested permission to join, a nerve-wracking
process in itself. For some reason, I had an illogical fear of rejection, like
they were going to tell me that since I’d never tweeted, I wasn’t cool enough
to join Pinterest.

Once I got approval, I set up my account. It looked so sad.
I had zero pins, zero bulletin boards, and zero likes. I created some bulletin
boards, but now all I had was a set of empty bulletin boards, not much of an
improvement. I installed the little Pin It gadget on my Favorites Bar, but for
the life of me, I still couldn’t figure out how to pin something. I surfed the
web a while, hoping a little box would magically pop up and ask me if I wanted
to pin that picture to a bulletin board, but that didn’t happen. I reinstalled
the Pin It gadget, thinking I’d messed that part up, but it made no difference.
Finally, after clicking on a bunch of stuff, I accidentally managed to pin a
book on one of my bulletin boards. The only problem is that I’m not entirely
sure how I did it, and within two hours, I’d completely forgotten what I was
even doing when I pinned it.

I’m starting to feel like that old couple whose video went viral
on YouTube as they tried to figure out their web cam. Or the crotchety neighbor
who’s always lamenting the youth of today and how back in his day, kids
communicated with two tin cans and a string.

But I can’t give up. I’ll figure out this social media thing
one of these days. Of course, right around the time I learn how to tweet, pin,
or post something, the next great social site will appear. I just hope I don’t
have to have my six-year-old son teach me how to use it. How embarrassing would
that be?

Potty Training Prison

I’m in prison.

Not the literal prison with the bars and cellblocks and a
giant, muscle-bound weightlifting roommate named Tiny. No, this is a virtual
prison called the Potty Training Prison. I won’t go into details about potty
training my youngest. After all, this is a mystery blog, not a horror blog. But
suffice it to say that my little one has gotten clingy with all these Big Kid
changes. Attending the Left Coast Crime conference didn’t help. Here I
abandoned the poor guy for three whole days while he was trying to figure out
how to pull his pants up and down and sit on a little plastic chair. I’d keep a
close eye on me too, if I were him.

But this constant companionship is getting a bit ridiculous.
Even if I tell him I’m only going upstairs to switch out a load of laundry, he
comes with me. Even if I explain that I have to run downstairs for the phone,
but that I’ll be right back, he comes with me. If I manage to hop the gate and
slip into the bathroom without him, he stands at the gate and hollers until I
come out. If I sit down, he sits in my lap. If I sit down with a book in my
hand, he’ll take the book, close it, and sit in my lap. Heaven forbid if I sit
down and put the laptop in my lap. Do you have any idea how hard it is to fit a
laptop and a thirty-pound toddler in one lap? It’s next to impossible, which is
why Potty Training Prison isn’t the place to get any writing done. It’s simply
too hard to type around the kid in my lap.

Sometimes his older brother will distract him so I can write
a few words, but it doesn’t last long. Within five minutes, he has to come find
me to make sure I haven’t tied the sheets together and rappelled out the window
or built a secret hiding place in the wall with a spoon and some duct tape.

I know this can’t last forever. I know I’ll eventually be
paroled in September when he starts preschool two days a week (only five more
months, but who’s counting). And once I kick him out of the car -- I mean drop
him off at school -- I’ll look back on this time wistfully, missing that big
cuddly kid who just wanted his mom to love him all day. But until then, I’m
hoping for solitary confinement. At least I’ll get some writing done.

I'll Take Door Number Two

A second choice is important when writing a mystery. More
than once, I’ve had a plan in mind for how I want the book to go, only to find
out later that those wonderful plans weren’t going to work after all. Even
though I don’t outline the entire book before I start writing, I do pick the
murder victim, the killer, and the surrounding characters. I envision how the
first few chapters will unfold, and then start writing. But in the last two
books, I’ve been less than halfway through the first draft when I’ve realized
that my initial plans were flawed.

When I was writing my second book, which I’m about ready to
send to my editor, I selected the killer at the very start. As I wrote the
draft and fleshed out the characters, I realized that the chosen person was all
wrong for the role of the killer. I just didn’t have a strong enough sense of
that person and their motivation, and I knew the reader would sense my lack of
commitment. Instead, I took a look at the other suspects and picked a new
killer, one that I thought was more believable and ultimately worked out fine.

Similarly, I’m currently drafting my third book, I just hit
the midway point (at least I’m guessing it’s the midway point), and I realized
my first choice for a second murder victim won’t work. If I killed off the
person I had in mind, along with the person murdered in the first chapter, the
killer would be way too obvious. Those two people and their association together
would narrow the suspect list down to two, with one person being significantly
more likely than the other to be the guilty party. So I had to look to a second
choice for my other victim. I thought about the plot and where the story was
going and selected someone else, along with a reason for them to die. Since I’m
still in the drafting stage, I’m hoping I can easily rework the parts I’ve
already written and finish the story with no one being the wiser that Victim
Number 2 was also Choice Number 2.

While I must admit to groaning out loud when I find my
original choices no longer fit into the puzzle like I’d hoped, I always change
their roles and go with a second option. Sure, I could insist on sticking to my
original choice and then poke and prod the character, trying to squeeze them
into their predetermined role, but that would result in an awkward and
unsatisfying book. Nobody wants that. Sometimes the second choice is the best
choice.

Dusting for Fingerprints

Staci here, on my every other Saturday, to talk about clues.

More often than not, clues are a stumbling block when
writing a mystery, at least for me. Readers want them, stories need them, and
the more I think about how much I really have to have solid clues, the harder
it is to think them up.

On occasion, I’ll read a mystery that has no clues in it.
The main character blusters their way through the story, talking to people,
visiting places, and running into danger, but in the end, they stumble across
the solution by sheer good fortune, with nary a clue in all those previous
three hundred pages. Personally, I find that infuriating. It’s not a fair game
if I have no chance of solving the mystery. I don’t care what the clue is; just
make sure there is one. Mention something vital in an off-hand manner in the
middle of mindless babble, so I can read about it later and say, “Shoot, I
missed that.” Stick the bloody murder weapon in a flower pot full of gardening
tools, so when the detective mentions it later, I can say “Gee, is that what
that was?” As long as the clues are there, I’m happy.

Agatha Christie was a genius at planting clues and putting
them all together at the end to solve the case. While I generally don’t have
quite as many as her, I try to have at least two or three to give the reader some
opportunity to beat the detective to the solution. If I can think up the clue when
I’m planning the story, or even during the writing process, then things usually
work out fine. It’s when I finish the book and realize I need to put in one
more clue that things get hairy. No matter how much I tweak the text and smooth
out the words to try and slip in the clue, I feel like it’s screaming for
attention. I might as well put the clue in all caps and bold, because that’s
how obvious I think the vital information is. I realize it’s probably not that
blatant (notice I say probably), but since the clue wasn’t there in the
original text, it seems unnatural to be in there now. Then I have to weave in
more meaningless information and try to bury the clue so even I forget it’s
there. I just hope I can bury it half as deep as Christie managed to.

Who else besides Agatha Christie is good at planting clues? Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle comes to mind. Anyone else?

I Need a Hobby

Staci here on my every other Saturday. 

I need a hobby. Oh, sure, I have hobbies, like reading, cooking for fun, or solving puzzle books. But I need a good hobby, one that takes years of experience and a certain amount of knowledge to really excel at.

That’s the trend these days in the cozy mystery world. If the main character doesn’t have an interesting job like owning an ice cream shop, organizing closets, or running a booth at the farmer’s market, then they at least need to have a hobby, something that the reader would be interested to learn more about while they try to figure out the who, how, and why of the murder. I’ve read mysteries where the main character raises bees for honey in their spare time, one who scrapbooks, and another who creates miniatures (now, who could that be?). As I read these books, I learn all sorts of tidbits about how to calm agitated bees or turn household objects into miniature furniture. Not only is the information interesting, but it adds more depth to the main story. And often times, recipes or tips are included at the end of the book in case the reader is interested in trying their own hand.

Which leads me back to my hobbies. I love to cook, but I only like to cook other people’s recipes. Force me to cook something from scratch, and I’d starve to death, so clearly a book that requires original recipes is out of the question. I love to read, but seriously, no one wants to read a book about the main character sitting on her couch, reading books. So instead of writing a book that revolves around a hobby, I guess I’ll just keep reading those cozy mysteries that do. Not only will I get the pleasure of trying to figure out the killer, but I’ll also learn a little something along the way. It’s the best of both worlds.

What are some of your favorite mystery series that involve a hobby? 

Have a Heart

Staci here, on my every other Saturday.

Compassion is a hard concept to nail down. You always hear, “Show a little compassion,” but what exactly does that phrase mean? Does running into a burning building to rescue a tenant count as compassion? Not really, as that’s more a demonstration of heroics. Would helping a little old lady cross the street fall under compassion? I’d categorize that more as kindness. Does letting an out-of-work relative sleep on your sofa and eat all your cheese doodles count? That’s usually a sense of obligation.

After several more examples that weren’t quite correct, I broke down and looked up the definition of compassion. According to Merriam-Webster, compassion is the “sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it.” That clears things up a bit. It’s not so much the actions that people take that count as compassion, but the feelings that lead up to those actions. Without compassion, people might not be inclined to act when they notice a lost child at the mall or see a homeless family living on the streets. Without compassion, people would live in an “every man for himself” society with never a good deed done, unless it somehow benefitted the person doing the deed.

At times, a lack of compassion seems to permeate today’s society, with everyone focusing on themselves, cutting others off in traffic, trying to beat the other guy. But then you read the paper, and there are countless acts every day that are based on compassion: the woman who started a non-profit to help battered women find jobs, the police officer who raised money to replace the motorcross bike that someone stole from a six-year-old, the man who spends every weekend cooking and delivering meals to the homeless.

Turns out, the world isn’t a cold, heartless place after all. Lots of decent people want to help and often do, which then inspires others to do the same. What are some acts of compassion that you’ve witnessed recently?

My Initiation into Novel Writing

Staci here, on my every other Saturday. I don’t think I’ve ever been formerly initiated into anything. I never joined a sorority, so I haven't sworn an allegiance to the house while wearing a black robe at midnight (I actually thought that only happened in movies, until I read Mary Anna’s post on Monday). I’ve never been subjected to a hazing while joining band class. But if I use the word in a broader sense, it brings to mind my initiation into the world of novel-writing many years ago…

It was a dark and stormy night. Wait, that’s not right. It was a clear and sunny day in an office where we’d recently hired a new technical writer. He kept raving about this thing called National Novel Writing Month, where you write 50,000 words during the 30 days of November. Back then, it was still relatively unknown with few participants, but he was enamored with the idea. Sadly, November had already come and gone, so he had missed that year’s event. We decided to set up our own little NaNoWriMo and got to work, checking in with each other every few days for encouragement and confirmation. At the time, I’d never written anything longer than a short story, except for a brief attempt at book writing back in high school with the end result being short enough to still qualify as a short story. Still, I kept plugging away day after day. And lo and behold, at the end of thirty days, I had a 50,000+ word novel.

Now, what to do with the thing? I could read through the entire work start to finish and edit it. Nope. I could stick it in a drawer, content in knowing I’d accomplished my goal. Nope. I decided to send out query letters for it. In my newbie enthusiasm, I was just sure a publisher would snap it right up. I bought myself a copy of Writer’s Market, read through the publishers that didn’t require agents, and selected one that included mysteries. Confident in my impending success, I sent off my query letter.

I got a reply within two weeks. As I carried the envelope into the house, I decided that they must be so enthused with my project that they wanted to make me an offer right away before some other publisher nabbed me.

But what was this? This wasn’t an offer for fame and riches. This was just your run-of-the-mill rejection letter. How could that be? Didn’t they recognize genius? After a few more of these rejections, I reassessed the situation and decided maybe my work wasn’t quite ready. Perhaps I needed to spend more time honing my writing skills and learning about the industry, of which I knew pretty much nothing.

Thus began my slow and steady journey to publication. It took a long time and several drafts, including two for NaNoWriMo, but I finally reached my destination. If you’ve considered writing a novel but can’t seem to get started, NaNoWriMo could be the very thing to give you that extra shove.

My Source of Inspiration

Staci here, thinking about character inspiration.

Potential characters are all around us, from the heavily-tattooed Starbucks barista to the lady who walks her dog five or six times a day to the neighbor who always hides inside his house. And, of course, literature provides an endless supply of characters to study and be inspired by. Who wouldn’t want to be as smart and observant as Sherlock Holmes or Miss Marple? Or as plucky and resourceful as Nancy Drew?

While books have presented fascinating characters for centuries, I’ve found that my largest source of character inspiration is television. Perhaps that’s because I watch quite a bit of TV (something that was never more obvious than this week after my cable box died and the new one took several days to arrive), but more likely it’s because I’m a fan of serialized programs.  I see the same people week after week in these shows and become familiar with their mannerisms until one day, I realize that a single character has risen above the others. That’s when I stop and try to figure out exactly why I like that character more than the others. It usually boils down to some unusual personality trait that creates unexpected humor.

Take Detective Cho, a regular on The Mentalist. He’s a no-nonsense straight shooter, not one to be trifled with. But at least once an episode, he delivers a deadpan observation that makes me laugh. Fill an entire hour with these statements, and the effect would immediately disappear, but offer up the occasional one-liner, and the impact is always spot-on.

Another favorite character is Walter on Fringe. He’s a brilliant scientist with a childlike naiveté. It’s a wonderful combination that keeps his actions and statements fresh and surprising. He livens up every scene he’s in with his random requests for favorite foods or certain music, even while staring at a dismembered body or unidentifiable creature. For all his quirks, his scientific acumen is never in question.

What do these two characters have in common? They both represent stereotypical roles (serious cop, genius scientist) that could easily go unnoticed in the rest of the cast. However, writers from both shows have given them each a unique twist that lifts them above the crowd of sameness and makes them note-worthy.

I try to keep this in mind when I’m creating new characters for my own books. First, I figure out what role they’re filling, such as a nosy neighbor, a disapproving boss, or a stern police officer, and then I try to figure out what unexpected characteristics I can give them that will break that mold and help them stand out. If I get stuck, I put away the manuscript and go watch a little TV, curious to see which character will inspire me next.

Which TV characters inspire you?

My Current Writing Routine

Staci here, on my every other Saturday.

My writing routine is one of optimism. Every morning, I get up and wonder if today is the day both kids will sleep in and allow me to get some writing done before they get up. Of course, that only happens about once a month, but I still boot up the laptop and have it at the ready for those moments when the kids decide to play in their rooms or are immersed in an episode of Bubble Guppies. Then I write as much as I can and try not to get distracted by email, news, or the latest celebrity gossip.

Thank goodness my youngest, Connor, still naps. As soon as I drop my oldest off at Kindergarten, Connor falls asleep in the car. All right, I occasionally drive miles out of my way to make sure he’s asleep before we get home, but if he doesn’t nap, then I don’t get to write. Once he’s asleep, my optimism pops up again. Maybe this will be the day he naps for two hours instead of his usual one. Maybe I’ll get a week’s worth of writing done during one long nap. And sometimes that does happen. Other times, the extra nap time is so unexpected that I become flustered and can’t figure out what to do with the sudden bonus. I squander it on web surfing and snacking.

Once Connor wakes up, I still leave the laptop on. You never know when I might catch a spare minute. Sometimes I write a bit while the kids are playing in the tub. Other times, I’ll slip in a word or two while I’m cooking dinner. If I feel like I’m not accomplishing enough, I’ll even write after the kids have gone to bed, though my brain is usually working at half speed by then.

With all these little writing moments, I get the work done. It’s not always my best work, or even good work, but it’s something that I can edit and improve upon later.

So I’ll stick with this routine for now. Only nine more months until Connor starts part-time preschool, not that I’m counting. Excluding travel time and pick-up/drop-off, I’ll have approximately four free hours a week to write in absolute silence. I’m overwhelmed just thinking about it. What will I do with all that time? I may have to redo my writing routine.