Iām currently editing a long story on a short deadline and preparing to speak to a high school creative writing class about revising and editing their own work. Consequently, I find myself following some of the advice Iām about to give the students.
With editing and revisions in mind, I have confessions to make.
I usually write stories in chronological order, then decide to rearrange pieces after Iāve finished the first draft.
This means I rarely start a story in the ārightā place. So my opening frequently changes between the first and final draft.
While I usually remember to avoid vague words like ābig, little, large, small, short, tallā and words that unnecessarily weaken statements like āperhaps and maybe,ā I still have to check the draft and remove vague or useless words.
I use too many ā-lyā adverbs to modify verbs which should be replaced by stronger verbs, requiring me to edit them out and replace the verbs.
I sometimes use too many dialog tags which should be replaced by actions that paint a better picture of my characters.
My first drafts rarely include descriptions for setting or for characters. I almost always insert descriptive details in a later draft, layering in information after the plot is set.
I still have to excise the words āreallyā and ājust,ā even after years of training myself to avoid them.
I have to remove variations of āI think Iā¦ā or āI guess Iā¦ā in statements made by characters.
Character names sometimes change after the story is written. Iāve misnamed many characters on the first attempt. (Iām lucky I didnāt do that with my children.)
Once I complete all that, I have to make MS Word read the story to me to find dropped words, typos, and misplaced commas. On the plus side, I have learned to write faster, especially when I have a deadline. It doesnāt matter if the first draft is ugly. Thatās why editing and revision exist.
Because as multiple authors have said before me, you canāt edit a blank page.
On a side note: Congratulations to all the winners at Bouchercon Calgary! Going to Calgary wasnāt in the cards for me this year. I hope to make it to a convention next year.
N.M. CedeƱo writes short fiction. Her story entitled āA Reasonable Expectation of Privacyā placed third for Best Short Story in the 2013 Analog Readers Poll. Her story “Predators and Prey” was selected for the “Other Distinguished Mystery and Suspense of 2024” list in Best American Mysteries and Suspense 2025. For information on her stories, please visit nmcedeno.com!
Those of you out here in the Hill Country know that when drought turns the landscape to a flammable crisp, weāre often warned to prepare to leave home fastāmeaning, decide what precious items we canāt live without, and pack those items in a box or laundry tub, ready to grab at a momentās notice.
The Bastrop fire erupted east of Austin on September, 4, 2011, wasnāt distinguished for 55 days, and destroyed 1600 homes while burning over 32,000 acres.
From Dripping Springs we could see smoke plumes from Bastrop. I began filling a laundry basket. Which pictures? Old onesāancestors. Old handsewn quilts. And alsoāa very few books.
The original family copy of Winnie the Pooh (1949); a tattered paperback (1972!) of Tolkienās The Fellowship of the Ring; some slim volumes of poetry. Then I realized we needed documents: passports! Birth certificates! Wills! Deeds!
With smoke rising in the east, I worried about overfilling the laundry basket, or omitting something key. I stared around the kitchen. Most kitchen utensils could be replaced, but not the followingāso they went in the basket:
*An ancient cast iron frying pan, well-seasoned, the perfect size. Maybe the same variety that settlers carried west. Indestructible, and a good weapon in time of need.
*My grandmotherās ancient aluminum cake pan, nearly a century old. The top fits perfectly on the bottom and the bottom turns up around the edges of the top, so a cake can ride comfortably on a car floorboard.
When disaster threatens, we make choices. Our decisionsāāwhat we treasure enough to carry alongāāare so personal, so unique. Would you grab your fanciest clothes? Or your favorite jeans, perfectly broken in? Maybe an āold blue shirt that suits me just fine,ā as Guy Clark sang in his āStuff That Worksā? https://genius.com/Guy-clark-stuff-that-works-lyrics
His distinctive voice, relaxed, restful, singing this great song, calls to mind the memory of that āold blue shirtā (long-sleeved, pale blue, washed a million times) he wore at concerts.
But in an emergency, what about your writing?
Writers can avoid the tragedy that befell Ernest Hemingway in 1922 when his first wife, Hadley Richardson, carefully packed his early writings in a small trunk to deliver to him in Switzerland. That trunk was stolen from the train at the Gare de Lyon and never seen again. Hadley had also included the carbons, perhaps anticipating her husband would be able to present an original to a publisher and still keep a copy. She reportedly wept for years. https://lostmanuscripts.com/2010/07/31/hemingways-lost-suitcase/
Today, in contrast, confronted by fire or other threat of loss, writers have options to protect that great human accomplishmentāwriting.
According to linguist Dr. Ingrid Piller, writing was invented independently at least three times: Sumerian cuneiform in Mesopotamia (ca. 3400 BCE), Chinese characters in China (ca. 1200 BCE) and Mayan glyphs in Mesoamerica (ca. 300 BCE). Of these, only the Chinese script is an unbroken living tradition.
Sappho? (630-570 BC) Her lyric poetry, made to be sung with music, was so accomplished she was called in her time āThe Tenth Muse.ā But beyond fragments, we have only her Ode to Aphrodite.
Ctesibus? Iād never heard of (much less tried to pronounce the name of) this Greek inventor, a barberās son born in Alexandria in 300 BC. He wrote on pneumatics, and invented the water organ and an improved water clock (which became our most accurate clock until Huygens invented the pendulum clock in 1656). But Ctesibusās Memorabilia? Gone.
Aeschylus (525-455 BC) wrote 90 or so playsāonly six survive. Promethus the Fire-Bringer? Lost. Sophocles (497-406 BC) wrote close to 120 plays of which only seven (Oedipus, Antigone) survive in complete formāeven though Sophocles competed over 50 years in the Athens dramatic competitions (and won 24 of 30!).
Euripides (480-406 BC) wrote over 90 plays; only 18 survive complete.
Sometimes the powerful have ordered destruction. Only four Mayan codices survive: most were burned by Spanish priests in the 16th century. Many Inca Quipus were burned by Spanish priests in 1583, on orders from the Third Council of Lima. In China, a work by Confucius, The Classic of Music, was lost during the Han Dynasty with all copies reportedly destroyed on orders of the emperor during āthe burning of books and burying of scholarsā in 213 and 212 BC.
Europe was also unhealthy for literature. Three works by Chaucer are missing. Only two plays remain of the Coventry Mystery Play cycleāan event Shakespeare likely attended before the plays were repressed in 1579. No copies remain of Shakespeareās Loveās Labourās Won, written in 1598 and published in 1603. Of Monteverdiās 18 operas, only three survive. Seven of Moliereās plays are lost.
An authorās family might destroy the work. That happened to the brilliant Lady Mary Worley Montaguāher family destroyed her journals because they thought sheād included too much satire. Lord Byronās executors destroyed two volumes of his Memoirs. Family destroyed four of Lewis Carrollās journals.
Gerard Manley Hopkins burned all his early poetry when he entered the priesthood. Margaret Fullerās manuscript on the history of 1849 Rome was lost in a shipwreck in 1850āas was she. Mary Shelleyās Lodore disappeared when she sent it by mail to the publisher: it had to be completely rewritten. Thomas Carlyle sent his first draft of The French Revolution to John Stuart Mill, whose maid mistakenly burned it. Carlyle had to start over.
In the twentieth century we lost a number of Scott Joplinās compositions. Anne Frankās diary from December 1942 to December 1943 was never found. An unpublished novel by Sylvia Plath disappeared before 1970.
But all is not lost. Hope remains. We continue to find new fragments of ancient works.
The book club I belong to liked very much Janet Soskiceās The Sisters of Sinai. (bit.ly/4i2tquC) Soskice recounts the adventures of Victorian-era British twins, Agnes Smith Lewis and Margaret Gibson, who braved the deserts of Sinai in the 1890ās to find, in St. Catherineās Monastery, a palimpsest. (A palimpsest is a manuscript, parchment, or writing surface from which a later writer has scraped or washed the original text in order to use the surface for a new documentāoften leaving faint visible traces of the original.) Below the surface covered by a later-added manuscript on female saints, Agnes spotted a hidden 2d-3d century Aramaic copy of the four gospels. You can find her 1894 publication, A Translation of the Four Gospels, online at Amazon. bit.ly/4igo5AT
These days, writersāhoping no internet disaster occursĀĀāācan save drafts on computers, or on iCloud Drive (that mysterious place!).
A creature from the last century, I keep an ongoing paper copy while writing. Thereās some physical satisfaction in scribbling notes to self on the paper pages of a manuscript. But thereās also a sense of power in the rapid editing the computer permits. Delete! Insert!
Currently Iām still on our human adventure of writingāāin the throes of finishing Ghost Music, Book 11 in my mystery series set in the Texas Hill Country.
Keep writing!
Helen Currie Foster lives and writes north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. She remains deeply curious about human history and how, uninvited, the ghost of the past keeps crashing the party. Find her on Facebook or at www.helen.currie.foster.com. The Alice MacDonald Mystery Series is available online or in Austin at BookPeople.
And the A.I. debate goes on. It seems everyone has something to lose from its dominance, with claims ranging from human extinction (sometimes I wonder if that would be so bad) to theft and destruction of human creativity, especially in writing, which I do think would be bad.
Then there are advances in medicine, engineering, science, coding, and production. Because of technology and A.I., medical research is moving away from animal testing, especially on dogs. āThe transition to a completely AI-driven, cruelty-free scientific system is well underway, but it will still take time to phase out entirely.ā (Humane World for Animals) Who can argue with that? But this debate will no doubt continue for a long time.
I believe guardrails and kill switches must be further developed, and A.I. must continue to be used as a tool, not as an entity separate from human controls. How can that be done? I have no idea, since Iām not a technical engineer, theoretical scientist, or expert in any of the other areas needed to come up with the answers. So, you must be asking yourself by now: what does A.I. have to do with baking bread? After all, A.I. doesnāt turn on the oven, prepare ingredients, wash its hands before plunging them into flour, water, and yeast to combine and meld them into dough.
Some say that the skill Set for baking bread is unlike general cooking, where you can adjust flavor or “eyeball” ingredients on the fly. Baking bread necessitates precision in weights, measurements, physical touch, and a grasp of atmospheric conditions in oneās kitchen.
Iāve consulted many of my favorite TV cooks, cookbooks, and YouTubeās many visual presentations. Results: Sometimes okay. Sometimes awful! But yesterday, I baked some of the best bread ever. So, what changed?
I woke up to the sound of pouring rain outside. The morning was dark as night. My first realization: I donāt have any bread in the house. Choices: get dressed, go out in the downpour and get to the supermarket to buy some breadā assuming the supermarket is open at 4 am. I could drown in a flood first. Nuts to that. OR, I could bake it myself. Well, as youāve already read, my track record isnāt great, but it would be edible. So, after downing a few cups of coffee, I dragged out my trusty old cookbook, assembled my ingredients, and decided to ask A.I. some questions since no live cooks would be available to me at that hour, or at any hour.
Question One ā Can my focaccia recipe also be used for bread?
A.I. Answer – Absolutely yes. Just shape the dough into a loaf instead of stretching it out for focaccia. Wonderful.
So, I began. Once I had all the ingredients combined and shaped it into a ball to let it rise, I covered it and went to my desk to write. After an hour, I remembered the dough. Back in the kitchen, I divided it into 2 balls, kneaded and reshaped them into loaves, set them in their pans to rise again, and returned to writing. Another hour passed. When I returned to the kitchen, the loaves had risen to the tops of the pans. Now I was to dimple them with my fingers, which I did.
Then disaster: they both collapsed. Now what?
Question: A.I., what happened? Can I save my bread?
A.I. asked me to describe what Iād done and how long I allowed the rise. After I explained, my A.I. kitchen assistant revealed that an hour was too long to wait before dimpling. Thatās why they collapsed. To save them, I was told to rework each loaf by re-kneading and reshaping, and allow no more than 30 minutes for the rise. Then cover them and bake at 450 degrees for 30 minutes. According to A.I., theyād rise again. Being an obedient student, I did as instructed, and voila. The bread rose, baked, and came out delicious and light. My husband said it was the best Iād ever made. Needless to say, I shall repeat this process. BTW ā I said thank you, and A.I. graciously accepted and said it was a pleasure to assist.
If youāre wondering if I use A.I. to write, the answer is NO! A.I. is a wonderful tool, not a substitute for human ingenuity. I use it to assist with marketing blurbs and ads. As per Kindle publishing rules, I use it for pre-professional editing, but not to create or develop story lines or blog conceptsāincluding this one.
So, until A.I. learns to wash its hands (if it has hands) and knead dough with clean digits, and feel the barometric pressure in the kitchen, I think we humans still have the upper hand.
Happy reading and baking too!
P.S.: Many internet articles written by humans talk about adjusting baking liquids depending on the weather.
PPS: Be careful. Using A.I. summaries is faster, but check the sites it pulls from and judge for yourself.
I have a complicated relationship with social media.
Ā I treat it like a prickly colleague I need to check in with now and again and then excuse myself after Iāve spent an hour scrolling when I should have been doing something more important. Iāll abstain for a month or few. Then Iāll return, checking on family and friends. My feed is soon overwhelmed with all kinds of nonsense, including algorithm detours so off track that they resemble the last time I searched for an obscure restaurant without consulting my GPS first.Ā Ā
While Iām working on better curating my social media experience, I have returned to one of my favorite methods of quality escapism.
My friends, if you arenāt putting down the phone and picking up a short story anthology or a novella, may I kindly recommend that you give it a try? As someone who has written short stories included in several anthologies, I am also a reader who has discovered other writers and other genres this way. Giving a short story twenty minutes of my time pays far more dividends than the social media algorithm ever could.Ā
Why not a novel, you ask? I love sinking into a good book, but sometimes that action results in completely ignoring other obligations, which leaves Tomorrow Laura in a real pickle. Itās almost always worth it, but the times Iām talking about here involve those moments when your brain itches to pick up your phone for ājust a few minutes.ā What Iām suggesting is that you pick up a short story magazine or anthology instead. A companion to your phone, but one offering a better conversation.Ā
Short stories are a wonderful way to dip in and out of a new universe and meet new characters without the three-hundred-page commitment. You may also discover you enjoy a different genre that youāve avoided reading because, again, time commitment.Ā The sheer abundance of fantastic short form fiction available right now is spectacular.Ā You can throw a rock (please donāt) and hit a dozen collections worth your time.Ā
Iād be remiss if I didnāt mention Substack because itās the one social media platform I spend time on regularly. Substackās design encourages longer form discussions (think blog plus newsletter) and many writers have found a happy home posting essays, articles and stories there. But any algorithm driven product is a mixed bag for me, so after a little reading there, itās back to short form fiction.
Iām not saying that social media isnāt a way to find your next great readāit definitely happensābut weāre now at the enshittification stage of social media (you can read more on that here Ā https://www.newyorker.com/culture/infinite-scroll/the-age-of-enshittificationĀ ) so Iām working to be more deliberate with my attention because itās the one thing I can fully control. My goal now to use it as a tool that supports my love of reading and creating rather than mindlessly consuming whatever pops up in my feed (some success, some failure).
Iām currently re-reading Don Winslowās Broken, a collection of six novellas, because āCrime 101ā remains one of my all-time favorite stories. You know when you read something and then think, āDamn, that was something specialā? Iām chasing more of that these days.
I also have a new little project launching soon, one thatās dedicated to finding and sharing fantastic short form fiction. I canāt wait to share it with you once itās ready.
What short story, anthology, novella or collection is a favorite of yours? Please share in the comments!
Laura Oles is the award-winning author of the Jamie Rush mystery series. Her shorter work has appeared in crime fiction anthologies, consumer magazines and business publications. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and the Writersā League of Texas. Before turning to fiction, Laura spent two decades as a photo industry journalist.She loves road trips, bookstores and any outdoor activity that doesnāt involve running. She lives in the Texas Hill Country with her family. (https://www.lauraoles.com).
I find myself using spreadsheets far more than I ever expected when I first started writing. Back then, I had a few lists here and there in word documents and one spread sheet. That one spread sheet documented short story submissions, with stories added to the list as I submitted them.
I still have the spread sheet documenting submissions, now divided into pages by year, but Iāve created another one for published stories with a separate page for pending publications, one for unpublished stories, and one overall submission document showing all of my stories alphabetized by title, so I can easily see how many times a story has been submitted and to whom.
The most recent addition to my collection of data is a spreadsheet tracking my private eye stories by main character. At a glance, I can see that two of my private detectives have appeared in only one story each and that Iāve written three stories featuring Dallas-based PI Cleo Jimenez, one of which, āMirror Life Meltdown,ā was published byBlack Cat Weekly in issue #255 in July 2026. Another of Cleoās cases, āA Picture is Worth a Thousand Likes,ā is scheduled to be published this year in the anthology Big Tex and Suspects: Crime at the State Fair of Texas. The third is on submission. Cleo currently has about 15,000 words in her series.
My character Jerry Milam, who lives and works in Texas in the 1950s to 1970s, appears in five stories. Two went out of print with the closure of the publisher, but the editor is working to get those anthologies republished by a new publisher. One story, āThe Case of the Cabochon Ring,ā was published in Black Cat Weekly #258 in August 2026. Another is supposed to be published in an anthology next year. The fifth story is on submission. Jerry currently has more than double the word count of Cleo, coming in at 31,500 words.
Then thereās Maya Laster, my genetic genealogy investigator. Maya beats Jerry and Cleo, appearing in eight stories so far. Four have already been published: in Black Cat Weekly #79, #110, and #242, and one in the anthology Crimeucopia: The Not So Frail Detective Agency (which was a finalist for the 2026 Derringer Award for Best Anthology and First Runner Up for a Silver Falchion Award for Best Anthology). Of Mayaās other four stories, one is pending publication in an anthology sometime next year, one is on submission, one needs to be resubmitted, and the other is in final edits. Mayaās stories currently total 49,875 words.
My investigative crew in the Bad Vibes Removal Services series, however, needed their own spreadsheet. That series beats Maya by more than double, with sixteen short stories and two novels. The short stories alone total almost 106,000 words. The most recently published story, āWedding Vibes,ā appeared in Black Cat Weekly #145. The next story is pending publication, and the word is that it will be published in the fall this year.
So why do I track this information, and what do I do with all this data?
I make plans.
The data tells me I have enough word count that at some point I could create a short e-book of Jerry Milam stories. Or that if I write five or six more stories, Iāll have a book length manuscript ready to create a collection that would work in a print or digital format.
I almost have enough short stories featuring Maya Laster to make a collection of her stories. If I write another two stories, Iāll have over 60,000 words, enough to create what’s considered a novel-length print book. The word count that I have right now would work well enough for a novella-length e-book, but would be too slim a volume in print for my taste.
The word count tells me that I could collect my Bad Vibes Removal Services short stories into a print book. Most of those stories only appear in digital formats right now and many readers prefer print. Having a print option available might be worthwhile. I have to decide if this is something I want to pursue right now.
The data suggests goals for me to reach, stories for me to write, and a path forward in time. Some writers worry about facing a blank page and not knowing what to write next. With this data at my fingertips, if Iām casting about for ideas, I can always write the next story for one of my detectives and move closer to the goal of completing a collection.
A final note: As mentioned above, I have several stories coming out soon. When I have publication dates and covers, I’ll post them here. Right now, only one of my non-PI stories has been scheduled for publication. “The Mocking Ones,” a story I wrote for Cryin’ Shame: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Lyle Lovett, is scheduled to be released in digital formats on December 8, 2026, with the print version to follow in early 2027.
I had a wonderful time at Killer Nashville this year. From the moment I walked in, everyone I met was warm and welcoming. One of the things I loved most about this conference was how easy it was to strike up a conversation with a total stranger and walk away with a new friend. I exchanged business cards and swapped stories with more people than I can count, and every one of those conversations reminded me why Iāll probably return.
One of the higlights for me was speaking on my panel, “Feisty Women Protagonists in Historicals.” I was in great company: Nancy Herriman (1800s San Francisco), Nina Wachsman (1600s Venice), Joy Allyson (historical French romance), and Nancy Locklin (nonfiction books about women and violence in 1700s France), plus me, mostly mucking around in the American West. Different centuries, different continents, same throughline: women have always been feisty, using wit and guile to work within, or around, the systems of their time, and sometimes using those systems to their own advantage. I also made a point of reminding the audience that a quiet woman, doing exactly what society expected of her, is no less brave for it. Women have held families and communities together through hard, unglamorous work since the beginning of time. That’s feisty too.
I also got some news at the awards ceremony: For Every Evil Under the Sun, a short story collection I contributed to, was nominated for the Silver Falchion Award for Best Short Story Collection. We didn’t take home the win, but we placed third, and honestly, that felt pretty good. It’s always nice to be noticed. (Fellow AMW member, Laura Oles was a contributor, as well as Alexandra Burt.)
But at the end of the day, what I’ll remember most isn’t the panel or the awards, it’s the people. What stayed with me is how much Killer Nashville is about writers helping writers: swapping craft advice, cheering each other on, and generally leaving each other a little more inspired than when we arrived. Conferences like this have a way of turning strangers into friends over the course of just a few days, and this year was no exception. I left with a stack of business cards, a handful of new stories to tell, and a lot of new friends I’m already looking forward to seeing again.
Below are photos of me harassing interesting people.
Molly Ivinsāalways a truth-tellerādescribed the state this way: āTexas! Land of wretched excess!ā
Yes, I also quoted her in a March 2025 blog. But I was describing sustained icy weather.
This time? Austin weather persons say it has not rained here this August!
And as youāve noticed, temperatures continue to spike above 100 degrees. Outdoor house plants? In a fit of mercy, maybe you brought some back inside.
Thatās what we did today for five jasmine plants, acquired in grad school, that weāve cosseted for decades. Decades! Usually they live indoors in winter, or on the deck in summer.
But this week, walking past them, I felt a disturbance. Even with daily water, even with blossoms, I felt warning signals.
Was that just myā¦overheatedā¦imagination? Plus the fact that, as eloquently sung in Kiss Me Kate, āItās too darn hot!ā?
Per Pollan: āA great many mammals, several bird species, and octopuses are now generally thought to be conscious, and there are scientists and philosophers who believe that some rudimentary form of consciousness, or sentience, reaches much further, all the way to insects and, possibly, beyond the animal kingdom.ā (Id., at 1.)
Beyond animals? Yes, all the way to plants!
So, are plants sentient? One plant scientist points to āall the volatile compounds emitted by a succession of plants, from poplars and tobacco plants to peppers and olive trees. Plants emit volatile chemicals for a range of purposes: to signal distress, to alert neighboring plants to threats, to thwart or poison herbivores, and possibly even to soothe themselves (many plants emit ethylene, an anesthetic gas, for reasons not well understood.ā Id., at 20.) (Please to note Pollan has inserted plants in the middle of the cover.)
So maybe our jasmines emitted a volatile alarm chemical. Was the alarm intended for humans? Who can tell? But the plants made it inside…
Itās a āhard problem,ā the whole āconsciousnessā debate that Pollanās book describes, and weāre in for a fascinating scientific journey. Ā
Query for you mystery readers: would you agree that itās premature for the unraveling of a murder mystery to depend on warnings from plants? For one thing, the science is evolving. But also, to provide a real fact-based clue in a mystery, should the plantās warnings alert not just perhaps other plants, but a human? The detective, a witness, the victimāor the reader? The jury will be out on that for awhile.
But I ask because, in the oppressive heat, I took refuge in Agatha Christieās The Mystery of the Blue Train (also titled Heart of Fire) (1928).
Woe! The author appears to have committed the sin of presenting to the reader (who, like all mystery readers, is determined to solve the mystery based on available clues) information about what appears to be a mere notion on the part of a character. Ā Poirot reveals, at bookās end, that Miss Grey (a sensible character) āfirmly believes that she felt your daughterās presence beside her one day in the Casino Gardens at Monte Carlo, just after she had been having a talk with Knighton. She was convinced, she says, that the dead woman was urgently trying to tell her something, and it suddenly came to her that what the dead woman was trying to say was that Knighton was her murderer!ā (Ch. 35.)
What? Is this a ghost story? What actual fact, what actual clue, was revealed by an already dead person to Miss Grey? Could this apparent ghostly concern, this ghostly attempt at communication, convey a real clue? Yet in the last chapter thatās how Poirot treats Miss Greyās interpretation of the ghostās concernāāas an actual clue.
Iām not sure this accords with the sacred collaboration between the mystery writer and the mystery reader, where (as the 1930 Detection Club rules insist), every clue must be instantly produced to the reader.
And the notion of a character thinking she hears a dead victim trying to whisper the name of her murderer? Whatās your reaction?
Still, given the (possible?) messages from the jasmine, Iām hoping we wonāt relive the worst Texas drought, the drought of the 1950ās, so vividly described in Elmer Keltonās classic The Time It Never Rained (1973).
Keltonās dedication: āIn a broad sense this book is dedicated to the old-time Western ranchman, whose life style gave him an inkling of Heaven and more than his proper share of Hell.ā
The heat was indeed hellish. Corsicana, northeast of Austin, experienced 82 days of temperatures over 100 Ā°F or 37.8 Ā°C, peaking at 113 Ā°F or 45 Ā°C. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1950s_Texas_drought
The seven-year drought finally broke in 1957. Per NPR, āRural Texas never fully recovered. Between 1950 and 1960, the state lost nearly 100,000 farms and ranches, and rural residents who had made up more than a third of the population dwindled to just a quarter of the population.ā https://www.npr.org/2012/07/07/155995881/how-one-drought-changed-texas-agriculture-forever
Out in the pasture the grass is tan, not green. The three donkeys are disconsolate. They come to the gate to pester us for carrots.
For continued green, Iām counting on the live oaks. Cedar elms. Redbud. Peach trees. Other plant treasuresābasil, sage, geraniums, lantana, plumbago, bay tree, mintāāare faring okay so far. But what about the poor suffering stuck-in-the-dirt rose bushes? Water? More mulch? Crossed fingers?
Iām working now on Book 11 in my Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery Series set in the hill countryā¦Ghost Music. No drought involved, so far! But as always in this series, water is an important character!
Helen Currie Foster lives and writes north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s drawn to the compelling landscape and quirky characters of the Texas Hill Country. She’s also deeply curious about our human history and how, uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party! She’s active in Heart of Texas Sisters in Crime and also Austin Shakespeare. Follow her at http://www.helencurriefoster.com
Find her books on Amazon and also at BookPeople in Austin, Texas.
In 25 days, this coming September 11th will mark a quarter-century since the United States was attacked by evil in a way we’d never imagined. For those of us who lived it, itās as fresh in our memories as if it happened yesterday.
There was only one color in New York on September 11, 2001: Ash Grey. There was only one fragrance in the air: toxic fumes, sharp and acrid, as far as 25 miles away.
No one was black, white, or brown. We reached out for each other’s hands, without regard for race or ethnicity. Together, we watched in horror close up and from local distances, praying that our loved ones would somehow be spared a horrible endābut not all were.
On that day, the sun shone in a bright, clear blue sky, not common over the skyline of New York. It was as if God wanted everyone to see, without confusion, malevolence in action, and the heroism that battled it.
But who, exactly, were the heroes that day? Were the heroes those who like to stand above us and preach, like Hollywood stars? No. Did overpaid, spoiled-brat athletes run in to try to save those trapped and praying for rescue? No. Did the fascist/socialist fist-pumping, Hate-and-Steal-From-Those-Who-Have-More mobs try to get near those buildings to help? Certainly not. And make no mistake, they existed in New York 25 years ago. In our nationās capital, D. C., did the feckless Congress ask to be transported to the Pentagon to help rescue those trapped inside, as Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld did? Again, no! Were Pennsylvania’s politicians first to the crash site of Flight 95 and the brave men and women on board who chose to die fighting? No.
The rescuers that day, who rushed into danger, were the fire, rescue, EMT, and police departments. And some civilian volunteers tried to help, even without training. They didn’t ask if it was safe. They knew it wasn’t.
On that day, 25 years ago, 343 New York City firefighters, including one chaplain and two paramedics, died. Thirty-seven police officers of the Port Authority of NY and NJ perished, as did twenty-three police officers of the NYPD and one New York Fire Patrol officer. Emergency medical technicians and paramedics of private emergency services also gave their lives to help othersāand their sacrifices didn’t end that day.
Since 2001, 400 additional FDNY members have died from 9/11-related diseases, caused by toxins spewed into the air that day, and the number continues to grow.
More than 8,000 people have died from 9/11-related illnesses, surpassing the total number of lives lost on September 11, 2001. According to data and public awareness campaigns highlighted by The Mesothelioma Center, the long-term health consequencesāincluding cancers like mesothelioma and lung cancer from Ground Zero toxins and asbestos exposureācontinue to claim lives 25 years later. (The Mesothelioma Center) Just as devastating, over 40 percent of the victims still have not been identifiedāthat’s about 1,000 people. An additional agony for their families.
And here we are, 25 years later, with obnoxious, hateful people trying to say we deserved that attack. Tell that to the families of those who died trying to save others, and to the victims armed with coffee cups and pencils, who were virtually pulverized, and those who did manage to get out alive, but damaged for life.
And now we watch our less-than-illustrious city councils, mayors, and governors prostitute themselves, bending over to the criminal insurrectionist mobs. They shout Defund the police, a service without which no civil society can exist. By doing so, they dishonor the memories of all who died on 9/11, the rescuers, and the victims waiting and praying that police or firefighters could reach and save them. No one that day prayed for or expected a politician or community activist to rescue them.
Indeed, these politicians have despoiled and rendered meaningless the actions of the officers who worked so hard to rescue so many and maintain law and order in the aftermathāagain with no regard for the risk to their own health, working in the heart of the poisoned air of New York City and its suburbs.
But our political leaders are put in power by usāWe, the people. Thus, we are a nation in disgrace. Unlike the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, which remains in the minds of Americans even to this day, weāve ignored the sacrifices made by so many who serve law and order, allowing us to live and work in a safe society, and 9/11 is one of the great failings of our public school systems. It is not taught. āOnly 14 states explicitly require public schools to teach students about the events of September 11, 2001, leaving the topic up to local districts or omission in the remaining 36 states.ā (Rep. A, Garabino)
The police, fire, and EMT services are the real stars in our lives, not the tinkling fake glitter of those who hide behind their private security guards and walled communities, then dare to lecture us. Or, the athletes who choose to kneel, bow, and scrape to those who would rather see our country perishārather than stand up and say, “NO. Destruction is not the way.” And to the ethics-free Democrats and spineless Republicans masquerading as politicians, who allow our cities to be burned down and our law-abiding citizens to be attacked so that they can maintain their privileged positions and wealth and powerāletās defund you.
To all the men and women of every police, fire, and EMT department in the United States, thank you for your willingness to do jobs that put your lives in danger to protect ours.Thank you for your efforts to keep our streets safe despite the ingratitude of the public and the disgusting backstabbing politicians. Thank you for your resilience and your service.
And once again, to all who died at the hands of evil on 9/11, including the police, fire, and EMT personnel, may God keep you in the light of His face, and give peace and comfort to the loved ones you left behind.
This piece was originally intended to examine the impact AI has on the current publishing landscape and how authors are navigating a profession in turmoil. I had several pages of notes, some annotations, a couple ponderings and some righteous indignation against tech bro billionaires that I planned to share.
It got hot in here for a minute.
But, Iām tired and a bit defeated.
This topic continues to be heavily covered in industry articles, on Substack and on social media. The most recent debate that has set the publishing world ablaze centers on a debut author who landed and lost a $2 million dollar book deal. Multiple outlets report that his manuscript was fed through Pangram, an AI software tool designed to spot AI generated work. Some articles report that the author has offered examples proving he wrote the manuscript. I donāt know what happened here, but I do know that letting AI software be the ultimate expert (if thatās the case here) is some bullshit.
I canāt believe that weāre now in a position where writers must prove to an AI program that our writing is our writing. These LLMās stole all our books and are now the arbiter of whether our writing is human enough? Programs that have falsely labeled human writing as AI generated get to be the final judge? Several writers stated that they have tested these programs by feeding their older novels into such programs, and the software claimed many were AI generated.Ā Ā
To paraphrase Dorothy Parker, āWhat fresh hell is this?ā
As a writer, I have countless files of notes, revisions, outlines, cut files and research. I am also a fan of the em dash, a punctuation that has been (unfairly) marked as a hallmark of AI. The em dash is the Swiss army knife of punctuation. I use it often and sometimes incorrectly. I now catch myself considering other alternatives for fear someone (that vast void of opinions or bots on the Internet) will accuse me of using AI in my writing. Alsoāwhy are em dashes out here catching strays when they were just minding their own business?
I donāt use AI for my writing. Iāve chosen the glorious path of mucking around with a paragraph for an hour because it doesnāt flow quite right, and I still canāt figure out why. My critique partner can attest to this madness as she suffers from a similar affliction. I understand that not everyone wants to do this. I also believe that this practice is part of the craft. Iām currently dancing around a chapter like a Grace Kelly wannabe if her shoes were too tight and possibly on backwards. Itās a little chaotic. Thatās art.
And I donāt hate technology.Ā Ā In my previous life, I was a founding team member of a digital imaging company in a time when Kodak was king.Ā Iāve got two decades of experience navigating a seismic shift of an industry in flux. Our clients were photo labs, camera stores and a handful of professional photographers. We were extremely aware of photographersā copyright protections and included education, training and specific language in all our products. We respected the artists. And we trained our team to respect the artists. It was a core part or our organizationās foundation. Granted, we were a small player on a large field, but we knew who we were and what we valued.
I wish Open AI, Anthropic and the other tech cohorts who are pushing AI enhancements on everything except breakfast cereals (Cheerios! Now with AI!) had respect for the artistsā works they crushed into concrete for their empiresā foundations. I know it wonāt happenāIād have better odds hitting the lottery or being struck by lightning.
āFocus on what you can control.ā
Stellar advice that is easier to say than do, but I believe our power lies in where we spend our time, energy, money and attention. So, Iāll continue supporting writers whose work I love and the bookstores who promote them. And Iāll let the other more eloquent voices in our field debate the best practices for how to protect authors and their work as the AI industrial complex runs roughshod over such pesky obstacles as copyright and ethical guardrails.
Iāll end with Camille PagĆ”nās succinct statement on Substack:
āThe Pangram problem:Ā Ā AI companies stole hundreds (possibly more than a thousand) of the health articles and medical guides I wrote, as well at least seven of my novels. Nowāshockingāmy content is routinely flagged for AI (which I never use)ā¦because the tools recognize style and content that was stolen.Ā Ā The fix isnāt an āAI detector.ā Itās to stop allowing tech cos to pirate and profit from real, human creators.ā
Laura Oles is the award-winning author of the Jamie Rush mystery series. Her shorter work has appeared in crime fiction anthologies, consumer magazines and business publications. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and the Writersā League of Texas. Before turning to fiction, Laura spent two decades as a photo industry journalist.She loves road trips, bookstores and any outdoor activity that doesnāt involve running. She lives in the Texas Hill Country with her family. (https://www.lauraoles.com).
Meet my newest character, Cleo Jimenez, a former Marine, former police officer, and now Dallas-based private investigator. āMirror Life Meltdown,ā in Black Cat Weekly #255, is Cleoās first published appearance, but not the first story I wrote for her. That story is still awaiting publication later this year. Her third case is currently on submission.
Cleo is non-descript, with average height, average build, average looks. Sheās a thirty-something, brown-hair-in-a-pony-tail, jeans-and-t-shirt kind of woman. Sheās not into fancy clothes, fussy hair-dos, or make-up. Being average makes it easier for her to blend into the background when she is following a subject suspected of infidelity. The majority of Cleoās cases involve family drama, from cheating spouses to crimes caused by addiction, mental illness, greed, vanity, and lust. In Cleoās world, a bird that walks like a duck is usually a duck, not a whooping crane. Her cases stem from people doing stupid things and making bad choices, resulting in blow-ups in their personal lives.
Cleo enjoys romance novels, historical or modern. She studied communication at the local community college. She can handle a gun, but doesnāt usually need to carry one, since taking photos of cheating spouses, unseen, rarely leads to conflict. She drinks Shiner Bock beer and drives an older model Nissan.
When Cleo accepts a case surveilling a professor whose wife is concerned by his sudden inattentiveness and lack of communication, she isnāt expecting a deep dive into the world of university-level bioengineering and biochemistry research. She fully expects to photograph the professor in a sleazy motel, maybe with a grad student. Then her duck turns into a whooping crane, and the case takes on potentially earth-shattering consequences. Thank goodness Cleo is resourceful, even when out of her depth!
Where did the idea for this story come from?
I saw a call for a short story of any genre that included a mention of something potentially apocalyptic. As I was pondering the guidelines, I asked my neurodiverse college student son, who is currently working as an undergraduate research assistant at the University of Texas at Austin, if he could think of any possible causes of a man-made apocalypse, excluding obvious things like thermonuclear war or robots and AI. He spouted a list. (This is a fairly normal conversation in my house.) The creation of mirror life bacteria was on his list. I asked what that was. He defined it. Fortunately, I retained enough of the chemistry and organic chemistry classes that I took in college to understand his explanation.
Then I went to the internet and read several articles on mirror molecules and mirror life. In one of those odd quirks of coincidence, I even received a newsletter from UT Austin with an article about the work on mirror molecules being done at UT Dallas around that time.
Now I had an interesting topic and a setting: UT Dallas, where my oldest son attended college. Next, I needed some characters for the story.
I have another PI character who lives and works in the Dallas area. Her name is Maya Laster, and sheās a private investigator specializing in forensic and genetic genealogy. I considered how I could place Maya in a mirror-life case, but she felt wrong for the story. Then I remembered Cleo. Cleo was perfect for the case I was imagining.
In her next adventure, Cleo is hired to stand guard over a painting at the State Fair of Texas. That case, entitled āA Picture is Worth a Thousand Likes,ā will appear in the anthology Big Tex and Suspects: Crime at the State Fair of Texas which is scheduled for release next year.
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For more information on short fiction by N.M. CedeƱo, visit nmcedeno.com
