Researching Gangster Lore for Daughter Am I

I have notebooks full of gangster lore that I collected when I researched Daughter Am I, my young woman/old gangsters coming of age novel. (I keep calling it that, but it’s so much more — a murder mystery, a treasure hunt, a romp through the middle of the United States with a young woman and a busload of irrepressible octogenarian rogues. “Snow White and the Seven Old Farts” as one of the villains called them.) As usual, I am digressing. Someday, perhaps, I will learn that just because I use parenthesis, it doesn’t give me the right to meander off topic. Or maybe it does.

Anyway, the point is, I was able to use only an iota of my notes. So many real-life characters never even got to be reborn in the person of one of my “elders.” (There’s a topic for discussion — what does one call a busload of aged men and women? I despise the term ”senior citizens,” I have no fondness for “old folks” — the term, that is – and “golden- agers” is too nauseating. So I settled for “elders” with its nuance of wisdom.)

One such character I never used for my book was Jake “The Barber” Factor, who stole millions from people through stock market swindles and investment fraud. He worked as a bootblack when he was a boy, shining shoes outside of a barbershop. The price of a shine was two cents, but he’d tell unwary customers that he’d give them a “steamboat shine” for one cent. If the customer agreed, he’d polish one shoe until it gleamed, then he’d say, “There’s your steamboat shine, Mister. For a dime, I’ll shine the other shoe.” 

Oscar Wilde once said, ” The Americans are certainly great hero worshippers, and always take heros from the criminal classes.” Well, perhaps not always, but most of us bear a grudging admiration for con men and women, mostly because they seem so much smarter than the rest of us. Or maybe they just have fewer scruples.

Daughter Am I will be released by Second Wind Publishing in the middle of October. 

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When Did the Realization “I Am an Author” Hit?

A few months ago, another Second Wind author posted a question on a discussion group: When did the realization “I am a writer” hit?

I responded (incidentally, the answer still holds true): The realization that I am a writer hasn’t hit, and I’m not sure it will. I’m very involved with writing — I belong to various groups; I talk a lot about writing; and even when I’m not writing creatively, I’m writing: blogs and articles, comments and emails. But I don’t define myself as a writer. When you consider all that being a published writer entails — promotion, engendering good will, etc — writing is a small very small part of the whole.

If you were to ask the question: When did the realization “I am an author” hit? I can tell you exactly when it hit. It hit this afternoon.

The realization has nothing to do with a feel-good, puffed-chest, now-I-belong-in-the-ranks-of-the-published jubilation, and everything to do with  . . . work.

Yep. Work. I’ve been spending most of the past week querying book bloggers to see if they would host my Daughter Am I virtual book tour, setting up a schedule for the few who responded, figuring out enough exciting (or at least undull) activities for the tour, planning my online book launch party, filling out an author interview, preparing articles about writing for a new ezine, checking the final proof copy of Daughter Am I, waiting for the edits of Light Bringer my fourth novel so I can turn it in, helping plan a celebration for the latest releases from my publisher (sorry, Daughter Am I isn’t included in this batch). And, oh yeah, trying to keep up with my blog, my discussion groups, and my emails.

Now, that makes me feel like an author — doing so much authory work. Too bad there’s no time for writing. But I’ll start again soon. After my tour, perhaps.

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THE BLUEST SKIES YOU’VE EVER SEEN ARE IN . . .

I’ve never been to the state of Washington, but I’d be willing to bet that the Colorado skies in September are much, much bluer than those in Seattle. The thin, dry Colorado air gives the sky a purple cast so deep and vast you can only call it the color of infinity. 

I live off a highway, so unless I want to take my life in my hands by dodging demented drivers or being asphyxiated by exhaust, I walk laps up and down the .3 mile rock- and gravel-strewn dirt lane in front of my home. Although the scenery provides a gorgeous setting for the trashy trailers and tacky houses, after about the ten-thousandth lap (not all in the same day!), the scenery fades into the background. Which is a good thing — I need to look down at my feet to keep from stepping on sharp rocks or stepping into potholes. Still, with writing, as with life, the significance is in the details, so during each walk, I try to find a new detail to focus on. Today it was the sky.  A perfect, cloudless, September sky.

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My Fruitful Summer

We are now officially into autumn, and where are the words I planned to write? Not in my head, not on paper. A Facebook friend emailed me the other day and asked if he could be part of the blog tour for my new book. All of a sudden it dawned on me that I have done no promotion for Daughter Am I, my young woman/old gangster coming of age tale. I’ve been so caught up in the edits, in making the book as perfect as possible, that I conveniently forgot that the finish line for one heat of the race is the starting line for another. To my dismay, I’ve discovered that getting published does not end the querying — I’ve spent the past few days trying to find bloggers willing to host my tour, and at the rate I’m going it will take many more days of querying to find enough hosts to make the tour interesting.

I did have a fruitful summer, though — I went to a u-pick cherry farm a mile down the road, (took pictures, have a great title for the photo essay, but the words to said essay are buried in the back cabinet of my brain with the rest of the words I’m not writing). I also picked plums — greengages — just a few yards from my house. Now that particular photo essay I managed to do while I was procrastinating on writing this discussion: Plum Tuckered.

Bear with me. There is a writing discussion in this.

All that fruit picking made me think that once upon a time food was free for the picking. Literally. That realization helped put me in my hero’s frame of mind — he is going to be living in the wild when I finally get back to my WIP. It also gave me a totem or token or symbol for the second part of the book (the token in the first part was a specific type of candy). And finally, it made me wonder about the use of fruit in stories. The only thing I remember about a certain book I read when young was a mention of greengages. “The children were sick from eating too many greengages.” That’s it. I don’t remember anything else — not the title, not the author, not the story.

So, has any fictional fruit made an impression on you? Eve’s apple, of course. Snow White’s apple. Apple sellers in the Depression era. Oranges in Victorian Christmas stories.

Has fruit ever played a part in anything you’ve written? Did you have a fruitful summer in any meaning of the word? What are you working on? How was your writing week? Did you accomplish what you wanted? Did you make any interesting discoveries? Did you have fun or was it a chore?

Let’s talk.

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Happy Bloggiversary To Me!

I started blogging two years ago, back when I didn’t even know what a blog was. I’d read about how important blogging was for authors, both as a way of getting known and as a way of connecting with readers. Deciding to “act as if” I were going to be published one day, in the hopes of making it happen, I created this blog. I had nothing to say, no one to say it to, no reason to say anything, but I didn’t let that stop me. I started yapping and haven’t stopped since. Although I intended to blog every day, I’ve only managed 372 posts in those two years. I’ve received 2,003 comments. I’ve posted in 36 categories, and used 1,402 tags. In the past year, I’ve had five times as many views as I did the first year. Not bad for someone who’d never even heard of a blog.

Did acting as if I were going to get published work? Perhaps, though there is no direct connection that I know of. Still, I have had two books published by Second Wind Publishing and a third will be published next month. More importantly — at least blog-wise — I am still blogging, still making connections, still making friends. Still having fun.

It amazes me that anyone wants to read anything that I write here. This is so much a place for just letting my thoughts roam, for thinking through problems, and (I admit it) for pontificating a bit. It’s been a kick, writing this blog, and I want to thank all of you for indulging my whims and whimseys.

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So . . .  thank you.

Research: When Good Books Go Bad

Many good books go bad when the authors refuse to let go of any of their hard-won research and so dump it all in the novel, making the story drag. I have a tendency to put in a lot of information — though I don’t use all my research, not even most of it. In A Spark of Heavenly Fire, I talk (or rather my characters do) about biological weapons, biowarfare, bioengineered organisms because I thought the reality was more frightening than my fiction. For example, The World Health Organization spent years and a heap of money to eradicate smallpox, yet smallpox in ever more virulent forms is stockpiled in labs all around the world. Spooks the heck out of me!

But I digress. Daughter Am I, which will be released in October, was conceived as a way to combine two of my interests at that time — early gangster history and the mythic journey. (You might not recognize the similarity between Daughter Am I and Star Wars or The Wizard of Oz, but all three are based on the same mythic journey template.) In 2007, I entered the book into the first ABNA (Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award) contest, and my prize for being a semi-finalist was a review from Publishers Weekly. After giving a summary of the plot, the reviewer ended with:

While the author certainly researched the history of the Mafia, too many of the numerous historical asides — and subplots — are tacked on under the guise of story time, making the story drag with detail abut Wyatt Earp, the JFK assassination and bootleggers. But underneath the relentless bouts of story time is a delightful treasure-hunting tale of finding one’s self in a most unlikely way.

Too many historical asides? Eek! That was the whole point of the book! I tightened up the story, got rid of the asides that didn’t go directly to character or plot, but still felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation. When I mentioned my concern about the “info dumps” to fellow author Malcolm Campbell, he responded:

Your book is wonderful. Looking into one’s past is powerful stuff, but getting tangled up with a lot of lovable scam artists is a really fresh approach. Your wonderful characterizations—that’s another thing for discussion. It’s a challenge having lots of characters while keeping them from all sounding like oneself.

The “info dumps” as you call them add a lot of depth to the book and are informative and entertaining in their own right. They support the character telling the story. But also, they provided periods of “calm” in what is a frenetic quest that zooms from one unexpected thing to another without pause. We’ve seen “these gangsters” in dozens of movies, and for me, the archetypes are those of the 1940s films my generation grew up on—and that’s appropriate since these guys are elders. They’re a much different breed of cat than we see on modern, street-wise TV shows like, say, DARK BLUE which takes us undercover right into the worst of today’s gangs and thugs.

Whew!

(The first chapters of my books are included in the mystery sampler available as a free download from Second Wind Publishing. Click here: Free Downloads.)

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Jock Stewart and The Missing Sea of Fire — Part I

I added part one after the title because I know this is not going to be the only time I write about Jock Stewart. What a wonderful character! I hope you get to know him well.

I often talk about how jaded I am when it comes to reading. Apparently I am only jaded when it comes to the homogenized books published by the major publishers — I’m finding that many gems lurk in small independent presses. (Do gems lurk? Well, perhaps I should say gleam.) Jock Stewart and the Missing Sea of Fire by Malcolm R. Campbell is one such gem released by Vanilla Heart Publishing.

So much fun! Campbell staffs his books with characters such as Jimmy Exlibris who never takes his nose out of a book, and the reverend Cotton Mouth from the Church of the Painful Now. Even better, Campbell writes delicious puns. “While Monique’s dress was still in his closet, Monique was not present. He straightened the dress on the hangar and pulled up the zipper but found no closure.”

And I haven’t guessed yet what happened to the missing Sea of Fire.

Though Jock Stewart and the Missing Sea of Fire is thrilling enough to be a page turner, I am trying not to read too quickly because I want to savor every word. Which makes me wonder — is “page turner” really a compliment? Wouldn’t “page stayer” make an author feel proud that readers hated turning the page because they (the readers) knew that page is gone forever? Of course, the page is not gone forever. I am missing enough of Campbell’s slyness that I will have to read the book a second time to make sure I get every nuance.

Much as I enjoy spending time with you all, I’ve got a book I want to continue reading. Wishing you the same.

I almost forgot — Jock Stewart has his own  blog: Morning Satirical News.

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Do Blog Tours Live Up to The Hype?

Daughter Am I, my latest novel, will soon to be released by Second Wind Pubishing, so I have to start planning a blog tour if I’m going to do one. I hear so much about how great they are — mostly from the major publishers who don’t want to spend the money to send their authors on an unvirtual tour — that I wonder if blog tours do anything for an unknown author. I know the most popular book blogs do help get the word out, but if one can’t get a guest spot on those blogs, is it still worth doing a tour? And is there any real difference between doing a formal tour and doing guest spots on a few blogs?

In case I decide that a blog tour is worth all the work, would you be willing to be a host?

Daughter Am I is a young woman/old gangsters coming of age tale that is being sold as mainstream, though it could just as easily be classified as a mystery.

When twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart learns she inherited a farm from her recently murdered grandparents—grandparents her father claimed had died before she was born—she becomes obsessed with finding out who they were and why someone wanted them dead. Along the way she accumulates a crew of feisty octogenarians—former gangsters and friends of her grandfather. She meets and falls in love Tim Olson, whose grandfather shared a deadly secret with her great-grandfather. Now Mary and Tim need to stay one step ahead of the killer who is desperate to dig up that secret.

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How to Tell When Your Novel is Finished

I finally turned in what might be the final proof of Daughter Am I. At least I hope it’s the final one. People often ask how you know when a book is finished — well, if you’re to the point where seeing one more word of the manuscript makes you want to throw it against the wall (or bang your head against the wall, though the first hurts less) then you’re finished. And I passed that point months ago.

 

I have a rocky relationship with my books — not exactly love/hate, more of an enjoy/disenjoy relationship. (I realize disenjoy is not a word, but it should be.) Sometimes I read what I’ve written and am amazed that I enjoy it so much. Other times I can’t believe how boring it is. (To be fair, any bit of writing, no matter how great, does pall after the hundredth read through.) Daughter Am I is no exception. I like the story:

When twenty-five-year-old Mary Stuart learns she inherited a farm from her recently murdered grandparents—grandparents her father claimed had died before she was born—she becomes obsessed with finding out who they were and why someone wanted them dead. Along the way she accumulates a crew of feisty octogenarians—former gangsters and friends of her grandfather. She meets and falls in love Tim Olson, whose grandfather shared a deadly secret with her great-grandfather. Now Mary and Tim need to stay one step ahead of the killer who is desperate to dig up that secret.

I like the beginning. I’ve been told that the first sentence is too long and introduces too many characters, but it’s the only possible beginning since it states the book’s main premise and it foreshadows the end:

“Who were James Angus Stuart and Regina DeBrizzi Stuart?” Mary asked, trying to ignore the mounted heads of murdered animals staring down at her from the lawyer’s wood-paneled walls. 

I also like my characters, though I do wonder about the long-windedness of a couple of them. The eighty-year-olds that I know, however, aren’t as quick with one-liners as are younger folk, and they do tend toward loquaciousness, so I hope readers are as forgiving of my octogenarians as they are of their own.

Still, after all these years of researching the Mob, of writing the book, rewriting it, editing it, copyediting it, I am a bit tired of the whole thing and will be glad to see the end of my work.

So why am I telling you this? Well, it is a painless way of doing a bit of pre-publishing publicity (painless for you, too, I hope). There is also a moral: when you decide to write a book, make sure it’s one that you can live with for a very, very, very long time.

Daughter Am I will be released by Second Wind Publishing in October, 2009.

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Okay, I Admit It. I’m Jealous.

Jealous of whom? Need you ask? I bet if they were honest, most authors would also admit they were jealous of Dan Brown. Whatever one thinks of the man himself, the man as a story steller, the man as a wordsmith, the fact is, he wrote a book that is dazzling the world.

I only read The DaVinci Code because I was curious as to what captured people’s attention when it came to books. Though his prose is supposedly the worst thing since moldy bread, what I noticed were the internal inconsistencies — if the villain was so smart as to stay one step ahead of Robert and Sophie, if he was so smart as to figure out where they were going next and kill the person they wanted to contact, why wasn’t he smart enough just to kill the two of them and put us out of our misery? I don’t like books where the body count rises just to show how smart the hero is to stay alive. Cheap thrills, but apparently they work. 

The internal inconsistencies were bad enough, but what drove me nuts were the external inconsistencies — though the cathedrals in France do hide a code, the code predates the cathedrals, predates Christianity even. The cathedrals were all built on ancient mystical sites, as was the Vatican itself.  If the cathedrals themselves do contain a code, it is a manifestation of the prehistoric meaning. And then there was Sophie as the direct descendent of Jesus. Puh-leeze. A family tree is exactly that — an everspreading, ever thinning genetic branching. Even if Sophie was a direct descendent, her Jesus genes would be so minuscule as to be indistinguishable from yours or mine. (Go back twenty generations, and we’re all related.) I won’t even mention the possibility that Mary Magdalene never existed as a flesh and blood woman but, together with the other two Marys, was a manifestation of the mother goddess. And then, of course, I kept hearing echoes of a previous book I’d read — Holy Blood, Holy Grail — the book that he didn’t credit for his research.

Still, with all that, he captured the world’s attention, and now with his new book, for whatever reason, he is dazzling the world again. I wonder what that would be like? Must be nice.

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