Winter Solstice Introspection.

  Today is the shortest day of the year in the northern hemisphere. Reykjavík gets four hours and sevenminutes of sunlight; Fairbanks only three hours and forty-one.  I don’t know much about the celebrations that mark the day: Alban Arthan in Wales, Brumalia in Ancient Rome, Dongzhi Festival in parts of Asia, Korochun in some Slavic countries and Sanghamitta Day for Theravada Buddhists. The point I take away is that since the neopagans observed Yule, human beings have celebrated when our days go from getting darker to getting lighter. Maybe it’s my Scandinavian genes, but I like this time of year because it lends itself to introspection. When it’s cold and dark outside, I like to be inside–both physically and emotionally. It’s a good time to take stock: think about those parts of my life that are serving me and also look at those habits and behaviors that could use a little tweaking (or, maybe, habits that I want to chuck altogether). When it’s warm and sunny, it’s much easier to shrug off making changes that would make me more mindful, kinder, and healthier. Somehow, with chill in my bones and my hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea in front of the fire, I’m better able to observe my own life.  The promise that tomorrow will be just a little brighter than today–even if it is only one more minute of sunlight–helps in those efforts. I completely understand the people who don’t like the idea of setting personal goals. Me? I’m an unabashed self-improvement junky. So far, my efforts haven’t led me to enlightenment, but I do keep trying. If there are any of you who also belong to my tribe, I’m wishing you all the insight that comes with the darkness and all the hope that comes with the light. On the practical front, here’s a link from an NYT article on how to make meaningful change with the greatest chance for success: https://www.nytimes.com/guides/smarterliving/resolution-ideas.  Writing goals? Personal goals? Health goals? If you are so moved, please share your thoughts here or on our Facebook page…along with any tricks you’ve picked up along the way. 

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Alison McMahan: Mystery Writer and Filmmaker

 Alison McMahan has trudged through the jungles of Honduras and Cambodia, through the favelas of Brazil and from race tracks to drag strips in the U.S. in search of footage for her
documentaries. Her most recent film is Bare Hands and Wooden Limbs (2010) narrated by Sam Waterston, which won Best Directed, short form documentary; at the Santiago
Alvarez in Memoriam Film Festival in Santiago, Cuba.
Her historical mystery novel, The Saffron Crocus (Black Opal Books, 2014), won the Rosemary Award for Best YA Historical and the Florida Writers Association’s Royal Palm Literary Award. On top of that, she’s written numerous other short stories and non-fiction anthologies.  Between writing and filmmaking, I managed to pin Alison down and ask her a few questions about her life and her craft. D.A. Bartley: Do I remember correctly that you lived in Spain as a child? If so, how do you think that has affected your writing? I grew up in a fishing village about eighty kilometers south of Barcelona, a place of great natural beauty, during the last years of Francisco Franco’s dictatorship. My village is in Catalonia, but at the time the Catalan language and most aspects of Catalan culture were banned. The recent drive for Catalonian independence is just one aspect of the rebellion fomented by that repression. Growing up an American expat in that environment politicized me while I was still very young. The village where I grew up was formerly the Roman province of Tarraco. Every day on my way to school I went past a Roman triumphal arch, a Roman amphitheater, and my high school was nestled inside of Roman walls. The musical conservatory where I studied solfege had a foundation laid in the Celtic era, walls from the Roman era, and the upper stories dated back to the Renaissance. The village church I attended was built before the U.S. became a country. Anyone who grows up in a place like that is bound to become a history buff! My siblings and I attended Spanish schools, so I’m bilingual. Charles V is quoted as saying something like German was for military talk, Italian for friends, French for lovers and Spanish for God. I think he knew what he was talking about. Spanish is the language of the ineffable, its DNA is poetry, its aspirations divine. No wonder the first magical realists were writers who wrote in Spanish. D.A. Bartley:  The Saffron Crocus is categorized as an historical mystery romance set in 17th century Venice. Stopping right there, I’m already intrigued. Can you tell us a little about the story? Alison: The story is set in Venice in 1643, that is, about eight years after the city was decimated by the black plague. The heroine, Isabella, is fifteen, and wants to sing in Monteverdi's choir in San Marco’s Basilica. But only boys are allowed to sing there. Her singing teacher, Margherita, convinces her to tryout for this new thing called opera, but just as Isabella is about to do that she finds her singing teacher murdered. Now she and Margherita’s handsome rogue of a son, Rafaele, have to solve Margherita’s murder, before the killer gets to them. I’ve visited Venice about eight times over the years and came to love the city. I also love opera. The story is carefully researched. Yes, coffee was the drug of choice in the seventeenth century,comparable to how we see pot now. And yes, when a chorus needed sopranos, they preferred to castrate young boys rather than to let girls sing in public. Most of the plot twists were inspired by little-known historical facts. D.A. Bartley: Your writing background is as broad as it is long. What advice would you give someone just starting out? Alison: If you are starting out as a fiction writer, then turn off your TV, stop going to movies, and read. Then read some more. Keep reading. I’m fairly new to fiction writing myself (I got serious about it just a few years ago), but here are the main craft skills I’ve identified that I think every writer needs to know:CHARACTER: You need to put down your cell phone and learn how to observe and engage with people. That’s really hard, I know; I’m more introverted than most. But you have to do it. You need to know how to create interesting characters, characters that automatically conflict and complement each other. YOU CAN’T PANTS A CHARACTER. Writers are mostly boring people (at least on the outside) so don’t just base a character on yourself. Stretch yourself. Imagine the inner life of the homeless person who sleeps in your bank foyer or the woman who makes your coffee at Starbucks or the Russian businessman sitting next to you on the plane. This skill set is essential to writing good dialogue. Nothing matters more than built-in character opposition. Really observing people — really looking at them, really listening — often pays off in magical ways. People are frail and strong, beautiful and revolting, cruel and tender. Can you capture that? Because that’s your job. To capture that.SCENES: Another skill you can learn from a good screenwriting course is how to structure a scene. I’ve done my share of judging for various contests and it just amazes me how often I read fiction where the writer starts a scene, then leaves it to start another scene before anything has happened. A scene is your novel in miniature: it has a beginning, a middle, and an end, at least two characters who come into conflict and by the end of the scene someone has won something and someone has lost. Yes, every single scene. Seventy two to eighty scenes to a novel at today’s word counts. That’s your job. To write scenes. You need to know how to write action. The only way to write action is to know how to do action. David Morrell is a great example of this. He goes out and learns race car driving or spends thirty days in the wild before he writes a book with those elements. He’s a master. Learn from him. I studied fencing while I was writing The Saffron Crocus, as there are swordfights in that book, as well as studying seventeenth century fencing manuals. If you are writing an action scene that involves something you can’t do, like fly a plane, then talk to someone who can. Don’t worry, they love talking to writers.WRITE: Write a complete rough draft of your novel before you start editing it. Ignore the voice of your inner editor until you are done. If your internal editor is telling you “this novel sucks,” you can ignore her during the editing process too. Learn something about reading levels. In general, reader comprehension is dropping. It used to be that we could assume eight grade reading levels were the norm. Studies show that now we can only assume a fourth grade reading comprehension level across the board. I’m not saying dumb it down. I’m saying be aware. Personally, I have found it works better to have beta readers than to be in a writing group. A writing group develops a competitive dynamic, it quickly becomes not about the writing. Your beta reader will do their best for you so you will give them the best beta read you can when it’s their turn. Make sure at least one of those beta readers is a “typical audience” reader, not another writer. They often give the best feedback. Bonus advice: write short stories (2500 words or less) and read them in public. You learn a lot about what works, and what doesn’t work, with an audience.GO READ SOME MORE! 
 

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What's real not what's perfect.

 I used to hate this picture.   My mom loved it. I was in second grade when it was taken, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The hand-smocked blue dress scratched my neck and the sleeves dug into my armpits. I wanted to go outside and play soccer. The photographer was an overworked man whose job was to take pictures of elementary-school children in Utah. There are a lot of school children in Utah. When it came time for him to take my photo, I didn’t want to smile. The poor photographer was tired. He tried to coax me to grin. He said I looked beautiful. He tried to tell a joke. Finally, he pulled out a ratty, rust-colored stuffed animal with a missing eye. I smirked. Did he really think he could coerce me into smiling by showing me a tattered toy? He snapped the camera. I don’t think he cared what I looked like at that point. My last name started with “B.” He had a lot more photographs to take that morning. When the picture came home, I knew it was bad. I didn’t look pretty. I wasn’t smiling like a delightful little girl. I looked skeptical…cynical…not sweet or nice at all. My mom kept a framed version of this photo on her dresser. She passed away three years ago after journeying through the various cruel stages of Alzheimers.  I never had a chance to ask her why she loved this picture, but I think I know the answer now. This picture shows me as I am: a little skeptical, a little irreverent. I was never perfect like the other girls at school or church. My mom loved this picture for the very reason I hated it: it was the real me, not the version of me I wanted to project into the world.  This picture sits on my dresser now…and I love it.     

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Civility and Kindness at Work.

 This quote hits home for me because, like most writers I know, I’ve had a number of different careers. I’ve worked in fields with people who had extremely high standards for their own work and for the work of those around them, and yet, the way those standards translated into everyday encounters varied dramatically.  I’ll put it out there in the open to discuss: I don’t believe there is any correlation between high standards and competitive work environments. Some of the best work I’ve ever seen has happened in cooperative, kind and thoughtful places. On the other hand, toxic and competitive environments may allow for short-term gains, but those gains are despite the lack of civility, not because of it. There was a time when I was younger–and probably more naïve–when I believed that who I was as a person was entirely independent of the people I spent time with. A few decades and as many jobs later, it’s clear to me that who you deal with on a regular basis impacts your way of being in the world. If you work with people who are thoughtful, gracious and open-hearted, that will rub off on you. The opposite is true, too. Dealing with thoughtless, mean-spirited and close-minded people day in and day out will wear down even the most compassionate person. The people I deal with on a regular basis now–even those whose job it is to critique my work–have personal qualities I want to emulate. Fellow writers are supportive; editors are considerate; agents are encouraging. This is not to say that feedback is all sweetness and light. It isn’t, but even the toughest messages can be delivered with kindness and respect. (Yes, I had to cut four points of view from Blessed be the Wicked despite my arguments to the contrary…and, yes, my editor was correct.) In the world we live in now, I think it’s more important than ever to disagree with civility and humanity. We don’t have to always see things the same way, but we should treat each other in ways that allow for friendship and cooperation despite disagreement. What do you think? For those of you who have worked in a number of fields and environments, how are you influenced by those around you? How do you influence others?   

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What We'd Do With Captive Authors

Michele: Here was my question of the week for my fellow Miss Demeanors:   You get to have the author of your choice, dead or alive, all to yourself for a couple of hours. Who is that author, what three questions would you ask him or her, and what setting would you choose for the meeting?    I know, it’s more than one question and it’s fun. I’m taking Jane Austen for a mani/pedi. No doubt she could use one after walking around the grounds of Pemberly in those dreadful shoes and doing all that needlework, let alone writing by hand with a quill pen.Here’s what I’d ask her:1. Do you intentionally write funny material or does the comedy seep in through the stories you tell?2. How did your own relationships with men influence your portrayal of them in your books?3. How do you view the status of women in the world today compared to the era during which you lived and wrote?  Paula: So many writers, so many choices! I could watch a rehearsal of Hamlet at the Globe Theater with William Shakespeare, attend a Regency ball with Jane Austen, or sail down the Nile with Agatha Christie. But since nobody said anything about time travel, and in the spirit of the season, I’d risk the strike of lightning and go to church and Sunday luncheon with Marilynne Robinson, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist and essayist whose Gilead trilogy is my current literary obsession. I’d ask her: 1) How does she take complicated matters of faith and humanity and make them so accessible?2) To what does she attribute her ability to create such living, breathing, heartbreaking characters?3) How does her writing process facilitate the creation of such fully imagined and fully realized fiction?  Tracee: My answer sprang to mind! William Shakespeare. This was triggered by, of all things, the new biography of Leonardo da Vinci by Walter Isaacson. I purchased it as a Christmas gift and promptly spent some time gently skimming (really being careful to not give it that gently used look!). I was struck by how much we know about da Vinci and by the breadth of his creativity beyond the visual arts, medical studies and scientific inventions (who knew that he wrote plays?). This is a long way of getting to Shakespeare. Such an icon of English literature and yet we know very little, or possibly nothing about him – depending on which side of the fence you are on about current scholarship. I would like to watch Hamlet with him, then have the chance to ask the basics about his life and writing. Shakespeare’s life is such a tabula rasa that anything he said would be a gem. Would it be fair to ask how it feels to be a genius for the ages? (I would have to judge his temperament first….)    Susan:   Charles Dickens. I would love to have gone to one of his public readings of A Christmas Carol.  He was said to be a great reader and acted out all the parts. I can just about hear him reciting the last lines, about Scrooge: “it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!” As to questions:1. I would love to go on a tour of London with him and ask him how he sees everything so clearly?2. How does he make me feel emotions so strongly?3. How does he transform grief into something so beautiful?  Robin: My first thought was to go to Disneyland with JD Salinger just because of the juxtaposition of being at the “happiest place on Earth” with the creator of a misanthropic icon. But the hands’ down winner is mimosas with Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin, where I pay my respects every time I’m in NYC. I would have only one question: what are your thoughts on the current state of the world? There have been so many cultural advances and yet so many current parallels, it would be fascinating – and I suspect hilarious – to hear the perspective of a woman who was ahead of her time. What surprises her? What doesn’t surprise her at all? How many mimosas can we put away in 2 hours? I guess I do have multiple questions 🙂  Cate: Since so many picked past greats, I am going to go contemporary. I’d like to have a drink with Trevor Noah. I am listening to his audio book Born A Crime (AMAZING!). I would ask:1. Your life was like a thriller plot (real father not in his life because a white man having a romantic relationship, let alone a child, with a black woman was illegal under Apartheid. His abusive stepfather then shot his mother and got a slap on the wrist for her attempted murder). How do you infuse so much love and humor into painful stories?2. How do you strike a balance between talking about race and acknowledging prejudice in your stories without losing the ability to connect with people and being overtly political?3. Which is a better way to handle traumatic past experiences? Compartmentalization or exploration?   Alison:Such a good question, and such a difficult one. I thought about having a cocktail party with a guest list of about fifty, but decided that wouldn’t be playing fair. I vacillated between funny (David Sedaris) and intellectually rigorous (Nobel prize winner Hermann Hesse) before deciding to toss a coin between two other favorites. Heads went to Hemingway. I read The Sun Also Rises on a flight to Madrid and was lucky enough to stay at the Palace Hotel. I would meet him at the hotel bar for a drink (or two or three) and ask: (1) How do you write with such spare and understated style yet still convey so much emotion? (2) How do you engage serious philosophical topics with a breeziness that makes ideas accessible to everyone, and (3) What writer would you meet for a drink and where would he meet him or her? Alexia: I’m still trying to decide who I want to hang with and what my 2nd and 3rd questions would be. But I want to go to The Flying Fish in Little Rock, AR and my first question is,  “Hush puppies or French fries? “I’m inviting Keith Laumer, the late science fiction author and creator of one of my literary crushes, Jame Retief. After we settled the hush puppy/french fry issue, I’d ask him–How did you translate your experiences as a diplomat with the US Foreign Service into a satirical sci-fi series?–Will humans ever travel to other planets in real life? And you, dear readers, how would you answer these questions?    

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A Writer's Choice: Politics and Social Media

  Like many Americans, I awoke this morning charged by the results of the U.S. Senate election yesterday in Alabama. No, I am not going to rehash the politics, the results, or the implications. You have CNN, CBS, ABC, and FOX to do that for you. You also get to jump aboard social media. That’s what I want to talk about.            Should writers take to their virtual pens and express their personal political beliefs on social media? Or should they contain their opinions where they can be conveyed privately?            There is considerable advice on this topic, not surprisingly, much of it found on social media. There are experts who suggest that there is little to be gained and much to be lost when a writer tweets how she feels about a particular candidate or issue. They warn people will not buy your book, the buzz will be negative, and you will be buried with comments more hurtful than your worst review. Play it safe and restrict your Facebook comments to what you made for the dinner last night. Why invite disaster and undermine the work you have invested in your book?             Why? Robert Stribley offered six reasons in his Huff Post article, “Why I Talk Politics on Social Media.” https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/why-i-talk-politics-on-social-media_us_587ceaa9e4b094e1aa9dc824  1. People do change their minds. 2. The value of expressing solidarity. 3. Some taboos exist for the wrong reasons. 4. Combatting misinformation. 5. Silence can be construed as acquiescence. 6. Change never happens without friction and disagreement.           The last two reasons resonate with me the most. I’ve spent my entire professional life dealing with conflict between people as a mediator and a lawyer. While I will concede there is nothing more exhausting and depleting than engaging in conflict, the process is conversely awakening, energizing, and often enlightening. Without conflict, there is stagnancy, silence, and a  complacency that can become dangerous.            That my own silence might be construed as acquiescence disturbs me, particularly when I am able to communicate in a reasonably competent manner. I remember when I was in high school studying history asking my father how Hitler became so powerful that he could murder so many people without the rest of the world speaking out. He struggled to answer and I was still left wondering how an entire world remained silent.            Whether a writer chooses to speak out on a single issue or has a platform filled with them, I don’t care. I respect his or her right to write wherever and whenever seems fit. I can make choices of my own. I can read or not read. I can respond or not respond. During the past presidential election, I read many Facebook posts that conflicted with my own personal political opinions. One particular poster was particularly condescending about those who disagreed with her, confident that she “knew better.” Apparently, she didn’t. While I was offended by her superciliousness, I respect and would defend her right to express her opinions. I never responded to her comments. Instead, I set forth my own.            I have made the choice to speak publicly about issues I care about on social media. Does anyone care about what I think? I don’t know. That isn’t the point. The point is that I cannot be silent about matters that concern me. I will still tell you what I ordered for dinner at a restaurant and wish you happy birthday. But when I believe something is important to stand up for, you’ll see me standing. If I sell a few less books because of this, it’s worth it.            What are your thoughts about expressing political opinions on social media?                                                        

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Desolation: A Writer's Inspiration

  I was talking to another writer the other day about how my plans to be in St. John right now had been interrupted by one of Mother Nature’s temper tantrums. Her girls, Irma and Maria, sent my schedule into a tizzy, but more seriously affected the lives of so many people who live in Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands. Being “stuck” on outer Cape Cod in the winter is hardly something to complain about, but I do, until I see the pictures of the fires in California and remember the families waiting to see if their children had survived the earthquake in Mexico.            So let me get my complaints out first. The temperature here isn’t terribly low. I can remember a time in February, when the high 30’s felt like a heat wave. But the bone chill of dampness that seeps in when the ocean is less than a mile away in either direction crawls under the layers of my clothes and is difficult to shake off.            Then there are the colors, or lack thereof, unless you consider gray and brown to be colors. They are the opposite of the vibrant shades of green and blue I revel in while in St. John. The dullness of the brown and gray numbs my soul, making me wonder if I am even alive as I stumble around my winter habitat. Even the blue of the ocean that drew me here has turned a steely gray. Only the occasional heroic bright sunset reminds me that times can be very different here on what many consider the edge of the earth.            There’s that too, of course. Three months ago, my complaints were very different. “When will all of these people go home?” “There can’t be single person left in New York, because they are all here.” “Doesn’t anyone teach beach manners anymore?” I grocery shop at 6:00 a.m. to avoid the crowds, frequent secret beaches undiscovered by most (no I will not tell you where they are), and avoid restaurants at all costs. Why would I wait an hour and a half to eat something I can buy fresh here and cook at home?            They are all gone now, except the occasional brave beach stroller I see get out of a car with New York plates. “Those New Yorkers are hardy souls, aren’t they?” I ask my husband with a seasonal kindness I lack at the height of summer.            I explained to my writer friend how Cape Cod can feel desolate in the winter. But then I confessed. “I kind of like desolate.” She agreed and commented it was because we are both writers.            I’ve thought about that during the gray of every day since our conversation. The barrenness of winter is a blank canvas for a writer. While the merriment and colors of summer can inspire stories, the naked branches, brown leaves, and furious ocean make you reach deeper. You can’t escape thoughts about fear, survival and death, which are less prominent in your mind when you are inhaling the fragrance of beach roses and watching children build a sandcastle.              I’ve decided there may be a season and a reason for the desolation of gray and brown for writers. A character I have been writing for more than a year has revealed more of herself to me, sharing a darkness I suspected lay beneath. I welcome her revelations.  I am less afraid to face the challenge of the blank canvas and the shades of brown and gray on my palette. The words find their way onto the page and I am grateful.            By the time the day has ended, which is early in the season of brown and gray, I am eager for a sunset. Any glimpse of light to remind me that there are seasons and that nothing is forever.                          

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Help! My Bedroom is Falling Off (more Tales from a Tindominium)

 I was writing in my “she shed,” what I call my writing sanctuary, and what I’ve recently learned my neighbors call the Taj Mahal because of my plastic $99.00 Maria Theresa chandelier from Home Depot, when I first heard the words.   “Your bedroom is falling off.” The neighborhood plumber, who is also a surfer and a grandfather (because everyone in this neighborhood defies convention), was talking to the neighborhood jack-of-all-trades and my husband. My fingers froze hovering over my keyboard, my novel halted, while four small words screamed in my mind. I told you so. All summer long while attending meetings of the 500 Club (happy hour) on my neighbor’s porch across the street, I would gaze at our little tindominium where we had moved two years ago after opting to downsize big time. A sign my husband found now hangs over our couch and defines our life. “Less house. More home.” “Our bedroom is crooked,” I would say, but no one seemed particularly concerned. I was referring to the push-out part of the 1995 Seville trailer that is our home on outer Cape Cod six months of the year where our bedroom is located. Specifically, the push-out is where the head and most of the queen size bed sit.“Maybe you should go on a diet. The bedroom is sinking lower on your side of the bed,” I said to my husband more than once. He and others would chuckle and then the conversation returned to oystering, shark sighting, and surfing. The daily staples on Cape Cod during the summer. Now, in the depth of December, when our six-month stay in tropical St. John in the Virgin Islands had been delayed due to Hurricane Irma, our bedroom was going to fall off. I hadn’t planned on either.What we had signed up for was an adventure. Selling our ten room home by the ocean with gardens and porches and decks had taken fortitude, but once we committed to letting go so we could go, we were exhilarated. We would travel. I would write. He would play on his boat. But our bedroom wouldn’t fall off. I fought the impulse to declare our decision to say, “F*** It, let’s just go for it,” a colossal mistake. I tend to run to the edge of the cliff during crises and have learned to rein myself in. During the two years we have been on this crazy adventure, we’ve traveled to Italy, Ireland, and France. We’ve moved four times on St. John. I’ve published books. We’ve met wonderful new friends who have already enriched our lives.Like the guys I could hear from the writing sanctuary. “We can jack it up,” Jack-of-all-Trades says. He not talk a lot, but has brilliant moments, and always looks for a way to fix a problem. Plumber-Surfer concurs and a plan is born. Our bedroom will not fall off. It will be stronger and get a new coat of paint, an ignored item on the honey-do list until now. The adventure will continue. One of the biggest rewards for daring to downsize is having new people in your life who bring far more joy than the “stuff” we left behind. Back to writing. .. But please, tell me about your own writing distractions.                                                 

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What's on Your Christmas List?

‘ Tis the season for Christmas music, sacred, popular, cloying, and migraine-producing. The selection ranges from Wham!’s “Last Christmas” to “O’ Holy Night” performed by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir with plenty in between. One song, in particular, “The 12 Days of Christmas,” seems to have spawned more spoofs and puns and plays on words than there are Salvation Army kettles at the mall. I recently participated in an Author Takeover to promote the Christmas anthology, The 12 Slays of Christmas. I read a P.D. James short story called, “The 12 Clues of Christmas”. I’ve seen ads on social media (and in my email spam folder) for “The 12 Deals of Christmas” and “The 12 Gifts of Christmas.” All in the same week. Everyone is familiar with the plethora of gifts offered over the twelve days from Christmas Day to Epiphany. And whether you believe the gifts have religious symbolism or the song’s just a festive, musical version of a memory game along the lines of “I’m going on a trip,” you have to admit, a) it’s a pretty hefty haul of loot, b) it’s fun to spoof. We Missdemeanors decided we could come up with better gifts than partridges and colly birds. No one needs that much poultry in their lives. What we have to offer, on the other hand? Well, guess that depends on where you live and who you know. We present, “The 12 Days of Crime-mas”. (Sung to the tune of “The 12 Days of Christmas”)On the first day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, a card to get out of jail free.On the second day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail freeOn the third day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers, and a card to get out of jail freeOn the fourth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers, and a card to get out of jail freeOn the fifth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers, and a card to get out of jail freeOn the sixth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the seventh day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the eighth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, eight pairs of golden handcuffs, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the ninth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, nine con men grifting, eight eight pairs of golden handcuffs, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the tenth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, ten bloodhounds sniffing, nine con men grifting, eight eight pairs of golden handcuffs, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the eleventh day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, eleven victims dying, ten bloodhounds sniffing, nine con men grifting, eight eight pairs of golden handcuffs, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.On the twelfth day of Christmas, my lawyer gave to me, twelve suspects lying, eleven victims dying, ten bloodhounds sniffing, nine con men grifting, eight eight pairs of golden handcuffs, seven shallow graves, six vials of strychnine, five bullet-proof vests, four tips on committing perjury, three jailbroken iPhones, two pearl-handled revolvers and a card to get out of jail free.

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It's What's for Dinner

 I missed putting up a blog post today because the past 48 hours felt more like 400 hours. Food, sleep, and writing took a back seat to the day job, packaging gifts for my church’s angel tree, graduating from Citizens’ Police Academy, packing books to send to contest winners, and schlepping a twenty-two pound box to UPS to return a wrong order to Amazon so I could get a refund. Not to mention the usual stuff: feeding the cat, taking out garbage, checking email and voicemail and text messages to make sure I didn’t miss an appointment or deadline or bill due date, “maintaining my social media presence” (that phrase) to keep Facebook and Twitter from sending me gentle reminders about how followers of my author page/feed want to hear from me—you get the picture. I left the day job, late, today with a to-do list longer than it was when I arrived at the office this morning, which means an early start tomorrow to play catch-up.So what did I do when I finally got home tonight, besides say a prayer of thanks that the cat sitter rescheduled her meet-and-greet with Agatha? I headed for the local pizzeria for some comfort food. Yeah, I know “emotional” eating is bad for you but sometimes I don’t care. A meatball and sausage sandwich and a bowl of minestrone soup (loaded with vegetables, by the way) went a long way toward making up for a missed lunch and freezing temps. Food plays a big role in much crime fiction. From the culinary cozy subgenre’s recipes to Nero Wolfe’s epicurean meals to Agatha Christie’s frequent choice of a murder weapon, food appears in mysteries again and again. In her November 2016 article in The Guardian, “Dining With Death: Crime Fiction’s Long Affair With Food,” crime writer Miranda Carter lists several detectives known as much for what they eat as for the crimes they solve: the aforementioned, Nero Wolfe, Inspector Montalbano, Yashim, Pepe Carvalho, Inspector Maigret. Food puts in a more-than-passing appearance in Sherlock Holmes and Sam Spade stories. While Agatha Christie’s poison-laced morsels hardly qualify as comfort food, in many of the other crime stories meals form the center piece of pleasant rituals that provide the detective—and the reader—with temporary respite from the horrors and stress of their work. Like my meatballs, sausage, and minestrone. While my life is far from horrible, it is stressful. Some days I feel as if dozens of things are happening at once and I’m running from crisis to crisis until I reach a point where I can’t even remember what day it is. (On Tuesday, I felt as if, surely, it must be Friday.) I drag myself home, exhausted and cranky. But, with a good meal and an hour or so, I feel ready to take on the world again. What’s your favorite comfort food? How do you unwind after a stressful day?

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