I was jolted by the comments of one of my beta readers for my newest Wanee Mystery, “Of Waterworks and Sin,” who was adamant that no one remembers anything before they connect images with speech, around 3-4 years old. There is even a name for it: infantile amnesia. Well, one reason I was taken aback was that the book is a historical mystery and I’m pretty sure no one knew of infantile amnesia in 1877. They might have wondered why some toddlers remembered incidences and others didn’t, but there was no advanced research or name for it.

As Doc in Wanee would say, “The memories are fragmented and horrible to conjure, and often, he seemed unsure of them. But the trauma may well have cemented them into his being.”

Babies, especially toddlers, do have implicit memories, they may remember being rocked, a sound repeated each day at nap time, or a certain food. But, as with all things, individual differences, cultural factors, and even the type of experiences a child has can influence how well and what they remember. In short, not all children have infantile amnesia, just the majority.

Here’s the challenge. As writers, we are enjoined to write about what we know. And what we know can be challenged by readers with other experiences that counter ours. One of our greatest instruments in showing and not telling are our memories: the smell of damp milk cows on a dewy spring morning, the sound of chickens clucking softly under the front porch as the milk truck rattles up the lane to pick up the milk cans for processing. Kittens mewling in a haystack. The smell of diesel fuel lying heavy over shimmering tarmac on a hot summer day. The roar of a jet, the rustle of leaves in a cottonwood. The smell of timothy grass after the rain. The sight of hands reaching down to you. The sound of footsteps approaching you from the rear as you walk between street lights. Sights and sounds and feelings all rolled into one big, massive evocative heap.

And so back to childhood memory. I remember being in a crib on a summer day in the apartment we moved from when I was 18 months old. I’m happily slurping on my bottle when my older sister holds her shiny silver cap gun at me, steals my bottle, takes a glug, and hands it back to me. Because my crib is against a wall that has two doors into the same hallway, she circles around and holds me up repeatedly until my bottle is empty. Witnesses assured me that the incident occurred before I was one year old. I remember that same sister running away from the same apartment on her tricycle with her pajamas stuffed in my mother’s vanity case. All of which, being my experience, informs the memory of the toddler in my story.

Yet my beta reader throws “modern science” into the mix, what the child remembers can’t be. But it can, and I know it. If I can remember these mundane incidents as clearly as I do, then why wouldn’t a traumatized 14-month-old have ingrained memories? Sights, sounds, pain, hunger, fear, and a kind voice.

“Ah,” Doc raised his eyebrows, which, from his expression, hurt. “He doesn’t remember so much as feel what he related. His mother put him down to sleep. Strange noises woke him. He couldn’t say what they were, only that he awakened. His stomach aching, he cried. A man spoke to him, and he believes gave him something to sustain him as the pain faded.”

I’m sure others have memories stretching back into infancy that disprove a blanket statement that all children have infantile amnesia. Especially when trauma is a factor. The question is, do you redo your story because of one beta reader especially in view of very positive results from the others? Or do you make a few adjustments assuming that one reader represents others but otherwise stand by what you know to be true?

You can find out.

“Of Waterworks and Sin” will be published on April 15, it is available for pre-order now (https://www.amazon.com/Waterworks-Sin-Wanee-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0F151Z25Q/). Cora Countryman makes a promise to the owner/editor of The Courier that she intends to keep. Ignoring her dress shop and boarding house, she concentrates on publishing the daily paper. But when two skeletons are found in a trench meant for the new water main, she can’t resist investigating.

Discover all my books at: https://dzchurch.com

If you are like me, the minute you log onto your email, social sites, or even play games on your phone, you’re swamped by all the little helpers who want to teach you to write, publish, do covers, and do advertising. They’d love you to sell your own books, or not. They want to help you discover the perfect genre to write in to make a bazillion dollars on the first day. They’ll fix your grammatical errors, check your writing against the great masters, tell you how to rewrite it to get closer to whoever you’re mimicking and if that isn’t enough they have AI that will do all of this for you.

Sheesh! How can you write with all this noise? It can make you skeptical of your skills, of your ideas, and well … everything until it mires, weighs, just crunches you into stasis. One of my favorite seminar offers was this … yes, I clicked on it, and, yes, I read it. A workshop that would assist you in toning up your genre, so that your readers wouldn’t be disappointed when they picked up your book. Then it went on to say, if you want to stand out you should change up the tropes. Make your hero a bit dopey, like the dwarf. Make your heroine slightly goofy, like the dog. Do something different. Am I the only one who finds this totally wacko?

Why on this green earth would I take time from writing to attend a seminar that purportedly teaches me about my genre and then promotes breaking form? Isn’t breaking form another word for originality, shouldn’t we all have a uniqueness about our books if we are any good at our trade?

Then there are the software folks who will gladly parse, slice, and dice your text. They will compare you to others in the genre you write. Either inflate or deflate you. Then offer to fix your text right up with their AI system. Am I crazy, is that writing?

I thought writing a book was about plotting, researching, sitting your butt on a chair and pounding on the keys. Reviewing what you wrote the day before, before beginning on the next day’s text. And when you finish, you edit, have it edited, edit again. Then tend to the cover and cover text — maybe not mimicking every darn cover in your genre, but break out there a bit, too. Here’s a random thought. Whatever happened to cover reveals? I admit I did a few. But where have they gone?

Yes, we all hope to sell our books, make some money, and gain some recognition … but when we swim upstream through creepy, sometimes badly written, pushy, flim-flam, how are we supposed to find the wheat in the chaff? Like for instance, those who can truly help us. There are people and sites I trust. And people and sites I use. But it seems like each time I use one of them, I am barraged by hucksters offering software, seminars, and surefire ways to increase my mailing list, outsmart Amazon, and find fame.

It’s enough to make one write a dystopian YA book in which the books in the library begin to randomly fling themselves off the walls, screaming as they fly at you, read me, read me, read me until you’re crushed by the weight of them.

Is that the definition of overwhelmed?

Despite this, the newest book in my Wanee Mystery series, “Of Waterworks and Sin,” will make its debut on April 15. Yes, tax day. And will be available for pre-order on March 15, not tax-day. That is if everyone in the Library of Congress isn’t fired first.

Here’s a brief, brief:

As a favor to the newspaper’s owner, Cora Countryman takes over editing the town newspaper. When two skeletons are found by diggers while trenching the new water main, she can’t resist investigating. As she digs deeper, she becomes fixated on the identity of a mysterious child connected to the victims. With the year 1865 and the memory of a shanty fire looming over her inquiry, Cora suspects a returned Civil War veteran, but which one?

Certifiably not written by AI.

Find me and my books at: https://dzchurch.com.

As I listen to my contractor pound nails, rip wood, and clamber about outside my cabin, I have come to newly appreciate the relationship between writing and construction.  Oh, we all know and acknowledge the concept of scaffolding, or how to eat an elephant one bite at a time. I’m not writing about that. This blog is about five steps in the construction process that parallel the writing process. The list does include, the need to show up every day on time at the building site with your tools strapped around your waist, i.e., sitting in your writing chair in your designated writing space and applying your skills to the work you do.

Step 1: Don’t go out to bid without knowing what your final product will be. In my case, we are updating the exterior of a cabin in the mountains driven by the ‘bleeping’ insurance companies. This requires, among other things, that to meet the insurance company’s timelines, the deck must be rebuilt using the same footings. Not unlike genre requirements, footings define the building parameters, including the number of support beams and joists. So the question becomes, do I want my deck to adhere perfectly to the existing footings or do I want the stairs to bend in the middle, as in stretch the genre (building) requirements to devise something more interesting without forcing the readers into a paroxysm of horror by reshaping the genre or the building inspector to require costly, time-consuming permits. Once this step is done, you have defined the genre or general scope of the work, be it a book or deck.

Step 2: Have a realistic plan for construction that estimates the materials and superstructure required. In short, outline your scope of work (by whatever method you use). Define your characters (joists). Define their relationships and how they support each other and the events (bridging). Who does what to whom, when, where and how. At least, know where your story starts and why and where it ends. And, if you write historical fiction, measure twice and cut once. Research, then double-check your research so that the time period unfolds seamlessly as you write. Fixing historical errors once they are embedded in the story can be like a trip to ‘the cold place’ and upend your plot.

Step 3: Anticipate change. Something always comes up that requires replacing, rewiring, or rethinking (materials plus 20%). Always. Don’t stress, go back to your plan. If the change doesn’t benefit the building or the plot – ditch it. If it enhances the final work for the reader, weave it in so that the warp and the woof are smooth cohesive and complementary. The story will benefit from the enhancement or twist.

Step 4: Have the construction inspected by an outsider. Building inspectors come to the site; reviewers don’t, but they are a must. I don’t mean the folks who write reviews for your web or social sites. I’m talking about a circle of readers, willing to tell you when something is off, when it isn’t, and what the story might need. Take them seriously, then …

Step 5: Ensure that work not only passes inspection but continues until it fully meets your expectations, including any changes required. Then read it, as in read it again, and again, and again. Try an AI grammar checker. Have someone else read it for grammar errors. If it is historical fiction, find someone who understands that word usage might be a tad different back then. Trust me, at least one embarrassing word or grammatical error will escape you.  You’ll find it lurking in the first chapter or whatever page your proof happens to open to as you relish your baby. Fix it. Get another proof. Then, take the next step.

Time for an open house! Or, rather, time to publish, send out for media review, advertise, market, and pray. And, if you need siding, have the cover done by professionals. Don’t worry you can still write all your own text, have AI write the cover text, or have the cover design group do the same.

What good is a great deck without new siding on the house?

For more information about me or my books, check out https://dzchurch.com, or to buy my books, go to Amazon and search on D. Z. Church; they’ll all pop up.

It’s that time of year when we all do a gut check on our writing and output. Well, my guts all like wombaldy-peg (something my mother used to say among many other sayings she had that made no sense – ever – but were highly descriptive).

I had a goal for book sales. I don’t think I’ll make it, but it will be disgustingly close. Just off—a wee. My gut doesn’t like that. I’m not the: well, maybe next year sort of lady. Now – please.

Faced with a gut rumble, I rewrote the ending of the latest Cora Countryman book, Of Waterworks and Sin, and sent it out to my beta folks weeks after the text.  Second guessing is my problem, well, no, endings are my problem. I think I’ve rewritten every one of the endings to all four Cora books at near the last minute (as Cora would say). My gut tells me that’s not professional, my brain isn’t listening. It says it is more important to get it right than to worry about the timing of getting it done. Okay, I can live with that. Maybe. Just.

The thing is this. If the last sentence of a book in a series isn’t gut-checked and perfect, where do you start the next book? Well, I’m sure the writers with their wallboards, index cards or Scrivener have it all charted out. Me, not so much. I need to leave myself clues like Hansel and Gretel did breadcrumbs.

I’ve been staring at the beginning of Cora’s next book, the fifth in the series, for what seems like weeks. Partially because I have a cabin in the mountains and my fire insurance was pulled. I thought I had it until the insurance company’s threats arrived, and I found myself wrangling contractors to get upgrades made so I could overpay for fire insurance when my place is a mile from a park service fire training station. It occupies your mind, not to mention the thumping and bumping on the walls as your deck is destroyed and your siding comes down.

Still, I had a good start on No-Name Book 5 until I realized I needed to explain how Cora came to be on a riverboat on the Mississippi. When I put the backstory in, it was like blah, blah, blah — blah. Why was the blah-blah needed? I stewed about it, especially at 4:00 am just after I got through tallying my finances for all the fixes required by the insurance company. The gut came to the same conclusion every time. The ending to Of Waterworks and Sin wasn’t doing its job. Cute, fun, and dangly, but totally responsible for the fix I was in with the No-Name Book 5.

Thus, the new ending Of Waterworks and Sin sent to the beta folks. Now, No-Name Book 5 is off and running; the plot unfolding before me, not exactly the one I have diligently outlined. It never is. That gut again. But a great plot, action, romance, mystery and redemption all while floating the characters down the Mississippi and through history.

My head tells me I need to do more period research. My gut says hit it at a gallop and fix it later. If that sounds like Nora Roberts, so be it. Sometimes you just need to quit with the research and go. That’s what resource books and the internet were bred for – checking and double-checking facts as you write.

I have a fledgling plot for book 6 (I can’t wait to write it). I hope with insurance coverage and a restored cabin.  If my gut tells me the ending of No-Name Book 5 is off, I’ll listen. This time before it goes out for review. That way, I can avoid a visit from the Pooeyanna Bedhunters (another mother-ism – don’t ask) and have a happy gut. Who knows, maybe next year I’ll make my goal.

Don’t forget to check out The Ladies of Mystery Cavalcade of Books at https://bodiebluebooks.com/ladiesofmystery. The prices listed are good through December 31^st. The mysteries offered inside are great anytime.

Find more about me or sign up for my newsletter and https://dzchurch.com. And watch for Of Waterworks and Sin sometime in Spring 2025, the date depends on my reviewers, don’t you know?