The following post appeared on my personal blog, Telling the Truth, Mainly, in April 2022. But the story of my writing process is always worth a retelling. Please read on.
*************
Sometime back in the 1930s, my grandmother picked up the telephone receiver just in time to hear the Methodist minister’s wife, on the party line, drawl, “I am just wo-ahn out. I’ve been waterin’ the yahd.”
To those not in the know, the statement might not seem funny, but my family has its own criteria for funny. And so those two sentences entered our vernacular.
They were used under a variety of circumstances: after stretching barbed wire, frying chicken, mowing the lawn, doing nothing in particular.
My father would fold the newspaper, set it on the table, and announce, “I am just wo-ahn out. I’ve been waterin’ the yahd.”
I am wo-ahn out now but not from waterin’ the yahd.
Putative novel 2022
Last night David, the family’s official printer, printed the manuscript of what I’ve been calling my putative novel. It runs to over two hundred pages, 51,000 words. It isn’t finished—far from it. There’s more to write, scenes to put in order, clues and red herrings to insert, darlings to kill. All that stuff. And more.
However, for the first time it feels like I can stop calling it putative. No longer supposed, alleged, or hypothetical. It’s looking more like a potential novel. Possible, Even probable.
Now, about being wo-ahn out.
Last night I started putting the manuscript, scene by scene, into a three-ring binder. That required using a three-hole punch.
I hate using three-hole punches. I hate fitting the holes in the paper onto the binder rings. They never fit properly. Getting them on the rings requires effort. It’s tiring.
When I went to bed, I was all the way up to page 37.
Then I woke at 5:30 this morning. Instead of turning over and going back to sleep, I got up. I just couldn’t wait to get back to organizing my manuscript.
But I didn’t organize. I managed to drop the whole thing onto the floor and then couldn’t pick it up. (I’d had knee surgery and wasn’t quite up to bending over that far.) I had to wait for David.
Putative novel 2022-2024
By the time the notebook and manuscript were back in my possession, I was sick and tired of the whole thing. I played Candy Crush.
If I’d had any sense at all, I’d have gone back to bed. I was sleepy. I felt awful. I needed to sleep.
But did I go back to bed? Noooooooooooooooooooooo. That would have been the act of a rational person.
I stayed up added to my sleep deprivation.
I could go to bed right now. I could conk out and tomorrow feel ever so much better.
But will I? No. Because I’m too tired to stand up, too tired to put on my pajamas, too tired to pull down the sheets.
I am just wo-ahn out. I’ve been waterin’ the yahd.
***
Things have changed since 2022. Some days, the novel has reverted to putative, but on most days, it’s still possible. Thanks to extensive revision, the current draft bears little resemblance to the one in the notebook. I have given up three-ring binders and three-hold punches.
***
M. K. Waller’s latest story, “Mine Eyes Dazzle,” appears in the eclipse-themed anthology Dark of the Day, edited by Kaye George (Down and Out Books, 2024). Other stories appear inDay of the Dark (Wildside, 2017), Lone Star Lawless (Wildside, 2017), Murder on Wheels (Wildside, 2015), and online on Mysterical-E. She is co-author of the novella Stabbed (Starpath, 2019), written with Manning Wolfe. She also writes as Kathy Waller. She lives in Austin and blogs at Telling the Truth, Mainly.
April 1! It’s spring, with a riot of bluebonnets this year.
Plus paintbrush! Winecup! Verbena! Prairie celestials (so lovely)!
And within the fence, safe from our marauding burros, the roses are opening their petals and sharing their beauty. Humans have been growing and hybridizing roses for millenia. I favor those with deep rose fragrance. This year the sniff prize goes to Madame Isaac Pereire,
but Zephirine Drouhine is a strong contender as well—sweet perfume, but no thorns!
Blooming with pride are Cramoisi Superieur, fun to pronounce, and dainty little Perle d’or, below.
Yes, the French have been busy. But I’m waiting on the spectacular Star of the Republic, which is covered with buds that will become exquisite cream and pink roses, and is almost as tall as Texas.
Thanks for human ingenuity and the deep love of beauty and fragrance that resulted in these roses. We humans are so able to produce beauty—and yet we mystery readers and writers know how gripped we are by the companion question: why do humans commit the primal sin of murder?
I’ve been reading a riveting book called How the Mind Changed, A Human History of Our Evolving Brain (2022), by neuroscientist Joseph Jebelli, who studies the genetic history of the human brain. I’ve had to put stickers and checks on so many pages!
Jebelli says that, starting about 7 million years (or 230,000 generations) ago, when humans split from chimps, our brains were only 350 cm3 big. Then 3.5 million years ago, when our ancestor Lucy came along, we got a new uniquely human gene that gave us a folding neocortex and nearly doubled our brain size to 650 cm3.
Later, he says, our brains bloomed to 900 cm3, when we began cooking (maybe 2.7 million years ago), then to 1000 cm3, about 2.5 million years ago, then to 1500 cm3 500,000 years ago, and then grew another 25% by the time, 300,000-400,000 years ago, when Homo sapiens appeared.
Later research shows—the bigger the brain, the bigger the social group. Id., 69.
And lucky Homo sapiens came along when our planet was in extreme ecological instability: “African megadroughts depleted the land’s fresh water; vanishing grasslands diminished the number of animals available…” Homo sapiens spread across the planet, interbreeding along the way with the Neanderthals (who went extinct around 40,000 years ago), and the Denisovans, Neanderthal cousins from Asia. Most humans outside Africa carry around 2 percent Neanderthal-derived DNA while today humans in Papua New Guinea and Australia possess up to 6% Denisovan DNA.
Now we have tools of advanced microscopy and molecular genetics to use “the mosaic of neurons, the constellation of synapses and the tributaries of molecules to learn the age of the brain and the transformations it has seen.” Îd., 21.
But it’s Jebelli’s discussion of brain research on “fair play” that I find most fascinating – whether the experiment uses rats, vampire bats, or humans. “Our minds intuitively draw a distinction between unfair equality (all students receiving the same…grades regardless of merit) and fair inequality (the doctor earning more than the cleaner). When push comes to shove, humans nearly always prefer fair inequality to unfair equality.” Jebelli goes on to explain that when we humans engage in fair play, we experience a surge of neural activity in our brain’s reward centers, releasing dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins. Id., 68.
Watch out: scientists are identifying gene mutations that explain amazing things. “Non-monogamous brains tend to have a special kind of dopamine receptor gene called DRD4, which is linked to promiscuity and infidelity.” Id., 78. Use that in a plot, mystery-writers!
But I was thrilled by the focus on the link between strong imagination and intelligence in our “default network, a brain system that participates in daydreaming, mind wandering, reflective thinking and imagining the future….People who engage in these cognitive practices…have greater access to the states of mind necessary to solve complex problems.” Id., 115. Jebelli says our default networks are only active when we’re not focused on a task, “when the brain is cycling through thoughts not associated with the immediate environment.” In other words, the default network contrasts with our executive control network. Jebelli makes another leap: compassion also stimulates the default network. “Compassion requires imagination. ‘Climb into his skin and walk around in it,’ Atticus tells Scout.” But imagination also requires compassion. Id., 119.
Why has this book grabbed me? As a mystery writer I wrestle with why some humans will run into the street to save a child from a bus, and some will just watch; and why and how some humans invent gripping new imaginative worlds (Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Slough House, Yoknapatawpha County, the Forest of Arden, Hat Creek and the saga of Lonesome Dove) that tell of human struggles and victories, tragedies and comedies. Yes, writers who stimulate our “default networks”!
So you might like to take a peek at How the Mind Changed—check out the chapter on that age-old conundrum––what is consciousness? And the chapter on different minds, or neurodiversity, including genetic components. And the chapter on the new field of neurocriminology: what makes humans commit crimes? Which brain regions are responsible for violence? One possibility—it’s an area of the hypothalamus called the ventromedial hypothalamus, “an ancient brain region that has been conserved throughout mammalian evolution.” Yikes!
As Jebelli notes, plots will abound from this inquiry, this research. As always, inquiring minds want to know.
Meanwhile, it’s April! So let us now praise Geoffrey Chaucer – whose compassion and imagination gave us “Whan that April with his showres soote The droughte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veine in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flowr…”
And further to celebrate—Book 9 of my Alice MacDonald Greer legal thriller series has gone off for copy-edit. Yes, again the primal crime has been committed…!
I love movies, and I’m sure there are plenty of difficulties for actors to keep the emotions required of a scene fresh from take to take and working out of the order the story. But it’s live theater that hold a magical universe for me, beginning with the fact that the actor on stage doesn’t have the benefit of do-overs. If he/she makes a mistake, he/she must cover it and incorporate it into the story or the dance.
I have just seen the world premiere of Ballet Austin’s Poe. A ballet on the life and madness of Edgar Allen Poe. This ballet explores the mind of one of America’s most brilliant writers. But, like all live theater productions, in every discipline, from Ballet to Opera, to Musical Theater to Drama, all the magic is not on the stage and visible to the audience’s eye. The sets, props, and special effects add imagination and intensity to the developing story and require an army of talented and dedicated stagecraft experts responsible for different aspects of the production the audience never sees.
Scenery is designed by set designers and then built by carpenters and stagehands, sometimes while the production is on stage before a live audience. Want to see this in action? Watch one of the Metropolitan Opera companies’ performances on TV. Often, during the intermissions, there will be interviews with the performers, and in the background, you will see the carpenters breaking down, moving out or up the sets and backdrops no longer needed, and pulling in and doing last-minute construction on the next sets to be used.
Lighting ranges from simple to very complicated and requires the technicians to operate multiple fixtures at different locations, like on a light bridge, the suspended platform above the stage. It’s located behind the proscenium arch above the performers’ heads. The technicians use those lights as spots to illuminate the performers on stage. Like the artists performing, their only break is during intermissions when the light bridge is lowered.
The Prop Master places the props where the performers can easily access them while the show is on stage. Usually in the side wings – AND THEY ARE SACROSANCT! Performers rehearse with their props, and the location and position of the props on the table must be the same at all times, for sometimes the performer will reach for something in the dark. Wouldn’t it be terrible if in a drama, the performer reaches for a gun and returns to the bright lights of the stage with a rolling pin?
Sound in theaters is very important, and the sound technicians must lock in the microphone locations and settings. They are on duty in the sound booth throughout rehearsals and performances.
Two of my favorite and most exciting jobs in the backstage world of magic are the wardrobe masters’and the prompters’ jobs. An enlightening report on the challenges and responsibilities of a wardrobe supervisor in the world of opera can be read in the New York Times 2012, feature on the character of The Opera Wardrobe Diva. A look into the role of Suzi Gomez-Pizzo, the wardrobe supervisor for female leads, at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City.
They aren’t ever on stage, but their importance to the performers cannot be underestimated. Often, they remain in the wings and give the performers an extra boost of confidence, especially when rapid changes while the show continues are required.
Then there are the prompters. Some say it is a dying art, but the prompter is still vital in many cases, especially in opera. The prompters are hidden in a stuffy box below the stage. Only their heads are above the stage floor, with a cover making them invisible to the audience. Actors and singers rely on them for support, assistance, and reminders of upcoming lines. In opera, the prompter must be a skilled musician who can even sing the role but doesn’t. He or she provides support for the singers. A revealing description of the work and the importance of the prompter in opera can be read at:
To all of this, add the theatre superstitions, another layer of backstage mystery. These superstitions impact everyone from custodians to stars, and their power cannot, nor should ever be ignored. Ranging from never whistling backstage to leaving a ghost light on when the stage is empty, these beliefs are a constant part of theater life.
This is the world in which Mrs. B. and Father Melvyn find themselves in book two of the Housekeeper Mystery Series, Catwalk Dead: Murder in the Rue de L’Histoire Theatre. They must help find the reasons for mysterious accidents and solve a murder before anyone else dies. They, too, wonder if the strange incidents are part of the Macbeth curse or the evil in some human hearts.
Copyright 2024, Francine Paino, All rights reserved.
In November 2019, a Texas woman was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for mailing explosive devices to President Barak Obama and Governor Greg Abbot. The crime had occurred in October 2016. The break: Investigators found a cat hair under the address label on one of the packages and matched it to one of the suspect’s cats. The following post, reprinted from the blog Telling the Truth, Mainly, includes facts not released to the news media at the time–the rest of the story.
*
AUSTIN — Three cats suspected of helping owner Julia Poff mail explosive devices to former President Barak Obama and TexasGovernor Greg Abbott were released from custody late Thursday following questioning by federal law enforcement officers.
FBI crime lab investigators had found a cat hair under the address label on the package containing the explosives and traced it to the Poff cats. It is alleged that Ms. Poff sent the potentially deadly devices to former President Obama and Governor Greg Abbott because she was mad at them.
Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” Poff were taken from the Poff home in Brookshire, Texas, 34 miles west of Houston, Thursday around 9:00 a.m.
Muffy
FBI Agent Arnold Specie, chief of the Houston Bureau, announced in a press conference late Thursday that after intense grilling, officials were satisfied the cats had no connection to any nefarious activities.
“The only thing they’re guilty of is shedding on paper their owner later used to wrap the explosive devices. You can’t fault cats for shedding.”
He said there’s no doubt these are the right cats. “The fur of all three exhibits white hair. That’s true even of Puffy Poff, who is mostly orange but has a couple of white spots on her underside.” He assured the press that DNA testing will confirm the hair belongs to one of the Poff cats.
A reliable source, speaking on condition of anonymity, however, said he’s not so sure. “They know more than they’re telling,” he said. “It’s impossible to get anything out of suspects that keep falling asleep in the middle of questioning. And every time Muffy rolled over, Specie gave her a belly rub. Specie’s always been soft on cats.”
The early morning raid, which involved a number of federal agents as well as a Houston PD Swat team on stand-by, rocked this usually quiet community to its very core.
“I could tell something was going down,” said neighbor Esther Bolliver. “I was outside watering my rose bushes when I saw these men wearing dark suits and ties crouching behind Julia’s privet hedge. One of them was holding out what looked to be a can of sardines, and saying, ‘Kitty kitty kitty,’ in a high-pitched voice, you know, like you use whenever you call cats. I thought it was Animal Control.”
Mrs. Bolliver ran inside and told her husband. “I said, ‘Bert, come outside and look,’” she said.
“I knew they was G-Men first thing,” said Bert Bolliver. “It was the fedoras give ’em away. Animal Control don’t wear fedoras.”
Puffy
Ten-year-old Jason Bolliver, who had been kept home from school with a sore throat, added that the raid was exciting. “It’s the best thing that’s happened here since my teacher had her appendix out.”
Agent Garrison Fowle (pronounced Fole), who led the raid, said capturing the cats proved remarkably easy. “The sardines did the trick. Those cats ran right over and we grabbed them and wrapped them in big terry cloth bath sheets and stuffed them into carriers. It was a snap.”
Neighbors, however, contradict Agent Fowle’s account, pointing out that the Brookshire Fire Department had to be summoned to get Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” out of a live oak near the corner of the Poff property. It is believed she bolted because she realized the sardines were bait instead of snacks.
Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud”
While at the Poff residence, BFD EMTs bandaged second-degree scratches on Agent Fowle’s face. They also administered Benadrylto Agent Morley Banks, who had broken out in hives.
Agent Delbert Smits was airlifted to Ben Taub Hospital in Houston. Information about his condition has not been released, but Mrs. Bolliver observed Ben Taub has a first-class psychiatric emergency room, and she thinks that’s why Smits was taken all the way into Houston.
“By the time they got Pud-Pud down from that tree, the poor man was staggering around like he had a serious case of the fantods.”
After their release, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” were relocated to an unspecified location.
Special Agent Fowle said the initial plan was to fly them to Washington, D. C., in the care of Agent Banks, for further debriefing, but Agent Banks put the kibosh on that, saying there was no way in hell he was going to spend one more minute in the company of “those [expletive deleted] cats.” Fowle said Agent Banks has been granted sick leave until he stops scratching.
When the commotion has died down a bit, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” will be honored for their part in the capture of their owner at a joint session of the Texas Legislature at the State Capitol in Austin and a reception hosted by Governor Greg Abbott at the Governor’s Mansion.
Former President Barak Obama announced that on their next swing through Texas, he and Michelle want to take the cats out for a catfish dinner.
“Let me be clear,” President Obama said. “Although totally and completely innocent of any crime, these cats surely had a positive influence on the perp. The criminal activity Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” witnessed was fair and balanced, targeting both a Democrat and a Republican, and as such is the first bipartisan effort I’ve come across since my first inauguration.”
After law enforcement officers left, neighbors expressed concern about the cats’ future welfare. The Bolliver family, noting the three felines spend most of the day sleeping on the hood of their Buick anyway, wanted to take them, but their offer was rejected.
Instead, Muffy, Puffy, and Sybil-Margaret “Pud-Pud” will make their home in Houston with Special Agent Specie.
The three burros who live with Alice MacDonald Greer, lawyer/amateur sleuth protagonist of my Texas Hill Country legal thrillers, bear a strong resemblance to the three burros who rule our patch of the Hill Country.
We manage our small piece of the planet for native grasses and birds under the county Wildlife Management Program. Today I received our spring box of blue grama and buffalo grass seed, for re-seeding bare patches with native grass. (More below on bare patches.)
The burro idea sprang full-blown into life at a wedding on the banks of the Blanco River years ago, when we were enchanted to see docile and well-behaved burros with panniers on their backs full of cold bottles of water and beer, being led to the guests by docile and well-behaved teenagers. Immediately I envisioned myself trekking up and down our fields leading a burro bearing panniers of grass seed which can be (believe it or not) heavy. As a bonus we knew the burros could help keep down tall dry grass–a concern during fire season.
So just before Christmas we bought two smallish burros from the wedding venue, with certificates attesting to their conformation, heritage, and names (Amanda and Caroline, mother and daughter). Both were elegant, with classically lovely faces, straight legs, and dainty hooves.
This is the youngest, Caroline.
Per Random House Unabridged, “burro” is “a small donkey, especially one used as a pack animal in the Southwestern U.S.” (We use donkey interchangeably.) Let me say for the record that the “pack animal” concept went nowhere with Amanda and Caroline–they were deeply insulted at the idea of any burden on their backs. They made it crystal clear that they had not signed on to work. Still–they were decorative, and they ate down the grass.
Sebastian (left) and Amanda
But on Christmas morning when we looked across the pasture, my spouse asked, his voice disturbed: “How many donkeys do you see?” …Three.
The newcomer was shorter, pudgier, and male–well, an “altered” boy. Knock-kneed, chipmunk-cheeked, he seemed to keep a chewable cud in each cheek. He’d climbed through a fence to visit. We found his owner and bought him. Given his appearance (and the snootiness of Amanda and Caroline) we gave him a new and more dignified name: Sebastian.
While Amanda and Caroline are ladies of leisure, Sebastian has taken on two jobs. First, he’s our designated greeter. He brays a loud greeting as you drive through the gate. He brays again to salute the dawn (or pre-dawn).
Second, Sebastian has declared himself the official guard-donkey. In particular, he’s hell on canines. Pre-donkeys there were cows on the property–and coyotes. But no coyote dares invade Sebastian’s turf. He’d be happy to kick a coyote into the next county. Donkeys are shockingly fast on their feet and could easily catch a coyote. Earlier this year I found Sebastian standing triumphant and motionless in the middle of the dirt road, ears back, head up, posture stubborn, hooves planted–a picture of victory. Visible in the dirt? Tracks of a mama coyote with one pup, who’d erroneously strayed into forbidden territory. The tracks indicated a frantic exit. As he stood in the road, surveying his domaine, Sebastian was announcing, “I’m walkin’ here.”
Random House Unabridged includes a definition of “donkey” as “a stupid, silly or obstinate person.” Donkeys are not stupid. They are curious, persistent, intelligent, and acute of hearing. Are they silly? Well…Amanda and Caroline are aloof and standoffish, but Sebastian wants to play. With a bucket between his teeth, he’ll run over and whop Amanda on the hindquarters with it, then stand there. He so wants her to join in his favorite game, which is apparently called “I’ve got the bucket, now you come bite the bucket and yank it away, then you can hit me with it, then I will chase you, and then…?!?!?” So far, the girls steadfastly refuse to cooperate. When whopped with the bucket, Amanda chooses to bite Sebastian instead of biting the bucket. Maybe that’s a different game?
Obstinate? Oh, yes. They are persistent in searching for ways to get past the gate into the yard and eat the roses. They’re also very hard to stop when they want to go somewhere, and very hard to move when they intend to stay put.
Re-seeding bare patches? These three donkeys pick a spot, then take turns rolling on their backs until the grass gives up and a circular bare spot remains. Then, after rain, they race to the soggy bare spot and roll on their backs until they’re thoroughly muddy. Hence my constant race to re-seed bare patches.
Donkeys model companionship. Indeed, they need it. Despite their occasional spats, Sebastian, Amanda and Caroline spend their days and nights together, never more than about 100 feet apart.
Writers have to take breaks, or go nuts. I’m in that boat right now, because I’m almost but not quite finished with Book 9 in the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series. As is well known, writers in such circumstances can be subject to breakdowns–small rages, or tears, or snappishness, or overdosing on Cheezits.
I can recommend burro therapy. As I stand next to Sebastian, stroking his neck, and he leans back against me, I feel my heartrate slow and my breathing relax. Maybe that’s how burros feel too? Maybe this is their secret advantage, a resource that helps explain their long presence on the planet? Here’s how Alice puts it in Ghost Cat:
“Donkey hugs meant leaning into their sides, stroking their necks. The donkeys instantly settled, leaning back against her. The weird thing, Alice thought, was how the donkeys settled her. They weren’t dogs, loyal and needy, or cats, neutral and non-needy. Donkeys were ancient residents of the planet, tough, independent, curious herd animals with their own inner life.”
And in Ghosted: “Finding herself needing a little burro therapy, …Alice stood in her driveway surrounded by the three. At the moment she was brushing Big Boy. He leaned against her; the warmth felt good in the late morning chill. Those eyelashes, those soft ears, Alice thought. No wonder Titania fell in love with Bottom.”
Indeed, Queen Titania, seeing Bottom with his head magically changed to an ass’s head, says,
“I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again.
Mine ear is much enamour’d of thy note;
So is mine eye enthralled to thy shape;
And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me
On the first view to say, to sweat, I love thee.”
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III, Scene II.
So if you’re in need of burro therapy, fellow writers, come on out. Bring some carrots!
***
Copyright 2024, Helen Currie Foster, All rights reserved.
***
Author: Helen Currie Foster
I live north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. I’m deeply curious, more every day, about human history and prehistory and how, uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party. I’ve loved the Texas Hill Country since my first sight of it as a teenager. Artesian springs, Cretaceous fossils, rocky landscapes hiding bluegreen water in the valleys. After law school (where I grew fascinated with water and dirt) I practiced environmental law and regulatory litigation for thirty years––then the character Alice suddenly appeared in my life. I’m active with Austin Shakespeare and Heart of Texas Sisters in Crime. And I’m grateful to the readers who enjoy the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series!
I sat with my cup of café e latte and looked around. The paper with the picture on the kitchen table intrigued me. No, I thought. Gotta clean this place first. I chugged my cup of coffee, grabbed my cleaning supplies, and began. While I twisted and turned, scrubbing granite countertops to a gleam, something whizzed past my eye – a cup of espresso splashed its contents into the air, and then all of it dissolved into nothingness.
My heart sank. Persistence had arrived. No passive muse, this one. She was furious. She’d been prodding me for days to try my hand at baking a gluten-free King Cake. Lent was approaching, and with that came Fat Tuesday. One of the charming Southern traditions is the King Cake, but I’d completely blocked out Persistence.
Again, I refused to budge. “I will finish cleaning this kitchen. I can’t work in a messy environment.” I set the King Cake recipe on the counter, hoping that would mollify her, and moved on to preparing the guest room for my grandson’s weekend stay. Then, I cleaned the bathrooms while Persistence harassed me.
She followed me from room to room, perching on any surface that caught her fancy, reminding me how much she had held back during the trying times of dealing with my mother’s passing, arranging her burial in New York, and taking care of my husband during his major back surgery. But now, things were settling down, and she refused to be silent any longer.
Times up. Hubby is recovering, and you are disgraceful. Wretched imposter, how can you put the elimination of dust bunnies before writing?
“Oh, shut up!” I whispered, not wanting to wake my husband with my side of a conversation with . . . .?
Persistence wasn’t having any of it. Have some backbone. Stop whispering. If he wakes up, you can always say you were talking to Miss Millie.
I laughed despite my annoyance. “Touché,” I answered. After all, Miss Millie is the smartest feline creature we’d ever adopted. Sometimes, her expressions are so human-like that it’s uncanny. But I digress.
“Have another espresso, and chill out,” I grumbled.
I’m tired of waiting; Persistence shot back. And so the conversation, or the argument, went on for another hour. In the lotus position, Persistence sat on the bathroom counter, sipped her coffee, stared at me through the mirror, and then pointed to something on the sink.
You missed that.
I looked down. Sure enough, I’d missed a spot. “I thought you wanted to stop cleaning and get into the kitchen to bake that cake,” I muttered.
The sooner you finish your obsession with domestic tasks, the sooner you can be creative. Now hurry up.
Jump ahead an hour. House chores done, I gathered all the ingredients for the King Cake. Following the directions carefully but substituting gluten-free flour for all-purpose wheat flour, I mixed, stirred, folded, and kneaded everything into a dough, covered it, and allowed it to rise – as best as gluten-free can. While I waited, I scribbled the first part of this essay, which made Persistence happy.
About time. I heard her snarky tone.
An hour later, I rolled the dough into a 16 x 20 sheet. Trust me, if you haven’t done it, rolling gluten-free dough is a challenge. I then spread the cinnamon, sugar, almonds, and raisins over the surface and rolled it into a long loaf. (the recipe says to make it into a ring – gluten-free dough isn’t as malleable, so I didn’t try that). Into the oven, it went.
While it baked, I stuck out my tongue at Persistence and cleaned up my baking mess. “And don’t you dare throw another cup,” I warned while Miss Millie sat at my feet, staring up at me. If she could use words, I’m sure she’d have asked, Who are you talking to?
Forty-five minutes later, I pulled my creation out of the oven. The top was a beautiful golden brown. Once it cooled, I sprinkled the Mardi Gras sugars colored gold (yellow), purple, and green over the top and cut a slice to taste. As my late mother-in-law used to say, “If the ingredients are good, it’s bound to taste good.” And it did, but the texture was too dense.
You see, said Persistence, sitting crossed leg on the countertop with another cup of espresso in her hand. Instead of cleaning, you should have spent more time assessing the necessary changes to accommodate gluten-free flour.
“Listen, Madame Know-it-all, some recipes do not adapt well to gluten-free flour. This is one of them. Eventually, I’ll try again, but this year, I’ll make Anginetti Cookies (Lemon Drops), sprinkle them with the colored sugars, and call them Francesca’s Mardi Gras cookies.”
Persistence smiled for the first time. Nice to see you using your right brain again. I’m sure they’ll be delicious. See ya soon, she said and disappeared.
“And next time, drink decaf espresso. You’re too high-strung for Caffeine.”
The tinkle of her laughter echoed through the house, with her words, Laissez les bon temps rouler.
***
Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday open book one in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, I’m Going to Kill that Cat. Lent arrives at St. Francis de Sales Church, and so does a new housekeeper and murder. Before we delve into the crime, we meet two people of deep faith who do not hide from the realities and the dark side of life.
Father Melvyn Kronkey is a devoted priest with a sharp intellect but a bit stuffy and standoffish. That changes with the arrival of Mrs. B., a widow of unwavering faith, a fiery temperament, and a talent for cooking, organization, and problem-solving.
She is outgoing and cares about people to the point of being nosy. Her expansive personality even makes cats respond and trust her—a lesson that Father Melvyn learns in dramatic fashion.
While these two opposites learn to work together, a missing cat drags them into an old feud, which unravels a potential scandal. Can murder be far behind?
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve come across a quote, an idea or something else I wanted to remember and thought, “I need to write that down.”
So I did.
Over and over and over.
In countless notebooks and journals and on post it notes.
The problem I found is that, while committing something to paper is an important first step, it is only a first step. There are many moments where I’ve written something down only to lose it amongst some ephemera, discovered only again when I’m looking for something else.
It’s like finding twenty bucks in those shorts from last summer. It’s a nice surprise, but maybe I should try tracking this information (and my dollars) a bit better.
First, I tried using a Bullet Journal…
The Bullet Journal was created by Ryder Carroll as a way to organize schedules, to-do lists and other details for work and personal life. It started as his own method of corralling his many thoughts and commitments into a central place. It’s a fantastic method for many dedicated BuJo lovers, and the premise is simple. All you need is an empty notebook and a pen.
Turns out, you also need a certain mindset. It’s a commitment.
Image Credit: @pureplanning_bymj
I have so much admiration for dedicated Bujo people. And I love seeing their gorgeous daily/weekly/monthly spreads, but I could never stick with it. I do have one completed book—used over a two-year period—that I enjoy leafing through now and then. Scattered amongst those pages are several quotes, concepts and ideas that I wanted to gather in a more central location, to rescue from my failed experiment.
I still love the idea. I just stink at the execution.
This is when I discovered the Commonplace Book.
A commonplace book is simply a notebook where you record learning and information from other sources for the purpose of collecting and reflecting upon for some future time. Many notable people in history have kept commonplace books, including Virginia Woolf, Mark Twain, Marcus Aurelius, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau. (Image Credit: UT Austin, Harry Ransom Center, Lewis Carroll’s CPB)
Unlike a Bullet Journal, which has its own system, a commonplace book only requires that you collect your ideas, quotes and more in one location. What you choose to include is completely up to you. The most common use is for recording secondary sources, but that can take all forms. Music lyrics? Key dialogue from a movie you love? Put them all in one place. I keep my commonplace book on my desk so I can access it when I’m reading or working on a project. Others prefer to always carry one, ever prepared to catch that next inspirational idea while out for a daily walk or in a coffee shop.
Unlike a journal, with content focused heavily on personal thoughts, musings and experiences, a commonplace book is something designed to help you learn from others. These ideas may spur some new thoughts or considerations, and this is a perfect place to record those as well. It can be anything you like, of course, but it’s not the best place to record daily tasks or reminders. Keep your digital or paper planner for those purposes (and feel free to ask me about planners because I will happily engage in that topic, too).
There is scientific evidence that supports the theory of choosing to write by hand rather than typing into a digital document. A recent study from the University of Tokyo showed that graduates revealed that “writing on physical paper can lead to more brain activity when remembering the information an hour later. Researchers say that the unique, complex, spatial and tactile information associated with writing by hand on physical paper is likely what leads to improved memory.” (Science Daily).
My commonplace book has a wide variety of quotes and concepts tucked inside. Adam Grant, Anne Lamott and James Clear make regular appearances on my pages. I can tell by my handwriting how I’m feeling because my messier cursive signals I’m in a rush while my neater entries show that I’m taking time to really consider what I’m transcribing. The important part is the practice. Keeping a commonplace book encourages my love of learning, of reading and of writing. There is a quiet joy in taking time to learn something new, to consider it and then commit it to paper.
Maybe you’re already doing some form of this practice. I was, and it was only when I sought to improve my process that I learned about the commonplace book and how to better use it in my daily life. Having one location helps me gather this knowledge and, more important, keep it somewhere that allows me to reflect and learn. If you haven’t tried keeping a CPB, I hope you’ll consider it, and I would love to hear how it works for you.
Laura Oles is the Agatha-nominated and award-winning author of the Jamie Rush mystery series. Her work has appeared in crime fiction anthologies, consumer magazines and business publications.
“But at my back I always hear time’s wingèd chariot drawing near…” (Andrew Marvell, 1621-1678)
Today in pre-dawn darkness, the house quiet except for the murmuring furnace, my characters were already at me, barking orders: “More! More smells, tastes, experiences! More about me! Tell people what I’m thinking, what I’m experiencing, what I’m worrying about!”
They’re right. Readers want to know their favorite mystery protagonists. Why? Because readers are in league with them, walking in their shoes. Readers know that stepping into a protagonist’s sensory experience—smells, food, experiences, relationships—will springboard them into the setting, help them to be in the picture, ready to seize on every clue.
Resolution 1. Tastes! Flavors! Food! As Rounding the Mark, Book 7 of Andrea Camilleri’s long-running series, begins, Inspector Montalbano of little Vigáta, Sicily, can’t sleep:
“Stinking, treacherous night. Thrashing and turning, twisting and drifting off one minute, jolting awake and then lying back down—and it wasn’t from having scarfed down too much octopus a strascinasali or sardines a beccafino the evening before. No, he didn’t even have that satisfaction.”
Fortunately the recipes are described in the Notes at the book’s end. In Sicily, where seafood reigns supreme, Montalbano refers to small octopi, boiled and dressed in olive oil and lemon juice, and then sardines, stuffed and rolled up with sauteed breadcrumbs, pine nuts, sultana raisins, and anchovies. When Montalbano returns home from the police station he always races to his refrigerator to see what his housekeeper, Adelina, has left for him. In Book 16, Treasure Hunt, Montalbano “howled like a wolf with joy” when he finds “eggplant parmesan, done up just right, enough for four.”
Can’t you just smell this dish? Montalbano consumes the entire panful: “the sauce was a wonder to taste.” (50). We see how he delights in his food, how very particular he is. (And throughout the series Adelina keeps cooking – pasta in squid ink, involtini of small fish, pasta ‘Ncasciata…) https://www.foodandwine.com/pasta-ncasciata-sicilian-baked-pasta-7093847
Here’s Montalbano in Rounding the Mark after discovering a new restaurant:
“The antipasto of salted octopus tasted as though it were made of condensed sea and melted the moment it entered his mouth…And the mixed grill of mullet, sea bass and gilthead had that heavenly taste the inspector feared he had lost forever….After a long and perilous journey of the sea, Odysseus had finally found his long lost Ithaca. “(73)
Camilleri (died 2019) was writing mystery, murder, crime—but he included as major players in the setting Sicilian food, awareness of this ancient Mediterranean island culture, and echoes of classic myth.
We can only imagine Montalbano shaking his head at the food situation of private detective Cormoran Strike, protagonist of The Running Grave, seventh in the series by “Robert Galbraith” (aka J.K. Rowling). To protect his knee, Strike, a military police veteran who lost his lower leg in Afghanistan, must lose weight; he’s now lost “three stone” or about 42 pounds. “Usually he’d have grabbed a takeaway on the way home” but now, “without much enthusiasm,” he’s fixing broccoli and salmon in the tiny flat above his seedy London office.
Does the author need to describe these flavors? Aren’t “broccoli” and “salmon” redolent enough by themselves, especially broccoli? Later, as the plot roars into action, Strike’s off his diet, overcome by “the lure of sweet and sour chicken and fried rice” (767) and demanding that his partner Robin Ellacott stop at a 24-hour McDonald’s on London’s Strand (848) where, as they walk to the office, he’s eating “large mouthfuls of burger” and starting on two bags of fries. He’s back to his usual food habits––pub food, fast food––yet his mind’s on the recent attack, “as though he’d only just felt the heat of the bullet searing his cheek.” At chapter’s end, as they discuss the case, “Strike ate a solitary cold chip lingering at the bottom of a greasy bag.” There’s an urgency to his desperate hunger, to the need for enough energy to stick with an exhausting case—and don’t we all know about that solitary cold french fry in the bottom of the bag? Can’t you see him fishing it out? For Strike, food fills a need, but he’s not immersed in the culinary experience. He’s focused on his case.
What keeps Strike working as a private investigator? Challenge, curiosity, tenacity, terror—but not great cuisine. Food-wise, Montalbano’s habits differ sharply from Strike’s. But for each man, eating habits vividly highlight both personal life and setting.
Resolution 2: Human Scent! Other scents matter to both Strike and Montalbano. In the first chapter of The Ink Black Heart, Cormoran Strike has tried to find a perfect perfume for Robin’s 30th birthday. When she sprays on the new perfume, “he…detected roses and an undertone of musk, which made him think of sun-warmed skin.”
Similarly, in Treasure Hunt, when Montalbano and his compadre, the daring Ingrid, are outside on his veranda, “The night now smelled of brine, mint, whisky, and apricot, which was exactly what Ingrid’s skin smelled like. It was a blend not even a prize parfumeur could have invented.” (175)
Reportedly one writing instructor has suggested that authors “include smell on every page.” These two mystery writers don’t obey that injunction (do you know any who do?). But why is scent so critical for us? Apparently the amygdala (a paired structure, with one in each temporal lobe) “developed from our most primitive sense—the sense of smell.” Joseph Jebelli, How the Mind Changed (Little, Brown, Spark, 2022, at 30). It’s near the olfactory nerve which is why scents connect strongly to emotions and memories. https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/body/24894-amygdala
What scents spark your own memories? If a book mentions honeysuckle on a summer day, I might remember my grandparents’ front porch in Itasca, Texas, and how we learned as kids to suck nectar from a honeysuckle blossom. What pops up for you when a book mentions lavender? Or clean sheets? Baby powder? Or iodine, rubbing alcohol, band-aids? Marshmallows toasting on a stick? Pine straw underfoot? The first ocean breeze when you hit the beach? Does a book feel richer to you when your own memories are awakened?
What about the scent of January? Today’s the coldest day of 2024 so far, here in the Hill Country. Inside – hot tea: mint, chamomile, green, or maybe ginger slices, with honey and lemon. Outside, cedar burning in a neighbor’s brush pile.
Resolution 3: Character’s thoughts (and feelings)! In Treasure Hunt Camilleri includes a hilarious italicized interchange between Montalbano (called “Montalbano One”) and “Montalbano Two” where Montalbano Two criticizes Montalbano One’s case-handling as showing signs of deterioration, of “losing his cool,” highlighting Montalbano’s own concerns about aging. (18-19)
Camilleri also uses other techniques to put us in Montalbano’s head. Here’s one from Rounding the Mark, where, again, Montalbano’s worrying about getting older:
“As he was shaving, the scenes of the previous evening on the wharf ran through his head again. Little by little, as he reviewed them with a cold eye, he began to feel uneasy…. There was something that didn’t jibe….He stubbornly played the scenes over in his head, trying to bring them more into focus. No dice. He lost heart. This was surely a sign of aging. He used to be able to find the flaw, the jarring note…without fail.” (61)
Camilleri lets his character feel. When a small boy is kidnapped from north Africa by sex traffickers and escapes on the pier in Sicily, Montalbano returns him to his “mother,” not understanding she isn’t his “mother” at all. When the little boy is killed Montalbano visits the morgue:
“He lifted the sheet with one hand…and froze. A chill ran down his spine. It all came back to him at once: the look the little boy had given him as his mother ran up to take him back….he hadn’t understood that look. Now…he did. The little eyes were imploring him. They were telling him for pity’s sake, let me go, let me escape. And now…he felt bitterly guilty…He was slipping. It was hard to admit, but true… “(84)
In contrast, Cormoran Strike is more inscrutable, more unwilling to reveal his emotions, perhaps even to himself. Galbraith describes Strike as a “mentally resilient man” who tries but sometimes fails to control emotion. One of his tools “was a habit of compartmentalization that rarely failed him, but right now, it wasn’t working. Emotions he didn’t want…and memories he generally suppressed were closing in on him…” As a consequence he was “brooding so deeply that he barely registered the passing Tube stations and realized, almost too late, that he was already” at his stop. (105) In one scene after visiting his sister Strike starts home feeling very angry at his dead mother, who died of an overdose when he was nineteen. Galbraith then uses italics for Strike’s mental attack on her: “If you hadn’t been what you were, maybe I wouldn’t be what I am. Maybe I’m reaping what you sowed, so don’t you f*king laugh at the army, or me, you with your paedophile mates and the squatters and the junkies…” (106) These passages show the reader Strike’s painful upbringing and may partially explain his need (and ability) to compartmentalize—both, ironically, key to his later success.
Strike drinks, smokes, has sex, but almost in the same way as he gulps down fast food. Food seems temporarily satisfying, but not a life pleasure. Early on we become aware that the strongest sensation Strike is described as experiencing is the pain of his stump, and the relief he experiences when he removes his prosthetic. In his compartmentalization of his emotions, has he replicated this binary condition? (No spoilers here!)
Resolution Four: The Weather! Camilleri and Galbraith’s characters don’t always focus on weather, but here in the Texas Hill Country we must take notice. It’s too cold (like today), too hot (pretty soon), too wet (spring rain bombs and dangerous low-water crossings), or too dry (like last summer’s dreadful drought). Blessings on March, which will bring bluebonnets and the ethereal prairie celestial, then wine cups, with the pink of redbud and Mexican buckeye to rejoice the eye. But weather’s definitely a factor in upcoming Book 9 of the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series. Watch for it—coming soon!
So begins the first verse of John Lennon’s 1971 hit song. His good wishes toward wo/mankind had a political message wrapped in the lines. But politics aside, it was and still is a good message. But the question, What have you done? requires some thought. What have you done to keep the Christmas spirit alive throughout the year? What have you done for your fellow man? For your family? For your neighbor? Hard self-examination is required. Before tackling what we have done throughout the year to keep the spirit of Christmas, let’s dive into how we keep the spirit of Christmas fresh each December.
In the not-so-distant past, the commercial hype, converting the spirit of giving to the spirit of buying, began after Thanksgiving. Now, it fills the airwaves with meaningless noise throughout the year and begins a concentrated assault by mid-October. By December 25, the message is stale and lost if one is not careful about blocking out the frenzied for-profit communications, images, and messages that have little or nothing to do with Christmas. You might ask, how do you do that? There are many ways. It just takes a little effort and prioritizing. Here are a few.
First, before Thanksgiving, never watch movies or TV programs with Christmas themes, and do not indulge in “Christmas” centered shopping, decorating, sending cards, or partying. Does that put more pressure on stuffing everything into the four short weeks of Advent (the time of awaiting the special arrival?) Yes. And that helps prioritize what’s really important.
Then, here are uplifting classic books, movies, and performing arts thataddress the questions of what you have done or can do.
In books, there are hundreds of Christmas stories. My favorite is Entitled Christmas Classics. Twelve stories of Christmas, including The Giftof the Magi by O’Henry and The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen.
And who can get through December without watching A ChristmasCarol? The Charles Dickens classic story of an unhappy, mean-spirited old gentleman who is taught the real meaning of Christmas and caring for his fellow man was well-received in 1844. It inspired an early theatrical production by C.Z. Barnett at the Surrey Theatre on February 5 of the same year, a few weeks after the first publication of the novella. There are at least 16 movie adaptations, and the list of movies and shows is too long to include, but a short trip to Wikipedia will provide it. My favorites are the 1938 and 1984 versions – (1984 stars George C. Scott.)
Then there are the live performing arts. In Austin, the Austin Symphony Orchestra and Chorus Austin perform Handel’s Messiah every year. The score and excellent musicianship lift the soul. The annual Nutcracker ballet, as much part of the Christmas season as lights and fir trees, is performed by almost every dance company and ballet school in every U.S. city. Ballet Austin’s production runs yearly for most of December. It is accompanied by the Austin Symphony Orchestra.
At this point, you may think, well, not everyone can afford these things, and you’d be right. Books can be reserved at public libraries for those who cannot afford them.
Theater tickets and live concerts can be pricey, it’s true. But many of the movies on TV are free, as are concerts and ballets on public TV stations.
For those who would love to see the Nutcracker ballet but cannot get to a theater, one of the best-recorded performances before a live audience is the 2012 Maryinski Ballet and Orchestra under the artistic direction of Valery Gergiev. It can be rented for far less than the cost of a theater seat, and to create the theater atmosphere, put on something nice but comfortable. Don’t watch in pajamas or an old housedress. Turn off all the lights and let the screen be the only focus. Have a cup of tea or coffee with a sweet treat – or a glass of wine and get into the mood.
Most of these stories, concerts, and ballets are appropriate and recommended for the young, but if something lighter is desired, there are hundreds of adaptations of the classic in TV shows and movies, for children. On the lighter side, Entertainment Weekly published The 30 Best Christmas Movies for Children, by Danny Horn, November 16, 2023, which included Home Alone, Elf, and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.
For a more modern take on an old story, Disney’s 2018 reimagining of the Nutcracker, with Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s music, is brilliant. The effects are magical, the storyline is unique, touching, and beautiful, and the outcomes for the Nutcracker characters are unexpected. It’s a story for all ages, and as soon as I’m done with this blog, I shall pour a cup of hot coffee and enjoy it again.
There are abundant enriching and inspiring events, shows, and messages to refresh our hearts during Christmas. And it may help keep the spirit alive and generous throughout the year.
Again, in the words of John Lennon: And so this is Christmas. Hope you have fun. The old and the young ones- The near and the dear – For the rich and the poor ones, black, white, and yellow, A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year – And let’s hope it’s a goodone – Without any fear.
“Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.”
While there is some debate as to whether this quote belongs to William Butler Yeats, the sentiment is one that has stayed with me, particularly throughout my writing career. One of the best things about being a writer is that it requires ongoing education. I love that my job demands regular research. I’ve gone down more rabbit holes that I care to admit, but it’s this spark of learning something new that fuels my enthusiasm for my fiction.
I experienced a wonderful “lighting of a fire” during my week in Salem, Massachusetts at the Writer Unboxed Unconference. Unlike other writer conferences that I attend (and love), this one involved being solely a student for the entire week. The conference welcomes all genres, and spending time outside of crime fiction gave me some valuable insight into how others approach storytelling, structure and character development.
Therese Walsh opened with her session titled “Good Chaos: Provocation and Invitation,” and by the end, I knew this week would be one of time well invested. Susan DeFreitas is a gift to writers. Her session, “Emotional Alchemy,” was so thoughtful and packed with practical advice that I took ten pages of notes. I’ve re-read them twice since returning home. And as someone who gets excited about outlines, timelines and plotting considerations, her “Anatomy of a Novel: Create a Blueprint” session provided me with specific skills to apply to a current project.
Watching Tiffany Yates Martin stand in front of a room to discuss fiction is an experience I hope every writer gets at least once. Her passion, knowledge and enthusiasm for characters, craft, storytelling and readers rolled through the room. She’s also damn funny. I left with another ten pages of notes.
Because there were two session tracks, I was forced to make difficult choices regarding the schedule, and I know that I missed several other excellent sessions. Lunch breaks provided the opportunity to explore a bit of Salem, walking through downtown and adjacent neighborhoods. Evenings were spent sampling different restaurants, and I left with a favorite pub (O’Neill’s), sushi spot (Finz Seafood & Grill—the Lobster Maki Roll was fabulous), coffee shop (Lulu’s) and bookstore (Wicked Good Books). That I was able to experience this week with some of my favorite writer friends made it even more special.
Returning home with a novella sized document full of notes, I took my time reading through them, extracting additional gems, and analyzing how they might influence my own projects. I’m back at my desk, and the spark remains. The learning continues, and it seems I will never graduate.
If so, I would consider that success.
Laura Oles is the award-winning author of the Jamie Rush mystery series. Her debut mystery, Daughters of Bad Men, was an Agatha nominee, a Claymore Award finalist, and a Writers’ League of Texas Award finalist. Her work has appeared in crime fiction anthologies, consumer magazines and business publications. She loves road trips, bookstores and any outdoor activity that doesn’t involve running. https://lauraoles.com
By M. K. Waller
Austin Mystery Writers 