I was asked recently if I write books because I want to be famous. To which I replied, “I’m already famous!” Of course, my fame is all in my mind.

But the question did cause me to ask myself why do I write? There are several answers to this question. I write to quiet the voices in my head. I love the process of crafting a story. I might be obsessed with writing …

When I wrote “Peril in Paradise” in 2004, I queried the manuscript the old-fashioned way. After sending fifty-plus query letters, I finally received a request for the first fifty pages. And, as luck would have it, I landed an agent. She sent my novel to publishers, but alas, all I received were “no thank you” letters. A few editors were polite enough to compliment me on how well I write my villains.

I hung onto that compliment as I wrote “Malice in Mazatlan” and created one of my favorite villains, Sarita Garcia.” I didn’t query this novel, and then my busy life took over, suppressing my creative drive.

You all know how I returned to writing after my son, Derrick, died, and have been blessed to crank out seven more books since those early two novels. I love that I’m still inspired to write books set in my beautiful Mexico. And, of course, writing the Stoneybrook series gives me a chance to bring my son alive as a fictional deputy sheriff. I haven’t queried any of these books, embracing my role as an indie author and happy with my imaginary fame.

I’m sure you have all received emails from AI bots offering to promote your “wonderfully written and highly entertaining” novel. At first, the emails were poorly written and ended up in my junk folder, but they eventually got better. Still, I avoided being sucked into their promise of “rising my novel to the top of the bestsellers list.”

You may remember that I still have a “day job,” which means I’m on the phone a lot with clients. When I receive a call from an unknown number, I always let it go to voicemail. At some point, I listen to my voicemails, which are usually from product vendors or someone trying to sell me something.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a voicemail from a producer for a radio show called “America Tonight with Kate Delaney.” The producer, Chris, had read “Redneck Ranch” and loved it so much that she recommended Kate feature me on the show. All I had to do was call back and schedule a time for Kate to interview me.

So, I did what you all would’ve done: I Googled the name of the radio show, and it came up as a legitimate one. The voicemail suggested I listen to an interview Kate had done with another author, which had increased her sales. The author, interviewed by Kate, also seemed legitimate, so I called Chris back.

Chris knew specific details about “Redneck Ranch” that indicated she’d actually read the book. So, as we chatted for a few minutes, I kept searching the internet for any red flags. Every now and then, I thought I detected that she had a slight accent, one that I couldn’t identify.

The kudos for my book kept coming. A particular favorite was when she said, “I think with the right recognition, ‘Redneck Ranch’ could be picked up and made into a television series.”

Hope springs eternal!

In my delirious state, thinking I could be the next Taylor Sheridan, I agreed to let Chris send an email requesting information.

Remember my “day job?” Well, I’m required to have some serious security software, and when Chris’s email hit my inbox, my laptop lit up with multiple red-flag warnings. And one word jumped off my screen, “SCAM.”

“Chris,” I said, trying to sound calm, “my security software just alerted me that your email is a scam.”

“No, no,” she said. “This is a legitimate opportunity.”

“And how much exactly does this opportunity cost?” I asked.

“We have very reasonable fees—” Chris began, her accent becoming more pronounced.

“I’m not interested in paying your fake radio station any money,” I replied, a definite edge to my tone.

“We are not a—” her Filipino accent clearly discernible now.

“Goodbye, Chris.” I ended the call.

I’m glad I dodged a bullet and didn’t send any money for the fake opportunity, but for a nano-second, I had been on the verge of real fame.

I despise people who play on a person’s hope, since I believe hope is a necessary emotion to navigate life. It’s an integral part of goal setting. As in, I hope I finish writing “Fatal Falls” before our trip to Mesa on Memorial Day weekend, so I can edit the manuscript in glorious sunshine.

So, I’m happy to remain famous in my own mind, setting hopeful writing goals and basking in the glow when a real reader offers kudos for one of my books.

Happy, hopeful writing ~ Ladies

Finding the Ending

In some stories I know where the ending will be. I work toward it as I construct the plot, discover byways and digressions and facets of characters I hadn’t considered as the story takes shape. That’s one of the advantages of writing crime fiction—the writer has a pretty good idea of where she’s going to end up, still with room for surprises. But that isn’t always the case in some stories. One effort stands out in particular for me. For several weeks I worked on what had seemed to me a simple tale of a fisherman in India, “Tukku’s Dream.”

Tukku gave up fishing after losing a hand to a shark, a fairly common occurrence in that part of India. The reader follows him through a series of jobs as he tries to make sense of his new fear of the water. An unexpected call for help leads to more than anticipated. But I didn’t know how to end the story and kept writing—filling page after page with verbiage and still confused. I gave the story to a friend to read, and his response was terse. The story ended for me right here, he said, pointing to a page about half way through. And he was right. He found the ending after one reading when I couldn’t. I amputated the story at that point and sold it soon after.

The Mellingham series featuring Chief of Police Joe Silva seemed a simple matter of giving Joe a series of crimes to investigate while I introduce the quirky, sometimes criminal inhabitants of his little town. I went along placidly, happily until I finished book number 7, Come About for Murder. And then nothing. Any ideas I had after that seemed more suited to short stories, and Joe found himself marginalized. Only then did I realize what had happened.

In book three, Joe meets Gwen McDuffy, who is guardian to two children. By the end of Family Album, love has blossomed and Joe’s chronic bachelorhood is coming to an end. In Last Call for Justice Joe visits his family and Gwen’s daughter, Jennie, plays a role, and the reader gets to know her and how she views their new family. In Come About for Murder, the focus shifts to Gwen’s son, Philip, who is presented as Joe’s stepson. By the end of the book it is clear that Joe is his father in every possible way, and the family devotion runs deep for them all. 

What I had done in the Mellingham series without realizing it was follow the earlier principle that it took seven mystery novels to tell the story of the main character. This was an idea we avid mystery readers batted back and forth in the 1970s and 1980s, and then as many beloved series expanded to far more than seven books, the idea was mostly forgotten. But there is something to it. 

The form of the mystery novel requires a lot of the writer (and the reader), so it’s not surprising that the additional theme of the series character’s personal life finds less scope in the 250 pages allotted for mystery novels back then. When the format and page length changed, the series focus did also, and we now have mystery novels over 500 pages and some over 1,000 pages, with attention shifting from the main character and family to formerly minor characters.

Writers have far more options now when it comes to length. Our preference is a personal choice, but I still look at my series as focused on one character and how she or he evolves through crises and challenges. I found the ending for the Mellingham series unless I want to shift attention from Joe onto someone else (and I don’t at the moment), but I haven’t found the ending for the Anita Ray series or the Felicity O’Brien series. 

The so-far last book in the Anita Ray series, number five and titled In Sita’s Footsteps, opened doors I hadn’t expected and I’m playing around with some new ideas. Much as I love Anita and Auntie Meena, I see problems with future books because I’ve made them somewhat static though fun and charming. In the Sita mystery, I found areas in which they can grow and evolve. The question is now what to do about it, how to take the series into this new, unexpected direction. 

I’ll figure it out eventually, and a new Anita Ray with a new and, I hope, interesting slant will appear. Right now I’m celebrating the long-lived life of the Mellingham series. Last Call for Justice, number six, will be out in paperback in August (and book club members in June). And I’m about to sign for Come About for Murder, number seven, which will appear within two years. Meanwhile I’ll think about Anita and Auntie Meena and Felicity.

by donalee Moulton

Great writers don’t need an editor. They demand one. What first-rate writers understand is that another pair of eyes or a fresh pair of eyes are essential to successful communication. This second looks brings a new perspective, the distance that only time (even a little time) can offer, and renewed energy to improve content.

In my book The Thong Principle: Saying What You Mean and Meaning What you Say, I suggest readers try this exercise. You’ll need a piece of paper, 8.5” x 11” if possible.

Now transform that flat piece of paper into the world’s most wonderful flying machine. The goal is to soar, specifically to fly as far as possible. Take a few minutes to play with different designs, then stand up and launch your creation. How far did it go?

Now let’s rethink, or edit, the exercise. What did your flying machine look like? Something similar to a paper airplane?

Let’s review the instructions, the language. Nowhere did it say to build a paper airplane. It said a flying machine. The goal was distance. What would be an easier way to build a flying machine? What would get us great distance?

Crumpling the paper into a ball would.

That’s what editing does. As we write, whether for a reader or a listener, we dive in. Ideas flow. We create content. We think about our audience. We identify important points to make. We’re in the midst of our content, our characters, and our creativity.

When we edit, we take a step back. We come up for air. We have a different perspective – and a draft on which to overlay a fresh set of eyes. Even short pieces of writing should be edited. We need to think before we walk away. We need to give ourselves time to review and revise. To take one last read through (or think through). You’ll be surprised at what you missed or decide to revise.

Editing is essential to clear, concise, compelling writing. But editing isn’t just one thing. Just as pizza isn’t just one thing. There is deep dish pizza with red carnival spinach. Thin crust pepperoni and Bloomsdale spinach. New York-style pizza with Tyee spinach. Notice though that although the type of pizza is different there are common elements.

That’s also true when it comes to editing. There are three broad types: substantive editing, stylistic editing, and copyediting.

I thought we could spend a little time exploring these different types of editing in future blogs. Until then, I’d love to hear from you about your editing process, what drives you nuts, what makes your heart sing.