By John Gilstrap

First, look up norovirus. As I write this, I am in the throes of my second day, and that explains why this will be a short post.

It might not sound like it when I’m done, but I really do have a lot of respect for copy editors. Their eye for detail and knowledge of the rules of grammar have improved every manuscript I’ve ever submitted. For my Grave series, Jeffery Lindholm has been my copy editor for at least the past four or five books. He knows the characters and remembers details from previous stories that might conflict with actions in the current story. That kind of interaction is truly remarkable. He’s part of the team, as opposed to the traffic cop that some copy editors can become–the folks who go out of their way to try to catch the author is an error that often does not exist.

Prior locking Jeff to my manuscripts, I dealt with a number annoying copy editors. One changed my sentence that “Jonathan holstered his Colt 1911” to “Jonathan holstered his Colt M1911A1 semiautomatic pistol.” Not inaccurate, but not what I wanted. The most egregious copy edit ever–and I’m sure I’ve written of it here–came from Rosemary, who changed “Jonathan looked at the door the the kid came through” to “Jonathan looked at the door whence the kid had come.” Whence. In a thriller. That’s a hard no.

About a week ago, I received the copy edits on a short story that I did for an upcoming anthology, and these edits trod new ground. In DIALOGUE . . .

Changed “Maybe we should call Triple-A” to “Maybe we should call AAA.” and

“That rifle looks like a three hundred win-mag” to “That rifle looks like a .300 Win-mag.”

In my worldview, dialogue is literally quoted speech, as it is heard. People would call AA for Alcoholics Anonymous, and Triple-A for the auto club. No one would ever refer to a rifle as a dot three-oh-oh win mag.

What do you think?

Okay, I’ve been up for an hour now. Time to go back to bed and sleep for three. Here’s hoping for a better tomorrow.

By PJ Parrish

It was early in my days as a mystery writer, and I thought I pretty much knew everything.

My first book got a really nice send-off from the great team at Kensington Books. The second book got an Edgar nomination. The third book in our Louis Kincaid series landed my co-author sister and me on the extended New York Times bestseller list.

I’m telling you this not to brag. But as a cautionary tale. Let’s keep going.

Then came book four, Thicker Than Water. From the start, my sister had reservations about it. I still remember what she said to one day when we were about 45,000 words into the first draft.  “It’s too….quiet,” she said.

She couldn’t quite articulate much more than that, it was just a feeling she had about the story. No one is murdered in present time; Louis is trying to solve a very cold case of a young woman’s death. The plot revolves around the dispicable man convicted of her murder, now out of prison, and two lawyers — one who put him behind bars and the other who died, knowing that he didn’t do much to prevent that. It is twisty, talky, and haunted by regret. Action took a rumbleseat to character. So yeah, it was a “quiet” book.

But that wasn’t the real problem. The problem was we let Louis get overshadowed by everyone else. He was the hero, yet we allowed the large cast of very colorful secondary characters to push him out of the spotlight while they strutted and fretted their grand hours on the stage.

Secondary characters are important. They can — and should — be a vital part of your story. No story can survive without them because they exist to support your protag and help propel the plot.

They are sounding boards, helpmates, or sidekicks. Iconic examples abound in crime fiction: Watson to Holmes, Cletus Purcel to Dave Robicheaux. Archie Goodwin to Rex Stout. Rocky to Jim Rockford.

They provide conflict and obstacles for your protago to overcome. Yes, this is what the antagoist does, but secondary characters can enrich a plot in small but significant ways — ie a police chief who constantly questions a detective’s methods.Captain McKay who dogs Dirty Harry Callahan to distraction.

They can be a love interest or companion. Patrick Kenzie and Angie Gennaro in Dennis Lehane’s series. Siamese cats Koko and Yum Yum in Lilian Jackson Braun’s cozies.

They can be a foil, someone who provides a contrast to your protag. Nick Carraway to Jay Gatsby. Draco to Harry Potter.

They can be a mentor who helps keep your protag on the right track or see the bigger picture. M and James Bond. Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

As you can see, I’ve been thinking about secondary (and even tertiary) characters a lot. This is because I got hooked on Ted Lasso. Okay, I know it’s annoying to many of you when one of us goes nutso talking about a TV show you haven’t seen. But bear with me. Because I don’t think I have ever seen — or read — anything that does a better job with secondary characters than Ted Lasso. I strongly recommend you watch the series, not just for enjoyment, but for a great lesson in how to create and control a large cast of memorable characters.

Quick recap: Ted Lasso is a Kansas football coach who is hired to strategically tank a failing English soccer club. As head coach, he inherits a miserable quarrelsome team and an owner whose only goal is to punish her ex-husband by sabotaging his ex-team.

Digression: I thought Ted was a titular protag. But he’s actually a eponymous one. Jane Eyre = eponymous. The Man Who Would Be King = titular. Just saying…

The plot of Ted Lasso superficially revolves around the question of whether a guy who doesn’t know a red card from Red Bull can turn the franchise around. But the real drama comes from all the intricate and intertwined relationships and the paths of their individual character arcs. The show is about empathy, kindness, and human connection even as it tackles dark topics like mental health, addiction, and divorce with sensitivity and nuance. To say nothing about the chasms between fathers and sons.

Ted is the main guy. No doubt about that. As great secondary character Kathy Bates Libby Holden says in Primary Colors of the presidential candidate and his wife: “The Stantons are my sun. I lived my life drawing light and warmth from them.”

So it is with those in Ted’s orbit.

The show excels at crafting compelling secondary characters by giving them distinct personalities, personal growth arcs, and allowing them to drive storylines, even when not the main focus, creating a rich and relatable ensemble cast.

Ted is a classic fish out of the water, at soccer and his own life. But as the series goes on, Ted learns about his sport and the people around him, and starts to deal with his failing marriage, his anxiety and his father issues.

But as I said, every character in Ted Lasso has a unique personality, background and an important role in the story. Which brings us back to what we all, as writers, can learn from our second fiddles. Things to look for as you write:

Personal Growth Arcs
The secondary characters in Ted Lasso undergo significant personal growth throughout the series, developing new skills and changing their perspectives. Has-been soccer star Roy Kent is angry and unlikeable, but learns to let go of crippling grudges, forgive his enemies and himself.

Storyline Contributions
Secondary characters are not just background players. They often drive storylines and influence the main characters’ journeys. Team towel boy Nathan Shelley is ignored by the team and derided by his father, until he gets a chance to help coach. And become an unlikely plot catalyst.

Relatable Characters
The show focuses on creating characters that viewers can relate to, even if they are flawed or struggling. Team owner Rebecca Welton comes across as cunning and cold, hellbent only on destroying her ex. Her arc is redemption and atonement as she overcomes her loneliness to become a confident leader of men.

That’s just a few of the folks I came to love and root for. When I finally finished bingeing on the series, I felt exhilarated and sad, like I was saying goodbye to my family and best friends. Shoot, I admit it: I cried like a baby. Can there be any greater compliment to a writer?

One last note about my book Thicker Than Water. To this day, it remains one of my favorite books in my modest oeuvre. Because I love the people in the story. And because my sister finally, in the eleventh hour, figured out how to make it less “quiet.”

I spoke earlier about how, if you, the writer, are not careful, your second fiddles can out-perform your first chair. You have to find that fine line beween creating a vivid cast and not letting them take over. That is what happened to us. And worse, we took the gun out of Louis’s hand. We didn’t let him solve the case. We left it up to happenstance.

But…

In the second draft, Kelly found a way to put the gun back in Louis’s hand. So it was with Ted Lasso. He’s been running away from fatherhood for years, acting as dad to an entire team of grown men rather than the boy who needs him most. In the end, damn everyone else, he does what he has to do.

Keep writing, diamond dogs. And guess what? Ted Lasso is coming back for a new season.

I’m at the Tucson Book Festival as you read this, meeting folks and recharging my creative batteries. I attend as many conferences and festivals as possible, depending on the time of the year, finances, and potential return on the investment.

And I don’t mean in a monetary sense. One of my oldest friends, Steve Knagg, is a retired motivational speaker and he says that we spend an inordinate amount of time passing out all of our figurative apples from our mental basket by encouraging and doing for others, or working hard to be successful. Eventually, that basket is empty and needs to be refilled, and to do so, we have to find a way for it to happen.

I attend writers conferences for that reason.

That doesn’t mean I go to every “book festival,” though. I learned long ago that writers have to be picky when deciding which ones to attend. I’ve spent hours…no, days…sitting behind a table while maybe twenty people pass during that entire time.

I’d never even heard of conventions for fiction, though I’d once attended the Mayborn Literary Nonfiction Conference in Dallas a few years earlier. At that time I was working onsomething far from literature, but I wanted to join a workshop they offered to get some sense on where I was going with, believe it or not, a travel book filled with humor, stories, and destinations.

Good Lord.

I found the conference stuffy, and that workshop almost made me want to quit the business altogether. Dispirited, I came home and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. I almost gave up this writing career, and that happened more than once.

As friends and fans know, I started out as a freelance newspaper columnist, writing outdoor humor, a niche that few others had attempted. Those I knew about were Pat McManus and Gene Hill, who wrote for Field and Stream and Outdoor Life magazines. In my mind at that time, i felt I didn’t have a chance to measure up to them, but I tried.

Experience and determination led me to eventually become prolific enough in the outdoor world to write for over 50 newspapers in Texas and Oklahoma. I joined the Texas Outdoor Writers Association, and the Outdoor Writers of America, meeting other authors, columnists, journalists, and contributors who shared my enthusiasm for the outdoors and writing.

Those folks shored up my obsession to write even more and hopefully publish a book, but what kind was a mystery to even myself. Someone eventually talked me into joining the board for TOWA, where I served for several years, until I lost my mind and eventually became president of that organization.

But I stalled there, partially because I fond the executive director had skimmed nearly $30,000 from the organization, leaving an unpleasant taste in my mouth. At the same time, the internet arrived with a vengeance and killed off newspapers with the ferocity of the Spanish Flu outbreak in 1918. Losing members, I wanted to do something to help and decided to bring in a guest speaker to excite the five-hundred plus attendees for our annual gathering.

Envisioning a conference that would set the world on fire, I decided to reach out to the most famous Texas writer I could think of.

I cold-called Larry McMurtry, getting the number from something called Information. Remember him, the Pulitzer Prize winning author of Horseman Pass By (eventually becoming the Paul Newman movie, Hud), The Last Picture Show, and of course, Lonesome Dove?

Steve Knagg was with me the day I called, standing under tall red oak trees outside of a used appliance store. He was there to buy a thirty-dollar dryer he could barely afford, and just the other day remembered our conversation in the parking lot.

Shaking his head in wonder, he laughed. “You just used that old bag phone sitting on the hood of your truck and called the man who’d won a Pulitzer, like you were calling to order a pizza.”

I was a little more nervous than that, especially after McMurtry answered with a friendly hello. I’m sure he heard me gulp before I explained the call, but he was gracious in declining. “I’m committed to too many deadlines. Here, call this number and ask for Bill Witliff. He’s down in Austin and might be able to attend, but thanks for calling.”

I called Bill Witliff, screenwriter and author. You’ll probably know him as the man who took McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove and turned it into one of the most famous miniseries in history, in addition to writing one of the most underrated movies I’ve ever seen, Barbarosa, featuring Willie Nelson.

Standing out there under the trees for almost half an hour, we talked writing and the business before he also had to decline. But in the course of our conversation, he was genuinely interested in my writing and I confessed I was on the verge of quitting.

I could almost see him shaking his head on the other end of the line. “Nope. You never quit. You stand back, take a look around, gather yourself, and continue with what you’re doing.”

It wasn’t long before writing became harder, and my first novel stalled. I didn’t know what to do with it, and needed to speak to someone who understood.

So I cold-called another Texas author named Joe R. Lansdale, who also spent almost an hour on the phone, explaining even more what I’d gotten into and telling me not to quit. Long ago, Joe decided all he was going to do was write, and for decades he lived so close to the edge of poverty they raised most of what they ate in a little East Texas garden.

He doesn’t worry about that kind of thing any longer, because his books have been turned into a television series, and more than a couple have become feature films. I recommend you watch Cold in July. You’ll thank me for it.

We’re now good friends and he keeps supporting my writing, and spends more time than you can imagine encouraging beginning novelists.

So why am I at another conference? Because I need time with authors who understand what I do, and I don’t cold call strangers anymore. These kinds of events are an opportunity to enjoy dinners with those folks, have drinks, and meet others who are successful, or just getting into the Game. After the Bride and I leave Tucson, other conferences are on the books.

In a little more than a month, my brother from another mother, John Gilstrap and I will be at the Pike’s Peak Writers conference where he will be the Guest of Honor. From there, it’s Western Writers of America, Bouchercon, The Will Rogers Medallion Conference, and anything else that catches my fancy when the apple basket is almost empty.

It isn’t just the conference or festival itself that I go for, it’s the people, the knowledge, and the inspiration to come home and hit the keys again.

By Elaine Viets

For nearly a year I’ve been fighting a series of computer scams. Let me tell you what I learned. The hard way.

The problem started last spring when I found an extra $120 from Instacart in my bank account. I contacted Insta and was told I needed to call a special number for seniors.

I did. The person on the phone assured me the extra money would be taken back. I left for a trip to St. Louis.

A day later, about four in the afternoon, I got a frantic call from a young man with a cornpone accent who said he was in California. The poor country boy said he’d made a terrible mistake and “accidentally” put $1,200 in my account. Now he was going to be fired. Could I please go to the nearest Western Union and wire him the money? Please, please, please?

No. I had to give a speech.

I hung up. Cornpone called back. He begged. He pleaded. He did everything but break down in tears. “Please ma’am, I’ll lose my job. This money will come out of my paycheck. I’ll go broke. Please wire me the money.”

No. I hung up again.

This time Cornpone called back and said, “OK, if you can’t wire the money, could you write a check and mail it?” He gave me the name of a woman in South Carolina, all the way across the country from California.

Wait a minute? I said. Why do you want this mailed to a woman in South Carolina? Why not send it to Instacart?

“She’s my supervisor,” he said.

Nope. Something didn’t smell right. I closed my bank card and the account.

When I got home, the money in my compromised account was transferred to my new account. Including the $1,200. I also filed a police report. I didn’t expect the police to haul Cornpone and his pals off in handcuffs.

I’ve had at least three suspicious incidents since then, for purchases I couldn’t possibly have made. Each time I’ve closed my bank card. The most recent attack this Saturday was more serious. I got this text in all caps: DID YOU ATTEMPT PURCHASE TARGET $789.88 ORLANDO. Y(YES) N (NO). CASE #818992 TO OPT OUT REPLY.

Orlando? I live 220 miles away in south Florida.

Before I could reply, I got a phone call from a young man with an instantly forgettable name. I think his last name was Johnson. He asked if I’d made the Target purchase.

“On my BigBucks bank card? No,” I said.

He said he would instantly close the card. Fine. He then asked me to call up my account and confirm my recent purchases, which I did. The latest was from a gas station. I also told him the amount in my checking and savings accounts.

He said this was “a very serious case of fraud” and he needed the physical card. He gave me an address that was the headquarters of BigBucks Bank and asked me to take the card to FedEx. I said no.

He said he’d send a Lyft driver in a red Prius to pick up the card and take it to FedEx. The helpful Mr. Johnson stayed on the line while I waited outside my condo building and handed the card to the Lyft driver.

I thanked Mr. Johnson for alerting me to the fraud. He warned me not to buy gas from a pump. “That’s probably how they got your bank card number.” He hung up.

In the elevator on the way upstairs, I wondered why BigBucks needed the physical card. Didn’t it have all that information in the computer?

At about the 12^th floor, I realized I’d been had. I ran to my condo, locked my bank card and all my accounts. I ignored the latest text from Mr. Johnson, which said, “Alert. Your new Temporary User name is BigBucks41946. Reply with old Username to deactivate.”

No, thanks. I called my bank’s fraud division. They confirmed what I suspected. Fraud.

What were the clues?

Check out that text again: DID YOU ATTEMPT PURCHASE TARGET $789.88 ORLANDO. Y(YES) N (NO). CASE #818992 TO OPT OUT REPLY.

Notice what’s missing? The bank’s name. Which I helpfully provided.

It took two days to get a new bank card and bank account. I also made a police report and alerted condo security.  That so-called “Lyft” driver was in on it, too. He didn’t have a sign on his car. Thanks to security, we now have video of that red Prius.

Again, I don’t expect the scammers to get caught.

But all they got was my time. No money.

And scammers don’t always win. After all, I got to keep that $1,200.

Where did the scammers get that kind of cash? The bank said they have a sort of revolving scam fund – when they get the money from one scam, they use part of it for the next scam.

I’m not the only one who nicked them. One banker said a Latino woman went through the same thing. She found an unexpected windfall in her account from a company. The scammers wanted their money back. Something didn’t seem right to her. The woman got scared and went to her bank.

The bank closed her account ASAP. The scammers cruelly threatened the woman, telling her they’d report her to immigration.

The bank said, “Sorry, the account’s closed.”

She kept the money.

Preorder “Sex and Death on the Beach,” my new Florida beach mystery. Get the low price at Thrift Books. https://www.thriftbooks.com/browse/?b.search=sex%20and%20death%20on%20the%20beach%20by%20viets#b.s=mostPopular-desc&b.p=1&b.pp=50&b.oos&b.tile