By Elaine Viets

Were the nearly 150 tweets from a stripper nicknamed Zola, a wild tale about strippers, suicide, kidnapping and murder, true?

Is Zola a real stripper who spent a wild weekend in Florida “trapping” – ie, hooking – with Jessica, a woman she met at Hooters?

Or was this a hoax?

These questions have set the blogosphere a-Twitter ever since Frazier Tharpe wrote a blog called “Zola’s Twitter Tale of Strippers in Florida Is Easily the Wildest Thing You’ll Read All Week.”

All week?

Zola’s story wins for the year, fact or fiction.

Warning: This story is X-rated. So be careful reading it at the office.

Tharpe writes, “It starts when Zola, a loquacious Hooters waitress, strikes up a friendship with a ‘white bitch’ customer (Zola’s words, not mine) who several tweets later is revealed to be named Jessica. The two ‘girls’ (Tharpe’s words, not mine) get to vibing over their shared ‘hoeism,’ forming such a bond that the next day said White Bitch Jessica invites Zola to travel to Florida with her. Zola, despite reservations over having just met ‘this here bitch,’ agrees to go because apparently Florida is ripe for dancing and ‘hoeism,’ and one can rake in as much as $15k.”

Tharpe’s blog was only the start. Rolling Stone wrote: “Zola Tells All: The Real Story Behind the Greatest Stripper Saga Ever Tweeted.” There were thoughtful commentaries, serious stories about sex trafficking, moralizing, grandstanding and movie deal rumors. Bloggers denounced Zola as a hoax – possibly a hoax to promote Beyonce. Although that hoax story may be a hoax, too.

Whether this “insane, epic story” Tharpe wrote about is a hoax or not, here’s what’s real:

It’s damn good story telling.

I’ll give you the first few tweets from @_zolarmoon, aka Azaih King. You can read the rest here.

Http://www.complex.com/pop-culture/2015/10/zola-twitter-insane-epic-story

(1) AZIAH KING: Okay listen up. This story is long. So I met this white bitch at hooters. I was her waitress! She came in with this old ass big ass black dude

(2) So you know as a hooters girl we have to talk to our customers. So I sit wit them & we get to talkin & she tells me she dances! So I’m like

(3) Oh yes bitch me too! Then she tells me this hulking black man is her sugar daddy. & I’m like oh yes bitch me SD at home. I feel it I feel it

(4) So we vibing over our hoeism or whatever. & we exchange numbers!! & we like “next time u dance hum ima come dance wit you1” & they leave

(5) So THE NEXT DAY I get a text like “BITCH LETS GO TO FLORIDA!” & I’m like huh??? She’s like “I’m going to dance in Florida, let’s go!!”

(6) Now I’m skeptical like DAMN bitch we just met and we already taking hoe trips together???? BUT I had went to FL 2 months prior & made 15K

(7) So lowkey I was down. So I was like “okay I’ll go. Who’s all going & when we leaving.” All this bitch says is “be ready by 8”

And they’re off to Florida for mayhem and murder.

What can we learn?

I love Zola’s direct style. She told a quick, clean story.

I’ve read too many mysteries with philosophical drug dealers and killers rationalizing their brutal crimes. “Philosopher crooks” are mystery writing staples, popular in crime fiction, TV shows and movies.

But how real are these characters?

I’ve lived in iffy neighborhoods on Capitol Hill and in St. Louis. I’ve been stopped by enterprising locals, who said, “Give me your money, bitch.”

Direct and to the point.

They did not lament their poor education, lack of economic opportunity, sick mothers (as in parents) or hungry children. They did it – and paid for it later.

Maybe.

Members of the demimonde, like Zola, have poor impulse control. They’re never sorry, unless they’re caught.

Too often, we clutter our mysteries with low-rent crooks who agonize, apologize and justify their crimes because that’s what WE would do.

But what would THEY do?

Is Zola’s Twitter saga real? I can’t say.

But it sounds real.

And that’s what’s important.

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Want something sweet for Christmas? I’m giving away Murder With All the Trimmings, my fourth Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper mystery. To win, click Contests at www.elaineviets.com

By Elaine Viets

1. “He felt like a panhandler who had just seen his first speck of gold.”

That lucky dog. Most panhandlers never see any gold. They’re lucky to scrounge pocket change.

But panners have a real chance of finding gold.

During National Novel Writing Month, aspiring writers, as well as hard-working pros, are pounding the keys. It’s easy to make mistakes when we’re cranking out copy at high speed. Here are few phrases that have tripped up good writers for major New York publishers. Don’t let them happen to you.

2. “I don’t believe it was money your mom squired away.”

I don’t believe it, either. Bet Mom squirreled it away, like this furry devil hid that acorn.

3. “There was something she couldn’t bare to look at.”

We couldn’t bear to look at the naked abuse of that word.

4. “His jaws were taught and clamped.”

The Terminator taught us what taut jaws look like.

5. “South Carolina was the first state to succeed.”

At what? Leaving the Union? In that cast, the state was the first to secede.

 6. “This is why you should wear a helmut.”

A helmet would protect your head better.

That’s a German Donald Duck holding up the winged golden helmet. According to the Wall Street Journal, in Deutschland the beaked Donald is a philosopher. “Germany, the land of Goethe, Thomas Mann and Beethoven, has an unlikely pop culture hero: Donald Duck,” says the paper. “Just as the French are obsessed with Jerry Lewis, the Germans see a richness and complexity to the Disney comic that isn’t always immediately evident to people in the cartoon duck’s homeland.”

7. Some phrases are impossibly twisted. Consider the police officer with deep seed suspicions.

I suspect the writer meant deep-seated suspicions and mixed up deep seeded plants

with the tennis term top seeded, planted at the top of the heap.

8. “He and his wife are strange.”

Possibly. But when they separated, they were estranged.

Consider this couple. Hugh Hefner and Crystal Harris were engaged Christmas Eve, 2010. They were all set for a June wedding in 2011. But Crystal called off the wedding five days before Hugh walked down the aisle for the third time.

They were estranged. But the couple reconciled and were married New Year’s Eve, 2012. Hugh was 86 and Crystal was 26. Love is strange.

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Suspense Magazine named Checked Out, my latest Dead-End mystery, a top cozies of 2015. I’m celebrating by giving away a large print Checked Out. To win, click Contests at www.elaineviets.com

By Elaine Viets

We’ve all seen zombie series: a string of novels that are barely alive, dragged by their authors from one publisher to another. Each zombie novel staggers to its feet, but dies quickly. It’s hard to survive without a heart.

The kindest – and smartest – thing to do is end your series before it becomes a zombie.

I’ve written three mystery series:

My first mystery series featured Francesca Vierling, a six-foot tall St. Louis newspaper columnist. After four Francesca novels the publisher wiped out the division.

These novels are hard-boiled. Francesca investigates a transvestite’s murder in Backstab and the death of a RUB, a rich urban biker, in Rubout. In The Pink Flamingo Murders, a ruthless gentrifier comes to a terrible end: stabbed with a pink plastic flamingo. In Doc in the Box, bad doctors get the deaths they deserve.

After the hard-boiled Francesca series ended, I worked dead-end jobs until my agent sold Shop Till You Drop, my first Dead-End Job mystery, to Penguin. This series features Helen Hawthorne, a St. Louis woman on the run in South Florida. I was writing traditional mysteries, cheerfully slaughtering awful bosses and annoying customers. Penguin saved me from being trapped in dead-end jobs. I could quit them to write my mysteries.

In book five, Penguin took the Dead-End Job series from paperback to hardcover. They’d already asked me to write a cozy series featuring mystery shopper Josie Marcus. Josie was supposed to be a three-book series. Dying in Style, the first Josie book, tied with Stephen King’s mystery on the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association list.

I happily wrote two mysteries a year. Suddenly, it was 2015. I turned in book ten of the “three book” Josie Marcus mystery-shopper series. Checked Out, my fourteenth Dead-End Job hardcover, was published.

And I wanted to return to the dark side. After fifteen years of writing traditional, cozy mysteries, I’m starting a dark series featuring Death Investigator Angela Richman. Death investigators work out of the medical examiner’s office. At a death scene, the DI takes charge of the body, photographing it, documenting the wounds, and more. The police investigate the rest of the crime scene.

Why return to this gritty world?

Because I never left. I love cozies, but they’re not all kittens and cupcakes. I prefer relentless Miss Marple, the fluffy knitter who declared “I am Nemesis” and brought killers to justice.

I’d kept writing darkly humorous short stories for anthologies such as Crimes by Moonlight: Mysteries from the Dark Side, edited by Charlaine Harris, and short stories for Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. “The Bride Wore Blood” was not for the “Say Yes to the Dress” crowd.

This January I passed the MedicoLegal Death Investigators Training Course for forensic professionals, given by Saint Louis University’s School of Medicine. The intense training made sure I had the most up-to-date forensic information.

Look at the agenda for one morning, as taught by pathologists:

Gunshot wound fatalities, explosion-related deaths, motor vehicle fatalities, and drowning. At lunch, we watched a teen driving and alcohol video. After lunch, we studied alcohol-related deaths, suicide, blunt-trauma fatalities, and more.

My mystery writing colleagues welcomed me back. Fourteen top writers blurbed the Death Investigator proposal.

Diamond Dagger winner Lee Child said, “So happy to see Viets back to doing what she does best—dark, edgy, character-driven crime. Count me delighted.”

Ann Cleeves, author of the Vera Stanhope and Shetland series, said, “I think you’ve got everything here that a reader loves—a hospital drama and thriller, a strong central character. Made much more interesting because the central character is a very unreliable narrator.”

Charlaine Harris, who thoroughly explores the dark side, said, “Elaine Viets has written the exciting first book in a multilayered crime novel series. Angela Richman is not only an investigator but a victim in this complex novel of crime, punishment, and medical malfeasance.”

I asked almost two thousand readers if they’d follow me to the dark side. More than 75 percent said they’d read the new Death Investigator series. Almost half said they’d prefer the new series and more than half said they’d read both.

“I would love to see you tackle something a little darker,” one wrote. “As a male, the new series appeals to me.”

Yes, sir. Death Investigator Angela Richman debuts as a short story in the November Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.

And I’ve signed a two-book contract with Thomas & Mercer for the Angela Richman Death Investigator series. Brain Storm will be out late summer 2016. Fire and Ashes debuts in 2016.

I still enjoy writing about Helen Hawthorne’s lighthearted adventures in South Florida. My 15th Dead-End Job mystery, The Art of Murder, will be out in May 2016.

But Josie Marcus, my cozy mystery series, is now on hiatus. I’ve experimented with all the cozy variations. Josie is in a good place: She’s happy with her new husband. Josie’s teenage daughter, Amelia, is about to become a young woman. Josie’s mother has met a man she loves.

I may bring Josie back some day. But not as a zombie.

By Elaine Viets

NOTE: If you blush easily, the following blog is not for your delicate eyes. If you fearlessly pursue accuracy in your writing, then read on. I’m talking to you, dude.

The novel had a scene – as so many novels do – about a woman removing her bra before she had sex with her lover. Just like what you’d watch at websites similar to watchmygf.sex (https://www.watchmygf.sex/).

Never mind which novel. It could be Everyman. In fact, it is every man. Every man who writes a hot sex scene similar to what you’d see on websites like watchmygf.adult but only better says something like this dude:

“Her brassiere was a diaphanous lace, and when she reached behind herself in that quintessentially feminine move, I couldn’t look away.”

Huh? What “quintessentially feminine move”?

I got vulkan news for you, gentlemen. We don’t take off our bras that way. I sure don’t, and I’m no contortionist.

I don’t know any woman who uses that so-called “quintessentially feminine move.” I haven’t met every bra-wearing woman on the planet, but I’ve been in enough women’s locker rooms, from high school till now, to know that’s not how it’s done.

It’s much easier for women to slip our arms out of the straps, then drag the bra around to the front and unhook it where we can see the hooks. Some of us even manage this maneuver with our shirts on.

So why does the blind bra-unhooker persist in novels and movies? In movie after movie, and book after book, the babe reaches around back to unhook. And we put up with these blatant falsies.

Why can’t men get these scenes right? Why are they so hooked on this scenario?

Can I ask a personal question, dudes? Have you actually been with a woman who took off her own bra? Did you watch how she did it?

Or has this erotic lingerie fantasy overpowered your reason and regard for the facts?

If you still want that hot sex scene, here are two suggestive suggestions:

(1) The woman wears a front closure bra – hot, quick, easy.

(2) The woman wears no bra at all – she’s already fully liberated.

If you want women to take your writing seriously, gentlemen, get the facts right – starting at the top.

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For more information about lingerie — and a killer mystery, win AN UPLIFTING MURDER, my sixth Josie Marcus Mystery Shopper Mystery. Click Contests at www.elaineviets.com

By Elaine Viets

Does your mind wander when you read the hot new thriller? Does that blockbuster mystery sag worse than a flophouse couch?
Yep, I’ve been running into lots of those: Highly touted bestsellers that make excellent doorstops.
This isn’t about how to fix the sagging middle in your novels. It’s a question about what causes them:
Are modern mysteries too long? Are we forced to produce bloated books?
Most commercial mysteries are 75,000 words or so. The average mystery weighs in at about 325 pages. Many are twice that size.

But thrillers and mysteries didn’t used to be so big. Once they were as slender as that deadly dame in black. Many Golden Age mysteries were 150 to 200 pages LESS than today’s mysteries.
Raymond Chandler’s The High Window was a scrawny 206 pages when it was published by Pocket Books in 1945. Curt Cannon’s I Like ’Em Tough (“Me?” he says, “I’m a down-and-out private eye with nothing to lose”) delivered 143 action-packed pages a princely 25 cents in 1958. Ian Fleming’s Casino Royale was 144 pages in 1953.
Makes you wonder if Fleming’s spy classic could be published today.

Or would an editor tell him, “Nice story, Ian, but you need to flesh it out a bit. Maybe add another subplot. Or get more of Vesper’s life before she met Bond to justify her actions. And we know almost nothing about Bond’s childhood. Clearly he’s got some daddy issues with M.”
Personally, I like the Bond novels better than the movies. Ian Fleming’s Bond in the original novels is more sensitive and less cartoonish than the man in the movies – and I’ve seen them all. For the record, I like Daniel Craig best as Bond, even better than Sean Connery.

By the way, if you haven’t read the original Bond novels, you’re missing some elegant writing.
Here’s the opening to Casino Royale: “The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino are nauseating at three in the morning. Then the soul-erosion produced by high gambling – a compost of greed and fear and nervous tension – become unbearable, and the senses awake and revolt from it.
“James Bond suddenly knew that he was tired.”
And so the adventure starts and “hums with tension,” according to Time magazine.
The plot is clean and unburdened by armchair psychology. The ending is swift, free of the current trends for corkscrew plotting.
As the end of the contemporary overcomplicated doorstop nears, I find myself saying, “Yes, he did it! I knew it was the American tourist. No, wait, it was the Russian! No, not the Russian, the undercover CIA agent who betrayed his country. Wrong again! It was his gay lover, who wanted revenge.”
When the book finally ends, I’m so exhausted, I don’t much care.
Hardcovers are $25 to $30 now. Maybe we’d have more readers if we wrote smaller books.
Maybe we’re breaking that important writing rule: Less is more.

Win KILLER CUTS, Dead-End Job No. 8, set at a posh salon where a color and cut are $300. Click Contests at www.elaineviets.com

By Elaine Viets

By Elaine Viets　

Recently, I’ve seen a rash of news stories with headlines like these:

“Retired Air Force four-star general opens up about Wright-Patt, DDC.”

“Marine general opens up about battle with prostate cancer.”

“Wells Fargo CEO opens up about his childhood in poverty.”

Opens up? No, they didn’t.

“Opens up” implies that a person hesitates to talk about a subject, then relaxes and spills the information they didn’t intend to. “Opens up” paints a cozy word picture: We see the reluctant subject settling in over a beer or a cup of coffee, looking a bit nervous. After skillful questioning, the interviewer pries that pearl of information out of the oyster. The subject opens up and reveals a deep secret.

Wrong.

Retired generals and CEOs don’t open up. They didn’t get to the top by opening up anything, especially their mouths. Every word they say in public is carefully calculated.

Even clown prince Donald Trump knows what he’s doing when he shoots off his mouth. His outrageous remarks get him the attention he needs to rack up the poll numbers – he wants to be one of the top ten in the Republican presidential debate.

And while we’re talking about opening up, why doesn’t Trump’s barber open up and say the Donald’s hair looks lousy?

Anyway, about that so-called opening up: The retired four-star general didn’t open up about the air force base.

He told a newspaper he didn’t like “the focus on a potential Base Realignment and Closure process — because he sees bigger dangers to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base — and warns of complacency because the base has fared well in recent years.”

That isn’t “opening up.” The general is sounding off, possibly to preserve a local pork barrel. He’s been put up to “open up,” and the headline writers fell for it.

And the Marine General who “opened up” about his prostate cancer?

More careful calculation. The story says, “In the midst of planning a complicated drawdown in forces, the Marine Corps’ three-star manpower chief received startling news: He had cancer.”

But he soldiered on, did his military duty and survived his battle with cancer.

That was one brave general. But the article stresses that many men, important men, get prostate cancer, get treated and survive.

I salute the general for discussing a sensitive issue. But he didn’t “open up” – as an ex-reporter I smell a carefully calculated public relations opportunity. He discussed prostate cancer and urged other men to get the exam they fear.

Then there’s that Wells Fargo CEO. Did he really “open up” about his poverty-stricken childhood? Absolutely. Right after he handed out free money to the first one thousand customers.

Hell, no. That “opening up” was another PR ploy. Wells Fargo has had a wagon load of bad publicity about its foreclosures. But here’s this CEO, “one of 11 children growing up on a farm in small-town Minnesota,” who “knows how much trouble we were in financially by the time I was 6 years old . . . We bounced between bankruptcy and foreclosure until I was 15 or 16, when we got a chicken farm, where we had 15,000 laying hens. All of a sudden we had regular income.”

Oh, and by the way, Well Fargo “will continue serving real customers in the real economy.”

Sniff! Sniff! What’s that smell? Is it coming from that team of Wells Fargo horses?

Watch where you step, writers. And be careful about “opening up.”

You can fall into a dangerous word trap.

                           *********************************

Win Elaine’s latest hardcover mystery, “Checked Out.”  Click on Contests at www.elaineviets.com

By Elaine Viets

“She’s awake,” announced Julia.

“It’s about time,” replied her husband.

“Why is she even here,” Susan inquired.

She sighed. He whispered. She volunteered. He requested. She laughed.

I lost track of the plot, but I was fascinated by the synonyms for said. The novel was truly gripping as the author performed verbal gymnastics to avoid this four-letter word.

Characters inquired, interjected, blurted, agreed, argued, insisted, demanded, relented, confirmed, continued, conceded, spewed and squealed – yes, squealed.

That’s when I threw down the book and roared: “What happened to said?”

If I wanted to read a thesaurus, I’d get out my Roget’s.

Said is the wallflower of the writing world. It’s nearly invisible. That’s why we love it. Said showcases your dialogue. Said doesn’t get in the way of your story.

Said doesn’t try to do what’s physically impossible: You cannot talk and laugh at the same time. You cannot squeal a sentence. And spewing is too disgusting to contemplate.

My editor chopped “she laughed” out of my first novel, though she did let me say, “She said with a laugh.”

Here’s what I’m trying to say: If you want snappy dialogue, don’t clutter up your story with ridiculous verbs and impossible acts. Let it be said and be done with it.

I used said to start “Checked Out,” my new Dead-End Job mystery. Here’s the first chapter. Said gets the novel off to a good start, if I do say so myself.

Checked Out Chapter 1

“I need your help,” Elizabeth Cateman Kingsley said. “My late father misplaced a million dollars in a library book. I want it back.”

Helen Hawthorne caught herself before she said, “You’re joking.” Private eyes were supposed to be cool. Helen and her husband, Phil Sagemont, were partners in Coronado Investigations, a Fort Lauderdale firm.

Elizabeth seemed unnaturally calm for someone with a misplaced million. Her sensational statement had grabbed the attention of Helen and Phil, but now Elizabeth sat quietly in the yellow client chair, her slender, well-shaped hands folded in her lap.

Helen studied the woman from her chrome-and-black partner’s chair. Somewhere in her fifties, Elizabeth Kingsley kept her gunmetal hair defiantly undyed and pulled into a knot. A thin, knife-blade nose gave her makeup-free face distinction. Helen thought she looked practical, confident and intelligent.

Elizabeth’s well-cut gray suit was slightly worn. Her turquoise-and-pink silk scarf gave it a bold splash of color. Elizabeth had money once, Helen decided, but she was on hard times now. But how the heck did you leave a million bucks in a library book?

Phil asked the question Helen had been thinking a little more tactfully: “How do you misplace millions in a library book?”

“I didn’t,” Elizabeth said. “My father, Davis Kingsley, did.”

“Was it a check? A bank book?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “It’s a watercolor.”

By Elaine Viets

Gremlins are loose in our writing,  wreaking – not reeking – havoc. How else can we explain the ridiculous mistakes popping up in novels and news reports. It has to be those evil little monsters.

I spotted these ten, but there are hordes of gremlins turning your carefully crafted novels and short stories into jokes.

(1) “State Superior Court Judge Donna Taylor ruled in favor of the Golden Nugget casino,” the news report said, “in its dispute with 14 gamblers who say it was not there fault the cards were not shuffled and should be allowed to keep their winnings.”

Not there fault? If you say so, Judge. But I know it was definitely their fault.

(2) “The business has benefited from a strong cough, cold and flue season,” Fortune magazine online said.

Eeee! The sneezing season is flu season. Flues are for chimneys.

(3) “A slight tap of her breaks sent the car swerving into the oncoming lane of traffic.”

This glitch put the brakes on my concentration.

(4) “She gasped as the camera panned an open-air cabana in an exotic local.”

I bet the local gasped, too. Having your open-air cabana panned has to hurt. The camera really panned the cabana in an exotic locale. Add that E and you have a whole different word.

(5) “He was stuck in a 1950s time warp of gentile behavior.”

Another wayward E. This nice man’s behavior was gentle, not gentile. His religion was never mentioned.

(6) “There was something she couldn’t bare to look at.”

Me, either. I hope she kept her clothes on. The novelist’s publisher should have known this was something she couldn’t “bear to look at.”

(7) The hale was pelting down.

Hail, no, it wasn’t! Those pelting ice balls are hail.

(8) “Everyone keeps referring to the internment of Richard III,” a woman wrote on a mystery list. “If they’re buryin’ him, it’s interment.”

Right you are, ma’am and thanks for defending the English King’s English. Richard III, the last York king, was found under a British parking lot, and reburied with the white roses that were the symbols of his royal house.

(9) “A half-eaten pizza slice (crust in tact)”

I don’t care about tact in my pizzas. But intact crust – definitely.

(10) Dexter is a blood spatter expert. This bloody word is a trap for unwary writers. Blood splatter marks you as a forensic amateur. Get the L out of there. It’s blood spatter.