The More Things Change

I have been missing in action from this blog (and most everything else) for several months, though not exactly by choice.

A few days after my last post I got shoved into an ambulance—again!—and taken back to Oregon Health & Science University.  Again.  All the way there I kept telling myself this was just a research trip, a way to write more knowledgeably about ambulances.  It didn't change the fact that I was admitted to the hospital and stayed for another surgery.

 I didn't stay as long this time, and my recovery was textbook-perfect, but I have been focusing on my own health and well-being since.  I found the walking and yoga I'd been doing made a tremendous difference in how quickly and thoroughly I bounced back, physical therapy can do amazing things, and attitude is everything.  I may not be 25 any more, but I definitely feel better than I have in a long time.

There were other changes, too.  The one most significant for the readers of this blog is the future of the Christy Fifield books.  Unfortunately, Berkley Prime Crime has decided (after many months of wavering) that they will not publish another book in the Haunted Gift Shop series.  I am disappointed, but it appears that many series are ending as Penguin/Berkley adjusts to the merger with Random House.  Fortunately, in the modern publishing world it doesn't mean the series has to end, as writers can move to indie publishing and readers can follow them.  Now that I have an answer from Berkley, and am back on my feet, I am working on book #5.  The adventures of Glory, Karen, Jake, Riley, Felipe, Ernie, Sly, Bluebeard, and all the rest will continue!

In addition to the Haunted Gift Shop, I hope to launch a new series, The Spy Girls.  I have always been fascinated by the women of the Second World War.  They were the first generation to move into the workforce—in what were then non-traditional jobs—in large numbers, and they showed following generations that women didn't have to be relegated to "nurturing" roles (mothers, teachers, nurses).  They were, in my mind, the proto-feminists that laid the groundwork for all women to come.  I already have five short stories about my fictional spy girls, and they will be coming out over the next few weeks, and I plan to follow the release of the stories—singly and as a collection of all five with the possible addition of bonus material—with the first novel in what I hope will be a series.

The short stories explore the backstories of the two main characters, culminating with their meeting in the final short story, "Swamp of the Prehistoric Clan."  This story originally appeared in the anthology Fiction River:Recycled Pulp from WMG Publishing last September. Being me, I wrote a cozy mystery about two women who meet in a retirement community in the 1970s.  They both have their secrets, but eventually they will discover they have one in common: they both served in clandestine services during World War II.  Imagine Peggy Carter in retirement, trying to content herself with bridge tournaments and Tupperware™ parties.  Yeah, like that's gonna work!

There are more changes to come over the next few months, and I'll be talking about them here as time goes on.  Until then, thanks for your patience while I recovered!

The Sound of Breaking Glass; or, Engage Writer Brain

Somehow this post never got published.  Let me take care of this Right Now!!

There are times when it is extremely difficult not to indulge in the time-honored writer habit of Making Things Up.  It is, after all, what we are paid to do: sit alone in a room and Make Things Up.  I've talked about that before, but it's a part of an incident that happened last week.

L. to R. Barton Grover Howe, Christy Fifield, M.L. Buchman

I was in a friend's shop for a book signing of Murder Hooks a Mermaid.  It's a combination antique shop and bookstore, a delightful jumble of treasures from the last two centuries, collectibles (especially glass and apothecary items), and new and used books.

I was at one end of the shop when I heard a noise near the cash register.  The sound of breaking glass.  That's a scary sound in a shop full of breakables, but it got worse.  The noise didn't stop, and it was accompanied by the crash of something heavy falling over.

Before

Another customer, a woman with two bargain-table books in her hand, had jostled the owner who was walking behind her, knocked him over and in the process knocked over an entire display case.  She managed to topple thousands of dollars worth of antiques.  She knocked over one display case, thereby breaking out the glass front of a second case, and destroyed an entire case of antiques, including some unique and irreplaceable pieces.

And After

She asked the owner something like "Did I do that?" in a way that clearly implied that she didn't, and hurried out of the store, leaving her books on the counter.  Fortunately, the store is insured, and no one was injured, in spite of the piles of broken glass.  But the emotional impact of losing several irreplaceable pieces is a blow my friend will need time to recover from; and we don't know yet what the financial implications will be.

As my husband and I talked about it later, I had to keep from ascribing motives to the woman who knocked over the display.  It felt as though she high-tailed it out of the store without any attempt to take responsibility for the destruction she caused.  But maybe she truly believed she was innocent and left because she was embarrassed.  As I said, I was making things up.

I also realized that, given what I've been writing, this scenario (or something very much like it) will undoubtedly appear in a future book.

And this is where the Writer Brain comes in.

Writer Brain is a symptom all writers seem to manifest.  It is that moment when you detach from some awful event and start storing details to use later.  It's a way of dealing with painful or disturbing situations.

An example?  At the beginning of my summer medical odyssey I took an ambulance ride.  About ninety miles with lights and sirens, in the middle of the night, headed for a regional medical center and emergency surgery.  It should have been terrifying and stressful, and to some extent it was.  But Writer Brain took over.  It quickly occurred to me that this might be the only time I got a close-up look at the inside of an ambulance and I started looking around, trying to store up all the details I could, to use later.

So last week's disaster will show up in a book sometime, just as calls from our police scanner have formed the basis of certain scenes, and other painful - or joyous - personal experiences have informed other stories.

It's the curse (and the blessing) of Writer Brain.