By Sally Carpenter

One of my at-home projects for long holiday weekends is to sweep and mop the floors. This may not sound like much, but to me it’s an ordeal. It involves chasing the cats outside and then picking everything off the floor and stacking them on either the bed or sofa, leaving me no place to sit down until the floors dry.

Of course the day after the mopping, rain came and my cats trod over the clean floor with little wet paws. All the work for nothing!

But this attitude toward mopping doesn’t mean I’m a slob. I’m actually a neatnick. Every object has its place and must be put there. My writing space is not strewn with papers or books. Papers are filed away and books are in neat piles or on shelves. When I need something, I know exactly where to find it.

 The down side is that I get cranky if things are misplaced. I love Christmas decorations, but I’m not happy until every item is hung or put out and the packing bins are put away.

My desk at the office is the same way; clear save for some framed cat photos and mementos. Papers are in the hanging folders in the drawer. Even the items on my bulletin board are hung in a methodical fashion.

What has this to do with writing? Some say house cleaning is a procrastination to keep from writing, but for me, I can’t concentrate when my house—or life—is a mess. Sometimes I’ll even stop working just to take care of the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

I need a clear space so I can think clearly. If I’m distracted by financial or personal issues, I can’t be creative.

Two years I cut down on my writing obligations because I was getting distracted. My mind was in a jumble, hopping from one thing to do to the next and as a result accomplishing little—certainly not as far as writing the next book.

 Also, my mysteries are crafted in an orderly manner. The structure is solid and builds to a logical conclusion. My tidy house reflects my state of mind.

If I’m facing writer’s block or can’t get motivated to write, it’s often a sign that I need to slow down, rest and get focused. I need to put aside the other “to dos,” stop playing computer solitaire (the writer’s bane), sit down with my pen and clipboard, and start writing. That’s how this post was written.

And hanging up the colorful Christmas decorations helps as well.

What do you do to clear out the mental cobwebs?

By Sally Carpenter

 The central questions in any mystery are “who is the killer/villain?” and “what is the motive?” The answer may surprise you.

 I’ve just started reading the book “Evil: Inside Human Violence and Cruelty” by Roy Baumeister. He’s a college professor who examines the question not from a theological or moral standpoint, but the perspective of psychology and sociology.

In the first couple of chapters I’ve found some interesting ideas. First, all persons have the capacity to do evil, only most choose not to do through self-control.

I’ladd my own theory that this self-control is often enforced through religious teaching (“thou shalt not kill”) and the law (“life in prison without parole”).

 Nearly everyone has felt intense anger at some point most manage not to give in to their feelings. Road rage begins with two people letting their self-control slip so they can act on their fury until the incident ends in injury or death.

 Baumeister says most people know their killer and few murders are committed by strangers.

 He also says most murderers—and I would add sex criminals—are ordinary folk, both in their lifestyle and appearance. They don’t have hideous faces, evil grins, wicked laughs or gang banger attitudes to indicate their evil intensions.

 Such persons are often charismatic, charming and even likeable, which is how they lure in their victims. Who would suspect such a nice person to be capable of a monstrous deed?

 Criminals didn’t see themselves as doing wrong. The killer says the person deserved it. A rapist may blame alcohol or drugs, not his free own choice. The rapist will say the victim “enjoyed it” or “I couldn’t help it,” a complete denial of reality.

Victims tend to preserve the memory of the crime (which is why some can engage in revenge killings year later) whereas criminals will downplay the incident or push it out of mind: “let bygones be bygones.” To them, the act is over and done with; let’s move on.

A cozy mystery fits with these observations. The murderer is always local and known, sometime a long-time pillar of the community. No serial criminals or strangers here.

 The identification of the killer is a surprise because it’s the person who seems least likely to do it, while the red herrings have more obvious motives.

 The murderer sees the killing as justified: it had to be done.

 “Columbo” was such a clever show because the killers were smart, attractive, suave, friendly and often well respected in their professional. On the surface they led orderly lives without even a parking ticket on their record.

 Yet they found themselves trapped in a situation that they thought would harm them and they saw no other recourse than to eliminate the problem.

 Columbo’s skill was that he understood human nature. Beneath the veneer of the model citizen beat a killer’s heart.

It’ll be interesting to read more of the book and see how the author’s observations can be applied to writing mysteries.

By Sally Carpenter

 I recently read a blog post by a writer in his 70s who said he’s never seen a dead body. He’d never been to a funeral?

It could be the writer was referring to murder victims. But when I lived in the Midwest, viewing the deceased was a way of life.

Commemorating the dead in my rural hometown consisted of three parts: the viewing (called a “wake” in some circles), the funeral service and the graveside committal. The first two parts took place at a funeral home where the funeral director handled all the scheduling and arrangements. Clergy were asked to lead the services, but that was the extent of their participation or input.

 At the viewing, the embalmed body was placed in an open casket, flowers were set out and the public dropped by to sign the guest book, greet the family, and look at the deceased who bore little resemblance to the person in life. I think when I was a kid my mother took me to some viewings of people she know. I thought it was odd to stare at a dead person. Why not visit the person when they were alive and you could talk to them? I also didn’t like how funeral homes looked, too artificial and fussy. Not the place where I’d want to spend my last earthly moments.

At the brief funeral service, an organist played syrupy music and a minister gave a short talk. While the guests were still inside, the funeral home affixed little flags to the hoods of their cars to mark them as part of the processional. With the hearse carrying the casket and the limo with the family members leading the way, a long line of vehicles moved at a snail’s pace to the burial site. Since funeral processions had the right of way, many times I had to sit in traffic while an endless stream of these cars passed through an intersection.

 The committal service was even shorter, since people usually stood by the gravesite (except at my mother’s funeral, we sat in padded folding chairs beneath a canopy). Unlike what you see on TV/movies, the casket was never lowered into the ground and nobody threw dirt or flowers into the grave. The actuall internment took place after friends and family had left. Weeks or months later the gravestone was finally put in place.

 For one of my uncles, the internment consisted of his widow showing up at the family plot on her own, and placing his urn of ashes into a pre-dug hole. Other family members, including myself, happened to be there at the time (must have been around Memorial Day for our annual visit to the graves of mom’s parents).

 At my dad’s funeral service, my brother brought his young children. Even though they were not close to grandpa, they became hysterical when they saw the corpse and their mother took them out of the room for the service. I think their reaction was not grief over the loss but that their young minds had trouble processing a human death.

 Now I live on the West Coast and funerals seem to be done differently here. I’ve never seen a funeral processional, although during the day I’m at my day job. But with the heavy congestion on local streets, a long, slow-paced procession would not be practical.

Religious funerals are now taking place in churches rather than in funeral homes. I’ve attended two funerals at different churches. For me, the services more meaningful and longer and included congregational singing.

 “Home made” memorial services without the body present are replacing the traditional funeral. Family and friends, not processional morticians, plan and lead these informal services set in a home or a favorite bar or restaurant. Acquaintances share stories of the deceased and make toasts in their honor.

 I’ve attended two memorial services set in different community theaters where the deceased was an active participant. One of these funerals screened a video montage of the decease’ stage roles. At the other service, the deceased’s collection of Beanie Babies was set on the stage. Afterwards those present were invited to take a toy home as a memento (the cat I picked sits near my computer). And on my way into the building, I was asked to say a few words during the service. I’m not good at impromptu speaking, but I managed to sound intelligent and even (unintentionally) coax some laughter from the audience.

 How are funerals conducted in your town? What do you think is the best way to “send off” a loved one?