COZY MYSTERIES are also referred to as ‘cozies’. In England they are called ‘Aga Sagas’ because they are read sitting by the Aga stove on a blustery evening (or afternoon).

I’m drawing to the close of my third complete revision of my cozy. Round of applause, please. It’s been gruesome and exhausting.

One of the members of my writing group had only a vague concept of what a cozy was even after years of critiquing my work. I asked this person to read one that had influenced my choice of fiction, and then he could critique me. After reading twenty-eight pages my fellow writer was completely saccharined-out.

Cozies can have that affect on some people. There are cozies, and there are cozies, just as in any other genre. They run the gamut from Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers down to. . . well I won’t say down to whom, but they are out there, complete with misspellings and main character name changes in the middle of the story. One cozy I read misspelled leech throughout the book, and the poor leech was a secondary character.

Usually a cozy takes place in a small community where everyone is known to each other, though not necessarily intimately. It’s a cliquey sort of environment, and emotions can run high for extra tension beyond the tensions the prerequisite murder have caused. If you think of how a movie is rated for S, V, and L, a cozy will come in at a PG. Sex, Violence and Language are virtually absent from the page, only referred to so the reader will know that S and V have occurred in some less savory quarter, or to an unsavory person who uses L.

The protagonists are usually female, as are the readers of cozies. Almost always they are amateurs when it comes to dealing with crime. They continue this charade even if the series runs to ten or a dozen books. It’s an appealing shtick.

The protagonist sometimes has an interesting side-line that can be part of the mystery, or an aside that the followers of that series enjoy reading about. Examples are: innkeeper, caterer, animal breeder, bookbinder, herbalist. The list stretches on.

And the protagonist usually has a friend in the police force who aids her in the search for truth and justice.

I fought against it, but my protagonist has been working with a policeman. He wants to retire, preferably in the arms of the heroine, but that, and anything else un-cozy, will never darken the pages of my story.

Unless there is a sequel.

The weather, the leaves, the wood stove are all busy doing their thing. What thing? The pre-winter thing.

Well, is that a good thing, or a bad thing? F. Scott Fitzgerald said, “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall”. That sounds like a very good thing to me.  Summer is just too sultry.

Every season has its ups and downs, but I’d say that the pre-winter season, sometimes called fall, is my favorite. Pre-winter, called so because preparing for winter is what the season is basically all about. My houseplants all have to be back from summer vacation in the yard, and in their spots along the south facing windows by Friday of this week. That’s when the first killing frost happens. Wood has been ordered, and when it arrives it has to be stacked. Screens are already off, and windows need to be washed. I’m looking forward to finishing the current revision of my novel, and putting it to rest for a month or two. I want to get out my yarn and knitting needles and create stuff. I want to learn to do Fair Isle knitting. All I know about Fair Isle knitting is that it is not for the weak. Neither is writing. What, all of a sudden I’ve become Super Woman? I don’t think so. I just keep trying.

I’m looking ahead to those quiet hours spent INDOORS reading, knitting and writing. Those are good things. Of course that means that there will also be more time for things like paper work (not related to writing), cleaning out closets, drawers, and constantly stoking the wood stove instead of only sporadically, as we are now. Those are not my favorite things. Eh, you have to take the good with the bad.

Enjoy your pre-winter now, whether you like it or not, because winter is coming!

ANOTHER SLAM

This past weekend saw another 48 Hour Film Slam in Bradford, Vermont. It was the 6^th Annual Film Slam to be sponsored by the Cohase Chamber of Commerce. Cohase being the region here in upper New Hampshire and Vermont.

Friday evening the competing film teams drew their genres from a hat. They were then given a list of required ‘musts’ they must embed into the film.

This year’s physical requirements were a sap bucket, and a product placement (advertisement piece); a plastic cup with a sponsors name written on it. Woodsville Guarantee Savings Bank, in this case. Also a location; the Newbury Village Store, and a line of dialog; “I don’t know, Herman. Something about you just pisses me off”.

The teams retired to come up with what they hoped was a great story. They built props, checked out locations, prepared costumes. They had already composed their cast and crew, checked their equipment, and lined up a caterer. Then they acted, filmed, edited and wrote music.

Because my son heads a film team I’ve seen some of the nitty gritty aspects that go on behind the scenes. Cast and crew catching cat-naps wherever they can, whenever they can. Fake blood production in the kitchen, clean-up of fake blood where its been liberally used. People eating in shifts, sometimes in the middle of the night while they are still working. Trucking equipment here and there, trucking cast and crew hither and yon, and shooting till there’s no light left to see. I’ve seen hopes raised, dashed, and materialized when the seven minute films are judged.

This year only five teams competed. Few compared to other years and venues, but still serious business. Never let your guard down, never let yourself think that you have this film sewn up and tied with a bow, because you never know what the judges and audience will think. It has to be the best you can do in 48 hours, even if it means no sleep and working with perpetual jet-lag.

The team members love it. These competitions get their blood flowing – that’s real blood, in real veins.

In past years my home has been a set and I’ve been caterer. I’ve housed cast and/or crew, and have been a general dogs-body. This year I was invited to sit in on the two hour story marathon where everyone involved speed wrote and pitched their story.There was a vote and the most popular choices were then reviewed by the directors. I was totally surprised when my story was picked because I thought that other stories were more exciting. Exciting isn’t necessarily what is looked for. There’s audience appeal, feasibility, and comprehension. Even in a Monster movie.

We wrote a screenplay from my narrative and I went home and crawled into bed at 2 AM. Not to sleep, though. Too many thoughts ran through my head all night.

The next morning I checked my email for the screenplay only to find that all sorts of things had been changed overnight. Should I fuss about it? Naw, it’s out of my hands now. When I got the call later to say I was needed to play a character even more things had changed.

Shooting my scene happened at midnight, after which I went home and crawled into bed, again not to sleep. Too much adrenalin coursed through my veins.

Early the next morning shooting was wrapped up in the woods behind my house. Later we all prepared for the big event that evening. Our film was turned in one minute before the deadline. Harrowing!

We won. So happy. Celebratory festivities.

I crawled into bed that night, but sleep again eluded me. Just too much excitement for an old lady I guess.

The film making process is fun, but definitely exhausting. Am sleep deprived as I write this.

Will include a link to the film hopefully the next time I post. Now to sleep.

9:07 AM,

09:07 Hours

9/5/2015

21^st Century

Have you ever noticed how many numbers we use just to get through the day? I’m not a big fan of numbers, but when they’re used, as above, without requiring me to manipulate them in some way to prove a point, then I can deal. Those manipulation processes, which purport to figure out everything in the universe and then some, left me cold way back in elementary school.

Phone numbers, the remembrance of, especially when rattled off as though the person’s life depended on it, or, so the rattler can conclude that one is a person of little intellect when one can’t rattle them back, that’s another bete noir of mine.

Highway numbers. Oy vey. I’ve lived up here in the frozen north for over twenty years and still couldn’t tell you which state, New Hampshire or Vermont, has I-93, and which has I-91. I’ve driven them both many times, but I still have to say, ‘the one in New Hampshire’, or ‘the one in Vermont’, if I’m informing someone of my travel plans. In N.Y. we had the Grand Central Parkway and the Long Island Expressway. Names make so much more sense than numbers.

Yes, I concluded a long time ago that I had a real problem with numbers

So, last week I was asked to do a writing exercise. I had written a scene in 1^st person. The exercise was to re-write it in 3^rd person. I had to re-circuit that information to the language section of my brain and remember that 3^rd person equaled he, she, it. Or maybe it doesn’t anymore, but that’s not my problem, my problem is with numbers, not genders. I find it hard to fathom that people can, with facility, transpose numbers and words at the drop of a hat. I had to immediately stop thinking 3^rd person once I made the connection and only think of my character as a she, and not as an I. True, it wasn’t as hard as I’ve made it sound, I’ve learned to compensate for numerical deficiencies. I can ask to have the question repeated, I can cough, I can pretend I was thinking, in an attempt to gain the nano-second more time I need to process a spoken number and have the question re-routed.

Oliver Sacks, who passed away last week at the age of 82, was a neurologist, and a best-selling author. His research involved studying his patient’s disorders and learning how they coped with their conditions. Sacks wrote The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, an article which later appeared in a book of case histories with the same title. The man in question suffered from prosopagnosia, the inability to see facial features,a condition Sacks himself had.

Sacks’ condition didn’t stop him from writing, in fact it gave him the old grist for the mill. I see no reason to stop either, and any numbers I use in my stories will probably be the kind that appear at the bottoms of the pages.

1

PERENNIAL READING

Doesn’t everyone have a ‘to-be-read-again’ list of books that equal, or exceed, in length a list of books that still need to be read? Maybe it’s a written list, maybe it’s one held in your mind as a vague and various bunch of books that were exceptionally good reads. Maybe it’s a sub-liminal list from which books only spring to mind when triggered by a word, scent, sight, or even a song heard long ago while reading that book. Then you get that all-over, tingly, mystical frisson that sends a message to your brain saying, oh,yeah, I should read that again, soon. Maybe now. And somehow you manage to get hold of that book from off a dusty shelf, from your mother’s house, out of an unpacked box of books from your move twenty years ago. Or you just happen to see it in a yard sale for five cents. That’s kismet.

My to-be-read-again list is unwritten. I’m not sure what’s actually on that list, but I’m darn sure there is a list, and I think it’s the sub-liminal kind.

I looked up sub-liminal and discovered it’s equally acceptable spelled with or without the hyphen. That’s interesting. Another interesting thing is my discovery of WICTIONARY. I looked further and discovered that Wictionary is a Wiki-based Open Content dictionary. I kept looking and probing and maybe never would have gotten back on track with this post if I hadn’t glanced at the clock. I stopped in the middle of reading all about Beowulf Clusters. At this hour enough is enough. (Ten PM.)

Sub(-)liminal still means what I thought it meant, and then a little extra:“Below the threshold of conscious perceptions, especially if still able to produce a response.”!

Ok. I take those bold italics to mean that I might not get that frisson if the subliminal message to read a specific book:

a. is past it’s expiration date, meaning I’ve moved on past that book to bigger and better books, or;

b. I’ve actually just re-read that book and the message fell on a satiated sense, or;

c. the last time I re-read that book I hated it and the message fell on a repugnant sense.

I looked up repugnant in Wiktionary just to make sure that at ten:eighteen I was still conscious.

It’s from the Old French, (borrowed from the Latin, pugnare – to fight). Repugnant means, “to oppose, to fight against.” If I hated a book that much I suppose I would fight against it, no matter how many subliminal messages I received to the contrary.

I’d love to hear about lists that don’t wreak havoc on the sub_concious.

I’d love to hear what books are on those lists!

When in the course of revising your story you come upon an insurmountable impediment to the furthering of your plot, or to your characters movements, it may become necessary not to cut the ties which bind you and your story, but to write an outline.

I’m a pantser and pantsers naturally abhor outlines. Luckily outlines come in many forms. What I did was follow a very loose format that J.K. Rowling did for one of her Harry Potter books. Hey,why settle for anything less than the best?

Rowling took a sheet of lined loose leaf paper and made a grid. She listed the months of Harry’s school year down the left hand side of the paper and characters/incidents along the top. In this way she could fill in the squares and make sure Harry and Co. were led to the right place at the right time to meet with Voldemort, or whoever, when the story required it of them.

If outlining is not beneath J.K. Rowling I reasoned, then why not try it myself?

I took a sheet of poster board and graphed it into squares the same size as the post-it notes I planned to strew the whole thing with. My story currently in revision takes place in the space of one week, so down the left hand side of the board I put the days of the week. Characters and situations ran along the top. I went through the scenes I had most recently revised and plotted them on my board. Back story went behind the post-its onto the board and current events went onto the post-its so they could be moved as needed.

So, did it help? It did. I was able to see the story, as far as I had revised it, at a glance. Amazed at how easily I could tell where something needed to happen, I made it happen. Now only halfway through this revision, and the outline only halfway through that, I saw that the thread of a sub-plot could be made stronger and that character enlarged to amplify the denouement.

Changes were made right away onto the hard copy I had on hand to plot information onto my graph. That is a revision in itself.

I’m looking forward to more plotting on the outline as I go along with the revision. The outline will probably progress faster than I can revise my scenes, so whereas the scenes had defined the outline I can tell that the changes that I’ve made will help the outline to define the scenes yet to be revised. Hope that made sense. Somehow it does to me.

Added bonus, this exercise should make the following revisions easier.

Will I become a bona fide plotter? Well, I don’t think I can write a story by outlining it first, but at this point I feel an outline such as this one helps to find and tie up those loose and flimsy threads that run through the story. And that’s good.

Most of us are familiar with Abraham Maslow and his hierarchy of needs. Very basic needs form the foundation of his triangular hierarchy and only when they are achieved can one can move upward, one level at a time, through safety, security, belonging and self-esteem until finally personal creativity is realized. Then, voila, one achieves what Maslow called self-actualization.

The latest issue of Writer’s Digest (September, 2015), an article on revision equates Maslow’s hierarchy (loosely) to the problems we face when revising a story (okay, you knew we would get around to writing sooner or later. Well, we’ve arrived).

In The Great Revision Pyramid, by Gabriela Pereira, it is suggested that the shortest distance from first draft to a finished book is by systematically covering all the layers, in order, in a hierarchy of revision. One layer per revision.

Layer one, the narration. This corresponds to Maslow’s base level of food, water, shelter and warmth. In revision we must tackle voice and point of view first, and get them right, before going on to the next layer.

Layer two: the characters. This includes your protagonist, antagonist, and supporting cast. Know your protagonist almost as well as you know yourself. Know your antagonist as well.

Layer three: the story; plot and structure. I was glad to see that this layer was in third place. That’s where I am in my very long, very sporadic revision process. I’ve got layers one and two done (Maybe. Ask my writing group to verify that), only four and five to go!

Layer four: the scenes. Scenes include world-building, description, dialogue and theme. That sounds like a whole pyramid in itself.

Layer five: cosmetics. This layer includes spelling and word choice. They can be fun. It also includes grammar and punctuation; two banes of my existence. However, one writer’s bane is another writer’s raison d’etre, so I’ll not say anything further. If and when I get to layer five I have friends and family in reserve who can fix my shortcomings.

So, there you have it. In a nutshell. Revise, rewrite, one layer at a time, starting at the base layer, and you’ll soon be at the pinnacle. Soon is a relative term, as you know.

Ms. Periera’s article was a great source of inspiration. If you’re not a fiction writer there are also, in this issue, revision techniques for non-fiction and poetry.

Happy revising!

REPOSE WITH THE RIGHT BOOK

Usually the only exercise and adventure I want, or desire (notice I did not say need), are definitely to be found in one book or another. You have to read a lot of books to get just what you’re looking for in terms of exercise for the little ‘grey cells’, and when you find an author you like you stick to him like glue. Of course different areas of the brain will cry out at different times to be stimulated. That calls for a variety of genres and authors in order to satisfy the restlessness that ensues when ennui hits. Ennui of the brain is a terrible thing.

For sheer laugh-out-loud humor I enjoyed Tamar Myers for years and years. Then she got ennui and moved on. Writers need to exercise their brain cells too. When the author gets tired of her character, the reader knows it. Tamar’s books were definitely good for exercising the lungs.

For humor mixed with more fantasy than you’d ever hope to find in one lifetime read Jasper Fforde. Heaven forfend that he should ever get bored with Thursday Next! I know I never will. Jasper Fforde lives in Wales and seldom crosses the pond to speak in this hemisphere but, in September, he will be speaking in Vancouver. As my daughter points out, Vancouver is just as far as Wales and if I want to hear him, meet, him, learn from him, wouldn’t it be more fun to do all that over there? Yes, of course it would, but the couch potato thing will kick in and I’ll never go. To either place. But thinking about JFf., on the same side of the ocean, does get the blood flowing. Makes me want to get up and do something. Book a flight?

Faye Kellerman, a new discovery, and Tana French write psychological thrillers, one in L.A. and the other in Britain. I’m not whole-heartedly into that genre but have a great deal of respect for both authors who write exceptionally well and touch, but do not dwell, on the evil imbedded in their stories. That much I can deal with. Other, more heavy-handed thrillers I stay away from. Too much of a thrill, while being in repose, can be more than the heart and mind can take. Makes one get up and pace, or even take a walk. In the winter the quickened heart rate has made me reach for the snow shovel and get out in the (really) fresh air to clear not only the brain but the snow as well. No chance of ennui while reading a thriller.

So many good mystery writers, so little time to read them all. A really good mystery will incorporate a lot of the above specifics, keeping the reader on the tips of her toes from beginning to end. I like Aaron Elkins a lot. He, and his wife and sometimes co-author, Charlotte, travel the globe to seek out new destinations for his trusty sleuths, saving me the time and effort of doing so. Though, I admit, occasionally he prompts wander-lust in my lazy soul. One of his last stories took place in Iceland, a place where I actually have been (note my avatar), and made me want to re-visit.

Being a bookish couch potato is a lot more involved than a casual observer might think. A lot goes on in that prone body while, seemingly, only the eyes are darting back and forth. There’s a lot of potential in repose with the right book.

There are forty-eight hour writing contests and forty-eight hour film-slams, and on Friday, May first, through Sunday, May third, I will be writing and slamming. And catering.

And which activity do you suppose wakes me at night to give me the heebie-jeebies? The food part. Someone could faint from lack of food because I didn’t prepare enough. Will I find the cast and crew to bring them meals on wheels? I’ll have no idea where they’ll be filming when I think they should be eating a nutritious lunch. And the lasagna. It could stay warming in the oven till two in the morning while they finish a scene. What will it taste like then?

I need to get over this. I catered for this team, my son’s, a few years ago. The only complaint then was that there were not enough snacks. The team has grown from ten to seventeen, and I’m tripling the provisions.

My first acting role was in last year’s film slam. I played a crabby Eastern European ticket taker who sprays down undesirable patrons with bug spray before they can enter the ‘pristine’ theater. I was told I did a good job, but having meals on hand when hungry will mean more to the cast than having a crabby Eastern European character actor waiting in the wings. Still, I wouldn’t say no if asked to fill in.

This year, for the first time, I’ll get to write a log line. It’s like an elevator pitch. Anyone in cast and crew who is so inclined will have a chance to write and pitch their very abbreviated scripts to the others, to try to sell their idea. I wish I knew how to prepare for that. It’s not like cooking ahead, because before a forty-eight hour film slam or project begins no one knows what they will be filming. Think sitting around nibbling on the caterer’s offerings, biting nails, guessing, while waiting for the phone call. This call will tell the team in what genre their film must be, and what line of dialog, character, and prop must appear in the film.

Because this particular film project is headquartered in Boston, my daughter (who has also acted, written and cooked), will be there to receive the instructions. She’ll call in all the info needed to get cast and crew started, and then she and another team-mate will make the long trek up north to join the crew.

The call will come at seven-thirty P.M. Talk about pressure. Talk about being at your best at the end of the day. I was heebie-jeebied about meals? We won’t get forty-eight hours to write this script; we’ll get maybe two. When I’ve written a story for a forty-eight hour writing contest I’ve roamed the house with pad and pencil for at least two hours waiting for the muse to strike. That option is out for a film slam. I’ll be feeling like the octopus from Heidi’s posting on 4/27.

Then, when a script or concept is decided upon, everyone will jump into furious activity even though it’s closing in on the end of the day. Props must be begged, borrowed or built. Sets constructed. Outdoor scenes decided upon. Costumes found and made to fit. There’ll be more writing, certainly a rudimentary screenplay is needed, one that will allow the actors a little creative wiggle room. It will be typed up, printed, and handed out. Lines need to be learned. A seven minute film needs to be completed and in Boston by 7:30 Sunday evening.

I’ll do the dishes and go home. They’ll stay up all night.

Tomorrow everyone will be twice as hungry, and breakfast is at six. Maybe I’d better get some more food. There’s no reason to think my story will be picked, or I’ll get to play another crabby role, but sure as shootin’, these folks will need to be fed.