You know your prose will stun your editors with its brilliance. When you reread that passage, it brought tears to your eyes. The emotion quivers on the page.
So why are your editors asking you to cut and rewrite your favorite section? Why do they see your fiery passages as deep purple?
I don’t know about you, but I have the most problems when I’m starting a novel.
Once it gets going, I’m okay – sure, I have to watch for sagging middles.
But here is a problem I had with a rough beginning, when the murder came too late in Brain Storm.

The first book in my Angela Richman, Death Investigator series was hard to write:
I was starting a new series, and it was hard-boiled, not cozy, a change for me.
Also, the plot used my actual experience. In 2007, I had six strokes, brain surgery and a coma. It took seven years to get up the nerve to write about this, and another year for my agent to sell this story.
Here’s the plot: Death Investigator Angela Richman has a series of blinding headaches. She goes to the ER and Dr. Porter Gravois tells her she’s too young and fit to have a stroke. He sends her home, and she has six strokes and brain surgery. She’s saved by Dr. Travis Tritt, a brilliant surgeon with a lousy bedside manner. Dr. Tritt hates Porter Gravois, and when Porter is murdered, Tritt is the main suspect. Angela, still sick and drug-addled, has to save the man who saved her life.
When Brain Storm sold, my manuscript went to Bryon Quertermous, a freelance development editor.
Here’s what Bryon wrote:

Plot-wise, I think you have a good motive and solid characters and a nice arc. That said, I think the arc starts too late and needs to encompass more of the first half of the book as well. You do a good job of starting strong with the character and with Angela’s job and readers will forgive a little slow burn to get into this cool world, but we need to see some plot development sooner than almost halfway through as it is now.
The biggest note I have is that Dr. Porter’s death scene needs to come sooner in the book, ideally a quarter of the way in or so. For Angela to really work at her best as a character she needs to be actively investigating a death, not just playing armchair detective with her friend, the pathologist Katie, as she does now. I think there are some great interactions between the two of them and I don’t want those to go away, but I think you can kill two birds with this.

First, you need to make a list of all of the scenes that come before Porter’s death. Next, write a little bit about each scene. Then figure out which ones can be reworked to come after that scene and which can’t, and then go from there.
I think a lot of the discussions with Katie about the Angel of Death can come after. I love the idea that you briefly toy with of having Angela obsessed with the perfect Hobie as the killer and, better yet, as a vigilante killer. I think Angela needs to come to this obsession sooner and it needs to coincide with her talks with Katie about the Angel of Death murders.

You need to build her paranoia here and really play around with it as she wonders in her head if what she thinks about Hobie really is true. I think you need at least one more big set piece hallucination (like the fake hospital one which I though was brilliant) and I think as Katie realizes more and more that Angela isn’t playing devil’s advocate that she actually thinks Hobie is the Angel of Death and that he killed Porter this can create some nice tension between the two friends. Part of this will come from a line of investigation I think you need to develop where Angela starts digging into the backgrounds of the other Angel of Death victims to see if they have anything in common or if they were bad people who needed to die like Porter did.

Bryon gave me good advice: I don’t believe the murder should always be in chapter one – but if someone isn’t dead by the first third of the book the writer is making the fatal mistake of slowing the pace.

But how could I cut those wonderful scenes?
Bryon had the answer: List all the scenes.
See which ones can be combined or relocated to another section of the book.
Kill the ones that slow it down. Be brave. If you want your book to live, you’re going to have to kill – or at least transform – those darling scenes.

Have you had to kill your darlings? Tell us about it.

Here’s how Brain Storm turned out. https://tinyurl.com/7kwezp3t

By Elaine Viets

The English language is expanding faster than waistlines during quarantine. This year, the Merriam-Webster Dictionary has added another 520 new words.
English is a living language, so growth is good. Or as Webster says:
“The words we use—if they are new or relatively new—are the words we need to express and explain our world. If these words then also become widely used, it becomes the dictionary’s job to explain this use.”
The new crop includes words and abbreviations I’ve never used – including “hygge” and “ASMR.”
And words I hope we’ll never use, like the clunky “decarceration.”
Plus words that we’ve been using long before Webster got wise to them, including “silver fox.” (George Clooney, anyone?)

So what’s “ASMR”? It’s short for “autonomous sensory meridian response.” Uh, right. That clears it up. This example from Webster explains it better:
“It might sound like a bafflingly bizarre way to spend time on the internet. But for Maria’s viewers, her voice and movements hold a certain magic: they can instill tranquility, overcome insomnia—and induce a mysterious physical sensation known as … ‘ASMR’, wherein the body is flooded with waves of euphoric tingles.”
“Hygge” sounds like a type of Scandinavian salt fish. It’s actually a Danish word, meaning “a cozy quality that makes a person feel content and comfortable.”
Here’s how the dictionary says it’s used: “During the long, dark winters when Danes retreat inside their homes, ‘hygge’ is what brings them a great sense of comfort and joy.” It’s sort of pronounced like “hugh-ga.”

“Hygge” and “ASMR” were used a lot in the past year, when we needed comfort. At least, that’s what Webster said. My friends used other comfort words, such as “Ben & Jerry’s” and “Johnnie Walker.”
Thanks to Covid, old words have taken on new meanings. “Long hauler” is not just an over-the-road trucker. Webster says it’s now “a person who experiences one or more long-term effects following initial improvement or recovery from a serious illness (such as COVID-19).”

“Pod” and “bubble” both gained new meanings. A “pod” is a small group of friends, relatives or co-workers that we can safely socialize with and avoid spreading COVID. Now that all my friends are vaccinated, my “pod” had an indoor party without masks.

Any sports fan knows the new meaning of “bubble.” Sports Washington wrote:

“To avoid COVID-19 infection, the NBA and NHL instituted strict ‘bubbles’ where players, coaches, media and staff are sequestered away from the general public. Major League Baseball . . . instead is asking its players to be responsible as they travel the country for games. It’s not working well, and in the case of the Miami Marlins, it’s been awful.”
Most of us are aware of the new words in corporate speak:
“Hard pass” is a firm refusal.

“‘Makerspace’ is a communal public workshop where makers – including artists, painters, jewelry designers – can work on small personal projects.
But don’t confuse “makerspace” with “coworking.” That means people are working in a building with many different kinds of tenants, including new start-ups, entrepreneurs, and nonprofits. These tenants rent their work space and use communal facilities.

I don’t have to explain “crowdfunding” or “gig worker.” You already know those words.

“Decarceration” is a new word that I wish would go away. It means “to release from prison” or to reduce the number of people housed by the “prison industrial complex” – and those three words are another new term. “Decarceration” ranks right up there with “deplane” as one of my most hated words.

“Second Gentleman” has been around since 1976, but Webster finally made it official after the 2020 election, when Kamala Harris was elected Vice President and her husband, Douglas Craig Emhoff, became the first Second Gentleman of the United States.
Wanna know my favorite new word?
“Sapiosexual.”
That means you’re attracted to smart people.

Love words? Logophiles can sign up for Merriam-Webster’s Word of the Day here: https://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day. It’s free.

Enjoy forensic mysteries? Kirkus says this about DEATH GRIP, my new Angela Richman mystery: “Viets produces chills with a murder hunt turned on its head.” Buy it here: https://tinyurl.com/ya9q9tfm

By Elaine Viets

There’s another virus that’s hitting those of us who work from home – ransomware. The most common right now is called the Microsoft Attack. A warning pops up that you have a virus and there is an 800 number to call “Microsoft” to have it removed. My IT guy says Microsoft will never call, email, or send a pop-up about a virus. That’s malicious software holding your computer hostage until the ransom is paid. You’re locked out.

Ransomware attacks are epidemic. Two weeks ago, a woman in my (socially distanced) gym class had her computer locked by ransomware. She refused to pay the ransom. Instead, she paid her IT guy $600 to free her computer. Yep. The poor woman ponied up 600 bucks. My IT guy said $50-100 was overcharging. He could do the job in under an hour.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her it would have been cheaper if she’d backed up her data and gotten a new computer. Not to mention a new IT guy.
Last week, my husband Don was working at his computer when it was attacked by ransomware. His computer was locked. Don couldn’t finish his article and he was on deadline. A red warning message blared across his screen. There was also an 800 number that he could call for “help.”

We both knew how expensive that help would be.
Don waited about an hour, hoping the ransomware would disappear.
No such luck.
Don and I had no choice but to use our most extreme weapon: 131 C.
He called the 800 number on his screen and I got on the line to listen in. The man who answered sounded young – maybe in his twenties – and he spoke English with an Asian accent. He told Don his name – a decidedly WASPy one, something like John Clark. That’s what I’ll call him for this blog. The attacker also told Don he was working in Chicago. I doubt he was anywhere near the place.
John claimed he didn’t know how Don’s computer got locked up. He was simply here to help, and if Don would give him his credit card number and tell him exactly what was wrong, then John would fix Don’s computer. They went back and forth like this for at least a minute:
John would ask Don to tell him what was wrong. Don would demand John remove the ransomware. John would deny he was there for any reason but to help and if Don would give him his credit card information . . .
At that point, I joined the conversation. “This is Don’s attorney, Vera Ellis, calling on a recorded line. Mr. Clark, you are aware that this conversation is being recorded, right?”
“No reason to record,” John Clark said. “If you will tell me what is wrong, I can fix the computer.”
“I’m Don’s attorney,” I repeated. “I’m speaking on a recorded line. You are in violation of FCC regulation 131 C. Do you understand that, Mr. Clark?”
“If you will tell me what is wrong, I can fix the computer,” John Clark said. He continued to protest that he only wanted to help and would we tell him what was wrong. I talked over him and kept repeating: “No, Mr. Clark. I’m informing you again, you are in violation of section 131 C. Do you understand? That’s 131 C.”
Finally, the line went dead. Don turned off his computer.
Half an hour later, Don switched his computer back on. The ransomware was gone and his computer worked fine. He finished his article on time.

By the way, 131 C is the number of an apartment we lived in on Capitol Hill in Washington DC. We moved in on a muggy August Saturday, and the air-conditioning was broken. The apartment was at least a hundred degrees. We couldn’t open the windows, either. They were painted shut. And there were no fans.
I called the landlord, who told me he couldn’t get anyone there before Monday at the earliest. I suspected he didn’t want to pay the weekend repair rates. I wasn’t about to swelter in that apartment until Monday.
“You have to get someone here to fix the air-conditioning,” I told him in a firm voice. “Or you’re in violation of section 131 C of the housing code.”
After I hung up the phone, Don said, “Isn’t 131 C our apartment number?”
It was. But it was enough to produce an air-conditioning repairman at our apartment within two hours.
And so the legend of 131 C was born.

Some of these scammers hijack major cities and counties. County officials in LaPorte, Indiana paid a $132,000 ransom to hackers who took over some of the county’s computers. The hijackers demanded their payment in Bitcoin. Another city paid more than $9 million to update their old, outdated system, rather than give the ransomers the $76,000 they demanded in Bitcoin. (Ransomware thieves loved Bitcoin.)
The FBI recommends that you don’t pay the crooks who hold your computer for ransom. You can report malware, ransomware, phishing and other scams to the FBI by calling 1-800-CALL-FBI. Press 3 and you’ll be directed to a website to file a complaint.
The FBI does catch some of the critters crawling around on the web.
One Raymond Odigie Uadiale pleaded guilty to conspiracy to commit money laundering in connection with a ransomware called Reveton. The former Microsoft employee got 18 months in prison.
If you ask me, and anyone else who’s battled these scammers, Ray got off easy.

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Coming March 2, DEATH GRIP, my latest Angela Richman, Death Investigator mystery. Kirkus says, “Viets produces chills with a murder hunt turned on its head.” https://tinyurl.com/ya9q9tfm

By Elaine Viets

Jenny, my first editor, gave me this advice: When you write dialogue, never use any tags but “said.” and “ask.”
As advice goes, it was pretty good. Jenny told me that the eye passes over “said” and “asked” and doesn’t stop my story, the way flashier tags did. Nothing said amateur writer like so-called “creative” dialogue tags. I avoided the hundreds of synonyms for the simple, efficient “said.” Here’s why:

“It’s time to go,” he insisted.
“I agree,” she concurred.
“My arm hurts,” he whimpered.
“Come along, you big baby,” she jeered.
“Hey, that hurt,” he yelped.

I also knew adding adverbs to “said” could quickly get me into Tom Swifty territory:

“The roof doesn’t leak any more,” Tom said dryly.
“I’ve lost my hair,” Tom said baldly.
Ouch.

But good advice can go too far. Always using “said” as a tag can make your novel look like a ping-pong match. Consider this dialogue:

“I’m leaving you,” she said. “I can’t take it any more.”
“Hah!” he said. “You’ll come running back. You always do.”
“Not this time,” she said. “Your affair with that stripper was the last straw.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”
“You can’t,” she said. “I’m outta here.”

Suppose I took out some “saids,” and added observations instead.

“I’m leaving you,” she said. “I can’t take it any more.”
“Hah!” he said. “You’ll come running back. You always do.”
She folded the last blouse into her suitcase. “Not this time. Your affair with that stripper was the last straw.” She zipped her suitcase shut.
He handed her a Tiffany blue box. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
She opened it, and studied the diamond earrings with hard eyes. “You can’t. I’m outta here.” She tossed the box on the bed and rolled her suitcase out the door.

That’s better. And the dialogue is improved even more if I add the characters’ names:

“I’m leaving you, Josh. I can’t take it any more.”
“Hah! You’ll come running back, Marie. You always do.”
Marie folded the last blouse into her suitcase. “Not this time, Josh. Your affair with that stripper was the last straw.” She zipped her suitcase shut.
Josh handed her a Tiffany blue box. “I’m sorry, Marie. Let me make it up to you.”
She opened it, and studied the diamond earrings with hard eyes. “You can’t. I’m outta here.” Marie tossed the box on the bed and rolled her suitcase out the door.

Okay, Hollywood won’t be calling to option that dialogue, but you get the idea. Adding names and observations helps tag your dialogue, and cut back on the “saids.”
You can also use too few “saids.” Mystery writer Robert B. Parker is a master of dialogue, but he could be stingy with his “saids.” Consider this dialogue from his novel, Family Honor, featuring PI Sunny Randall. It’s written in the first person.

“They both brought people home,” she said. “If one of them was away the other would bring in a guest.”
“How about Millicent?”
“They didn’t seem to care if she knew.”
“Did they know?’
“About each other?”
“Um hmm.”
“I don’t know. They weren’t very careful. They didn’t seem to care if John or I knew.”
“Know any of the people that they brought home?”
“No.”
“Were they people who came often or did they go for variety?”
“Variety, I’m afraid.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes.”

Are you lost? I am, too. There’s more – at least another page more without a “said” to be seen. Some “I saids” every four lines or so could have made this intriguing conversation about infidelity much easier to follow.
When all is said and done, “said” makes a good dialogue tag – in moderation.
***
Preorder Death Grip, my new Angela Richman, Death Investigator mystery, due out March 2. Here’s what Kirkus said about Death Grip: “Viets produces chills with a murder hunt turned on its head.” https://tinyurl.com/ya9q9tfm

By Elaine Viets

In the writing business, there’s one thing we all have in common – waiting.
I’m not sure if waiting should be classed as an art or a skill, but it’s something we writers endure. It’s our common bond. All writers, indie or traditionally published, beginners or old hands, are waiting for something.
We’re waiting for our manuscript to be accepted.
We’re waiting for our editor to read our next novel.
We’re waiting for the copy-edits to be finished.
We’re waiting for the page proofs.
We’re waiting for our agent to tell us what she thinks of our proposal.
We’re waiting to see how that new mystery we just released online sells.
We’re waiting to see the new cover the artist promised by Friday.
We’re waiting to see if our short story will be accepted in the new anthology.
We’re waiting for a contract.
We’re waiting to see if we won that contest for unpublished writers.
We’re waiting for a royalty check. (Oh, yeah, that one.)

Some of us are better at waiting than others. When I’m waiting, I’m like an old-school teenager waiting for a phone call from the coolest guy at school – I jump every time the phone rings, and nearly kill myself answering it. I’m afraid to leave the house, and when I do leave, I hurry back. I check messages every ten seconds. I bug Don, my long-suffering spouse, with questions he can’t answer: Do you think he’ll call today? If he does, will he buy it? If he buys it, do you think it will sell?
Meanwhile, Don’s waiting for me to shut up.
I ask myself all the questions that should calm me:
What’s the worst thing that could happen if it doesn’t work?
I can entertain myself for hours with worst-case scenarios: I won’t make any money. I’ll have to start over. I can always sell it elsewhere. I can, can’t I?
Possibly the scariest waiting game I ever played was when I met Genny Ostertag. Genny was a hot new editor at a major New York publisher, back when those existed, and she was going to the Malice Domestic convention at the Crystal Gateway Marriott in Arlington, Virginia. In those days, the hotel was located on Jefferson Davis Highway. That road has since become the Richmond Highway.
Genny and my agent had been playing telephone tag. I waited for days to hear back from him, while chugging Pepto-Bismol. Finally he finally called with the news:
He’d arranged a meeting with Genny. “She wants to have a drink in the bar with you,” he said, “and she wants to talk to you about your proposed series.”
Wow. Visions of fat advances danced in my head.
“But remember,” he said. “You can’t mention it until she says the magic words: ‘What are you working on?’ Before that, you have to make small talk. Promise.”
I promised, though I didn’t realize the wear and tear it would create.
I went to the convention bar half an hour early to meet Genny. I was too scared to drink, so I bribed the bartender to dress up my club soda and make it look like an adult beverage. Genny arrived and ordered white wine. We met and said hello, then made stiff small talk until Genny said, “Can you believe this hotel is on Jefferson Davis Highway? Don’t they know they lost the Civil War?”

And suddenly we were talking about the Civil War. I dredged up every fact I could remember about the Jeff Davis and the Civil War. (Did you know that Jefferson Davis used to be Secretary of War for the USA, and he started the US Camel Corps? Yep, he served under President Franklin Pierce, and that’s about all I know on Pierce. Anyway, Davis believed camels would survive in the deserts of the far West better than horses. His idea might have worked, except the experiment was interrupted by guess what? The Civil War. Just as well. I can’t see John Wayne riding to the rescue on a camel.)
Our conversation seemed to last at least as long as that war (1861 to 1865, just ask me) until finally, finally, Genny said, “So, what are you working on?”
And I told her about my idea for the Dead-End Job series. Genny became my editor and bought the series, which resulted in fifteen mysteries and a lot of adventures working those dead-end jobs. So it was worth the wait.
What are you waiting for, readers?
*************************************************************************

Don’t wait! Buy the newly released ebook versions of the Dead-End Job mysteries, the Josie Marcus, Mystery Shopper mysteries, and Francesca Vierling mysteries here: https://awfulagent.com/ebooks/?author=elaine-viets