To Narrate or Not To Narrate? What a Question! by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 3 Comments

In my novel debuting August 15th, Cleopatra almost Slept Here, I discovered I was writing narration for pages and pages and pages. My bad. One cannot/should not/must not do excessive narration. I was taught that in every writing class I took. Although, I’m not completely sure why you mustn’t. How did the “show not tell” aspect of writing come into popularity? When Wilkie Collins wrote two pages describing the act of simply opening a door I was right there with him — along with the rest of the world — devouring his words.

For those who may not remember off-hand who Wilkie Collins was, he was a pioneering English novelist and playwright (1824-1889). His most famous works include The Woman in White (1859), one of the earliest mystery novels, and The Moonstone (1868), considered by many to be the first modern English detective novel. I lifted that last sentence from the Great God Google. No doubt one of GGG’s AI buddies lifted it beforehand from a long-suffering author. There’s a history of that sort of thing. But that is another post.

Picture this: we are in Egypt. A character is standing before the Grand Pyramid. As the author, you want to wax poetic about the experience. The problem as I see it about not doing plain narrative when your heart and soul sings for it, is that then you need to have at least two people in the scene. Being pretty sharp, I realized right away it would be no good to have a character carry on a discussion with the pyramid because it was going to be short. Not the pyramid. The Great Pyramid is tall. And wide. And astonishing. But the conversation was going to be — shall we say — fairly one-sided. Unless it’s a paranormal or sci-fi. I don’t write any of those, but okay, we will imagine a conversation between a person — whom we shall call X — and the Great Pyramid:

X: “Helloooooo, GP. How are you feeling today? Old? ha-ha.” Silence. “Now that we’re alone together, I’ve been wanting to tell you this joke. What did the pyramid say to the pharaoh?” Silence. ” Don’t know? Are you ready for it?? I’ll bet you were dying to see me. Ha-ha.” Now at this point, if the pyramid doesn’t throw one of its small car-sized stones at X to end this idiot’s very existence, I’d like to know why.

When you’re standing in front of one of the seven wonders of the world, it’s a phenomenal moment. It’s a time that makes most writers want to describe the emotions, sights, and sounds in great detail. And that would be down to a spider crawling up one enormous, car-sized stone of the 2.3 million that make up the Great Pyramid. This is when a picture is NOT worth a thousand words. The words are right.

Putting aside the narration, Cleo Blah Blah has many people chatting with one another about just about everything. Families tend to do that. At least, the Alvarez family does. Often, it was more of how do I shut them up? So, it was easy for me to have dialog that informed, entertained, or thrilled … hopefully. But still, that didn’t keep me from describing the scenery, the action, the story, when I thought it was needed. Narration. Grounding in so many ways.

But when is enough enough? The time for me to back off from narration is when I begin to bore myself with silly imagery like the sun dancing across the rippling waters of the Nile. For the fifteenth time. Or when I’m in the middle of pounding on the keyboard and suddenly throw my hands in the air and cry out, “Who cares, you ninny? Get on with it!”

So, this ninny gets on with it. Or tries to. Like now. I’m done.

Guest Blogger ~ M.E. Proctor

~ patyjag ~ 3 Comments

The Call of the Road

By M.E. Proctor

The Way You Say My Name, Book 3 of the Declan Shaw mystery series, will be released in September (publisher: Shotgun Honey).

In theme and mood, this book feels different to me. Love You Till Tuesday was a classical murder mystery: a singer is found dead in her apartment; there is no apparent motive; corporate and police corruption play a major role in the story. Book 2, Catch Me on a Blue Day, started with an apparent suicide and resurrected 30-year-old ghosts. The case Declan Shaw investigates has its roots in the past and the arc of the plot is a long one.

At first sight, the canvas of Book 3 seems smaller. For one, there is no murder (not in the beginning, there isn’t). Can it still be called a mystery? The situation puzzles the cop who brings Declan on board. “I almost wish somebody died,” he says. Because a body makes things clear, we know where we are, and what is expected of the wily investigator.

So what is expected of Declan in The Way You Say My Name? He’s hired to find a woman, Amanda, who doesn’t want to be found. She’s not missing, not exactly. She phoned home to tell her parents she was fine. But didn’t say where she was or how long she would be gone. Which doesn’t reassure anybody.

And so, Declan’s quest begins. It will take him from Texas to the Atlantic seaboard, and back. It won’t be a pleasure trip. He will be broken in body and spirit, unsure of what he achieved, how much he resolved, and wondering what his intervention may have made a lot worse.

Hitting the road is a recurrent film noir theme: criminal on the run, drifter showing up in a small town creating chaos, men and women fleeing from their past and hoping for a better life in a place where nobody knows them. There’s some of that in The Way You Say My Name, with a twist when the pursuer finds out that he has, in turn, become a prey.

Declan muses: “What is people’s fascination with end of the world locations? Maybe they think nobody will come that far to find them. Amanda is exactly the kind of person who would run to the end of the landmass and stop because she can go no further.”

Declan does stop when he reaches the ocean, and believes his job is done—Amanda has been found. Only to realize he would have been much better off if he’d kept running.

In many ways, this story is a road movie. Declan’s old pickup truck eats miles of freeway and back roads. There are stops in fast food joints and gas stations, nights of uneasy sleep in a cramped cabin, stiffness in the early morning, tar-laced coffee in paper cups. Encounters too, some helpful and some not so much. It’s the end of January, nobody travels for pleasure. And when Declan reaches North Carolina, the beaches are deserted and the bitter wind bites.

Years ago, I have driven the road Declan takes. I know the stops (except the one in the Jackson, Mississippi, FBI Field Office) and the final destination. It’s funny how experiences like that don’t seep into the writing right away. It takes time for the sediments to settle.

Another road trip to West Texas has given rise to two short stories already and is now the core of the work-in-progress that might become Declan Shaw Book 4 (cross fingers). I don’t know if my more recent trips—Texas to Maine, Texas to Michigan, Texas to Montana—will eventually find a way into a narrative. I hope they do; I’m keeping a journey journal, just in case.

It feels oddly appropriate to release The Way You Say My Name this year, that marks the 100th anniversary of Route 66. A hundred years since Americans realized that there was an entire country open to explore. Hop in the car and go. Hit a few National Parks on the way. I still find it seductive to open my eyes to new horizons every morning. I was born in Europe and we don’t have the same appetite for roaming over there. Yes, people get on the road at vacation time (clogged freeways prove it) but the trip is more utilitarian: the beach awaits! There’s an element of discovery in the American approach to car travel … a vague remnant of the explorer’s spirit.

I wish I could share the cover of the new book with you … Patience, it’s coming!

—-

The Way You Say My Name

A Declan Shaw Mystery

“A spiraling game of cat versus mouse.”
—Craig Terlson, author of the Luke Fischer series

On New Year’s day, P.I. Declan Shaw is hired to investigate a disappearance. Amanda Spencer, a young mother of two, slipped away from a Christmas concert without leaving a clue. What made her run and who is she running from?

While digging up shreds of info from Amanda’s parents and friends, Declan meets Sam Chandler. She’s the kind of woman who stops him in his tracks. Sexy, smart, and complicated. And skilled at keeping secrets. So skilled Declan questions his abilities as a detective. What began as an intriguing missing person case soon shifts into a cross-country pursuit with Sam’s life in the balance.

For once, Declan isn’t the searcher, he’s the one who cannot afford to be found.

In The Way You Say My Name, narratives intertwine as a double spiral winds tighter and tighter. Amanda’s story is one of them. Protecting Sam is the other.

And the closer Declan comes to finding Amanda, the more he risks losing Sam.

Buy Links:

The Way You say My Name will be available on September 22, in eBook and paperback.

You can find Books 1 and 2 in the series on the Shotgun Honey site, here.

M.E. Proctor was born in Brussels and lives in Texas. She’s the author of the Declan Shaw detective mysteries: Love You Till Tuesday, Catch Me on a Blue Day, and the upcoming The Way You Say My Name. She’s the author of two short story collections, Family and Other Ailments and A Book to Live By, and the co-author of the retro-noirs, Bop City Swing and Kansas City Breakdown. Her fiction has appeared in various magazines and anthologies. She’s a Shamus and Derringer awards short story nominee. Catch Me on a Blue Day was recently nominated for a Shamus Award in the Best Original Paperback category.

Social Links

Author Website: www.shawmystery.com

On Substack: https://meproctor.substack.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/martine.proctor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MEProctor3

BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/meproctor.bsky.social

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/proctormartine/

SUMMER OF ’69

~ Kimila Kay ~ 1 Comment

Hello, Ladies ~

Well … my post is late again. I’d like to blame it on my old age; after all, I turned sixty-nine this month. But my lateness isn’t due to being a doddering old lady. On the contrary, I’ve had a wonderfully blessed birthday month celebrating another trip around the sun.

This weekend found me at Willamette Vineyards camping with a group of friends, listening to music and enjoying some very fine wine. On the downside, we were without power, and there was no internet. Of course it could always be worse … I could’ve been in a tent instead of my lovely RV!

We returned today, and I have to admit I’m pretty tired after catching up on my day job, unloading the RV, doing laundry, then cooking dinner.

I have one more celebration planned this week: attending a Jason Aldean concert in Ridgefield, Washington, with my oldest son, then spending a night at ilani Casino. Winning a big jackpot would certainly be the icing on the proverbial cake.

So, for me, this summer reminds me of these lyrics from Bryan Adams’ song “Summer of ’69” to a T.

                        “Oh, when I look back now,

                        That summer seemed to last forever.

                        And if I had the choice,

                        Yeah, I’d always wanna be there.

                        Those were the best days of my life.”

I have friends who seriously struggle with aging, one of whom asked me why I choose to write stories with younger characters. At first, it took me by surprise. Thinking about the question, I knew the answer was that I see the characters in my head and simply write what I see. After giving it more thought, though, I realized I want to start my stories with younger characters, especially in the Stoneybrook Mysteries Series, so I can grow old with them.

Yes, I said it … grow old.

Now, with each book I create an older character or two. Not because I feel like I need to capture the essence of old age, but because I feel these characters add depth to my stories. My first “older” character was Harley’s mom, Esther. I loved that I could give Esther some of my mom’s characteristics. Her judgmental assumption that her daughter could always do better than her choices. Her need to point out mistakes, no matter how small. Her eventual realization that the mistakes she’d made in her life and the lessons she learned could help Harley mend her relationship with Wyatt.

In my newest Stoneybrook novel, “Fatal Falls,” I have an old rancher, Jack Norman, who’s the last living friend of Wyatt, Blake, and Derrick’s dads. Jack is the target of a drug-fueled killer who’s looking for missing gold. The book also has a demented killer, and I used Jack’s character to create some comic relief to offset the darkness of my villains. It was fun bringing in memories from my childhood. With Jack, I was able to create a brotherhood, similar to the one my dad and uncles shared, between him, the Stone brothers, and another childhood friend. I also enjoyed having a flirtatious moment between Jack and Mercy Edwards, the owner of the Babbling Brook Café.

I’m guessing if younger readers read my books, they’d be quick to point out what I get wrong about thirty-somethings. But I knew when I created the small town of Stoneybrook that I’d want Harley and Busy, along with the rest of the cast, to live simpler lives than influencers and jet setters. I do make an effort to keep my younger characters from being me. After all, thirty-something was a long time ago. But I feel small town core values fit all age groups.

While I have no intention of slowing down at sixty-nine, I know that aging will continue to steal the days I have left. Which means time is wasting, and I can’t wait to publish my next two Stoneybrook books, “Fatal Falls” and “Jamboree Jealousy,” so I can work on my next project, “Midnight Sail.” A middle school book with a cast of characters that includes curious kids, struggling moms, a time-traveling Native American girl, and a wise-cracking parrot named Pirate.

Life is short, so live yours to the fullest, Ladies! Enjoy each trip around the sun that God gives to you!

Happy Writing ~ Kimila

Location as Muse

~ susanoleksiw ~ 9 Comments

The question of place has been in the air and on blogs lately, including here in a useful post by Donalee Moulton. I’ve been thinking about another perspective that came up in my reading lately—location as muse.

Few writers or artists stay in one locale but if they do so it’s because of a special affinity for that one place. Wendell Berry is well known for his series of novels and short stories about the fictional Port William, set in his beloved Kentucky, as well as for his nonfiction on the issues besieging farmers and farm communities. By focusing on one location, Berry creates an entire community of interrelated families, histories of growth and change, and effects of changes in the larger, surrounding world. His narrow focus on one place, one he knows well, has led to a prolific career in both fiction and nonfiction, including poetry. Reading even one book introduces the reader to an entire family, way of life (farming), and community (Port William).

Sally Mann, the photographer, has made the same choice by focusing on Lexington, Virginia, her home state. She’s known for her photographs of children and families as well as the area in Virginia.

I think of these two artists because their work stands out for its depth and breadth while not straying far from home. Each piece is linked to another, and each location is explored in several ways. I think of these two writers also because I understand their sense of rootedness and its importance. It’s a truism to say that our place shapes us, but it is less often observed that we are still most often limited in our understanding of what that location means, of how it shapes us, of what the consequences are.

When I began writing crime fiction I created a fictional town, Mellingham, which is really the town I grew up in. Several readers have asked if that town is really X or Y, usually referring to a small town in Essex County they’re familiar with. The only people who recognize the place are those who live there, and have for some time. (The key, which few seem to consider, is the layout of certain streets.)

There are seven books in the Mellingham series, and I have long considered these enough because these seven stories complete the trajectory of Chief Joe Silva’s adult life, his progression from a chronically reluctant bachelor to a devoted stepfather in a committed relationship. But there are more stories in Mellingham, and more corners of the town that have yet to be explored. I’ve been struggling with this question for some time—do I continue the Mellingham series, or let it go (as I have) and continue with the two other series that haven’t reached their finale. Anita Ray, in the Anita Ray series, isn’t getting any closer to finding a partner or changing her carefree life of sleuthing with and without a camera. Felicity O’Brien, in the Pioneer Valley series, is more likely to reach her fitting ending, which includes changes to her beloved farm. But I’m not sure I want to write that one either.

The commitment to a single place means we see more of it. We see what we don’t need as well as what we think we need for a particular story. For me, knowing the town’s history also means a cacophony of voices from the past calling to me to resolve the mystery of the unusual tools found in the shed of what was once a furniture workshop in the 1930s. Or the story of a small freestanding ballroom converted to a condo in the middle of a pasture where no flock of four-legged animals ever roamed. The loss of craftsmanship in modern industry circles around the first history and the changing world of New England social life is hidden in the second. 

For me, writing a crime novel isn’t a question of merely coming up with an idea and planting it in a preferred location. I struggle with setting as much as with character. The ideas I spelled out above are organic to the place, and understanding how that can be so defines the story. To tell the story of one particular small-scale furniture workshop I have to resuscitate the Mellingham series. Some stories are so insistent. They can be worse than some characters (alive and fictional).

I’ve had the Mellingham series on my mind because Worldwide Mystery is reprinting the last two books in the Mellingham series for its book club as well as general sales. Chief Joe Silva retired, but the town is still there, and its history unhidden. What to do, what to do.

He Landed on His Feet in a Hail of Bullets

~ dzchurch ~ 5 Comments

I was watching an Amazon movie the other night, and doing what I so often do, especially when I’m bored. I try to write the scene. It is a sort of mental exercise, meant, I hope, to sharpen my writing skills. Especially for action sequences.

I practice while watching boring scenes of mayhem. That night, the first description that came to mind was: “He landed on his feet in a hail of bullets and leveled everything and everyone standing.” But who is that guy on the right? “A man emerged from the shadows cast by the lowering sun. His assault rifle leading the way.” Why did the pillar just explode? “Another figure stepped into a sheen of light, a silver box clutched in his left hand, his index finger tapping a red button.” Why did he hesitate in his tapping? “A slim figure emerged, a revolver pointed at the back of his dark curls.” Then, he, I, the hero, leveled everything and everyone standing. “The structure roared with the sound of weapons. Ragged breaths and soft moans punctuated the silence that followed.”

I see the scene in my head as I write. My fingers pound it out on the keyboard. I mutter the next sentence, the words coming in a rush. I’ve been stopped by difficulty breathing from the effort of creating mayhem.

Then I read what I’ve written aloud. Is it even possible (cue the research)? Does any element fight the immediacy? Is it the scene I dreamed, saw, thought I wrote? Does it promote the emotions I want? What does it say about my characters? Good and bad, does it show what each character is willing to do to survive, win, be triumphant? Will the reader be caught up in the moment?

Here’s an action passage from “Saving Calypso”, which I’m glad no one observed me writing:

“Grieg elbowed downhill to the flipped travois, where it angled over Boomer’s broken body and considered the tools at his disposal. Rex. Frisco.* The broken branch from the travois. He searched Boomer’s pockets for anything he could use as a weapon. Nothing, except the arrow lodged in the dead man’s throat and Callie’s pocketknife.

Grieg steeled himself before yanking the arrow from Boomer’s neck. It was as awful as he anticipated; Boomer’s blood splattered the front of his shirt and his forearms. He wiped the arrow with leaves, not questioning why it mattered given how he planned to use it, then fingered the two-inch blade out of the pocketknife. Armed, he cozied up to Boomer’s cooling body for cover. A sharp whine descended. An arrow bored into the uphill side of the travois. Grieg counted the fletched shafts he’d seen in Bolt’s quiver. Six, maybe seven. He’d lofted three at Grieg the day before. One in Boomer. Two now. One left. Then, the knife or a bullet.

The next arrow pierced the blanket, lodging in Boomer’s right shoulder. Grieg grunted for effect. The third arrow grazed Grieg’s right calf. Okay, eight.”

And, in reverse, I cast the parts and imagine the scene on screen. In this case, Ryan Gosling, as my lost soul geologist with “a certain set of skills” and wry self-awareness, and Tom Hardy as the newly revealed arrow-launching predator. I have Gosling dye his hair, and Hardy grow his, then I play the scene in my head.  

Does it work? Is it too gross for the genre? Yes, I can get pretty gritty. That pops when you cast the parts and play the reel out in your head. If it works, it works; if it doesn’t, it’s back to retooling, jiggering, and writing.

In other words, writing a great action sequence is as easy as landing on your feet in a hail of bullets.

  • Note: Rex and Frisco are horses. In Grieg’s words: “As for my buddy Frisco, make sure he gets a good scrubbing, groom him until he purrs and feed him as much as he can eat. Believe me, I’d stand him to a beer if I could.”

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