Author: Heather Haven

Author of 18 novels and counting. Married 44 years and counting. Animal lover.

Driving My Novel by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 8 Comments

I started a new novel a few weeks ago, Cleopatra Slept here, Book 11 of the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries. All enthusiastic, I got off to a rip-roaring start, only to peter out several days later. I found any excuse not to sit down and write, some of them pretty lame. Watching the leaves grow on a rosebush is not a valid excuse. Neither is watching the new season of Bridgerton, although the costumes are fantastic and there is a lot of huggy-poo-kissie-face. But still, not a good enough reason to put off my work. So, I called myself on it and found, as usual, I was in a stall because I was on the wrong road.

I should be used to this. I am directionally challenged. I remember back in ’86, when my husband and I packed up everything we owned, including two reluctant cats, and headed from New Jersey to California. It was December 14th. Chilly weather, but drivable. Naturally, the car hitch to the truck didn’t work. As it was a Sunday and Avis Rent-a-Truck was closed, we decided he would drive the truck (alone) and I would lead the way driving the car (with the two cats). I was the leader because I was in charge of the Trip Tik, an involved layout of driving instructions from Triple A, before the internet was a going concern. I think I mentioned I am directionally challenged. That was the day we found out. December 14, 1986.

Instead of heading west and south to Texas, I managed to head us northwest, even with directions. We discovered this error about 9 hours later, 5 miles to the gallon, during a blizzard. Divorces have been caused by less. Norm became suspicious about the blizzard and not seeing any signs for Texas. He honked me over to the side of the road where reality hit. Lake Erie was in view.

Near the border of Canada, we crashed for the night at a Motel 6 when it really was 6 bucks. I will not go into the discussion about me leading us closer to Lake Erie than we had ever been before or since, but sufficeth it to say I gave up my rights to the Trip Tik or any other directional leadings in the future. But at least my husband was still talking to me, even if it was through tight lips. The cats were not talking to me, so it was a long night, blizzard and all. A week later we arrived in California, no thanks to me.

I allude to this December 14th snafu as it has a direct bearing on my writing.  Metaphorically speaking, I was heading in the wrong direction, about to run into the Lake Erie of writing, a lovely lake I’m sure, but not my destination. Initially, I may not have known that’s what I did to myself, but somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, Life’s Trip Tik did. It took a while because I didn’t have a snow-covered, tight-lipped husband standing over me with flames shooting from his mouth, but eventually, I got the message. I had gone north when I should have gone south.

This is particularly important with book 11, Cleopatra Slept Here. I will elucidate. Book 9, The Drop-Dead Temple of Doom, takes place in Guatemala, the storyline dealing with ancient Mayans, archeology, and what have you. So here I am in book 11 writing a storyline dealing with ancient Egyptians, archeology, and what have you. I knew from the beginning the story had to be as different as possible from book 9 but Laudie, Laudie, Laudie.

Leave it to me to head north when I should be going south. I’d started out with the same scenario as book 9. It was comfortable. Missing person, trip to the pyramids for Lee Alvarez, protagonist; former Navy SEAL husband, Gurn; and she-who-must-be-obeyed mother of Lee, Lila. Really, Heather? It took me a long time to find a U-turn from that road.

After I slept on it, played in my garden, and bought things on the internet I am now returning, what to do hit me. Start the stupid story ANEW. Forget anything you wrote before. Pretend you never wrote book 9. Don’t be influenced by it. Every series writer knows it’s tough not to repeat yourself, but you simply can’t. The readers remember, bless their hearts. And it’s about as close to cheating as you can get. I mean, plagiarizing yourself? How gauche.

And I realized I did want something different in book 11. I wanted the entire Alvarez family together on a ship floating down the Nile. The three mentioned above, but I also wanted Tío, retired chef uncle; brother and IT guru, Richard; his wife, Vicki; their 2-year-old daughter, Steffi; and Lee and Gurn’s 2 cats, Tugger and Baba. Why? Why not. The more, the merrier. But how to accomplish that?

A 2-week vacation! No need to stick in missing people, mishaps, or mysteries in the story. Yet. Just a family vacation laid out as simply as possible, with everything falling into place. This includes free private transportation to Egypt, thanks to Gurn’s pilot buddy who happens to be flying a large plane to Luxor and needs him for a co-pilot. There’s also free lodging on the Blue Nile, a ship with rooms to spare, thanks to the original dig seeking out Cleopatra’s tomb in Alexandria being canceled and most dig members scattering. Gurn’s parents, amateur archeologists, were willing to pay through the nose to be included in this canceled dig but have been persuaded to join a new one, the search for Cleopatra’s mother.

Cleopatra VII, of Julius Caesar and Mark Antony fame, was born in early 69 BC to the ruling Ptolemaic pharaoh Ptolemy XII and an unknown mother, possibly Ptolemy XII’s wife Cleopatra V Tryphaena. But it is not certain. The Dig Director and main benefactor of the original dig decides instead of following the pack in Alexandria trying to locate Celopatra’s tomb, sailing aboard the Blue Nile for Aswan to find out just who the queen’s mom was is the way to go. The Alvarez family decides to join in the search. And all for free!

But nothing is free in this world, not even in fiction. What starts out as a gentle, family-oriented vacation lolling around on the Nile ends up with the Alvarez clan being caught up in a mind-numbing ride of murder, drugs, and other chicanery. The trade of heroin may persist in Egypt, despite efforts by security forces to eliminate it, but something is mightily wrong with the elegant Blue Nile. Who are these strange voices heard in the middle of the night? Why do missing waiters seem to be commonplace aboard this ship?  And what is the secret the elusive captain’s log holds?

Egypt’s strategic location makes it a significant destination and transit point for heroin moving from Asia to Europe, Africa, and the US. But all of this settles in on the Alvarez clan too late to do anything but ride posse on the truth, camel-style.

Adapting Agatha and Other Greats by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 8 Comments

Several days after returning from the Left Coast Crime Conference, I came down with one of those upper respiratory bugs that are sent to try us. After making sure it wasn’t Covid or RSV, I accepted and dealt with it. Medicated up the wazoo, bored out of my mind, and feeling sorry for myself, I turned to what I always have in times of trouble – murder and mayhem.

One to never let me down in that department is Agatha Christie. I think I’ve read everything she’s written and loved them all. I even liked The Big Four, considered one of her worst. Frankly, I’m convinced that even her worst novel is better than a lot of other writers’ best, but maybe I am prejudiced.  Whatever, it was Agatha Christie Chicken Soup time.

Assessing the situation, I realized the Kindle was being charged and any reading materials in the bedroom were aaaall the way across the room on bookshelves. Doped up and lazy, I reached for the remote. I managed to stream in a collection of several versions of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple done throughout the years. I glommed onto Joan Hickson, who I feel is the quintessential Miss Marple, sharp but seemingly befuddled, all-knowing but not pushy about it. And here she was, in one of my favorite Christie stories, Nemesis. I blew my nose, settled in, and went back to jolly old England during the fifties aboard a week-long motorcoach of historic homes and gardens.

Before long, everyone aboard the bus winds up to be a suspect, of course, having either won the tour or offered hard cash to join. Most damning of all, each was a player in a past … secret. But nothing throws Miss Marple for long. She’s there, complete with godson companion, in accordance to the wishes of a recently deceased friend and millionaire, to right some horrible wrong from the past, no matter what the consequences. Thus, the name Nemesis. Guided by a biblical saying “Let Judgement run down as waters and righteousness as a mighty stream,” the story moves forward and pretty much follows the original, Christie plotline which is chilling, fiendish, unique, and satisfying.

I got greedy. Right next to this episode was yet another Jane Marple thespian, Geraldine McEwen, appearing in the very same mystery. I thought, well, why not? The comparison of both might be fun, and Lord knows I’m not very busy. So, hubby brought me a cup of herbal tea, a scone, and I settled in again. Okay, not a scone. It was actually a chocolate croissant but munching on a chocolate croissant doesn’t sound quite right for the occasion.

Ms. McEwen presents an intelligent, twinkling Marple, as if she knows whatever she is saying is clever and important and you’ll catch on in your own good time. I found her Marple charming. I liked her. The storyline, not so much. In fact, I was completely at a loss as to what was going on. It still took place on a bus tour of historic homes and gardens, a few years after WWII, and there were a host of odd characters showing up with familiar character names, but they were nothing like the original ones. In short, there was no similarity on any level to the book or even the 1989 Joan Hickson version.

This version involved missing airmen, whackadoodle nuns, scarecrows, and a bust of Shakespeare used for nobody’s good at all. Even the villain was different and once revealed, was an unsatisfying one, at best. I couldn’t blame the budget. It looked to me as if the same amount of money and attention to detail went into making the 2007 version as it had the one done twenty-years earlier. But this 2007 Nemesis made no sense. I became cynical. Some hotshot somebody or other, under the guise of transporting the work from one medium to another, thought they could do a better job of Agatha Christie’s story than Agatha Christie. As Puck says, “What fools these mortals be.”

Not-so-cleverly segueing over to Shakespeare, here is someone else whose stories are often played with as fast and as loosely as Agatha’s. They have cut, added, rewritten, edited, obliterated, updated, melted down, puffed up, refined, and poured over brine everything he has written. It is rare to see his work performed in any of its original form, especially the same historical period. Too old hat. Others need to put their stamp on it. So if you’re off to see the latest version of Macbeth, it might have a Polish circus or a Macon, Georgia, WWII prisoner of war camp as a backdrop.

Back to Agatha. I remember one horrible adaptation of And Then There Were None in 1989. They called the movie Ten Little Indians. This particular novel has had many titles throughout the years. Namely, different forms of Ten Little Somethings Or Other. Not much worked until they came up with And Then There Were None, which might seem to give the plot away but apparently doesn’t. And it’s PC.

Regarding the plot, the scriptwriters changed the location from an island along the Devon Coast and plopped it amid an African safari at the bottom of a ravine, their idea of remoteness. Here, the roar of a surrounding pride of lions can often be heard but are never seen. I suspect the big cats were too embarrassed to be caught on-camera. Even Donald Pleasance and Brenda Vaccaro could not save one single moment of this dreadful interpretation. And yet I watched every frame, hoping against hope it might save itself. After all, it was Agatha’s work. Maybe somebody in charge got a clue and reverted back to what worked in the first place. Maybe somebody saw the rushes. Maybe the Serengeti rose en masse and took back its own.

Nope.

One reason for the wild takeover of someone else’s work could stem from filmland’s past history. From 1930 until 1968 every single movie, including adaptions, had to follow the guidelines of the Motion Picture Production Code of 1930, also called the Hays Code. The Code was a strict master and you’d better believe it. It didn’t mess around, it didn’t compromise. If the code found one scene didn’t meet those standards, the entire movie could be scrapped. Goodbye production, cast, and crew. Hello breadline. Below is a link to what a studio had to deal with: https://cinecouple.hypotheses.org/files/2017/07/Code_Hays.pdf. That’s still no excuse for some of the stunts adapters pulled throughout the years, even though sometimes rewriting had to be done. Unfortunately, it did give those with power, money, and ego a chance to play around with a genius story until it resembled the original work in title only.

Here’s an interesting fact, though, in the it-pays-to-be-good category. No matter what a screenwriter, actor, producer, or director does – and they can make all the idiotic versions they want – the reality is nothing can diminish the author’s original WRITTEN words. Anyone who wants to know the talent and timelessness of the Bard or the Queen of Mystery and others like them, have but to sit down and read their books. The power of the word. It never goes away.

The Devil Of Writing A Series by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 4 Comments

Writing a series with a continuing cast of characters has its drawbacks. Sure, I know everybody, like everybody, even the villains. But there are a few inherent problems. The main one is I have to remember all that has gone before, especially character names and traits. I mean, really? I’ve just finished the 10th book of the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries and I’m supposed to remember what I wrote in Murder is a Family Business, book 1? Unfortunately, yes.

I can’t change the eye color of a character, for instance. No blue eyes in one book and brown in another. Unless the character is wearing contacts for some reason. Of course, I can justify just about anything on a temporary basis, but the eye color, height, and age of a character, where they were born, their parents, all that basic stuff just can’t be tossed around, willy-nilly. Willy is willing but Nilly doesn’t like it at all.

If I have a character who is a pegleg sea captain in one book and in the next book I have him running a marathon, I’d better come up with a pretty danged good reason as to how that can happen. That’s why I probably should be keeping copious notes on the physical, emotional, and mental goings on with each continuing character. But do I? Well, I did have one somewhere, but like most of my lists, after I write them they seem to take a hike. I am even plotted against by the universe. I had a fabulous running list on the computer once and then my computer crashed. The only thing that couldn’t be restored was that stupid list. I gave up after that. So on the rare occasion I’ve forgotten something, back I go into each book searching for a specific something. A refresher course, if you will.

I just ran into this problem with my WIP, Cleopatra Slept Here, book 11, almost on the first page. I couldn’t remember Gurn’s mother’s first name. Or his father’s first name, either. I went into a panic. I usually remember things like that (probably another reason why I am sloppy about my lists) but this shocked me. So I went back into The CEO Came DOA when his parents first showed up, and discovered I never gave them first names. Lee and Gurn’s wedding turned out to be a free-for-all where anything that can go wrong did and the weather was the number one culprit/character. If I was going to give a name to anything, it would have been the wind, and as we all know from the song, I call the wind Mariah. So did the lyricist.

On the plus side, when I go back to previous books, I sometimes discover a sentence that could be written better. So I do just that and upload it. Now and then I discover certain phrases I tend to use over again (stop that, stop that, stop that!). I rewrite those, too. Because as we all know, writing is rewriting. And if you don’t want it to be finished, it doesn’t have to be.

So, on those frankly-not-too-common occasions when I have no idea what I wrote before, I try to use the experience for the better. Lemonade, doncha know. Which reminds, me I should remember to buy lemons. Where’s that list?

Launching a New Book by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 8 Comments

Launching a new book is exciting, scary, and uncheap. Uncheap is not supposed to be a word but I hesitate to write that launching a new book is expensive. So I invented the word uncheap. Same amount of $ outlay but settles better in my mind. I like to feel positive about every aspect of my work.

I used to do everything needed to launch a new book in the days when I was young, energetic, and poor. I’m not rich now but above all else, I’m not young anymore. And energy? Let’s just move on. But I will say no matter what, I always had a professional editor for each of my books even when I did the covers, formatting, and uploading myself. As I am a shameless but determined amateur, I still do covers for some of my books, but not the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries. I handed that over to professionals long ago. And they have proven it was the right thing to do.

To the left is the probable cover for my latest book of the Alvarez Family Murder Mysteries, Bewitched Bothered, and Beheaded. Book 9 and counting. It needs some tweaking here and there, but essentially, this is it. Up until this book, I continued to do the formatting and uploading for the series. This time, I’ve decided to let them do everything. Ka-ching, Ka-ching. But I am anxious to start the 10th book of the series, Cleopatra Slept Here, currently but a dream. If I hand everything off, I think I can get to it sooner. The months I spend on getting a book launched takes away from any creative time I have for a new book. This may not be true for everyone, but it is for me. So I am experimenting with the less is more school of thought.

Speaking of experimenting, last May when I launched the 4th book of the Persephone Cole Vintage Mysteries, Hotshot Shamus, I decided to take some of the money I saved by doing everything myself and spend it on advertising. The Big Push. The Percy Cole series has never been the seller the Alvarez Family has been and I often wondered if it was because I never spent enough moola on it. I got my answer. NO. I couldn’t capture a large enough readership no matter how much I spent. The reviews I got from readers amounted to they loved this no s–t lady who conquered a man’s world at a time when women simply didn’t. Okay, so people who read the books seemed to like them. But I still couldn’t get enough readers to justify the investment spent on mounting each book.

Maybe it’s because the series takes place during WWII, not a glamorous time. Maybe it’s because when people read historical books they either want non-fiction or more romance and glamour in their historical fiction. Maybe it’s because I’m not well-known. Maybe it’s because the cat sleeps in the sun. But these are all conjectures. For the moment, it’s time to pull back on the Percy Cole series and concentrate on what works. And as I love the other series just as much, I will concentrate on writing the Alvarez Family.

And launching their books. So here’s to Lee Alvarez and her wonderfully eccentric family. And to all who read about them. Much appreciated.

Agatha Christie and Me by Heather Haven

~ Heather Haven ~ 6 Comments

Even though I never knew Agatha Christie personally, she has been an important person in my life. I was a lonely kid and can only say the phrase, “Books are my friends” was on the mark for me. I started reading Nancy Drew mysteries when I was nine. I moved on to Agatha Christie when I was about sixteen. In the following years, I read anything that came my way, from Ernest Hemingway to P.G. Wodehouse, Ruth Rendell to Erma Bombeck. Thrown into this mix was required reading, such as “Ode to a Grecian Urn.”

But I always came back to Christie. Her books were like a trip home. I knew I would care about the characters and be certain of where they were going i.e., a solved crime, but at the same time, be perplexed by the mystery. Above all, it would be a good read. Something to savor and enjoy, to be sorry when it ended.

Arguably, but let’s not argue about this, Christie invented the genre we know today as the cozy mystery. Although, most of them were not as cozy as people like to think. If you scratch beneath the surface, you will find deceit, betrayal, greed, selfishness, and amorality. Even in her romantic mystery series with Tommy and Tuppence, these two were up against some pretty evil doings amid the charm and fluff.

It is said that the best way to learn how to write a mystery is not just to study writing but to read others who have gone before. Read the best and you cannot help but become a better writer. So, I read her a lot. From Christie, I learned the value of having a protagonist people enjoy reading about and are committed to. I learned pacing, plot building, and the element of surprise. But mostly I learned the importance of sustained good writing.

Do I write like or as well Agatha Christie? No. But this isn’t a competition. I’m me and Christie is Christie. My goal is to write as well as I can, in my way, and in my voice. But hearing her angels singing in the background helps. Seeing in my mind’s eye the day-to-day existence of her people, even in the smallest of ways. Poirot measuring his eggs. Marple knitting her latest pair of baby booties. They help me with my own protagonists’ quirks and foibles, keeping my characters interesting and believable. There may be chit-chat about the Great God Google, but to me, Agatha Christie is my goddess.

With this kind of god-like appreciation, comes a certain amount of ownership. I am quite possessive about what is done with her work in other media. I can remember seeing Margaret Rutherford on TV in four black and white movies with her playing Miss Marple and thinking, uh-oh.

Don’t get me wrong, I adore Margaret Rutherford. She was a wonderful character actress of the 50s and 60s who was in many fine movies, such as Blythe Spirit, The V.I.P.s, and The Importance of Being Earnest. She even won an Academy Award for The V.I.P.s. However, her approach to Miss Marple was more along the dotty and confused sleuthing line, with less observation and mental acuity. Rutherford also decided to add her own husband to the stories as her sidekick, Mr. Stringer. Of her performances, it was said Christie respected Rutherford, but later wrote that ”Margaret Rutherford was a very fine actress, but was never in the least like Miss Marple.” I’m with her.

Glossing over 5’8″ Angela Lansbury’s Miss Marple played when she was 55 years old and looking as if she could fell a horse, we move on. Christie’s quintessential Miss Marple was Joan Hickson. Agatha Christie even wrote her a letter saying, “I hope one day you will play my dear Miss Marple.” Christie eventually got her wish when the opportunity arose for Hickson to star in the role at the age of 78. Others come and go, but Joan Hickson was and is my perfect Jane Marple.

Another gloss-over moment is Tony Randall playing Hercule Poirot in The Alphabet Murders. Despite adding Robert Morley to the cast, the movie didn’t work on any level. The script was compromised, the heart of the story was neglected, and Tony Randall was simply miscast. He found his feet in The Odd Couple but certainly tripped all over himself as Poirot.

Albert Finney did Poirot one time in the movie Murder on the Orient Express. With an all-star cast, the script followed much of Christie’s novel. Thank you. Finney’s portrayal of Poirot was exacting, respectful and believable. My own respect for Albert Finney went up several notches after seeing that movie. This handsome dude who starred in the movie Tom Jones not ten years before became the excentric, middle-aged, not-so-good-looking Hercule Poirot.

Peter Ustinov played a very credible Poirot in six movies. While he didn’t look physically very much like the description of Poirot in the books, he had a great sense of fun, the intellect was there, and he honored the character and the role. And he was a wonderful actor. The films were made on location and tended to follow the plotlines, always a plus. His Death on the Nile is one of my favorite go-to movies.

But now we come to Kenneth Branagh. He’s a good Shakespearean actor, but his Hercule Poirot is more one of his fancies than what Christie wrote. His Poirot is a man with a touch of Ian Fleming’s double 0 seven in him, blondish, younger, and far more strapping than any Poirot previously done. And his mustache seems to change in every film. He’s done three films so far, all uneven, and probably plans to do more. Okay. Everybody’s gotta make a living.

If you want to know what Hercule Poirot looks like according to Agatha Christie, either read the books or watch one of David Suchet’s performances. Because we have just gone back to quintessential. David Suchet played Hercule Poirot for nearly 25 years on television. It was a faithful version of the character. According to movieweb.com, “Throughout his 25-year tenure as the detective, Suchet managed to consistently bring to life all of Poirot eccentricities, right down to the physicalities and movement of the character — as, notably, Suchet managed to perfect Poirot’s distinct walk.”

Keeping in mind that actors need to work, and they’re going to take a job whether I like their version of the role or not, when I really want to visit Miss Marple, Tommy and Tuppence, or Poirot, I pick up one of Agatha Christie’s books. Timeless and wonderful.