THE MOUSE IN THE DRAWER

I’m a city girl by birth and temperament. As far as I’m concerned, the country is a nice place to visit for a few hours, maybe a few days, but no more. The suburbs are like being exiled to Elba. I’ve been exiled a very long time, and I’m getting fed up with it. Unfortunately, unless I win the lottery (note to self: you have to play to win!) or score a 7 figure book deal (Terri, are you listening?), I’ll be stuck in suburbia for the rest of my life.

Four-legged natives are one of the reasons I dislike suburbia. I’m convinced they know it and go out of their way to make my life miserable. Right now I have, not a village, but an entire city of rabbits living under my back deck. They multiply like -- well, like rabbits and eat everything from my grass to the zucchini flowers. What they don’t eat, they use as an outdoor toilet. The squirrels gobble up the green tomatoes before they have time to mature and ripen. Nothing I’ve tried gets rid of either of these predators, and believe me, I’ve tried everything, spending a fortune at the gardening center.

Now I’ve also got an albino opossum, possibly a pregnant one, living under the deck along with the rabbits. I guess they’ve formed a sort of détente because I thought opossums ate baby bunnies. I’ve also had chipmunks and birds in my attic over the past year. However, nothing has been as bad as a mouse in the house.

I’ve lived in four suburban houses my adult life and never had a mouse in the house until six years ago. Remember, I said I’m a city girl. So I didn’t even recognize the evidence of a mouse at first. I thought those black things on the counter were rye seeds from the bag of bagels. No, I later discovered that’s what mouse droppings look like. Euuwww! I haven’t eaten bagels with rye seeds since.

It turns out the mouse had decided to make himself at home in a kitchen drawer where I keep take-out menus, chip clips, and coupons. Don’t ask me why. We caught that mouse six years ago and ever since have kept traps in various locations in the basement and kitchen. A year ago I discovered a dead mouse in a trap under the utility sink. At first I thought the sewer had backed up. It’s amazing how much one dead mouse can stink!

Anyway, fast-forward to the other day. I opened the drawer with the take-out menus and found some mints I’d tossed in the trash, cracker crumbs, and those rye seed looking droppings (I always thought animals didn’t go potty where they live, but what do I know?) -- evidence of another mouse, one who’d managed to avoid all the traps in the basement and kitchen cabinets. We did eventually catch the little bugger, but I’m still amazed that six years later a mouse had decided to camp out in the exact same drawer as his predecessor. 

We bought some more mouse traps, and I’m now buying lottery tickets. And still not eating rye bread or bagels.

What about the rest of you? Any critter phobias?

Everything's A Story

By Deborah Sharp

A newspaper editor from way back in my previous life always said only a lazy reporter can't find a good story.

"Stories are everywhere,'' he'd say, taking a drag from the cigarette burning on the edge of his desk. Yes, I'm so old editors still smoked in their offices when I was a wide-eyed cub reporter. Drank, too, but that's a tale for another day.

Anyway, his advice set me on a path of always looking for the offbeat, the unusual, the toss-away observation that might turn into a story. Even though I write fiction now, I'm still doing it. These days, my eyes are peeled for the kind of details that could add something to a plot or to the characters who people my Mace Bauer Mysteries.

Occasionally, I do it just for fun. Just to see if I still have the chops for observation.

The scene: The sidewalk along State Road A-1-A, the beachfront highway in my hometown of Fort Lauderdale. My eyes -- and my notebook -- are open when I spot a couple of lowlife-looking guys, hanging out and drinking beer across from the Elbo Room. Their bicycles lean against the Wave Wall, under swaying palm fronds and a Turtle Nesting sign that details the yearly schedule for lights-out along the beach.

These guys are clearly members of the sun-baked, hard-living crowd my husband and I identify as BWI, or Biking While Intoxicated. They've already been found guilty of DUI, lost their drivers' licenses, and now get around on salt-rusted bicycles with holders on the handlebars to tote their beers. Flouting the law against open containers, Dude No. 1 has tucked a dirty washcloth around his beer can, like that'll fool the cops who patrol the beach.

Dude 1 sports a 'do-rag and a bright orange T-shirt touting a soft-drink, It's Crush Time. The cool thing about being a fiction writer, though, is I get to improve the scene with a better T-shirt I spotted in a tacky souvenir shop about a block away: I Support Single Moms, it said, above a stripper on a pole, One Dollar at a Time.

So, now Dude 1's wearing that T-shirt instead, chugging from his washcloth-wrapped Budweiser.
Dude No. 2 asks him, ''You've had a few, right?''
No. 1 nods.
Dude 2 holds up a 32-oz. plastic thermos. "This is my first one.''
In the spirit of show and tell, Dude 1 puts down his Budweiser so he can pull something from his pocket. Click. Snap.
''That's a switchblade!'' Dude 2's bleary eyes widen. "That's illegal, man.''
''I didn't know you were such a law-abiding citizen,'' says No. 1.

So, that's where the scene ends, as they mount their bikes and make their way south. But I couldn't help but wonder What If? (The two favorite words of a fiction writer, right up there with The End.) What if Dude 1 killed somebody with that switchblade? Or, what if he simply found it somewhere after someone else used it in a fatal stabbing? What if Dude No. 2 has to step up to help? Sober up, slay the demons he's keeping at bay with that thermos of beer, and use the skills he learned as a trained military investigator to clear No. 1 from a bum murder rap?

Maybe, or maybe not. But at the very least, that T-shirt with the stripper pole will turn up in the pages of my next Mace Bauer Mystery. So what have you observed lately that made you ask What If? Has there been something that made you wonder WTF?

Three For Three

Another book will be throwing its hat into the 2012 ring: DEADLY CAMPAIGN, set for a January release.

This is my third book, and it was still a thrill when I saw my cover for the first time. And what a cover it is! Eye-catching, colorful, enticing (I hope!). For my money, Midnight Ink does the best covers in the business, and I’m very grateful to be part of the team.

 

Believe it or not, until about three weeks ago, I hadn’t connected the fact that this book—with a congressional campaign as a backdrop—was coming out in an election year (I know, duh!). Maybe it’s because I live in the D.C. suburbs and politics is in the news every single day, election year or not.

My two previous books were both Spring releases, so this will be my first Winter release. Hopefully, the book will appeal to all those who receive bookstore gift cards doing their shopping in early January.

Okay, so what’s the book about? Here’s the description from Midnight Ink’s website:

A new Last Laff Mystery from Agatha Award-nominated author Alan Orloff:   Comedy club owner and occasional performer Channing Hayes thought the comedy business was tough, but it's a stroll in the park compared to politics. When he and his business partner Artie attend a congressional campaign event for their friend Thomas Lee's nephew, masked thugs storm in and break up Lee's restaurant with baseball bats. The candidate's people insist that the police not be involved, so Lee asks Channing to investigate. As Channing searches for answers, he finds himself immersed in a corrupt world of payoffs, gangs, illicit affairs, blackmail—and murder . . .

 

It’s available for pre-order here, here, here, and here. Register your vote today!

 

My name is Alan Orloff, and I have approved this message.

Saying Good-Bye to My Baby

Writing an entire book is like running a marathon (not that I ever have or will run one) or finding out you're about to have a baby, where you start off fast and happy, hit a wall of fear, curse the gods for ever giving you the thought of pursuing this madness, but keep going until the end with renewed vigor, or as I like to think of it, "I made it this bloody far, I will not let anything stop me. I'll show them!" So you continue on until you get to write those two wonderful words, "The End," and make yourself a large drink. Your baby is here...now comes the hard part.

After the first draft coomes the first and second edits before you give it to your beta testers, who take their sweet time reading and editing. Then you take their suggestions, edit again, send it to your wonderful agent for her to edit, make the corrections she suggests, edit again, and finally it's ready to shop around. And if the publishing gods deign her worthy the publisher will have you edit it at least twice more. So "The End" is simply the beginning of a grueling process, almost like raising a child, where you will curse your characters for ever entering your imagination or life in the first place at least once or twice. But you love her regardless, and you solider on to do your best to help her grow.

There is so much else that goes into getting the book from the first draft to the last as I pointed out. But yesterday I started the final, final, final edit of "Mind Over Monsters." She has gone through so many changes since I started it seven(!) years ago I barely recognize her. The beginning chapter I started with is completely gone, characters names have changed, and I don't know how many paragraphs have been shortened or expanded. She (like all cars manuscripts are female) has grown from a seed in my mind to an infant as I did the first draft. All her parts were there, her personality, but she needed shaping to become a productive member of book society.

So through the years I did my best to trim her fat, improve her vocabulary, scream at her when she wouldn't listen to me, and make her the best she could be. (Those teenage years...shudder. I almost gave up on her when I was trying to sell her, but we soldiered through). Now it's as if she is about to graduate college. She's standing on her own two feet, but still needs her Mommy for a few last bits of advice. That's what I'm doing now with the final edit. Never again will I be able to change words, add to characters, plug in narrative holes, etc. She will forever be out in the world as is for other people to judge, enjoy, or just plain hate. She is her own entity now. I just hope my baby will become President instead of a bum. Regardless, I have to let go. I've done all I can to get her to stand on her two feet, and I am proud of her...though I never want to see her again.

Now onto her siblings.

Raffel 5.0

Keith here.

Now that I’ve been writing full-time for about four years, friends and relatives are finally getting used to the idea. I’ve impressed upon them that writing a novel does indeed count as work. They have learned not to refer to my time in the software world as “back when you were working.” And maybe out of fear of being a defendant in a wrongful death action brought by my heirs, they no longer ask if I am enjoying “retirement.” That vein that starts throbbing on my forehead gives them a warning that an apoplectic fit cannot be far away. In fact, many of those friends tell me something like, “Actually, I’ve read your latest book and it’s pretty good.” I don’t know if I should be insulted by the tone of surprise, but I’ve decided to just go with it and say “thank you.”

Well, I can’t leave well enough alone. I’m screwing the whole thing up. I’ve gone and taken on a day job. Why would I do something like that? I cannot say that writing novels has been quite as lucrative as working in software, but it’s not just the money. (I can’t say money plays no role at all. It was Dr. Johnson who said, “No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money.”) For my entire post-college life I’ve just gotten that itch to try something new every four, five, or six years. And happy as I was spending my days in my neighborhood café rapping out the stories of Ian and Rowena and Sam and Cecilia, I still am excited to be started something new. Leaving aside a few flings like my six months as a gambler at the race track, I figure this newest incarnation is my fifth.

I’ve overcome the shame of admitting that I went to law school. Even worse, I went intending to become a corporate lawyer. A summer job at a Wall Street firm cured me of that folly, and I decided instead to do my bit in saving the world. (Another folly.) I pounded the hallways of the Capitol in Washington and was hired as the junior of three lawyers on the staff of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Before the end of my first year, the other two had left. I was 27 years old and the senior lawyer on the committee overseeing the government’s secret intelligence activities. Holy s**t! (I mined that experience in my latest book, Drop By Drop.) Then I got a little too big for my britches and went home to Palo Alto to run for Congress. My experience running for elective office was like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. No matter how much fun the ride was, what I remember is the landing. Splat – like an overripe tomato hitting a concrete floor! So ended my life in politics and career #1.

Next I landed at ROLM Corporation in Silicon Valley, where Ken Oshman, a brilliant and demanding executive who’d been CEO of the company from his 20s, took a chance on me. I was there when we introduced the first successful corporate voicemail systems. After we sold the company to IBM, I stuck with high tech, but eventually found myself in a company where I loved my colleagues, my boss, and the product, but I was still getting a little bored. So I did what you do in Silicon Valley under such circumstances. I left my job and started a company. That was the end of career #2 as a high tech employee and the beginning of #3 as an entrepreneur.

After six years of 70 hour weeks, we sold the company. Part of closing the deal was promising to stick around for awhile. Once my indentured servitude had lapsed though, I left and started casting around for my next move. I thought about starting another company, but an old Japanese proverb kept running through my head: “Every person should walk to the top of Mount Fuji, but only a fool does it twice.”

And so ended my third career and the start of #4 as a novelist. I love writing. When I walk into my neighborhood café, the staff turns down the music and brings me my pot of green tea. I put on noise-canceling headphones and pretty soon I’ve made the jump to another world where I have adventures as another person – one braver, smarter, and more attractive to women than I am. I’ve written five manuscripts. Midnight Ink published Dot Dead and Smasher. Drop By Drop has just come out as an ebook original – which is going great. I have delivered two more manuscripts to my agent. Writing is a great gig. But still, dammit, I found myself needing to scratch that itch to try something new.

I knew I didn’t want to do the same thing again. Whenever I thought about it, a picture of Mt. Fuji would pop into my brain.

At a New Year’s party at the beginning of the year, I mentioned to a friend that I was feeling that itch to try something new. She said something to a friend of hers, who in turn said something to her husband. And the upshot of all that? I’ve just started a job at a genetic sequencing company. What the heck is that? Well, it turns out that humans have 21,000 genes that are written in something like computer code. It cost over a billion dollars to sequence all of a human’s genes in the Human Genome Project that finished up in 2003. The company I’m at now does it for less than one hundred thousandth as much. Why does it matter? Sometimes when one or more of those genes run amok, cancer results. Anomalies in other genes can lead to a predisposition for heart disease or Alzheimer’s. Researchers are figuring all this out. In the not distant future, it will possible to take medication targeting our own specific genetic make-up (or genome). We’ll find out if we have a predisposition for diabetes or cancer and have the option to change our diet and exercise patterns accordingly. I participated in Silicon Valley’s Internet revolution. This was a chance to participate in the personalized medicine revolution that is definitely coming! Could not say no!

It turns out to be harder to leave career #4 behind than my first three. On the job only for a week and I already have ideas for thrillers set in the world of DNA sequencing and research. Yes, I am starting another career, but without abandoning the old one. I am still an author.

Howdy!

I'm delighted to be writing my first Inkspot post and proud to be in such wonderful company.

My Midnight Ink series -- Janet's Planet -- is set in New York State's Hudson Valley and I think of the valley as being a character in the books. It's a unique place and I thought I’d give readers a quick overview.

The valley – which stretches about 140 miles from New York City due north to Albany – has a fascinating history. It was home to the Mahican and Munsee tribes before the first Europeans, the Dutch, settled there in the early 1600s. I sometimes forget how fast and easy water travel was before roads were built (hacking through a mile of dense forest was a lot of work). The Hudson River became the thrilling heartbeat of the New World’s commerce, culture and warfare.

During the Revolutionary War, the good guys strung a huge armor chain mesh across the Hudson Highlands – the river’s narrowest point just north of West Point -- to stop British warships. In the 19th century the Hudson Valley was the place to be – many of the America’s richest families built mansions along its banks and the Hudson River School of painting dazzled the country and the world. In 1825 the completion of the Erie Canal – which linked the Hudson to the Great Lakes – turned the valley into an economic powerhouse.

Today the Hudson Valley is in a great transition. It went into economic decline in the mid-to-late 20th century but it has been rediscovered big time and today it’s New York’s fastest growing region. It is a fabulously diverse place, home to inner-city slums and incredible wealth, filled with organic farms, vineyards, world-class museums, historic mansions, fabulous hiking and kayaking, amazing restaurants (it’s home to the Culinary Institute of America and many grads stay in the area and open restaurants), extraordinary beauty, palpable history, evocative lighthouses (check out this one, which is also a B&B: saugertieslighthouse.com/logbook/), amazing architecture.

What really makes the valley special are the people. It’s filled with artists, entrepreneurs, low-lifes, bon vivants, people of all ethnicities and religions, blacks, Hispanics, Asians, gays. There’s also corruption, intrigue and, of course, murder. It’s a delicious stew, always simmering.

In other news, here’s a link here to my appearance this week on Greater Boston, hosted by Emily Rooney (Andy Rooney’s daughter), which is the highest-rated PBS show in the metro area. I was on with novelist Claire Cook and the non-fiction writer Kate Whouley discussing our summer reading picks.

wgbh.org/greater_boston/index.cfm

And here’s an item in the Boston Globe re: my appearance on a Literary Idol panel at Grub Street’s – Boston’s dynamic writers’ center – annual Muse and the Marketplace conference last month.

boston.com/ae/celebrity/articles/2011/05/02/here_come_the_judges/

Happy Fourth to one and all! xx

Inkspot News - July 2, 2011

Today, Saturday, July 2nd, from 3 to 5 PM, Beth Groundwater will be signing copies of Deadly Currents at The Next Page Bookstore in Frisco, Colorado. It will be a fundraiser for the Gore Range Chapter of Trout Unlimited. If you're in the area, Beth hopes you'll stop by and bring friends.

Also today, Alan Orloff will be appearing at the Grand Opening of Novel Places in Clarksburg, MD. His presentation/book signing for Killer Routine begins at 2 PM (followed by Donna Andrews at 3 PM). Come by and enjoy some food, fun, and books!

And We Think We've Got it Tough

by Vicki Doudera

Two hundred and thirty-five years ago, Thomas Jefferson awaited the vote for independence with trepidation -- not because he did not think the measure would pass -- but because he knew that with the vote would come another round of changes to the "original Rough draught" of his document declaring independence from England. Like any writer, Jefferson loathed editorial criticism, so the thirty-nine revisions requested by Congress on July 2, 1776, were not easy to swallow.

Jefferson had been appointed, along with Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, Roger Sherman, and Robert Livingstone to the committee tasked with writing the document, and then promptly designated by the others as the worker bee. Writing in secret in Philadelphia, he labored in private for days creating a "composition draft." He then made a "fair" copy of the declaration and presented it to the others. Revised first by Adams, then by Franklin, and then by the full committee, forty-seven alterations (including the insertion of three additional paragraphs) were made to the document before the rest of Congress even saw the thing.

We who toil with the craft of writing know how hard it is to accept changes to our carefully crafted words. I think back to a professor in college who took me to task saying I had to learn "the fine art of paragraphing." At the time I was annoyed, but oddly enough her advice comes back to me, and I sense she had a point. Hopefully Jefferson, toiling away in that sweltering city, believed that at least some of his colleagues' changes improved his "draught."

What editorial comments have been hard for you to swallow? Did you declare them insignificant, or insightful?

Happy Independence Day to all.