Writing Beverage of Choice?
February 8, 2010
What is your writing beverage of choice?
My beverage of choice: Iced Soy Chai. My favorite chais are Tazo and Stash, plus whatever they use for the vanilla chai up at the Aloha Theater in Kainaliu. Sadly, they’re not open all morning or I’d be up there sucking down vanilla chais with foam all day long. None of these come in chocolate caramel versions, CJ, but maybe they’re better than nothing.
I used to swear by Earl Grey. I even had the London Fog, with vanilla syrup and foamy milk from time to time. But as I descend into the darker and colder years of Nazi-ism, I’ve found I like to be a little cold when I write. Earl Grey doesn’t taste right iced. It’s drinkable, but not the same. And I can’t hear Patrick Stewart’s voice saying “Earl Grey, cold” somehow.
Living in Hawaii it’s not that easy to find some place where you can bundle yourself up in a long sleeved shirt and write without overheating, especially when drinking hot tea (how did the British do it in India?). I know, I know, that’s just my cross to bear and no one scraping ice off their car right now has a lick of sympathy. I’m not expecting any.
This is where I must confess that I write in Starbucks. I know I should feel guilty about this, and I do. In my defense, I have tried to go to every single independent coffee shop within a half hour of my house and none of them but the one Starbucks lets me sit undisturbed and write for hours and hours and hours. Most want me out within thirty minutes, and my pocketbook and bladder can’t afford to buy a new cup of tea every thirty minutes. I’d spend more time in the bathroom than writing.
So, what’s YOUR favorite beverage? And is it seasonal, for those of you with seasons?
Genre vs. literary?
January 26, 2010
“Tell us how you feel about genre vs. literary,” says a reassuring voice with a light Viennese accent.
The lights are dim. The Persian rug on the floor is red with an elaborate pattern of what look like flowers. The chaise is oxblood leather.
The patient shifts on the chaise. “I feel fine.”
“Does it make you feel denigrated when someone calls your work genre?” The doctor strokes his pointed beard.
“I’m just happy when someone calls it anything at all. It has genre elements. People die mysteriously. Their murders are investigated and solved. Justice, alas, is complicated.”
“But,” says the doctor. “It is more than that. What about the writing? The voice? The historical background? The themes you try to convey?”
“It has all that too,” the patient says. “Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because it’s genre!” The Viennese voice sounds a little annoyed now.
“Genre doesn’t have to be reductionist.”
“Of course it does!”
“Why?” The patient sits up and adjusts her socks.
“Aren’t you supposed to by lying down where I put you? Answering the questions that I ask you?”
The patient stands and starts doing jumping jacks.
“You must calm down.” The Viennese doctor stands too. He strides behind his desk and watches her nervously. He looks at his telephone, undecided.
“I am calm. I can be calm and do jumping jacks. I can write things that are literary and genre.”
“You can’t.”
“Read it and weep.”
So, the Viennese doctor puts down his notebooks and pen, adjusts his horn-rimmed glasses and begins to read. He reads through that session and the one after. He reads all afternoon, book after book.
Because, reading can be fun. And unexpected. And anything you want it to be.
So, calm down, do some jumping jacks. Read what you want, call it what you want. The books and the story will endure regardless. Or not.
Dream Team, Perry Mason or Paul Drake?
November 2, 2009
What fictional attorney would you hire to represent you if you ever get caught?
I’d go straight for Perry Mason. He’s never lost a case, and I like that track record. He’s definitely gotten defendants out of tighter pinches than the one I’d be in.
It’ll be stressful as I sit in jail waiting. My nerves will be shot when the trial has its share of missteps as Perry tries and fails to break the wrong witnesses. But when Paul strides in and whispers in Perry’s ear, I’ll know he’s found that bit of evidence that exonerates me. And I know he worked hard to do it too, bless his heart.
The witness on the stand will crack like dry spaghetti. That self righteous smirk will peel off Hamilton Burger’s face. In your face, I’ll say once the gavel comes down to acquit me. Sure, it’ll be spiteful, but after what he put me through, can you blame me?
And then I can spend a little quality time with Paul Drake. There was something intriguing about that big blond guy. He was a thorough investigator, looked sharp in a suit, but could beat up the meanest thugs. Unlike Perry, Paul knew the score. Plus he liked chocolate ice cream, and pretty much ate anything you put in front of him, a trait that I appreciate more now that I have a picky eater in the house.
What did Della see in Perry anyway? Paul was cuter, taller, and a lot more fun. Although both clearly had massive commitment issues, Paul did eventually get married and have little Paul Jr. at some point. Perry just got portly.
So, if I were to get caught, I’d want Perry on my side. But I won’t need him, because I’ll never get caught. Because I’m innocent. Innocent. Innocent.
I didn’t get to answer last week’s question about ways to dispatch murder victims, but my good friend, and fellow mystery writer, Hal Glatzer sent me a link to a video on just this topic.
Why All Series Should Be Trilogies
September 28, 2009
A series should always be a trilogy. Who has ever heard of a du-ology? And bi-ology is something quite different. What about a quadrology? Pentology? Nope. Clearly if there is no word for it, it just can’t be.
And trilogy is a versatile term. “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” is a four book trilogy. So is “Lord of the Rings,” if you count “The Hobbit.” Those are some successful quadrologies. The “Harry Potter” books are a septology, which doesn’t quite sound as naughty as a sextology, but after all those books are for kids.
Titles matter too. If you start with “A is for Alibi” you know you only have 24 more titles until you reach “Z is for Zero.” (What’s the word for a 26 part series? Kelli, you’re the Latin buff. Lend us a hand.) But if you start with “One for the Money,” you can keep writing until “Google Me Grandma Mazur.”
In all seriousness, a series should run exactly as long as the writer can tell rewarding stories in that world. Or until the publishers and readers stop buying them. As a writer, I hope for the first. Especially as I’m on the third book in my trilogy.
I’ll close by paraphrasing a junior high English teacher who, when I asked how long an essay should be, said “As long as a piece of rope.”
Drove me crazy then too.
Herding Cats
August 18, 2009
Do I control my characters or do they control me?
By Rebecca Cantrell
I control most of my characters as much as I control my housecat. The cat and the characters usually come when I call. I can pick them up and move them around, but they don’t stay where I put them unless they really wanted to go there. I have things that I want them to do, and if I’m very clever, they do those things.
I also have memories of cats and characters gone by. They’ve done what they’ve done and I have to make peace with it. My dead characters are based on people who actually existed. They did what they did, said what they said, and all I can do is accommodate that if I want to use them. They have all the control, and I have all the poetic license. If I want to make them deviate from their actual lives, I can sneak that into my author’s note.
But I also have a feral cat. I have limited control over her. She does what she wants and leaves for days at a time. She never comes when I call unless she’s hungry, and then probably only half of the time. I work hard to please her, and she doesn’t appreciate it one bit. Yet, I never stop trying.
I have feral characters. They go where they’re not supposed to go and do things I’d rather they wouldn’t. I currently have one whom I think is mentally ill. In spite of all my therapy on her, she’s not getting better either. But I’m not giving up on her.
Ferals are hard work, but the moments when they jump in your lap and purr are the most rewarding of all.
So, which do you prefer? Housecats? Memories of cats gone by? Or feral cats?