Along with other authors, I was recently asked to be one of the judges for a mystery writing contest involving fairly new or inexperienced writers. I was honored to be asked. In reality, my acceptance was more or less for selfish motives. While reading these works, I am reminded of what to do and what not to do myself. Even still, I realized this would not be an easy job. I try to be a fair judge (and person), so would my own subjectivity about the kind of mysteries I enjoy reading bias my critiques?  Of course, it would, unless I was careful.

Consequently, I tried to judge each work on technique and skill. Personal enjoyment was not expected nor part of the game. I put up a fourth wall and went back to the basics. A good journey to take from time to time. Like being slapped across the face with a wet mackerel, I was hit by the realization that not only did the majority of these stories smell, but the basics of good novel writing simply weren’t there. Bummer. For instance:

1 – The opening paragraph. Did it pull me in? Hook me while it could? Most of the time, no. The writer needs to let me know what I’m in store for. It’s the author’s contract with the reader. If I could, I would email each contestant the opening paragraph of Robert B Parker’s Judas Goat, which I feel is an excellent example.  Right away, this author lets you know what you can expect from the book, his writing style, and a feel for some of the facets of the protagonist. Parker’s Spenser was and is a huge success for good reason.

2 – Was I grounded? Did I get a sense of being somewhere, even if I didn’t know where that was for the moment? Not for the majority of the stories I was judging. If we’re in an ethereal space with no sense of time or place, for heaven’s sake, let me know. Otherwise, it’s like flying around my living room in a hot-air balloon.

3 – Did flowery words and long-winded phrases distract me from many stories? OMG. I still have some silly jumble of pretty but meaningless words describing a building running around inside my head. I don’t remember anything else. Like who died. What’s the first thing most of us learn in any writing class? Kill your darlings. Tattoo it on your forehead if need be. It’s on mine. This is why I wear bangs.

4 – What is the novel about? How much time are we spending on everything else but the story? As one well-known writer said, “Get off the front porch.” Another tat moment. And if the story is about zombies, let’s get some sort of reveal fairly soon, even if it’s “You’ll never believe who showed up at my front door last night. I thought we buried him last week.” Or maybe through the title. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, has, by the way, a good opening paragraph, even though it’s not a mystery. Of course, there is the mystery of how one man could run a country, especially during a civil war, and roam the countryside looking for vampires. But let’s let that one go.

5 – Did you throw all your backstory in at the beginning? Save most for later, if even then. One newbie writer did all the right things in chapter one. I was heartened. Unfortunately, it was followed by page after page of the protagonist’s marriage from decades before. If it’s important to the story somewhere along the line, add it in drips and drabs. Don’t lay it before me like an in-depth biography. A story is like a shark. It needs to keep moving or it will die. I held on through chapter two but at the end of chapter three, the pacing was lost, the impact was lost, and I was lost.

6 – This leads me to: GET A GOOD EDITOR AND LISTEN TO HER/HIM. Regarding the above writer, I thought I had found the beginnings of a good mystery novel until I was at the point where I was pulled out of the story and landed in I know not where nor do I care territory. A good editor might have drawn a redline through chapters two and three and saved this book. We will never know. Because the author lost me, it doesn’t matter how good the story gets later on if I’m gone after chapter three.

Now these are things most writers reading this post know. Preaching to the choir, donchaknow. But now and then I need that wet-mackerel-across-the-face moment.  I can be dense, forget, or get caught up in a pretty phrase. But eventually, I kill my darlings, painful though it may be. This is because I know they’re just words, I’ve got a million of ’em, and these just ain’t working, baby. Hmmm. I’m beginning to wonder if Ernest Hemingway wasn’t on the right track when he said, “Write drunk, edit sober.” The approach may be wrong but the purpose is spot on.

Happy Holidays and Happy Writing.

Thanksgiving is over. I look at the calendar in disbelief. December already!!?? Because Thanksgiving was late this year, there are just a few weeks till Christmas and New Year’s Eve. Time to think about presents and cards and holiday celebrations, yet I don’t feel ready. Where did the year go? And so quickly.

This year has been challenging on so many levels. Might as well add the last half of 2023 to that and call it a challenging year and a half, marked by loss and upheaval on a personal level.

My mother died in 2023. Anyone who has experienced the loss of a parent knows what comes after: clearing out her house to get it ready to sell. Mom lived there for nearly 60 years, so that process took months. It was difficult, making decisions and dividing up what was left: furniture, pictures, keepsakes. We took load after load after load of stuff to local thrift stores. We packed boxes, moving things out. For my brother, it was loading a U-Haul. For me, the process involved shipping furniture and boxes, as well as multiple visit to UPS to ship still more boxes.

Last December I spent the holiday there, the last Christmas together in the house—well, together without Mom. It felt so different. When we took down the decorations for the last time, we divided those up as well. Now the house is empty, waiting for its next owner.

I think of the first line of the song Secret Gardens, written and sung by Judy Collins: “My grandmother’s house is still there, but it isn’t the same.”

Well, Mom’s house is still there, but it really isn’t the same.

My condo is still here, too, but it isn’t the same. It looks better than it did, finally. A flood last fall caused a great deal of damage, meaning the carpet went away and sheetrock had to be removed from walls and ceilings. It took months to repair and at one point involved all my belongings being packed up and moved into storage. I moved into a hotel with my cats while all this packing and moving was taking place, following by installation of new curtains and flooring. Then I moved back in and started unpacking boxes and putting things together.

In some rooms the furniture has been shifted around to accommodate furniture from Mom’s house, including a china cabinet that belonged to my grandmother. The keepsakes went into the china cabinet. The quilt Grandma made hangs on the wall in my bedroom. Some of the family photos are on the walls, while more are stored in a closet. There isn’t room to display everything, but those are family photos and I’m glad I have them.

Through it all I have kept writing, though. In July 2023 I had a computer meltdown that resulted in the loss of a book. That was difficult indeed. After I mourned the loss of my words, I started again. Fortunately, the book was, and is, still in my head. I have recreated the words that were lost and written even more. It’s not quite a cohesive first draft, not yet, but it’s coming along. Slowly at times and then at other times, inspiration burst forth and I add to the word count. Soon, I’ll have that first draft. At least I hope so. A goal to aspire to in the new year that is so rapidly approaching.

Yes, it has been challenging. I’m sure the coming year will have more challenges. But writing and creating help to keep me sane. Along with time spent on the sofa with cats and books. Here’s to the rest of December and the New Year.