WHAT IS IT ABOUT APRIL? by Michael Rigg

Remember the soothsayer’s warning about the Ides of March? Well, history teaches us that we should be more wary about the Ides (and other days) of April, notwithstanding that old saw about April showers bringing May flowers. Consider this list: Abraham Lincoln murdered by John Wilkes Booth, the Titanic’s unplanned meeting with an iceberg, the 1927 Great Mississippi River Flood (the worst flood in U.S. history), the San Franciso earthquake, the Virginia Tech shooting, the Oklahoma City Bombing, and Columbine High School—which happened on April 20^th, the birthday of that little Austrian Corporal who caused such death and destruction in the Second World War. Each of these horrific events, and likely many others, occurred in April.

And you don’t need to take my word that April is a Disaster-O-Rama. For a more comprehensive listing of events and a comparison of April with other months, see the post: Does More Tragedy Happen In April? - GeekDad. I suspect that you might need a bit of bourbon as the spark of recognition, and perhaps fear, makes the hair on the back of your neck stand at attention.

But we can’t just stay under the covers for an entire month, can we? We have lives to lead. Books to write. Families to raise. So, despite what challenges April may bring, we must do our best to cope, to deal with each hurdle that presents itself. Right?

So, you think your April has been rough? This blog highlights a book one of the most challenging months of April ever to face us as Americans, a month that could have brought about the destruction of our nation—and of government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

In April 1865: The Month That Saved America, Jay Winik delivers a compelling narrative detailing the last days of the American Civil War and our first steps toward national reconciliation. Our experiment with disunion didn’t happen overnight. The cannonade against Fort Sumter in 1861—another April event—might have been the final spark, but, as Winik painstakingly details, threats of secession—from every geographic quarter, not just the South—haunted our nation almost immediately after John Hancock signed the Declaration of Independence.

However we got there, four wars of civil war took their toll. Over 600,000 Americans—nearly one-twelfth of the Northern states’ population and one-fifth of the Southern states’ population—lay dead. Southern cities smoldered in ruin. An attempt to behead the government, including President Lincoln’s assassination and attacks on the Vice President and Secretary of State, had nearly succeeded. Bitterness from the brother-versus-brother conflict could have easily plunged our country into an ongoing Hatfield-McCoy nightmare. But that future didn’t come to pass. Why?

According to Winik:

April 1865 was incontestably one of America’s finest hours: for it was not the deranged spirit of an assassin that defined the country at the war’s end, but the conciliatory spirit of the leaders who led as much as in peace as in war, warriors and politicians who, by their example, their exhortation, and their deeds, overcame their personal rancor, their heartache, and spoke as citizens of not two lands but one, thereby bringing the country together. True, much hard work remained. But much, too, had already been accomplished.

As is often the case, books like April 1865: The Month That Saved America, provide perspective and lessons beyond the historical situation discussed. Some might argue that we, today, face another crisis of national identity and unity. I’ll let you reach your own judgment on that point. But I’ll leave you with this disturbing question: One-hundred years hence, will a college history professor write a book called April 2024: The Month that Doomed America?

I hope not. Mirroring Winik’s basic premise, I pray that our current batch of leaders and politicians may “. . . by their example, their exhortation, and their deeds, overcame their personal rancor, [and] their heartache,” to recall that we are citizens of a single nation, with a single flag, and a common commitment to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Oh my! This is supposed to be a blog about mystery writing by the sea. Why are we even thinking about the calamities of April and the potential destruction of our way of life? It’s the story. April 1865: The Month That Saved America is both great history and a great story. And, April 1865 unfolded, no one knew how it would end. Once you read this book, I think you will agree that it reads like a novel, full of twists-and-turns and cliff hangers. Fiction or non-fiction, a great narrative is a thing to behold. Fiction speculates about what characters—people invented in the writer’s imagination—will do in response to circumstances. Non-fiction tells us how real people reacted.

Here's wishing you a happy and uneventful remainder of April. Those May flowers will be with us soon, I hope.  

 

UPDATE: COASTAL CRIMES, VOLUME II By the Sand in Our Shorts Gang

We're inching ever closer! Coastal Crimes, Volume II: Death Takes a Vacation is more than just a vision at this point. We've gathered submissions and are completing our internal review and making edits. Soon, we'll ship the manuscript off to Wildside Press, for another round of edits and formatting changes. This are exciting times as we approach the home stretch for our anticipated late winter/early spring 2024 release date.   

True to our by-the-sea vibe, this next anthology features short stories by some of your favorite local authors, centered around a common theme: mysterious deaths involving a vacation destination in the Coastal Plain of Virginia or North Carolina east of Interstate-95. 

So, for those tourists among you who come here to enjoy a respite from the hustle and bustle of your ordinary lives? BEWARE! And for locals? Maybe it's time to call a moving company...  

More details to follow, including a cover reveal, when the time is right. Stay tuned!      

MARDI GRAS – WIMPS NEED NOT APPLY by Michael Rigg

Krewe of ALLA Parade 2023. 

I write short stories and novels set in two disparate locations: Virginia (mostly Hampton Roads) and New Orleans. I live in Virginia Beach, so local research in/around Hampton Roads is relatively easy. But New Orleans? While the Internet’s great, there’s nothing like visiting the proverbial “scene of the crime.” Computer-based research gives you a one-dimensional view; you can read about events, look at maps, and view photos and videos. New Orleans is not a one-dimensional place. The Big Easy involves all five senses: sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. And there’s only one way to experience the mix—be there.

BREAKING THINGS by Judy Fowler

Why was I breaking things? 

As I struggled to hang heavy curtains I'd sewn and lined, their fabric caught on the neck of a vintage pink vase and toppled that lovely heirloom to the floor. I froze. Four large pieces and smaller shards of irreplaceable glass lay near my feet. I wanted the pieces to jump up and put themselves back together. The vase had previously belonged to a grandmother I'd only known for four years before she died. 

‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE MURDER by Penny Hutson

 ‘Twas the night before murder when all through the book,

Not a character was plotting, not even the crook.

Reading page after page and absorbed with delight,

Every chapter expecting a murderous sight.

There I sat nestled all snug in my chair,

Reading my mystery book without care

My husband lay snoring aloud on the couch,

As I continued to read in a deepening slouch.

 

A DAY AT DAME AGATHA’S SUMMER HOME by Maria Hudgins

 

A few years ago, I left my guided tour of Southwest England, Devon and Cornwall, and made my way down the River Dart to visit Greenway, the home of my hero, Agatha Christie. This is the beautiful Georgian house where Dame Agatha and her family spent many summers. In the photo, you can see the house nestled in woods with the Dart nearby. Grand as it is, it was not her only house. That's what good writing can get you.

LOCARD’S EXCHANGE PRINCIPLE by Michael Rigg

Edmond Locard (1877-1966)

No doubt, you’ve seen or heard the saying, “Take only memories, leave only footprints.” It’s a shorthand way of telling humans to minimize their impact on nature. If you see something, leave it for someone else to see and enjoy. If you eat a Milky Way, don’t throw away the wrapper. Take it with you.

What a wonderful sentiment. What an exceptional goal. But to those of us who write mysteries, especially those involving crimes, it’s sheer, absolute, and utter nonsense. Pure baloney. Leave only footprints? Give me a break.

Those of us “in the know,” accept the “Gospel According to Dr. Locard.” Developed by Dr. Edmond Locard (1877 – 1966), Locard’s Exchange Principle, which forms the foundation of forensic science, holds that the perpetrator of a crime will bring something to the crime scene and will leave with something from it. At its core, the concept is that every contact leaves a trace and that with contact between two items, there will always be an exchange. To quote Dr. Locard, “It is impossible for a criminal to act, especially considering the intensity of a crime without leaving traces of this presence.”    

Think about it. It makes sense.

Wherever a criminal (or even a totally innocent, law-abiding citizen) goes, he will leave something behind. At the same time, he will also take something back with him. Our criminal (or law-abiding citizen) can leave all sorts of evidence, like fingerprints, footprints, hair, skin, blood, bodily fluids, pieces of clothing—and more. By coming into contact with others, or things, at the location in question, our criminal (or law-abiding citizen) takes part of that location with him when he leaves, whether it’s dirt, hair, or other types of trace evidence.

During an investigation in 1912, a Frenchwoman named Marie Latelle was found dead in her parents’ home. Her boyfriend, Emile Gourbin, claimed he had been playing cards with friends on the night of the murder. Absent evidence to the contrary, police concluded Gourbin was telling the truth.

Not deterred, Dr. Locard looked at Marie’s corpse and questioned Gourbin’s alibi. Locard found clear evidence that Marie had been strangled. He then scraped underneath Gourbin’s fingernails and examined the results under a microscope. Locard noticed a pink dust among the samples, which he calculated must be ladies’ makeup. In that era, makeup was not mass produced. Locard located a chemist who developed a custom powder for Marie. It matched the fingernail scrapings. Ultimately, Gourbin confessed to the murder. He had tricked his friends into believing his alibi by setting the clock in the game room ahead. But he couldn’t trick Locard. When he strangled his girlfriend, he took some of her—skin cells with traces of makeup—with him.

Pretty convincing, right? Most likely, we can all think of “modern day” cases that were solved as a result of Locard’s Exchange Principle. What’s your favorite example?

So, trust me. No matter how hard you try or how well-intentioned you may be, wherever you go you’ll never just leave footprints and you’ll always take away more than just memories. Mystery writers depend on it. 

MEMORIES OF REMEMBRANCE DAY by Michael Rigg

A few years ago, I made several business trips to London and other parts of the United Kingdom. One trip to London occurred in November, right after a very historic U.S. Presidential election (if I remember correctly) and as the U.K. began to commemorate what the nation refers to as Remembrance Day. My visit that November was brief, but I’ve though often about what I saw and the emotions I experienced.

Beginning with the guns of August in 1914 and finally ending at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918, the First World War—the Great War—exacted a horrific toll on human life—more than any previous conflict. The carnage was so vast, involving soldiers and civilians from so many different nations, that historians cannot agree on exactly how many people lost their lives.

 A study conducted on behalf of the Carnegie Endowment estimated that more than 9.7 million military personnel from more than two dozen nations lost their lives. Adding to the tragedy, more than 6.8 million civilians died from war-related maladies such as starvation and disease. In all, about 16.5 million people perished during the “War to End All Wars.”

Great Britain and Ireland, with a combined population of 46.1 million, mobilized 6.1 million army and navy personnel. More than 750,000 military and 600,000 civilians—a total of 1.35 million—died.

After the conflict ended, the United States designated November 11^th, the day hostilities ceased in World War I, as Armistice Day. Later that special observance morphed into a more general celebration of those who have served in uniform—Veterans Day.

In Great Britain, November 11^th is referred to as Remembrance Day. And the Sunday nearest November 11^th is referred to as Remembrance Sunday. Originally a response to World War I, Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday now honor those who have fallen in battle in the defense of their nation—similar to Memorial Day in the U.S. Red paper poppies serve as a visual—and visceral—symbol of “remembrance” to the British.

Along with the cost in human life, the First World War decimated the landscape of Western Europe, which had seen bloody back-and-forth offensives and the murderous stalemate of trench warfare. Yet a singular sight gave one man hope. John McCrae, a military doctor from Canada, viewed the battlegrounds and penned a poem, In Flanders Fields:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Based largely on the imagery of McCrae’s poem, efforts by various individuals resulted in the red poppy becoming an iconic emblem of Remembrance Day.

Remembrance Day and Remembrance Sunday bring with them parades, speeches, and sermons. But what was most remarkable to me were the rows and rows of red poppies attached to crosses, Stars of David, and other artifacts that were then placed in church yards and parks throughout the city. I remember the fields of honor at Westminster Abby the most. Many of the poppy-adorned artifacts contained pictures or other tributes to the fallen and were viewed in thoughtful, silent reverence by thousands. 

The photograph above gives a hint of the emotional impact of visiting this solemn place, where, to paraphrase, the poppies still blow “. . . Between the crosses, row on row.”

 

 

POINT OF VIEW by Judy Fowler

In romantic fiction, opposing points of view often threaten a couple's future. Here are three real-world point-of-view obstacles. Will romance prevail? Answer key at the bottom.

1. Hanging pictures 

A widower new to dating offered to hang wall art in his ladyfriend's apartment. 

She: "I've had bad experiences with men helping me hang pictures. I'm very particular about the height of each piece."

He: Don't worry. I've brought a level and a pencil. Show me how high you want them."

She watches as picture after picture goes up. "They're all too high. I have to crane my neck to see them."

He: "I hung them at eye level." 

She: "Not my eye level." 

He: "I marked the top of each where you said to mark it."

She: (under her breath) "I'll have to paint that whole wall to cover the holes."

He (gruffly): "Don't forget to buy spackle." 

2. Purchasing power 

Two singles about to merge family lives walk on the beach in summer. The couple hold hands and stare out at boats on the water.   

"You know, at the end of the season, we could get one of those for three hundred dollars."

"Really?" the other asks. "How great would that be? We could have all the kids on it for parties. We could swim off the sides. They could invite their friends!"

"What the hell are you looking at?"

The other points to a pontoon boat.

"I'm looking at that rowboat!" 

3. Wedding day priorities

"Chris wanted a band," my balance instructor Jacqui said last week. "I thought that was great, even if it ate up a lot of our budget. I looked for things to cut back on—like flowers. I'm repurposing artificial bouquets for table arrangements."

She showed me a photo of her arrangements. "And here's a picture of Tucker trying on his tuxedo." 

I've never met Chris but have spent many hours in the Cova Church gym with the pretty bride-to-be and her Brittany spaniel. I'd just thrown Tucker a chew toy to chase. "What does Chris think of you spending money dressing Tucker for the wedding?" I asked. 

"You can't go naked to the wedding, can you, Tucker?" Jacqui cooed. "It was Chris's idea to make him Best Dog."

Jacqui worried she wouldn't get everything done, and Chris needed to be sure tablecloths were a vital line item. I worried about the dog, a pointer that's always in motion. "I doubt he can walk calmly down the aisle even on a leash, Jacqui," I said.

"No worries," she assured me. "He's practicing every day. He'll be fine."

"Does Chris have a best man?"

"Of course. He'll stand next to Tucker."

At that moment, the 'best dog' held a spit-slathered toy in his mouth. 

"He's not holding the ring, is he?" I asked.

I swear Tucker gave me a dirty look. 

Answers. Romance prevailed in all three scenarios. 1. When she realized she should tell men where she wanted the bottom of the picture rather than the top, the woman apologized. We're still dating. 2. Twenty years later, whenever financial reality testing is needed, one or the other will say, "Never mind. It's a three-hundred-dollar boat." 3. The wedding is today. I hope Tucker's ready.

 

Stalking The Orient Express By Maria Hudgins

I love Murder on the Orient Express. 

I have read the book more than once, seen the 1974 movie starring Albert Finney as Hercule Poirot, seen the 2017 movie starring Kenneth Branagh as the same character, and in my own travels I have stalked the train (or what's left of it) itself. In the early 20th century the Orient Express carried the well-heeled of Europe from Paris to Istanbul in high style. Today, the Venice Simplon-Orient Express now owned by Belmond, takes well-heeled tourists from London to Venice in nostalgic Art Deco luxury.

IT’S COMING! COASTAL CRIMES, VOLUME II By the Sand in Our Shorts Gang

Ready to continue the adventure?

If you liked Coastal Crimes, Volume I: Mysteries by the Sea, you have a treat in store. Members of Mystery by the Sea (MBTS), the Virginia Beach chapter of Sisters in Crime, are hard at work on a sequel: Coastal Crimes, Volume II: Death Takes a Vacation. True to our by-the-sea vibe, this next anthology features short stories by some of your favorite local authors, centered around a common theme: mysterious deaths involving a vacation destination in the Coastal Plain of Virginia or North Carolina east of Interstate-95. 

So, for those tourists among you who come here to enjoy a respite from the hustle and bustle of your ordinary lives? BEWARE! And for locals? Maybe it's time to call a moving company...  

As this blog goes to press, our chapter's wrapping up the submissions process. We anticipate approximately fifteen stories averaging around 5,000 words each. Soon, we’ll start our internal editing process, with Teresa Inge and Yvonne Saxon leading the way. Wildside Press has agreed to publish Coastal Crimes, Volume II, with an anticipated release date in late winter/early spring 2024.

More details to follow, including a cover reveal, as we progress. Stay tuned!      

RECIPES TO READ BY By Angela G. Slevin

 

Ah, September…late summer with its hot days, cooler nights, punctuated by bursts of crisp early fall air. Perfect outdoor or indoor reading weather. And since no reading session is complete without a satisfying beverage to sip, here are some drink and book pairings to try.

Cold Drinks

Pair with Camino Winds by John Grisham. This read is unlike most of his work. It’s a lighthearted caper novel set in the rare book business world. When a hurricane knocks out power to an island resort in Florida and a body is found, was it just a tragic accident, or was it murder?

YO ADRIAN! ANY IGGLES FAN OUT THERE? By Michael Rigg

An earlier Blog entry discussed baseball-themed movies. With the onset of September and echoes of autumn in the air, the topic switches to football—not the round-ball kind, either. Today’s blog wants to know, what’s your favorite football (the American version) novel or movie?

As the Philly-centric title suggests, the starting point for our discussion is the 2006 film, Invincible, featuring Mark Wahlberg and Greg Kinnear. The movie is based on the true story of Vince Papale, who played with the Philadelphia Eagles from 1976 to 1978. Wahlberg plays Vince. Greg Kinnear is Coach Dick Vermeil.

Desperate to turn the Eagles into winners, new head coach Dick Vermeil (Kinnear) will try just about anything. He announces that the Eagles will host open tryouts for anyone, and everyone, who thinks they have the stuff to be a professional football player. Urged by his family and friends, thirty-year-old unemployed teacher Vince Papale, who plays a mean game of sandlot football and whose girlfriend just left him because he was a "loser," gives it a go. Vermeil, impressed by Papale's performance, invites him to training camp. As training camp ends, the final roster spot is down to Papale and a veteran. Against his assistants' advice, Vermeil hands the final spot to Papale.

As Papale's career with the Eagles begins, the team loses all six preseason games and their regular season opener against the Dallas Cowboys. Papale plays poorly against the Cowboys, and Vermeil faces pressure from the fans and media. In the midst of Papale’s attempt to make the team, he meets, and falls in love with, Janet.

During the home opener against the New York Giants, Papale opens the game by solo-tackling the kickoff returner inside the fifteen-yard line. After an up-and-down game, Papale gets downfield during an Eagles' fourth quarter punt to tackle the returner, forcing a fumble that he recovers and takes into the end zone for a touchdown, giving the Eagles their first win in Papale's career. Eagles’ fans go wild with joy. It’s a victory for an everyday guy—the typical “Iggles” fan. Papale plays for the team for three seasons and eventually marries Janet, while Vermeil subsequently succeeds in turning the Eagles into a winning team, culminating in an appearance in Super Bowl XV.

So, do you have a favorite football-themed novel or movie? What is it? In addition to Invincible, here are some candidates, in alphabetical order:

·       Any Given Sunday

·       Brian’s Song

·       Draft Day
·       Everybody’s All-American
·       Heaven Can Wait
·       Leatherheads
·       Remember the Titans
·       Rudy
·       The Blind Side
·       The Longest Yard
·       The Replacements
·       The Waterboy
·       We Are Marshall

And, no doubt, there are many more. Tell us your favorite—and why it is your favorite. Inquiring minds want to know.

 

HOW TO MURDER AN ICE CREAM CONE by Judy Fowler

 

The dog days of August are upon us. My urge to plot out crime stories has temporarily abated. In the lull, there’s always time to kill an ice cream cone.

My friend Nikki kills hers by biting the bottom out first. I use my mother's technique. Bite off the peak of the ice cream first. Catch the drippy parts near the top of the cone. Another bite off the top and you're ready to relax and lick away the ice cream that remains.

After that? Dispose of the evidence in whatever’s left of your napkin supply after deciding what to do with what's left in the bottom of the cone.

For celebratory memory-making, Proust’s famous cookie has nothing on recalling moments shared doing in a couple of ice cream cones.

Yesterday after a swim in the Chesapeake Bay, my thoughts (followed by my feet) wandered over to Dairy Queen. As I attacked the top of my cone, I had a memory of running along the hot sand at Jones Beach as a kid. In my sticky bathing suit, I hopped from foot to foot hoping I wouldn't drop the change I'd been given to buy a paper cylinder of Neapolitan ice cream—so I could return to our blanket with a sticky grin.

After my chiropractic appointment recently, I pulled into a shopping center to see if my Weight Watchers location was still there. It wasn't, but the Carvel store was. For $4.50, that first taste of a soft-serve vanilla cone transported me back to Glen Cove, Long Island in the 1960’s. In those years Mom celebrated our mutual survival of my dental appointments by nosing her car into the parking lot of a Carvel stand to share a cup or cone with me. She’d brand the little wooden spoon or the swirl at the top before we finished it off with a smile. 

On summer visits to upstate New York, Mom introduced us to homemade ice cream from deep containers at a store near where she grew up. I discovered vanilla fudge. Mom bit into maple walnut. Sisters, Dad, and brother chose butter pecan, real strawberry, and pistachio. That half hour spent ordering and devouring ice cream cones while standing around the over-stuffed car was a time-out from packing, driving, and arguing—and it switched each of us into "We're on vacation!” mode.

My grandfather loved ice cream in summer—especially someone else’s. I was six and had barely dipped my spoon into the junior-sized hot fudge sundae he’d bought me when he pointed to something I just had to see. By the time I got turned around in my chair again, most of my sundae was gone.

Such a crime is shocking. “Pop!” I cried. “You ate my ice cream!” The adults and children near us made faces at him but he never apologized. 

Dogs are usually prime suspects when ice cream is missing. To ensure a good time is had by all in Montreal, its summer ice cream stands offer each pet an ice cream-covered dog bone—on the house.

Memory-making moments with family grow fewer as I get older. But I had one last great one in August, 2019. Mom and I took one of her “let’s just drive and see where it leads” road trips between New Hampshire and Vermont. 

We spotted the ice cream stand near Quechee Gorge.

At age ninety-nine, Mom looked terribly small sitting in my passenger seat. I figured she'd want a small cup. I assumed she’d worry about dripping on her skirt and blazer. 

Never assume. She’d grown bolder with age. And she didn't give a hoot about her weight. She asked for a double scoop chocolate cone. That was Dad and my brother’s territory. 

A few minutes later, I warily passed her one of the two I’d ordered. We began to lick them to death. 

It was hot outside so we stayed in the air-conditioned car but left the doors open in case the dripping cones overwhelmed us. Mom's left a chocolate stain that's still on my passenger-side floormat. 

Her technique didn’t fail her. We ate, laughed, got serious about our task, and then she beat me to the bottom. Little evidence remained to be disposed of. We were giddy all the way back to her senior residence.

Better ways may exist to do in an ice cream cone. No one was more fun to share that experience with than my Mom, who once had the novel idea of capping off a cavity-laden dental visit with a trip to the soft serve stand.

 

 

 

 

 

AUTHOR WEBSITES: IS IT A MUST HAVE FOR ALL WRITERS? by Sheryl Jordan

 

I keep putting off building up my author’s website. Recently, I decided I need to get it fully up and running soon. I have my domain and have had it for several years. I added ‘stuff’ to it years ago but haven’t kept it up to date. I didn’t like it and made some changes, but it still isn’t where I want and need it to be. So, I just let it sit dormant (I know this is terrible for a writer to do). I obviously have no experience in creating a website, so I started researching how to create a fabulous website that is user-friendly and fully functional as well as showing who I am and what I do.

LEARNING FROM THE BEST WRITERS by Maria Hudgins

 There must be a thousand books on "How to Write." If you read them all you wouldn't have time to write.So what are a few really good ones? How do you know if a book on writing is good? How do you know this author's advice is right or wrong? That's easy. Read a bit of it and if you are having a hard time putting it down--the author knows what he's doing. This topic, after all, is dry as dirt. It's right up there with "How to change the duvet cover," or "How to clean a bathroom," or "Filling out your 1040 form."

The best book on writing I have ever read is Stephen King's "On Writing" which, by now, has probably gone through a dozen editions. I couldn't put it down. I've read it more than once and not because I didn't remember his advice. It's wonderfully entertaining. I can't forget his description of pretending to be a circus strong man when he was two years old.

I've been looking at a website called Master Class and I see a lot of today's top writers are contributing their best suggestions.One click gives you samples of their advice and I have clicked on a bunch of them. I would tend to favor the words of authors that are my personal favorites. If I enjoy them, I think, so would others. My taste in stories is not unusual. I'm pretty typical. It's not free, but at $120/year, it's cheap for what you can get if you really use it.

This may sound stupid, but I learn a lot from listening to a favorite author on audio. It doesn't matter if the author is doing the reading or not. Some writers are not good readers, and some are. Listening frees your mind to think only about the story. When you aren't thinking about the words on the page or how many pages are left in this chapter, you become more aware of the structure. Why is the writer giving you all these details in one chapter but not in another one? Where is the viewpoint character and what are his eyes seeing? If she parks her car, does she immediately open the door? Does she remember to pick up her purse? Why does the writer skip over all the details sometimes with a brief, "Next morning, he flew to Chicago?" Details are tedious if they don't move the story forward.

Sometimes I can just lie in bed with my eyes closed and realize that I'm working!

VACATION FUN: BEAUTY, HISTORY, AND MYSTERY! By Angela G. Slevin

The throne room

      Summer always puts me in mind of vacations and travel. This year, I’m thinking of two places, one I’ve been to many times and where I have family, and the other a place I’ve always wanted to go. Surprisingly to me, they have a connection.

     The island of Crete, Greece, sits in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, and is huge in comparison to the other Greek isles. Crete measures 160 miles wide from west to east, and varies in width from 7.5 to 37 miles from north to south, making its area 3,218 square miles. Crete was an independent nation from 1898 until 1913, when it joined modern Greece.

RESEARCH: A CRITICAL PART OF WRITING. BUT NO ONE SAYS IT HAS TO BE BORING! By Michael Rigg

Harriet Robin 
New Orleans School of Cooking 

Any fiction writer worth their salt will acknowledge that research is a key component of our craft. We write stories that, in the long run, are not entirely true. That’s why it’s called fiction. We ask our readers to suspend belief, at least while they read what we write, and pray they will accept our premise: “what if…” But to engage the reader, to keep them turning pages, our fiction must be plausible.

In sum, fiction—the ultimate untruth—must, of necessity, be based in truth, and supported by facts. Our written untruth must be believable. Thorough research is how we attain this believable untruth. Research is the lifeblood of good fiction. If it doesn’t ring true, the reader will soon be bored and more likely to put our novel down and, worse, add us to their “do not read” list.

WRITERS UNITE: REJECT REJECTION! By Michael Rigg

Rejection Has Many Facets

 A well-known and respected periodical, which shall remain nameless,   provides a simple online mechanism for writers to submit their short   works of fiction for consideration. No need to suffer through thirty-   nine steps of instructions. And it provides an equally simple   mechanism  for tracking those submissions. Beyond a shadow of     doubt, the submission and tracking process are straightforward, not an     elastic affair with ever-changing rules. 

That simplicity belies something notorious, something to leave a hopeful author spellbound by the negativity and unable to cope. That something lies in the terms this well-known and respected periodical uses to describe the status of your submission.

Received. That’s understandable enough. They have received your magnum opus, the lifeboat to which your fragile ego clings, hoping soon to read the joyful status: Accepted. (I assume that’s what it is. None of my submissions have been chosen for publication—yet.)

But then, there’s that word they use to describe stories not selected for publication: REJECTED.

Rejection—it’s something most, perhaps all, writers have experienced. What a horrible word, rejection—in any form. What a mean-spirited, ghastly thing, rejection, a word, many-faceted, each aspect more horrific that the last.  

According to the Cambridge English Dictionary (Cambridge English Dictionary: Definitions & Meanings), rejection refers to:  

-the act of refusing to accept, use, or believe someone or something;

-a letter, etc. that tells you that you have been unsuccessful in getting a job, a place on a course of study, etc.; or

-the act of not giving someone the love and attention they want and expect.

With one hurtful word, the writer’s repulsed, like a lice-ridden enemy hoard scaling the castle walls. Like a seething bacterial infection struck down by the miracle of penicillin. Despondency reigns, emotions ripped apart, like a torn curtain. That damnable magazine and its editor. They aren’t giving us the love and attention we want and expect. Barbarians all, those who inflict rejection on us!   

I confess. I don’t understand why the editor of this esteemed periodical insists on being such a psycho, a saboteur of young and innocent writers who put their faith and trust in this publishing powerhouse that their hard work will be recognized and rewarded.

But the solution is simple, elegant perhaps. Were I a secret agent, able to enter quietly through a rear window into the periodical’s inner sanctum, I’d scurry about in a surreptitious frenzy and plant this idea:

Replace the word rejected with the word DECLINED. 

What a pleasant way to be told ‘No.’ “We received your submission, reviewed it with glee, and decline to publish it at this time. Warmest regards and best wishes for a successful writing career.” Certainly, it’s kinder and gentler that the current “Eff Off, you unworthy, spineless mendicant. Your story stinks and we REJECTED it, just as we reject YOU.” 

So please, kind editor, switch to using Declined. Where you lead, other editors (and agents) will follow! After all, wouldn’t you agree that Rejected is for the birds?