Top Secret! Just Kidding…

There’s a popular myth I’ve heard for years: don’t tell anyone about your work in progress or it’ll get stolen out from under you. Another variation on this myth is if you’re not first to market with your idea, it’ll never sell. These are kind of like urban legends for writers. There’s a reason it’s not possible to copyright an idea for fiction. To mangle a quote from the Bard, the execution’s the thing. If you gave each of the Miss Demeanors an identical writing prompt we would all come up with our own unique spin. Anyone who’s taken a creative writing class or attended a workshop knows this. It’s a common exercise to help writers develop their “voice,” that special perspective that only you can bring to your storytelling. The fact is, if you work in your own little fortress of solitude you’ll actually lose out on opportunities. Workshopping your idea through writing groups, conferences or even sharing your pages with friends you trust to tell you the truth helps to identify gaps you overlooked, like leaps in logic or flat characters. You learn about tropes and cliches. You may also get ideas or inspiration to take your characters in directions that would never occur to you on your own. There are other benefits, too. Something I’ve seen several times at workshops that breaks my heart is a direct result of this misguided isolationism. It’s a crestfallen look of someone who hears well-intended (and paid) critiques for the first time on a book they spent 5 or 6 years writing in secret and believed to be a masterpiece. Workshops are also a fantastic way to network with industry professionals, one of whom may one day be your agent or publisher. At the very least, it can help you build a support system of fellow writers that carry you through the dark days, which all of us need in all parts of our lives. This same support system is a cheering chorus to help celebrate the wins. Does plagiarism happen? Probably. It happens everywhere. In my day job, someone once took credit for my research. Guess what happened next? That person couldn’t live up to the expectations created by that first report and their reputation took a major hit when the truth came out. The same thing happens to plagiarists in the literary world. When they’re uncovered they typically get shunned by their peers and/or dropped by their agents and publishers. They may also get sued. If you’re in it for the long game, meaning a multi-book publishing contract or screenwriting deal, the rewards from sharing far outweigh the so-called risk. Grab every opportunity with both hands to hone your craft, develop your voice, and build your network. Be what no one else can – be you.  

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What I Do For Love

There’s a difference between art and craft. My parents were both professional artists in different fields so I have a perspective that others may not. In my experience, “art” is a personal endeavor. You create in some form or fashion for yourself as a hobby or as a way to keep yourself sane. It may be something you do collaboratively with friends. Or you may enjoy sharing the fruits of your labor with friends and family. You might create your art throughout your life but it’s not something you take seriously, if you’re being honest with yourself. “Craft” is a different story. It’s an activity you continuously work at with clear goals you work toward. “Craft,” to me, is synonymous with “career.” Thus, I approach writing like any entrepreneur approaches a start-up. There are sacrifices I’m willing to make in order to achieve my goals. Time, focus and discipline top the list. Also, like any start-up, there’s a financial outlay. Writing itself is free, of course. But workshops, conferences, promotional materials and travel costs are not. This is why most agents I’ve met encourage their aspiring and mid-list authors to keep their day jobs. It’s not because they don’t believe in their clients. It’s because they do. And they know that what comes after the books requires money that’s not likely to be covered by advances. It comes out of the author’s pocket, especially when you’re at the early stage like I am. But those dedicated to the craft see it the way I do – as an investment in the future of career longevity. I work hard at achieving my career goals, regardless of the venue. I used to think it was hard to explain what drives me through each of my reinventions. It’s not for money, although I don’t say no to being financially rewarded for my successes. It’s not for glory, or ego, or however you want to phrase that, either. I realized a while ago that my drive is more intrinsic. I chase my goals with a white hot passion because I love it. The rush that comes from each baby step of success. Solving the puzzles to learn from the inevitable stumbles and the sweet sense of accomplishment at bouncing back stronger. Coming up with new and different characters to put in perilous circumstances then figuring out how to get them out. Holding the finished products in my hands. Meeting and mingling with other authors. Hearing from people who read my words. I love each and every part of it. What drives you?  

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Out of the country

I am a person who is almost obsessively organized. I wake at the same time every day. Work the same hours every day.  Walk the same little dogs in the same woods every day, teach the same classes every Wednesday. So it’s been a strange feeling for me to be away from home for the last nine days. (I’ve been traveling around England as part of an Alison Weir Tudor Tapestry Tour, which has been fabulous. Yesterday we were at Parham House, pictured to the right.)  Added to that is the fact that I finished up a manuscript I’ve been working on for years. Of course, “finished up” is a squishy term in this business. It means many things to many people, and for all I know, I’ll be working on it for the next five years, but the point is that I typed up “The End” and sent it to my agent. So the story that has been preoccupying my mind for some time, is not there. My mind is empty. Then there is the fact that I’m out of the United States and all the tumult that that means. Since Election Day, when Maggie Dove’s Detective Agency was published, and other things happened, my mind has been preoccupied with the news. When you’re in England, and in a rural part of England, there’s a sort of news buffer. I read this morning that Trump had fired Comey and I thought, How interesting.  Which is not the response I might have had in New York. Tomorrow is our last day here, and then we will make our way home. I’ve learned so much, have stored up so many ideas, have met so many wonderful people. And eaten so much food. But the fact is, I’m looking forward to getting back to my routine. I’ve come to realize how much I enjoy it.   

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In Jane Austen territory

This morning I woke up to this view. If it looks a little bit familiar, it may be because all of us who’ve read Pride and Prejudice have been nurtured by Austen’s descriptions of the beautiful landscape of the South Downs.  Isn’t this glorious?                                       If you go outside, and take a walk (which I did!) you come to a forest, or a weald. Strolling through, I could just imagine Mr. Darcy walking toward me.     A few miles away, you come to a rambling old manor house. Near the manor house is a church similar to the one Jane Austen attended. Now I want to go back and read her books!  

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Being there

 Hello from England! For the past week I’ve been traveling around England. One of the many pleasures of my trip has been seeing and smelling and touching places that I’ve only just read about. As science fiction writers know, it is not actually necessary to go to a place to write about it, but it does open up amazing vistas when you can actually be there.    Today we went to Eltham Palace, which was a significant place during the Tudor era. Here is where Henry VIII’s nursery was. Elizabeth I was a baby here as well, and her older half sister, Mary, was forced to help take care of her.  Anne Boleyn spent her last Christmas here, and some of the crimes she was accused of committing were said to have taken place here. So it is resonant. And there I was in the Great Hall, looking up at the same incredible carved wood ceiling Anne Boleyn would have stared at. It’s a huge room. The Tudors were not into privacy.  You can almost hear the commotion. Much of the building is gone, but you get a sense of the massiveness of it. Then I went out into the lawn and was wandering around and looked south and saw London. Of course,  she probably would not have been able to see anything in the 1500s. No sky scrapers then. But it gave me a sense of the geography of her life.  It helps me understand her better, and that’s the point.     

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Learning From Imaginary People

At its best, a novel can be a masterclass on life. My favorite books have taught me about myself. More importantly, they’ve allowed me to see myself in others and recognize others in me. They’ve exposed my limited experience and asinine assumptions, and have challenged me to learn more, listen more, and become better.  Most writers I’ve met feel similarly. Often, such feelings are the source of our deep love for story telling. So, my question this week to the MissDemeanors is What Life Lessons Have You Learned From Fiction? Here are our answers.  Cate: At around age eight, Harriet The Spy helped clarify my then budding ambition to become a writer. I pretty much thought Harriet was me with a less well-guarded notebook. Catcher In The Rye’s Holden Caulfield reflected my own teenage angst and frustration with the adult world, and it made me realize that getting through life requires acceptance and change. You can’t fight everything without going nuts. Thanks J.D. Salinger. Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye, Beloved, and Song of Solomon (all of which I read in high school) helped me develop a broader sense of empathy and gave me a sensitivity to other female experiences in America. This was particularly important for me at the time as I was developing my own cultural identity, trying to determine what it meant to be biracial in America and what experiences I could and could not connect with given that my black heritage is often belied by my appearance. Recently, Margaret Atwood’s fiction has served as an reminder to remain aware of the greater political landscape in which I live. Bouncing along in my self-absorbed bubble may be bliss, but it also makes finding myself in a dystopia a hell of a lot more likely. Paula: Emerson’s essays taught me to think, the Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales taught me to dream, Nora Ephron’s Heartburn taught me to laugh no matter what. Shakespeare and Jane Austen taught me that people are funny and tragic and generous and terrible and evil and noble and true. Mysteries taught me plot and red herrings; romance taught me meet cutes and happy endings. But I learn just as much writing as I do reading, especially about myself. Tell a story well and you can’t help but reveal yourself, warts and all. I just got my notes back from my editor on my new novel and I was so worried about the plot, but he said the plot was fine, though the relationship between the heroine and the hero needed work. Now that really is the story of my life. Robin: Kurt Vonnegut, Woody Allen and Steve Martin taught me to embrace absurdity. Joan Didion’s Hot Flashes warned me about what laid in store (spoiler: she was right, “flash” is a misnomer). Dean Koontz taught me that humans can be the scariest monsters. James Herriot made me want to be a veterinarian when I was 10 yrs old, until the vet treating my family’s dog invited me watch a surgery and I fainted. I second Paula’s comment – I learn more about myself by writing fiction. What I’m willing to say and what I’m not, how much better my work is when the words make me uncomfortable. I’m writing a YA thriller at the moment and I cried after finishing the first draft of more than one scene. Tracee: Reading Tolstoy made me a lifelong Russophile, Dickens secured my love of history. Mysteries taught me plot and clues and red herrings (which also apply to real life) and thrillers made me realize that I am not a thrill seeker in any way. Anything I’ve ever read has taught me that there are many perspectives and situations that are not my own – some I wish were, and some I’m thankful are not. No lesson is perfect, but fiction taught me that sometimes you don’t get a second chance – but sometimes you do. Susan: Dickens taught me that life has insane highs and lows, and you’re always better off if you can try to find some humor in any given situation. I’m reading The Nightingale now and it’s teaching me so much about bravery and the importance of knowing your values and speaking up for them. Anne Tyler, Louise Penny and Richard Russo showed me the value of community. And Agatha Christie. I always wanted to live in St. Mary Mead, and I suspect I chose my village, and Maggie Dove, for that reason. Reading has also shown me that although it’s a big world, most people are motivated by similar concerns, and I try to keep that in mind when I meet new people. Michele: I read Elizabeth George Speare’s historical masterpiece, The Witch of Blackbird Pond, when I was nine and learned that even in the 1600’s people suffered from feeling different, an invaluable lesson for someone on the brink of adolescence. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn opened my eyes to a world where people lived very differently than in the world in which I was growing up. To Kill A Mockingbird inspired a sense of social justice in me and showed me how one good lawyer can make a difference. Jane Austen taught me that romantic comedy has been alive and well for centuries and how important it is to be able to laugh at yourself. Mark Twain’s lesson was that good humor serves you well in life. Louise Penny has recently touched me and made me appreciate how comforting and inspiring a good story filled with fallible humans can be. Alexia: Alice in Wonderland and Nancy Drew taught me that girls could have adventures, too. 

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5 Reasons Book Events Beat Concerts

Last night, I had the great please of attending my friend Rakesh Satyal’s NYC Book Launch for his latest novel No One Can Pronounce My Name. It was a fun, stimulating, and laugh-out-loud experience that topped many other forms of entertainment. Book readings, I find, often best my existing plans. Here are 5 reasons why: #1. Book Events Are Parties For The Brain Movies require sitting back and watching. Concerts? Standing and swaying. But book events invite the audience to engage with the author. Ask questions. Listen to the author’s motivations for writing a recent novel and weigh them against your own hopes for reading it. Wonder aloud whether the literary themes explored apply to your life and how. Book readings nearly always end in a Q&A. #2. Authors Are CharactersListen to Brad Parks sing about writing the “Big Book.” Hear Rakesh Satyal impersonate an Indian female character or perform a literary-inspired rendition of Lady Gaga’s Poker Face. Watch Karin Slaughter’s witty interviews with fellow mystery masters. You’ll see what I mean. Authors, by and large, are entertaining people–perhaps because their art requires that they engage an audience for DAYS. #3. They’re The Perfect Place To Talk To Strangers Concerts don’t allow much conversation aside from shouting “awesome” and “WHAT?!!!” Literary events, on the other hand, often take place at quiet libraries or bookstores. Once the author’s talk ends, there are few places more conducive to chatting about favorite character traits. #4. The Guest of Honor Shakes Hands, Signs Books and, if you want, will kiss your babyNosebleed seats don’t exist at book events. You’ll see your author speak. After that, step right up and shake hands.  #5. They’re FreeJust show up at the bookstore and you’re in. Though, if you enjoy yourself and find the author’s work interesting, a hardcover sale is always appreciated.   

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How Literary Can A Little Murder Be?

 First off, my sincere apologies to our readers and fellow Missdemeanors. May arrived without my flipping back the calendar. In my frenzy to complete my fourth novel and finish editing my third book before my young kids finish school for the summer–diminishing my workday to the dwindling hours when the sun isn’t up–I failed to notice April’s exit. Consequently, I also didn’t realize that it was my week to blog. Mea Culpa! The book I am currently writing has been my most time consuming and challenging to date. But, that’s a good thing. Each novel I undertake forces me to think harder, not only about the intricacies of plot and character, but also about what the heck I want to say as a writer. What questions do I wish to pose to readers? In what debates should we engage? How can I craft a story that works both as an entertaining and page-turning puzzle filled with “real” characters that also manages to say something meaningful? (Or, at least, spur interesting book club conversation.)   In my upcoming book, Lies She Told (Shameless Plug: IN STORES SEPT. 12), I wanted to explore the creative process, to grapple with questions such as: Where do story ideas come from? How might an author’s own history influence the scenarios that she envisions and the characters which she invents? Is storytelling a way for authors to wrestle with their own demons? And, if so, is writing an inherently selfish pursuit? Or, is the human experience sufficiently universal that writer and reader will identify with the struggle against the same obstacles and, therefore, find similar catharsis by The End. (COMMENT BELOW!) The resulting book revolves around a writer whose fiction hints at clues to a disappearance in her actual life, forcing her to confront buried secrets about herself and those closest to her. It’s told from the perspective of Liza, the author, and Beth, the first person protagonist in Liza’s under-construction murder mystery. In addition to being an intriguing, taught, satisfying psychological suspense thriller with well-developed characters (I think all these things and pray readers do too.), I also really hope it makes folks consider some of the aforementioned questions that kept me up at night. The novel I’m currently working on was inspired by Virginia Woolf’s The Waves. Considered Woolf’s most experimental novel, The Waves follows six characters with distinct life philosophies from childhood through adulthood, exploring the paths delineated by each person’s inherent desires and seemingly innate visions of self. It does this through richly poetic soliloquies that made me want to cover a room in quotes. (And, it also maddeningly skips POV without warning, perhaps because—spoiler alert—all the individuals might be aspects of the same person.) Because my agent reads this blog, I should state that I am NOT writing a poetic or experimental thriller (either of which would surely negate my contract). I am, however, working on a murder mystery/ psychological suspense involving six characters inspired by The Waves’ protagonists. Each character in my third-person narrated story (had to get around the POV problems somehow) possesses a distinct world view, corresponding needs, and sense of his or herself similar to a counterpart in The Waves. But, since I’m a thriller writer, these characters’ unique perspectives also give rise to defined ideas about marriage and the relative responsibility that individuals within a couple have to themselves, their partners, and their children, which clash with the other characters’ visions to disastrous ends.  A question I’m toying with in this book, tentatively titled Shallow Ends, is does the institution of marriage require a particular worldview and type of person (or, at least, a person willing to morph into that type)? I’m also exploring my own questions concerning how much literary fiction and even experimental fiction can meld with the conventions of the mystery/thriller/suspense genre. Do mysteries allow the depth of exploration of the human experience claimed by literary fiction? Obviously, I think my favorite genre does or I wouldn’t be writing my current book. In fact, I think there are a ton of wonderful recent examples. Emma Cline’s The Girls, Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch, which won the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, pretty much anything by Herman Koch. But the fun of publishing a novel isn’t finding out what I think, it’s struggling to communicate my ideas with readers in an entertaining way and, after executing that to the best of my ability, starting a conversation. In the end, what matters most, regardless of genre, are the thoughts of the person turning the page. 

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