Category Archives: Writing

Confessions of a Book Reviewer

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I’m rushing to finish the rewrite of my new novel.  Will the reviewers like it? Here’s a repeat of an interview with a reviewer.

Confessions of a Book Reviewer

By Elaine Viets

A reviewer for a major print magazine complained to me about a novel he was reading, when it dawned on me – this was news writers could use. If we know what’s wrong, we can fix it before the reviewer writes about it, for all the (mystery) world to read.
This reviewer is not some crank who looks for excuses to rip writers. If he has to give a book a bad review, he agonizes over that decision.
But here are some writing wrongs that upset this reviewer.

(1) Padded Middles. This is my reviewer’s number one problem – novels that slow down in the middle. “The padding doesn’t advance the narrative,” the reviewer said. “It’s pages and pages of the thoughts and feelings of people who aren’t very interesting. They offer no valuable insights. Sometimes, I wonder if editors make writers add this unnecessary information because big books are so popular. Most books I’ve read recently are 20 to 30 pages too long. Often, there’s a good book buried in that excess fat.”

(2) Switching names. “The character is introduced as Joseph Smith. Then the author proceeds to call him Joe, Joey, Joseph, and sometimes just Smith. It’s hard to figure out who the writer is talking about.”

(3) Who’s talking? “A character is introduced in the first 50 pages, and then shows up 200 pages later with no ID.” Take tax accountant Mary Rogers. She has a brief scene in Chapter 2 and then in Chapter 25 we see this line: “I think the suspect embezzled half a million dollars,” said Mary Rogers.
Huh? Our reviewer said, “I’m frantically pawing through the book, trying to figure out who Mary Rogers is and why she’s saying that.

“It would help if the author gave us a hint who Mary was. Something like this:

‘I think the suspect embezzled half a million dollars,’ said tax accountant Mary Rogers.’ That two-word take makes it easier for readers.”

(4) Writers who fixate on a certain word. “Like ass. I read an author who used ‘ass’ constantly. His character fell on his ass, showed his ass, got his ass kicked and had his ass handed to him. He dealt with asshats, ass clowns and of course, assholes.”

Cuss words are necessary for realism, but don’t overdo it.

(5) Dumb and proud of it. “Writers who want to assert their real-people identities trot out lowbrow snobbery. Their favorite phrase is ‘I don’t know anything about . . .’ Then you can choose one or more of these – opera, classical music, gourmet food, Shakespeare.”

Assume your readers are intelligent – after all, they bought your book.

(6) The hero with the drinking problem. He – or sometimes she – “is haunted by the awful things they did when they were on the sauce. Yes, people drink. And some authors handle this well. But most of these characters are tiresome cliches.” Reading these novels is like getting your ear bent by the garrulous drunk at the end of the bar.

(7) Writers who don’t do their research. If you really want to frost this reviewer, have your hero open a Heineken with a twist-off cap – there’s no such animal. And Jack Daniel’s whiskey always has an apostrophe.

If you’re writing a thriller set in Nazi Germany, you’ll score extra points with this reviewer if you don’t say “Hitler was elected president in a democratic election.” You’ll find plenty of people who’ll write that, but the Website Mythfact.com says it’s complicated.
“In America we hear ‘Hitler was elected President in a Democracy’ a lot,” the website says, “but the sentence is so semantically wrong . . . In summary, the whole thing is almost too complex to apply the ol’ ‘Hitler was elected democratically’ quip to, but since it is important, perhaps it is best phrased as, ‘Hitler and the NAZI party seized power in a democratic system.’”
Got that? Good.

(8) Basic copyediting errors. “These are turning up in books by major authors,” our reviewer said. “I’ve seen ‘grizzly murders,’ when I’m quite sure the local bears are innocent. Clothes are tossed down a ‘laundry shoot,’ and people ‘tow the line.’” If you really want to see steam come out of this reviewer’s ears, mix up “it’s” with “its” and “your” with “you’re.” Granted, we all make mistakes, especially when we’re writing quickly. But somebody should catch those errors before the book is printed.

(9) TMI in the first chapter. Nearly every one of us at TKZ has written about this problem. Overcrowded first chapters slow the pace of your novel. Our reviewer said, “It stops a good book dead when the first chapter has an overlarge cast of characters and I can’t keep them straight.”

Reader, what stops you when you’re reading a novel?

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Enjoy A Scarlet Death, my new Angela Richman mystery. The hardcover is $4 off here: https://tinyurl.com/mts557z5

 

 

First Page Critique – Untitled Comedic Crime/Black Comedy

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by Debbie Burke

burke_writer

Please welcome a Brave Author (BA) from South Africa who submitted a first page described as “Comedic Crime/Black Comedy.” Read and enjoy then we’ll discuss.

~~~

It was an icy Monday, the day they came for him.

I’d crunched across the frost that covered the office courtyard.

I’d been reconciling the company bank statement when I felt, more than heard, a silence fall over the open plan office. Two men stood in the doorway. Plain clothes. But they had that look about them. They wore ties and reeked of government.

Millie, in reception, gestured towards the glassed-in cubicle at the end from which Primo conducted the affairs of the firm.

The men nodded as they passed our desks. Primo pushed his chair back and stood, arm stretched, hand open to greet them. A broad smile fixed on his florid face.

Was I wrong about the men?

They shut the door. I glanced around at my colleagues. Everyone was watching. Some gawked unabashed, others peered surreptitiously over the top of their PC’s. We couldn’t hear the words, but we could witness the gestures, expressions, and movements. I bet Primo regretted all the glass now. His motive was to keep an eye on us, but now we had prime seats for a mime spectacle.

Primo tapped the pack of Peter Stuyvesants on his desk, plucked out a cigarette and lit it. He took a deep drag, then with an arrogant tilt of his head, blew smoke rings to the ceiling. He waved at the two chairs, but the men kept standing. The older man spoke.

I imagined he was inwardly chanting, deny, deny, deny.

Finally, the smile slid off his face, and he slumped into his chair.

It didn’t take long.

One gent unplugged the computer and tucked the chassis under his arm with ease. The other helped Primo out of the chair.

Primo’s eyes found mine with an unblinking stare. A vein throbbed at my temple. I was a rabbit caught in the headlights. The tax tip-off line’s anonymous, but he knew. I was the only one who could know. The bookkeeper knows everything.

He walked through the office, shoulders squared, but he was stiff and lurching. He could feign innocence, but the evidence I provided was irrefutable. I looked away, but lifted my gaze to watch his retreating shape. His stink of cigarettes was now laced with the sour smell of fear.

He faltered, then looked back at me, and with an intense fevered stare, he dragged his finger across his throat in a slitting gesture.

~~~

Okay, let’s dig in. I found a lot to like about this first page. The opening sentence sets the time of year without over-describing the weather. The tone is foreboding.

By the second and third paragraphs, the first-person narrator is established as a bookkeeper for a company under investigation by government officials.

“I felt, more than heard, a silence fall over the open plan office.” That’s a fresh way to describe the auditors’ arrival, showing the palpable effect on all employees who immediately know something is very wrong. This also establishes the physical setting in a few words. Well done!

“They wore ties and reeked of government.” Another quick, efficient description.

“…the glassed-in cubicle at the end from which Primo conducted the affairs of the firm.” The honcho is quickly revealed as the probable antagonist to the “I” character.

Peter Stuyvescent cigarettes and blowing smoke rings at the ceiling are great specific details that show Primo’s arrogance. You don’t need to also tell the reader. I suggest deleting the adjective “arrogant.”

“I bet Primo regretted all the glass now. His motive was to keep an eye on us, but now we had prime seats for a mime spectacle.” This observation by the protagonist further characterizes Primo, shows the resentment of the workers, plus raises suspense. What spectacle is unfolding? The reader is pulled in by curiosity and tension.

As Primo is being escorted out, he looks at the protagonist.

“A vein throbbed at my temple. I was a rabbit caught in the headlights…I was the only one who could know. The bookkeeper knows everything.” Skillful, economical summation of the protagonist’s role in the story problem.

Up until now, the reader knows very little about the “I” character, including the gender.

First person narrators need to slip in the character’s name, gender, age, and other pertinent details. That’s challenging to do in a way that sounds natural and doesn’t stop the story flow. BA’s voice is adept enough that I’m willing to wait a bit to learn that info.

For now, the emphasis is his/her worry. “I” blew the whistle on Primo’s misdeeds. “I” can’t maintain eye contact with Primo out of fear and/or shame. The throat-slitting gesture sends a clear threat of retribution, raising the anticipation and stakes. Primo will be back to take his revenge and “I” is scared but also feels satisfaction.

“His stink of cigarettes was now laced with the sour smell of fear.” Good sensory detail that reinforces the mood.

BA has an economical yet vivid way of setting up the location, problem, conflict, stakes, as well as introducing the protagonist and antagonist. The characterizations are well drawn with specific details and gestures that reveal far more depth than a bland driver’s license description of height, weight, hair color, etc.

My suggestions are small tweaks.

One typo: PC’s should be PCs w/o an apostrophe. S indicates plural, ‘s indicates possessive.

Suggested edit: It was an icy Monday, the day they came for Primo. Use his name rather than the vague pronoun “him.”

Original:

I’d crunched across the frost that covered the office courtyard.

I’d been reconciling the company bank statement when I felt, more than heard, a silence fall over the open plan office.

Two sentences in a row that begin with “I’d” is weak. Plus there’s a minor bump in the transition between the courtyard and office. Maybe combine the sentences.

Suggested edit: “I’d crunched across the frost that covered the courtyard, settled into my cubicle, and was reconciling the company bank statement when I felt, more than heard, a silence fall over the open plan office.”

Delete “But they had that look about them.”   You show that look so you don’t need to tell it also.

Suggested edit: “Two men stood in the doorway. Plain clothes. They wore ties and reeked of government.”

Original: Was I wrong about the men?

Suggested edit: Unless this question has meaning later, I suggest you delete it b/c the narrator clearly is right about the men’s purpose. 

Original: I imagined he was inwardly chanting, deny, deny, deny.

Suggested edit: I imagined Primo was inwardly chanting, deny, deny, deny.

Original: I was a rabbit caught in the headlights.

Although it wouldn’t stop me from reading, rabbit (or deer) caught in the headlights is a bit cliched. You can find a better line.

Original: “The tax tip-off line’s anonymous, but he knew.”

Suggested edit: “The tax tip-off line is anonymous” rather than “line’s”. When I first read it, I thought it was possessive rather than a contraction.

The genre is described as “comedic crime/black comedy.” This page had a foreboding tone, but I didn’t pick up on “comedic.” With the Brave Author’s skill, I expect that will be introduced soon.

Congratulations on a compelling first page that checks off many important boxes: a story problem, interesting characters in opposition, a life-altering disturbance, tension, high stakes, and a promise of more complications.

Brave Author, thanks for the chance to read this and best wishes for publication.

~~~

TKZers: What are your impressions of this first page? Would you turn the page? Any ideas or suggestions for the Brave Author?

The Chronology of Story: Foreshadowing

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“Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

* * *

 As we all know, stories are the recollection of events that happen through time. In January, I posted an article on flashbacks in story-telling. Today, I’d like to go in the other direction with foreshadowing.

* * *

To begin, let’s look at the difference between flash forward and foreshadowing.

A flash forward takes the reader to a point in the future. A good example is Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol where Ebenezer Scrooge is taken into the future by a ghost to show him what will happen after his death if he doesn’t change his ways.

* * *

But foreshadowing is different, and despite what Hawthorne said, a shadow may indicate events to come.

According to masterclass.com,

“Foreshadowing is a literary device used to give an indication or hint of what is to come later in the story. Foreshadowing is useful for creating suspense, a feeling of unease, a sense of curiosity, or a mark that things may not be as they seem.”

Foreshadowing may be direct or indirect.

* * *

Direct Foreshadowing overtly states an upcoming event or twist in the story.

For example, the prologue of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet specifically states that the two lovers will die in the story:

“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents’ strife.”

 

Another example of this straight-forward form of foreshadowing is when the author simply makes a statement about the future.

I recently read the novel Tom Lake by Ann Patchett where the first-person narrator recounts to her three daughters the story of her love affair with a famous actor. Late in the book, the narrator explains to the reader that she has told all of her past to her children – well, almost all. “And I am done, except for this: I saw Duke one other time, and of that time I will say nothing to my girls.” So the reader knows that an event which is explained in detail to the reader will not be related to other characters in the book. (Sort of a negative foreshadowing.)

* * *

Indirect Foreshadowing is a more subtle way of hinting at future events or outcomes in the story.

 

“If you say in the first act that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third act it absolutely must go off.” –Anton Chekhov

 

 

 

 

In To Kill a Mockingbird, Atticus talks to Jem about courage after the death of Mrs. Dubose.

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

That conversation foreshadowed Atticus’s own courage in defending Tom Robinson.

In an early chapter of Tom Lake, the first-person narrator betrays her best friend by stealing the other girl’s boyfriend. That event foreshadows a similar betrayal later in the book when the same thing happens to the protagonist.

* * *

So TKZers: Do you think foreshadowing is a useful device in novel writing? Have you used foreshadowing in your novels? Can you think of any examples in stories you’ve read?

* * *

Private pilot Cassie Deakin declares her distrust of handsome men in the first paragraph of Lacey’s Star. That statement foreshadows her flawed decisions on trust throughout the book and almost gets her killed.

Available at  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Google Play, or Apple Books.

Reader Friday-Dine In or Dine Out?

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Simple question(s) today, TKZers! I’m liking simple more and more these days . . . you too?

Here goes.

1) Do you prefer dining in or dining out?

2) If you’re dining in, please share with us your favorite home-cooked meal.

3) If you’re dining out, please tell us what your favorite place is, and your go-to fave food to eat there.

4) AND, please tell us about a character you’ve written who has any foodie quirks.

 

Hungry yet?

 

 

Here’s my answers: I love salmon. I could eat it seven days a week and never tire of it. And I prefer a home-cooked meal to eating out. (Even if I have to cook it!)

 

 

By the time today is over, Annie Lee is convinced she has no tomorrow.

 

 

 

In my novel, No Tomorrows, the main character is Annie Lee. She’s a married mother of four who for years has served pork chops to her family every Thursday night. Why? She has fear issues, but that’s all I’m sayin’! You’ll just have to read the book…

 

 

 

 

Bullitt On The Page

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By John Gilstrap

I spent last week in Nashville, Tennessee, at Bouchercon, the World Mystery Convention, where I got to commune with dozens of writer buddies, many of whom I had not seen since the pandemic. In case you’re not familiar with how these conferences work, the official program is filled with various speeches and panels, where writers pretend to understand this thing we do, and the evenings are spent in the bar, where all real business is conducted. I had a wonderful time.

One of the panels I served on was called “Shoot to Thrill,” where I had the honor to share the stage with Brad Thor, Andrew Child, Marc Cameron, and Boyd Morrison, with the mission of discussing how to write action scenes. I shared that I find the choreography of fight scenes to be some of the most tedious writing I do, and Andrew Child was on the opposite end of the spectrum, professing to enjoy writing those scenes.

One of the most interesting questions of the session came from an audience member, who brought up the iconic chase scene from the 1968 movie, Bullitt, starring Steve McQueen and a Ford Mustang. While a bit dated now–in part because I’ve watched it dozens of times–it’s a riveting sequence, featuring great camera work and lots of squealing tires and exciting engine noise. The questioner asked how one would write that sequence for the page and achieve that same level of excitement.

I had never thought about writing in those terms before, but as I thought through my answer, I realized that I had stumbled on the topic of my blog post for this week.

First, to get yourself oriented to the topic, here’s the sequence I’m talking about.

Notice how little storytelling occurs in that chase scene. Lots of adrenaline pumping camera work plus an outstanding sound track, but not much else. This is where writing for the page trumps writing for the screen.

I’m not going to attempt to write the sequence here, but consider all the opportunities for drama if you were to decide to do so:

  • What do those aerial hijinks feel like to the driver’s spine?
  • What is he thinking as be blasts through stop signs?
  • How intent is he on keeping track of pedestrians and other vehicles as he speeds through the streets of San Francisco?
  • What are his intentions if he catches up with the fleeing car?
  • What do those downshifts feel like?
  • How does he keep control when he loses the back end in a turn?
  • What does all that burning rubber smell like?

The list goes on and on. The trick in writing an action scene for the page is to bring the reader into the protagonist’s head and body. Every action has a reaction–Newton’s Third Law of Writing. Focus on those reactions because that’s where the humanity of your character resides.

I wrote above that I find it tedious to write action sequences, and the reason is the delicate choreography of the action and the humanity, while still advancing the plot and not breaking the rhythm of the storytelling. After clearing a room and shooting bad guys, Jonathan Grave may change out a magazine before moving to the next room, even though the mag is half-full because, as he says, you never bring old bullets to a new gunfight. (More bullets are always preferred to fewer bullets.) That mag change would be just a few hand motions on the screen, but that sentence on the page provides an opportunity for characterization that advances the storytelling.

What say you, TKZ family? What’s your secret to writing effective action scenes?

Hooks, Lines And Stinkers

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By PJ Parrish

The opening line of a book is the single hardest line you write.

Many writers would disagree with that. But for my money, those folks are: A. lucky devils for whom all things come easy; B. diligent do-bees who can scribble down anything just to get started and then go back and rewrite or C. writers who aren’t really very good at what they do or maybe are just phoning it in.

I know, that sounds a little harsh. But I truly believe this. I have such respect and, yes, envy for writers who create great openings. I am not talking about “hooks.” Hooks are easy. I am firmly of the mind that anyone can write a decent hook. You’ve seen them, those clever one-liners tossed out by wise-ass PIs, those archly ironic first-person soliloquies, those purple-prose weather reports that substitute for mood.

No, not hooks. I’m talking about those rare and glorious opening moments that are telling us, “OO-heee, something special is about to happen here!”

We here at TKZ talk alot about great openings, especially for our First Page Critiques. We worry about whether we should throw out a corpse in the first chapter, whether one-liners are best, if readers’ attention spans are too short for a slow burn beginning.

A great opening goes beyond its ability to keep the reader just turning the pages. A great opening is a book’s soul in miniature. Within those first few paragraphs — sometimes buried, sometimes artfully disguised, sometimes signposted — are all the seeds of theme, style and most powerfully, the very voice of the writer herself.

It’s like you’re whispering in the reader’s ear as he cracks the spine and turns to Page 1: “This is the world I am taking you into. This is what I want to tell you. You won’t understand it all until you are done but this is a hint of what I have in store for you.”

Which is why, this week, I have been staring at a blank computer screen. I am trying to start a new book. (Yeah, I know I told you I am retired, but the urge is still there.) I have a good idea. I have outlined in my head the first couple chapters. But I don’t have a first line.

I sit here, staring at my blank Word document, as that cursed cursor blinks like a yellow traffic light in a bad noir novel.  I NEED that one line because it’s not just an opening, it’s a promise. A promise to a reader that what I am about to give them is worth their time, is something they haven’t seen before, is something that is…uniquely me.

Well, shoot. I’m rambling. I’ll let Joan Didion explain it. I have a feeling she gave this a lot more thought than I have:

Q: You have said that once you have your first sentence you’ve got your piece. That’s what Hemingway said. All he needed was his first sentence and he had his short story.

Didion: What’s so hard about that first sentence is that you’re stuck with it. Everything else is going to flow out of that sentence. And by the time you’ve laid down the first two sentences, your options are all gone.

Q: The first is the gesture, the second is the commitment.

Didion: Yes, and the last sentence in a piece is another adventure. It should open the piece up. It should make you go back and start reading from page one. That’s how it should be, but it doesn’t always work. I think of writing anything at all as a kind of high-wire act. The minute you start putting words on paper you’re eliminating possibilities.

Didion gave this interview around the time she published her great memoir after her husband’s death The Year of Magical Thinking. The first line of that book is: “Life changes fast.”

Maybe I am more hung up than usual on openings because I have read some really bad opening lines. I won’t embarrass the writers here because they are still alive and I believe in karma. Oh what the hell, I will give you one because this writer deserves to be shamed:

As the dark and mysterious stranger approached, Angela bit her lip anxiously, hoping with every nerve, cell, and fiber of her being that this would be the one man who would understand – who would take her away from all this – and who would not just squeeze her boob and make a loud honking noise, as all the others had.

Okay, I cheated. That is one of the winners from the  Bulwer-Lytton bad writing (on purpose) contest. But didn’t you believe for just a moment there it was real?

Let’s move on to some good stuff. Right now, I am re-reading Jeffrey Eugenides’s Middlesex. Look at his opening line:

I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.

There, in that one deceivingly simple declarative sentence lies the all tenderness, irony and roiling epic scope of Eugenides’s story. And I don’t even care that he used semi-colons.

And then there’s this one:

The village of Holcomb stands on the high wheat plains of western Kansas, a lonesome area that other Kansans call “out there.”

That’s from Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood. This is the first line of a long paragraph of description that opens the book, yet look at what it accomplishes — puts us down immediately in his setting, conveys the book’s bleak mood and hints with those two words “out there” that he is taking us to an alien place where nothing makes sense — the criminal mind.

What is so terrifying about openings, I suppose, is that you only have so much space to work with. And, as Didion said, once you’ve moved deeper into that first chapter, that golden moment of anticipation is gone and then you are busily engaging all the gears to move the reader onward.

I read a lot of crime novels. I do this to keep up with what’s going on in our business but I also do it out of pleasure. But too many of them rely on cheap hooks. That said, here are a couple good openings from books I pulled off my crime shelf.

  • We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped a girl off the bridge. — John D. MacDonald,  Darker Than Amber
  • They threw me off the hay truck about noon. — James M. McCain, The Postman Always Rings Twice
  • The girl was saying goodbye to her life. And it was no easy farewell. — Val McDermid,  A Place of Execution.
  • I turned the Chrysler onto the Florida Turnpike with Rollo Kramer’s headless body in the trunk, and all the time I’m thinking I should’ve put some plastic down. — Victor Gischler, Gun Monkeys.

Not bad for one-liners. Then there are the more measured openings:

Death is my beat. I make my living from it. I forge my professional reputation on it. I treat it with the passion and precision of an undertaker – somber and sympathetic about it when I’m with the bereaved, a skilled craftsman with it when I’m alone. I’ve always thought the secret of dealing with death was to keep it at arm’s length. That’s the rule. Don’t let it breathe in your face.

But my rule didn’t protect me.

That’s from Mike Connelly’s The Poet and it works because it succinctly captures his protagonist’s voice and the theme of the story.

I think this blog post has been therapeutic for me. I think I am going to quit obsessing about the first line and just get the story up and moving. The more I get to know my characters, the more they will open up to me. Maybe one of them will whisper that golden opening line. I can’t remember the exact quote, but Joyce Carol Oates has said that until she knows the ending of her story, she doesn’t know how to start.

I get that. As weird and convoluted as this might sound, sometimes you have to write the last line before you can write the first. Sort of like Picasso signing his painting. Because what a great opening but the writer’s true signature?

Writing With Alert Watchfulness

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by James Scott Bell
@jamesscottbell

The first time I rode a motorcycle I ran into a fence.

One of my college roommates, Rick, got a bike. One day I asked him if I could try it. He showed me the basics of clutch and throttle. No problem. At the time I was driving my dad’s old three-on-the-tree Ford Maverick. I knew the drill.

Only it’s different when it’s your first time using hands instead of feet. I let the clutch out too fast and twisted the throttle too hard. I lurched forward and before I could turn I rammed into a wooden fence. The bike listed and jammed my right ankle into a post.

When Rick stopped laughing he suggested I sign up for lessons with the local CHP.

I thought about that experience the other day while reading The World Beyond Your Head by Matthew B. Crawford. It’s about authentic identity getting lost in the midst of the noise and distraction of our digital age. We have what Crawford calls a “crisis of attention” which leads to fractured perceptions of the world. Crawford contrasts that with the intense concentration required of an ice-hockey player, a short-order cook, or the maker of fine pipe organs.

Also, Motocross champions. To compete at the top level, you have to develop what is called “alert watchfulness without meddling.” This makes possible a focus on what’s immediate and consequential, like an unforeseen bump in the track. In other words, you no longer need to stress about clutch and throttle; those are ingrained. Instead you rely on an intuition formed by long experience. Crawford explains:

This “alert watchfulness without meddling” by the conscious mind while one is riding on the street often takes the form of hunches: hypotheses about what might happen that are conscious but not fully articulate, because they don’t need to be. You recognize a familiar situation: there are strip malls on either side of a major thoroughfare, each with entries to the main road. The street numbers are posted only erratically, on haphazard buildings set far back from the main road. The car in front of you slows down, then speeds up, repeatedly. Hypothesis: this person is looking for a particular business, and when he spots it he may quickly veer across two lanes to get to it. Your motor responses are cocked and loaded, as it were, because you recognize the pattern.

That seems to me to describe what goes on in the head of an experienced writer engaged in the act of writing itself. Be the writer a planner or a discoverer (as we’ve discussed many times here) when they are into the writing of an actual scene “alert watchfulness without meddling” is the optimum practice.

For example, if you have structured your scene in advance (as explained here) you write with purpose. But if something pops up during the writing, some new possibility, your experience should “recognize the pattern.” You can consider it without “meddling” (which we often refer to as the “inner critic”). You form a hypothesis of how it might fit the overall story.

On the other hand, the wild-eyed panster should be “watchfully alert” against straying too far away from a pattern that best serves the story (not every “discovery” is a brilliant idea; not every glittering  nugget is gold).

How do you develop this alert watchfulness sans meddling? Writing and craft study. Writing alone can bring forth lots of words with little value. Just like a new golfer and ingrain bad habits by going out just to “play.” (Groundskeepers call that hunting gophers.)

On the other hand, just reading about the craft yields nothing without practice. In my early years studying writing, long before I was published, I’d design writing exercises based on what I’d learned in a book. This proved invaluable.

In college I also performed close-up magic. I got to occasionally hang out at the Magic Castle, the private club for pro magicians in Hollywood. Many of the legends of card magic, now in their 70s and 80s, were still around.

One of them was Dai Vernon, reputed to be the best card mechanic of the 20th century. I got to watch him up close, informally showing fellow magicians some moves.

Dai Vernon

I got all his magic books. In one of them he had “The Trick That Cannot Be Explained.” The reason was that he never performed it the same way twice. Everything was based on what the audience member did, from choosing a card to shuffling a deck. Vernon always produced the selected card in a surprising way, because he knew from experience literally hundreds of ways to manipulate cards. He would choose his method based on his “alert watchfulness” of what was happening. He didn’t have to take time to “meddle.” He just knew, instinctively, what to do.

I like that analogy applied to writing. When you have practiced your craft fruitfully and for a long time, you can perform “tricks that cannot be explained.” You form “hypotheses about what might happen that are conscious but not fully articulate, because they don’t need to be. You recognize a familiar situation.”

Does this resonate with you? Think about what’s going on in your mind as you write a scene. Are  you alert? Meddling? Hesitant? Risk averse? Or do you let it all out, even though you might run into a fence?

Creep

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With a book deadline looming and getting ready to leave for Bouchercon, I haven’t spent much time thinking about the subject of today’s blog, but it came about at a book signing. Tuesday, August 20, was the release of my second Tucker Snow novel, The Broken Truth.

We had a packed house at the Paris Texas Public Library, and I did my usual talk about the subject matter, the characters, and writing in general. Without a set speech, I discuss whatever comes to mind, and and I drifted off into a promo for Comancheria, the first book in my new western horror series (2025).

And here we burrow into a rabbit hole and all its branches.

I mentioned the entire novel came from a dream, and in fact, I dreamed another one a week or so ago. Coming awake at two in the morning with the entire plot in mind, I crept out of bed and into my office where I wrote for three hours, just to prime the pump and I wouldn’t forget.

A hand went up at the back of the room at the signing, and may I say, it was a packed house. “I loved your second book, Burrows. It was one of the creepiest books I’ve ever read, and I was an undercover narcotics officer. I know creepy.”

Humbled, I toed the carpet.

“So where does your creep come from?”

“Everywhere.” I looked around the room, noting folks were hanging on every word. That’s a weirdness (creepy feeling for some) for writers, because folks are there to hear you, and buy your book. You have to be entertaining on several different levels.

I once went to a book signing where the author spoke so softly the forum’s director came up with a new microphone, thinking the first one was defective. The lady changed mikes, and her voice was still barely a whisper. Then she read about a hundred pages of her book, at a level that had people fiddling with hearing aids turning them up, or changing batteries there on the spot.

NOTE: Be Loud. Be Proud. Be Entertaining!

Anyway, my creep comes from inside this empty head of mine. I confess, and won’t go into a lot of details here because I’m running up against a departure time, but we had a real live ghost (get it?) in our previous house. John Gilstrap can vouch for the fact that our family believed it, because the first time he stayed with us I had to warn him about…Casper.

I know. How original.

Casper played jokes on us, changing the TV channel, talking in familiar voices on the other side of the door, ringing bells (we don’t have any in the house), cutting through rooms at the edge of our vision, or making shadows under doors when no one was there (that’ll poise a finger over 911 on your phone). We felt he was a lot of fun, once we got used to his antics, but I’d neglected to tell my little brother about him.

He stayed with us for a few days, and one afternoon he called me at work, breathless, and on the sheer edge of a full blown panic. “What have you not told me about this house???”

“Uh, what did you see?”

“I saw a little boy in the hall, and when I asked him why he was in the house, he ran into Chelsea’s bedroom. I went in right after him and looked.” His voice lowered. “No one is in there, and all the outside doors are locked. What the hell!!!???”

“That was Casper, and don’t worry. He just likes to have fun.”

I explained the presence in further, and he never stayed with us in that house again.

I’m always casting around for something different to add when I’m writing. I continued my answer with the gentleman at the back of the room when he asked more about Creep Factor.

“There are a lot of other things I want to write about, but haven’t found the right place. For example, how many of y’all have The College Dream? You know, the one in which you can’t find you classroom because you haven’t been there all season, and it’s time to take the final. Or you come to class without pants, and have to take the final. Or you’re wandering in a building on the last day of school, and know you’ve blown the whole semester because you forgot about that class?”

Hands went up all around the room. So is that creepy? Is it something to raise the hair on a reader’s neck if properly presented?

I also want to write about the Mandela Effect. That’s the one where we’re convinced scientists have torn a hole in the fabric between universes and the world has changed, only slightly, and our memories argue with reality. “The term was coined in 2009 by paranormal researcher Fiona Broome after she and others realized they had false memories. Broome became convinced that Nelson Mandela, then the president of South Africa, had died in prison in the 1980s, but he actually served a 27-year sentence and was released in 1990.”

Do you remember how Mr. Monopoly wore a monocle? I say he did, but today’s reality says otherwise. Or is it the Berenstain, or Berenstein Bears. My auto correct insists it’s Berenstain. Did Mickey Mouse wear suspenders? Did Curious George have a tail? (My good friend’s son has a Curious George tattoo he got over thirty years ago. I’ll have to take a peek…ooohhh, story idea! His tattoo does have a tail, but today’s reality says he doesn’t).

And my own personal recollection is O’Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor because I went there many times when it was in business in the Dallas area, but wait, if you look it up, it’s just Farrells. And now the spelling is different: Parlour vs. Parlor.

There’s a world of ideas out there, and many full of Creep. I’m afraid I don’t have the time to explore everything, and to write about all that interests me, but I’m sure gonna give it a try as long as these fingers stay limber enough to type, and as my old grandmother would say, “I’ll get it done, the good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.”

Here’s a fun link to the Mandela Effect. If you want to know about the ghost we had, and all of his antics, look me up at Bouchercon in Nashville, where Gilstrap can vouch for me. We’re both here all day today, August 31.

 

https://www.forbes.com/health/mind/mandela-effect/#:~:text=What%20is%20the%20most%20famous,Mickey%20Mouse%20as%20wearing%20suspenders.

Reader Friday-The Games We Played

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Simple question today:

What was your favorite childhood game, either inside or outside, in school or away from school, with friends or alone? No rules here . . . just your favorite game you played as a child.

Mine? I have two: Kick the can in the middle of our quiet street usually with about 10-15 of the neighborhood kids.

And the board game, Risk, played with my brother and his friend who lived next door to us. We’d set the game up in the neighbor’s basement during the summer, leave it set up, and played every day almost. And let me tell you, the bro and our neighbor were merciless Risk players…never cut me any slack a ‘tall!

I never won, but boy howdy, it was a fun game. Until a few years ago, I had our original game–at least 50 years old–buried in a closet. Once when my brother was visiting, I presented him with it. It was a good moment for both of us.

Over to you, TKZ peeps! What was your go-to game when you were young? And, what games do your characters play?

 

Intelligence: IQ vs EQ

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There’s a world of difference between book smarts and street smarts—between braininess and savvy. The first has its place, but the second is much more useful. Being smart is the ability to logically think things out. Being sharp is the ability to tune into the world, to read situations, and positively connect with others while taking charge of your own life.

What is intelligence?

Intelligence has been defined in many different ways such as your capacity for logic, abstract thought, understanding, self-awareness, communication, learning, emotional knowledge, memory, planning, creativity, and problem solving.

Where intelligence comes from is anybody’s guess. Maybe it’s something that’s designed into us, possibly imbedded in our brain through DNA. I’m a believer in the concept of infinite intelligence which is the basis of Napoleon Hill’s masterpiece on human achievement in Think And Grow Rich. If you haven’t read T&GR, here’s the link. If you have read it, go read it again.

Intelligence has long been measured in a quotient called IQ. It’s different from a measure of your ability to control your emotions which is called EQ—a much more difficult thing to measure.

Most average adults have an IQ around 100 on the Stanford–Binet Intelligence Scale. The MENSA club requires members to be in the top 98 percentile which sets the bar at 132. According to the Guinness Book of Records, the “smartest” person in the world was Marilyn vos Savant, who scored 185. Probably the most intelligent person who ever existed was Leonardo da Vinci who’s been estimated at around 220.

Conversely, mental “retardation” used to be divided into sub-classifications, but these labels are officially obsolete due to political correctness: Borderline Deficiency (IQ 70-80), Moron (IQ 50-69), Imbecile (IQ 20-49) and Idiot (below 20). I’ve dealt with a few in my policing career who rated around 15, and I have my own term for that classification.

So, what about emotional smarts?

I have a great book called The EQ Edge by Steven J. Stein, Ph.D. and Howard E. Book, M.D. I’ll steal their definition of EQ.

Emotional Quotient is the set of skills that enable us to make our way in a complex world—the personal, social and survival aspects of overall intelligence, the elusive common sense and sensitivity that are essential to effective daily functioning. It has to do with the ability to read the political and social environment, and landscape them; to intuitively grasp what others want and need, what strengths and weaknesses are; to remain unruffled by stress; and to be engaging. The kind of person others want to be around and will follow.

Sophisticated mapping techniques in brain research have recently confirmed that many thought processes pass through our emotional centers as they take the psychological journey that converts outside information from infinite intelligence into individual response and action.

God only knows where infinite intelligence comes from.

Kill Zoners — Have you ever taken an IQ test? Do you think they have any merit? And what about EQ? What’s your take on that concept?