Adieu, Y'all!

By Deborah Sharp 

After blogging here at Inkspot for six years, it's time for me to say goodbye. Lots of water under the bridge since one of my first posts, way back in the summer of 2008. I was eagerly -- nervously! -- awaiting publication of my first book, Mama Does Time.

I was a newly minted Midnight Ink author, and thrilled to be asked to blog with some of my fellow M'Inkers. Here's what I had to say back then: 

I've found another thing to worry about as my book's debut draws near.

It's a testament to my fretting powers that I could come up with something new, given my many present concerns. There's hurricane season, a fear of horrible reviews, and the possibility that my fellow Florida voters will fail to select a president -- again -- and the ensuing media firestorm will ensure that no one pays any attention to my funny little set-in-Florida mystery.

Since I wrote those words, I worried through the debuts of four additional books in my Mace Bauer Mystery series. Number 2 was Mama Rides Shotgun. Three was Mama Gets Hitched. Four was Mama Sees Stars. The fifth one was Mama Gets Trashed. Each time got a bit easier, but the nerves always gnawed at my stomach. I think that's the case for most authors sending their books -- their babies! -- into the world. We fret. Will people love my baby like I do? 

I've decided to take a break from writing. (Possible title: Mama's on Hiatus?) Though I never say never, I have no immediate plans to do a sixth book in the series. So, I thought I'd step aside and let some of the fabulous, fresher authors in the Midnight Ink stable take up the reins. 

In honor of my first career as a reporter for USA Today, I wanted to end with a feature the paper made famous, or maybe infamous: Bullet items. Much used and often maligned, bullets are a short, punchy way of getting info across. They're named for the punctuation that sets off each info nugget, often in the form of a list. I did tons of such lists when I worked for USA Today: Tips for keeping cool in a heat wave. Madonna's favorite tummy-trimmers. Top states for shark attacks (Florida, surprise, was No. 1).

So, here are my Top 5 Favorite Things about Inkspot: 
* It's the office water cooler for co-workers who don't share an office.
* It's given me -- and so many of my Midnight Ink pals -- a group identity.
* It's a place for us to have our say, any way we want to say it.
* It's a way for readers to see what we think about when we're not writing mysteries. 
* It's provided me with entertainment, friendship, and a sense of being part of something bigger than solitary little me. 

I just wanted to say thanks. Adieu, y'all.  

Writer Group Groupie

By Deborah Sharp 
Author of the Mace Bauer Mysteries

On my long and winding road to becoming a novelist, I test-drove a lot of writing groups. Some were too fast; some were too slow. Some chug-chugged along until they -- or I -- ran out of gas. I spent less time choosing a husband than I did trying to find the perfect group of fellow writers.

Was it just me, or do all writers have a hard time finding a critique group that fits? The formula should be fairly straight-forward. Get together a handful of folks with similar sensibilities and comparable writing skills. Mix well; share what you write; and hope for mutual improvement.

I did finally find a great group. But I landed in plenty of ditches before I arrived there. I remember one night early on, trying to concentrate as a fellow aspiring writer read aloud the chapter she'd labored over. In a heavy Russian accent, she droned on and on about life in the former Soviet Union. There wasn't much food. There was a lot of snow. A LOT of snow. The more she mentioned the white stuff, the more I focused on frigid air blowing on my neck from the AC ceiling vent.

 I huddled lower in my seat. My God, it's freezing in here! It's gotta be 65 degrees.

I stared at my hands. My fingers are turning blue! No, wait. I think that's an ink stain. 

I looked across the room. There's an empty chair by the window. I wonder if that side is any warmer? 

My obsession with the thermostat didn't bode well for the reader, or for my participation in the group. I tried several others. Like Goldilocks, I found one group too hard; another too soft. Some were too big; others too small. One was stalled at the talking-about-writing stage. It was less a critique group and more a support group for wannabes.

Me: Hi, my name is Deborah. I'm addicted to the notion I'm going to be a great writer, even though I haven't written anything to read today. 

Group: Hi, Deborah!

The group I finally clicked with was led by a talented and insightful author,who guided the rest of us toward helpful critiquing and better writing. (Thanks, Joyce Sweeney!) We wrote in many genres -- mystery to young adult, poetry to humor -- but we had several things in common. Most of us already grasped the basics, so we didn't get bogged down on sentence structure, grammar, and the like. We all were eager to write, happy to read, and thoughtful when it came time to critique. Nobody pulled punches, but nobody played gotcha either.

Have you ever belonged to a critique group? What do you think makes a good one?

I've Got an Idea for MAMA

By Deborah Sharp

You want to know the sweetest words to an author's ear? "Your characters seem so real!''

Okay, maybe the very sweetest words are: ''Your royalty check is in the mail, and boy, is it a big one!''

Still, that first sentence sounds pretty delicious, doesn't it? Since 2008, when my first Mace Bauer Mystery came out, I've been lucky enough to hear from readers who see my characters as real people. They identify with the tomboyish Mace. They'd like to date -- or marry -- her hottie love interest, Carlos. Or, they know someone like the wacky Mama character. Furthermore, that person drives them crazy, just like Mama drives Mace and her two sisters crazy.

This is great because it lets me know my fictional characters have real enough traits that they come alive on the page. The downside? Sometimes the readers know the characters better than I do. That leads to statements like these:
''That was so unlike Mace. Normally she'd never do something like that.'' (Usually the reader is right!)
Or, ''Why is Carlos so jealous in this book? He was never that insecure or jealous before.'' (Right again, and a mistake on my part, looking back.)

The best feeling is when the two different perspectives on the characters line up -- what I've tried to accomplish as an author, and what the reader perceives.
''I like how Mace's bossy older sister seems softer in this book,'' one reader told me.
I beamed, thinking of the effort I put into ''growing'' Maddie's character -- giving the older sister her own developmental arc.

I was thrilled to hear by email the other day from one especially enthusiastic reader. Cathy Katrovitz, of Vero Beach, Fla., has followed the series from the start. She had some fun making up a snippet about running into my characters on a shopping trip. It was my very first experience with ''fan fiction.'' No danger that my series will transform into a fan-fiction-generating machine like Stephenie Meyer's Twilight or J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter. Even so, I was flattered by Cathy's effort. Here's an excerpt:

I was in Bernice's Fashion Apparel for Well-Endowed Ladies the other day.  Guess who I saw?  Mace and Mama, would you believe?  Judging from the conversation I overheard, Mama is entering a Senior Pageant, and she needed some new outfits to wear . . . 

Well, Mama had that store turned upside down, what with trying on umpteen outfits, admiring the costume jewelry, and wondering who in the world could wear the shoes that could double as weapons, with their stiletto heels . . . 

Mace looked like she'd had enough of shopping and wanted to get back to her animals.  I hope she didn't take out her frustration later on that hunky guy of hers.  Mama made some reference to him - said he was a "Tony Bandito" look-alike.  Mace corrected her with "That's Antonio Banderas, Mama."  I just smiled and left the store.  I'd forgotten why I went there anyway. 

Cute, right? 

How about you? Do you think of characters in books as real people? Do you wonder how they might behave in a particular situation? 

By Deborah Sharp

Hear that big rush of wind? That's me, breathing a sigh of relief after a job pretty well done. Ditch-diggers and asphalt workers may scoff, but book signings can actually be hard work. Especially for those of us who are introverts at heart. Plaster on a big smile, look approachable but not pushy, and sell sell sell your series (and yourself). Hard work.

I just finished a round of meet-and-greet signings in the Fort Myers, Fla., area over the Thanksgiving weekend. I talked to more people in three days than I used to talk to in three months, BB (that's ''Before Booksignings''). After five books, I still get a flutter in my stomach each time I set up my things on that little table the bookstores provide: bookmarks and business cards, a red bowl of candy, my special signing pen. My talismans. Meet-and-greets, where it's just the author and a table near the door versus an author and a seated audience, can be a challenge. You have the opportunity to be rejected over and over by individual members of the shopping crowd, instead of in one fell swoop by an audience. I use the word audience loosely.

The point is, selling and smiling can be exhausting. I always need an energy injection afterwards. For me, that usually comes in the form of getting outside into nature. Luckily, my husband and I were in one of my favorite spots. We met in Fort Myers, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. Both of us worked in the news business -- I was a print reporter with my first job at the News-Press, and he was on camera at WINK-TV.  We spent many happy hours walking the white sands of Fort Myers Beach back then. What better place to celebrate a job pretty well done?

That's me below, in my Rocky pose (Youngsters, that's a reference to a movie starring Sylvester Stallone, before the plastic surgery):

Then, sunset-watching at Fort Myers Beach Pier is always a nice way to close the day:

Finally, a little liquid relaxation.... Ahhhhh:

How do you like to unwind after a job pretty well done?

Your Books Are So Fibrous!

By Deborah Sharp

At first, the comment from a guy in the first row at a book signing made me beam:

''I love the fact your chapters are so short.''

I'm so glad to hear that, I gushed. I really think short chapters help with pacing. They heighten the narrative tension ... I was warming up for a literary tangent when he interrupted.

''Yeah, yeah ... all that might be true. But that's not why I like your short chapters.''

Go on, I said.

''You see, my doctor has me on a high-fiber diet.'' He rubbed his stomach. "I'd been having some problems in the bathroom . . .''

Don't go on! Don't go on. I was hoping he'd hear me, pleading telepathically. He didn't.

''Anyway, I think your short chapters are great because I take the book with me into the can. I read a chapter. I do my business. I get on with my day.''

How wonderful, I said. Thanks for sharing that.

Has it ever struck you funny, the kind of things people will say to authors? Maybe it's because reading can be such an intimate experience, often pursued in a comfy spot in the privacy of one's home. Maybe while lying in bed. Or, yes, even while using the john.

I was taken aback at first by his comment. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'm grateful that anyone enjoys my books, however that may be. Maybe in this guy's case, I don't want to give too much thought to wherever that may be. Even so, Mr. Digestive Issues beats the heck out of those who have something snarky to share about my humorous Mace Bauer Mysteries.  Like the man who raised a hand at another signing:

''Well, you can obviously write.'' He sneered, as if he were one of those reality show meanies measuring out a dollop of approval. "Why don't you write something more meaningful?''

Uhhhh, next question?

Authors, what strange thing has a reader shared with you? Readers, is there something you've always wanted to tell an author, but didn't have the nerve?

We Have a Few Moments for Questions

By Deborah Sharp

Every author knows the questions he or she dreads hearing at book signings. This is one of my favorites:

Earnest Writer (EW): Could you read my 423-page novel? It's a romance between an alien and a human, it has a mystery, and there are flying dragons.

Stumped Author (SA): Uhhhh . . .

EW: And, here's the best part. It has multiple points of view because every character is equally important. All thirteen of them.

SA:  Uhhhh . . .

I'm happy to say very few questions from strangers are about terrible, overlong manuscripts crowded with characters no one would want to read about. I do get many thoughtful, interesting questions from engaged readers. And the answers don't involve me crushing their dreams of publishing fame and fortune, if only I'd  introduce them to my agent, write a letter of recommendation to my editor, and blurb their 423-page masterpiece.

But I have often wondered why readers rarely ask the things that authors talk about to one another. For example, here are 5 questions you'll hear around the bar or in the hotel lobby when authors get together at conferences:

1. How much weight do you gain when sitting on your butt for a year writing a book? 
About 7 and 1/2 pounds.

2. What kinds of things do you do when you know you should be writing?
Watch YouTube. Check my Facebook page. Eat (see the answer to No. 1, above)

3. What Amazon review did you hate most, and why? 
Luckily, I've received only a handful of the dreaded one-star reviews, but this one is my Amazon winner:
Pathetic! the review headline said. If you like ''Girlie Books,'' she writes for you. 
Here's the runner-up: I eventually finished this book, but it was a laborious task.

4. What well-known author is a big jerk?
While I won't mention names here (find me at the bar), I always tell this story about one of my first appearances as a panelist at a mystery conference. A Famous Author (FA) was on the same panel. I  approached FA in the hallway beforehand to introduce myself:
Me, Fan Girl: I'm thrilled we're going to be on the panel together. I really admire your work. .
FA: Oh, you''re the one who writes the funny series.
Me, beaming with pride: Yes, that's me. I write the Mace Bauer Mysteries.
FA, sneering: I HATE funny.

5. How often do people who never read and can barely write a sentence tell you they've always believed they could write a fabulous book?
Far more often than people with no mechanical aptitude tell their mechanics they could rebuild a car, or non-physicians inform their surgeons they've got the stuff to slice out an appendix.  In other words, all the frickin' time.

How about you? Is there a question you've always wanted to ask, but didn't? What weird questions do people ask you?

INKSPOT NEWS - September 7, 2013

Here are the new releases from Midnight Ink for September, 2013. They're all fantastic reads!

Grapes of Death by Joni Folger

"The characters are vivid, the plot is cleverly and coherently woven together, and the suspense builds up to a hair-raising [ending]."—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

In the Moors by Nina Milton

"Sabbie Dare is the most compelling protagonist I've met this year...Milton's tale is riveting."—LIBRARY JOURNAL (starred review)

Mama Gets Trashed by Deborah Sharp

"Readers will eagerly turn the pages [to solve this mystery]."—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY

Shotgun Moon by K. C. McRae

 "Shotgun Moon is easy on the ear and the eye—definitely an author and a character to watch out for."—CRAIG JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF THE WALT LONGMIRE SERIES

The Money Bird by Sheila Webster Boneham

"Equal parts mystery and dog appreciation, with a dash of romance thrown in for good measure, this second case for Janet and her pals...is accessible to fans of all three."—KIRKUS REVIEWS

Don't Trash Research

By Deborah Sharp

Why, oh why, didn't I set my mystery series in California's wine region, or in Provence? Can you imagine the research I'd get to do then? 

Nope, I had to write about a rural, rodeo-and-ranches slice of Florida. As country as a turnip green, as the song lyrics say. 

The fictional town of Himmarshee, Fla., determines a lot about how the characters in  my Mace Bauer Mysteries behave, about who they are. In my upcoming Book 5, some of them are behaving badly. As usual. MAMA GETS TRASHED, after all, starts when the title character has a few too many sips of sweet pink wine. Tipsy, Mama calls it. Trashed, her daughter Mace would say.

Whatever, it leads to Mama unintentionally tossing her wedding ring from Husband No. 5 out with the garbage. Hence, the opening search scene in the city dump. 

Believe me, it ain't no lavender field in France. 

I know, because I actually hung around a dump --- and a maintenance lot filled with garbage trucks --- to give my story some verisimilitude. As a former newspaper reporter, I long ago had the importance of on-site research drilled into my head.

That’s not to say I've never questioned my commitment. Take the winter of 2007, for example. I was writing my second book, set on a cross-state horseback trek known as the Florida Cracker Trail Ride. On an afternoon many years earlier, I’d visited the ride to write a quick-hit newspaper feature story.

As with so many events I'd covered, that short article became the spark for a fictional tale. Even then, I was inspired. A ghostly mist hung over the pasture, shrouding cattle. Live oaks lifted gnarled limbs, dripping with Spanish moss. A stellar setting for a mystery.

The ride commemorates the cattle drives that once took place across vast Florida grasslands. It draws more than a hundred participants a year. In 2007, I saddled up to become one of them. I wanted to experience the ride the way my characters in MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN would experience it. As research.

  Of course, fictional characters don’t experience real-life aching muscles, or the humiliation of squatting outside to answer nature’s call and peeing all over their riding boots. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I rode when I was growing up, galloping through orange groves on what’s now asphalt west of my hometown of Fort Lauderdale. At age fifty-something, I had no doubt the saddle would feel a lot harder than it did when I was fifteen. Even so, I expected camping out would be my real challenge. Ronald Reagan was president the last time I’d slept on the ground.

The first night on the trail, the temperature plummeted. A howling wind collapsed my tent. It rained sideways, soaking me from winter cap to wool socks. The thermometer hit 28 degrees – a rarity in Florida. It took some time the next morning for me to identify the slushee-looking stuff on my damp toothbrush. The Northerners call it “ice.’’  

With the freeze going into a second night, someone offered me shelter in a horse trailer. I was grateful for that stinky, hay-strewn stall, even if I did spend the rest of the ride picking straw stalks from my private parts.

It was worth it for the rich detail I gained from being there. Think what you will about mega-selling author Dan Brown. He’s right when he says “Google is not a synonym for research.’’

On the trail ride, I used free time between Ben Gay applications to interview riders. How do you get a skittish horse into a trailer? What if a murderer wants to poison the chuck-wagon chili? (That kind of question, by the way, raised eyebrows … until I revealed I’m a mystery writer.)

My research was a bit different for Book 3, MAMA GETS HITCHED. I didn’t go to the extreme of divorcing my husband of 25 years just so I could plan a whole new wedding. But I did contribute countless brain cells to watching reality TV episodes of Bridezillas. 

Kind of makes the dump seem not so bad.

How about you? Onsite or online research? Do you think you can tell the difference in the finished book? 

Sweat, Sweat and Tears

By Deborah Sharp

Drip. Drip. Drip.

That's the sound of me, squeezing out enough sweat to fill a baby pool. It's mid-July in south Florida: Sweltering temperatures; suffocating humidity. All that, and my AC has been AWOL for a full week. The whole unit must be replaced, and our air conditioning guy is so backed up with work orders we had to schedule an appointment almost two weeks out. It's easier to get past the velvet rope at a South Beach nightclub than it is to hire this guy.

I'm not able to work at  home. I'm barely able to think. Just one thought keeps running through my brain, a continuous loop of misery:
I'm SO hot. 
I'm SO hot. 
I'm SO hot . . .

I have another four days to wait. I'm not sure I can make it. (Right now, I've fled to the air-conditioned comfort of a Starbucks). Funny thing is, I grew up in south Florida before air conditioning was as pervasive as it is now. I remember my mother stashing my PJs in the freezer before bedtime, then letting the fan blow over me so I'd fall asleep before my body realized how hot it  was. When we were kids, my brother and I would go to the movie theater downtown just to sit in the air conditioning, no matter what show was playing. My father, from a family of Florida pioneers, would roll in his grave if he knew how soft and spoiled I've become.

Wah, I'm sweaty. Boo-hoo! 

The only saving grace about the soaring temperature? Jokes that answer the question, How HOT is it?
It's so hot I saw a homeless guy on the street with a sign that said Will Work for Shade.
It's so hot I saw a group of Amish girls wearing spaghetti straps and Daisy Dukes.
It's so hot the birds are using pot-holders to pull up worms from the ground.

My father worked on construction sites, as a carpenter. Much of his work was outside under a searing sun. I can't even imagine how hard that and other physical jobs are in this kind of weather: road worker, bricklayer, grass cutter or ditch digger. The most difficult labor I perform is straining for a metaphor, and I still can't manage to concentrate on work. The heat saps my brain power.  It's embarrassing when I imagine the extreme situations other writers have faced. The polar explorers of the early 1900s managed to update their journals, despite frostbite and starvation. Chinese prisoners eke out memoirs in inhuman camps. George Orwell wrote 1984 while he dying of tuberculosis.

How about you? What's the most extreme circumstance you've written under? Or, like me, do you cave when your surroundings are hot, noisy, or just plain uncomfortable?

Wah!

Implicate, Vindicate, Dedicate

By Deborah Sharp

For such a short prose snippet, book dedications sure take a lot of effort. Or, at least they do for me. I've agonized over how -- and to whom --  to dedicate each of my Mace Bauer Mysteries. ''Mama Gets Trashed'' will come out in September, and the dedication for that one, my fifth, didn't come any easier than the rest.

Given the title of TRASHED, my own mother is probably grateful she was already recognized with this dual dedication in Book No.1, way back in 2008:

To the original Mama, Marion Sharp, and to my husband, Kerry Sanders.

 I love you both to pieces.

 Since I didn't know if there would be a Book No. 2, I decided to economize and honor both my mama and my honey in that first dedication. I've always loved a two-for-one deal. Family members seem to be the most common dedicatees by far. That's not to say all dedications to our loved ones are exactly loving. Glam-shock rocker Marilyn Manson had this to say in the autobiography he dedicated to his parents in 1998:

May God forgive them for bringing them into this world. 

And,  of course, any number of messy divorces and bitter split-ups can make a once-fond dedication read like a parody. After F. Scott Fitzgerald penned these words on the dedication page of Great Gatsby, don't you wonder if he came to regret it? 

Once again to Zelda

Do authors with multiple titles have it any easier? Is it like picking names from a hat to decide who you'll honor with Book No. 12 or 20? Agatha Christie started off her prolific career dedicating to her mum, and then got around to all sorts of people, including some friends whose swimming pool stood in for the scene of one of her many murders. George R.R. Martin, whose epic series became the stunningly popular HBO show Game of Thrones (among other things), gave a shout-out to a fellow fantasy author when he wrote the dedication for this book:

For Phyllis, who made me put the dragons in. 

No word as to whether Phyllis Eisenstein would have preferred that Martin mention her last name so his zillions of fans could more easily Google her. 

I posed a couple of questions about dedications on Facebook recently, as I struggled with one for my new book. The first thing I wanted to know is whether they're even important. Overwhelmingly, authors and readers said yes. Some prefer that dedications maintain some mystery; others like more specific information as a window into the writer's life. I love funny dedications, like children's author Spike Milligan's: 

This book is dedicated to my bank balance. 

Even so, I've never written a knee-slapper, even though my series is humorous. In fact, one of my book dedications can still make me cry. My younger brother died while I was writing my third book, Mama Rides Shotgun. My dedication for that one was more a memoriam: 

To my brother, Kevin Sharp ... gone too soon, just like Daddy. With strong hearts in heaven, I hope they're knocking those baseballs out of the park. 

How about you? Do you read dedications or skip them? Do you have a favorite one? 

Dream a Little Dream

By Deborah Sharp
What would you do with $590 million (and change)?

That hypothetical question pondered by Powerball dreamers nationwide is now a reality for someone in Florida. As I write this, the winner of this weekend's drawing has not yet come forward to claim the booty. But the winning ticket was sold at a Publix grocery store in Zephyrhills, Fla.

Five-hundred-and-ninety million! Would you quit your job? Stop writing books? Write MORE books? Buy a full library of books?

Would you invest the money and make even more money? Would you give it all away? Purchase every posh and pricey thing you ever wanted, or start a foundation to do good?

Believe it or not, I've never fantasized about what I'd do if I won more than a half-billion dollars. I think the world is divided into two camps: lottery dreamers and lottery skeptics. I'm in the latter camp; my husband falls into the former. I don't dream about what I'd do with Powerball's megamillions because I don't believe I'd ever win them. The odds are astronomical (175 million to 1). I am not a lucky person. I was 13 years old at the Gold Coast skating rink the last time I won something. It was a limbo song on a 45-rpm record (Kids: Ask your grandparents about 45s).

On the other hand, my husband Kerry Sanders remains convinced that as long as SOMEONE is going to win megamillions, it might very well be him. Kerry dutifully buys a lottery ticket or two every week. He splurged and dropped 20 bucks on Saturday night's Powerball. May I point out we are not living a life of luxury in the south of France from his vast winnings?

As a reporter for NBC, my husband has been covering the story of the winning Powerball ticket from Zephyrhills. Check out Kerry's story at this link: http://www.today.com/video/today/51931523

Doing his report on the Today show, Kerry seemed almost as excited that SOMEONE had won the big jackpot as if he himself had won it.

In my old life as a newspaper reporter, I was once assigned to track down some former lottery winners to see how they'd fared. I was far from excited about what I found. For many, the picture wasn't pretty. The majority had lost most of what they won. Horror stories abound about how money sometimes buys the opposite of happiness.

*  Take a West Virginia man, who became a multimillionaire with $315 million in lottery winnings. He fell victim to multiple thieves, was sued for sexual harassment, got banned from casinos for writing bad checks, and lost both his daughter and granddaughter to drug overdoses. He blamed the money.

* Another man, who won $16 million in Pennsylvania, was targeted by a family member who hired a killer to try to get his winnings. The murder plan wasn't successful. He went on to have six failed marriages, and wound up on welfare before he died of natural causes.

* In Florida, a woman who offered to help the winner of $30 million manage his money stole it instead. Then she fatally shot him and buried him under a cement slab in the backyard.

Woo-hoo! You're a winner!

What about you? Lottery dreamer or skeptic? Do you know any winners personally?

Fun with Anthropomorphism

By Deborah Sharp

An osprey flew overhead the other day as I sat on the backyard dock. The big bird clutched a mullet in its talons. Sometimes, I watch as a fish flops and wriggles, trying to escape. Once I saw one break free, splashing into the New River and darting away in a streak of silver.
But not this fish. He didn't wiggle. He didn't struggle.
''Check out that mullet's face,'' I said to my husband. "He looks completely resigned to his fate.''
"Oh, great. Now you're reading the fish's mind.''
Now, I know that many scientists -- along with my husband -- scoff at ascribing human emotions to finned, furred and feathered creatures. We're just projecting our own feelings and interpretations unto them, the scientists say. Still, in the proud tradition of many a mystery author, I'm not above a bit of anthropomorphism now and then. In my Mace Bauer Mysteries, a gator may look accusingly at the main character -- who has a sideline as a trapper. Sometimes, a cat that Mace inherited seems to listen sympathetically to her problems.
In my life outside fiction, I frequently imagine I know how an animal ''feels'' by the expression on its face.
A squirrel scurrying across an oak branch took a tumble and hit the ground, right at my feet. He wasn't hurt, but before he scrambled away, he shot me a look of sheer embarrassment. Recovering quickly, he replaced it with what looked more like cockiness.
"Uh, yeah, I intended to do that,'' said the look on his pointed little face.
I've also seen proud horses, regal birds, and confident cats. They reveal so much in the way they hold their heads, along with the look in their eyes.
I thought I was alone in this little quirk until I stumbled across thousands of hits for ''Guilty Dogs'' on the Internet. (Honestly, you can get lost, but here's one fun site: http://thefw.com/guilty-dogs-in-act/  )
Not only do all these jillions of people believe their dogs feel guilt, they catch them conveying that very emotion through adorable expressions. Here's one picture of such a dog:

And another:

Cat lovers have also jumped on the bandwagon. As far as I'm concerned, the feline pictures don't measure up. The cats don't appear remorseful to me. They look brazen. Defiant. But maybe I'm just projecting my own feelings onto them. You be the judge as to whether this kitty feels bad: 

Right. I didn't think so. 

How about you? Do you use (or like to read about) animals in your mysteries? Do they express human emotions?

Thank you? How Rude!

By Deborah Sharp

A New York Times columnist sparked an online skirmish about etiquette this month with a grumpy tirade against what he sees as digital time-wasters: 

Some people are so rude, wrote the Times' Nick Bilton. Really, who sends an e-mail or text message that just says 'Thank you?' Who leaves a voice mail when you don't answer, rather than texting you? Who asks for a fact easily found on Google?

Don't these people realize that they're wasting your time?

The column generated upwards of 600 comments, with the most negative reserved for how Bilton's apparently harried life plays out in his communication mandates to Mom and Dad: 

My father learned this lesson last year after leaving me a dozen voice mail messages, none of which I listened to, Bilton wrote. Exasperated, he called my sister to complain that I never returned his calls. 'Why are you leaving him voice mails?' my sister asked. 'No one listens to voice mail anymore. Just text him.' 

My mother realized this long ago. Now we communicate mostly through Twitter. . . 

Wow!

One comment summed up what many readers seemed to be feeling: ''My heart breaks for this man's father.''

Count me as squarely in that commenter's camp. 

Even so, Bilton did make some good points about the perils of trying to communicate in our over-connected, over-wired world. I think there's a special place in hell for people who insist on texting me, even after I've repeatedly said I'd rather get an old-fashioned phone call or the dreaded email. My nieces and nephews, though, are about as likely to pick up a telephone as they are to motor down to the Western Union office in a Model T and send me a telegram. So I text. 

Loved U on Utube. LOL

Bilton is also irritated by people who ask questions easily answered on the Internet. The weather. Directions. If his column portends the end of a civil society. (Just kidding on that last one).

He interviewed another curmudgeon for the article, a man who happened to be an author. This guy carped about people who ask him via social media where they can buy his book, rather than simply turning to Google for that information. I don't know about you, but I'm HAPPY when somebody asks how to buy my book. No way would I snarkily reply with the link lmgtfy.com, which stands for Let Me Google That For You.  

How about you? What's your preferred communication mode? Do you send thank-you emails, or consider them time-wasters? Do you make your mother reach out and touch you through Twitter? 

 

INKSPOT NEWS - March 9, 2013

Here are the new releases (and NEWS releases) from Midnight Ink for March, 2013. They're both exciting reads!




Tainted Mountain by Shannon Baker

"Baker’s series debut brings Native American culture and big business together into a clash that can be heard across the mountains. Fans of J.A. Jance’s Joanna Brady will see similarities in Nora Abbott."
—LIBRARY JOURNAL

What's a Witch to Do? by Jennifer Harlow

"Hell's bells! Harlow's balanced blend of romance and intrigue makes this one a winner."
—KIRKUS REVIEWS


In other NEWS: Midnight Ink writer Deborah Sharp (author of the Mace Bauer Mysteries) will appear next Saturday, March 16, at the Southwest Florida Reading Festival in Fort Myers, Fla. The FREE, all-day event includes activities and entertainment for all ages, as well as more than 20 best-selling authors in panels and presentations. The Florida forecast is for warm, sunny FUN.

Sales conference - Fall 2013

I think I might thrive under pressure.  I say that because this week, here at Llewellyn headquarters, we will be doing our Fall 2013 sales conference and I have been slow to get prepared.  For those of you unfamiliar with sales conference, it is a huge meeting where the acquiring editors showcase the fall titles for the sales, marketing, and publicity departments.  For each title, we create a document that gives those departments all the information it needs, such as:

• release date
• cover image
• synopsis
• author bio
• physical book description (page count, sub-genre, ISBN)
• who the audience is
• a one to two sentence sound bite
• three comparable titles with book description and life to date sales

We also create a powerpoint to go with the presentation.  During the presentation, I give a verbal summary of the book and often go deeper into why I chose the applicable comp titles.  I also talk a bit about the author, especially if I have personally met the author.

 

After each title presentation, I ask if there are any questions or other information to add.

 

Is it stressful?  Heck yeah.  The most stressful part for me is the question time, because I have no idea what might come up!

 

But in general, I find sales conference to be fun and exciting.  I acquire books that I love and often refer to them as my children.  And at sales conference, I get to whip all my baby pics!  I tell stories of hanging out with authors and getting to know them.  I might go on and on about how much I loved a manuscript.  I can talk about a series - where it has been and where it is going.  I also work in my vision of Midnight Ink.  Where we have been and where I see us going.

 

But alas, I procrastinate.  Which means I should be filling in my powerpoint rather than typing up a blog post.  By noon today, I will start feeling anxious and stressed out.  Tuesday I will probably be a wreck and finish up my powerpoint.  Wednesday starts the sales conference with nonfiction lines.  Thursday we do fiction.  I can't wait...  now to just finish this powerpoint!

 

 

 

 

I give a big shout out to Kelly Van Sant who did the heavy lifting on my onesheets.  And to Brian Farrey-Latz who put the bones of my powerpoint together.  :)

 



Secret Garden of Words

By Deborah Sharp

It took me a long time to get used to questions about technique, so common at book-signings and conferences. Someone always raises a hand. In an earnest voice, they ask about one or more of these things: 
Where do you write? 
How many hours a day do you write?
How, physically, do you write?
I don't mind answering the questions, to the best of my ability. But it still strikes me as strange, this fascination with something I consider so mundane. How is that different, I wonder, from admiring a piece of furniture made by a woodworker, and then asking him or her to break down the steps taken to cobble it together?
"Well, first I buy the wood. Then I assemble my tools. I always use this saw, and nails just like these . . . "
At this point in my example, my imaginary woodworker holds up his saw and nails for my inspection, and my head drops to the table and I begin to snore.
I'm grateful when I take my car into the shop and the mechanic manages to diagnose the problem, and then fix it. But never once have I asked him how, physically, he does that.
"First I lift it up onto the rack, then I get on that little slid-ey thing, face-up, so I can see under the vehicle ...."
Same with the plumber, the  accountant, and even my doctor. Just get it unstopped, figured out, or cured, and spare me the details.
Not so with writers, though. People must think we enter some kind of secret garden through a magical gate to come up with the words we end up stringing together.
Note to fellow authors: Have y'all been holding out on me? Is there a Secret Garden of Words? If so, please give me the key.
The picture included here is the entrance to a beautiful garden in Palm Beach, Fla., secret in the sense it's tucked away on a side street, far from better known locales such as posh Worth Avenue or the church the vacationing Kennedy family attended. 

But though I found a few mosquitoes, and koi in a fish pond  . . .

I did not find in the garden the secret answer to why my work in progress is such a weed-strewn field of wrong.
So, if you're curious, the answers to the above questions are:
1. I write just about anywhere but at my desk. Right now, for example I'm at the library. This week, I've also written in the front seat of my parked car, sipping a senior coffee at McDonald's, and sitting at the bar at a pub in Naples, Fla. (Come to think of it, the pub may have something to do with those nasty weeds marring the garden that is my work in progress.)
2. How many hours a day? Way too few.
3. Specifically, how? With an often-aching back and cramps in my hand from an apparently un-ergonomic way of hitting the Enter bar. (Fewer paragraphs, maybe?)
How about you? Why do you think some readers  seem as interested in the process as the finished product? Do  you have any weird mechanics quirks (or know writers who do?)

Have Book, Will Travel

By Deborah Sharp

What to pack, what to pack?

I know that shouldn't be the biggest thing on my mind as I head off to an out-of-state mystery conference. Makes me sound so shallow. But hey, if the shoe fits  . . . or even if it doesn't, which is really the issue here. Since I live in southern Florida, where it's warm, and I work at home, usually in bare feet or socks, footwear is always a challenge. I'm not one of those women who loves shoes. I hate them, and they hate me.

As I write this, I'm preparing to attend Murder on the Menu, in Wetumpka, Ala. Through the magic of pre-scheduled posting, by the time you read it, the event will be over. Hopefully, I will have solved the mystery of what to take by then. You can check back with me to see how my feet and I fared.  

For now, though, I know whatever shoes I decide upon have to ward off the cold, not pinch my feet, look okay with black slacks, and not take up too much space in my suitcase. I ask less from my husband than I ask from these all-around, miracle shoes. On the other hand, it is easier -- or at least more legal -- to pack an extra pair or two of shoes to meet my different needs than it is to marry an additional guy or two to do the same.

Packing got me thinking. Not about bigamy, but about traveling to various conferences. Before I became an author, I could count on one hand the number of events I ever attended as a conferee. As a reporter, I covered a lot of different conferences, popping in and out to write a quick story about a speaker or particular topic. But I rarely got the full conference experience: hotel, luncheons and dinners, sitting in (or on) a panel to learn (or teach) something about writing mysteries. I can't say whether book writers and readers gather more often for conferences than other groups do. I do know they gather A LOT.

Like everything in life, conferences have their pros and cons. My favorite things include: 
* Camaraderie with other authors, a plus since writing is so solitary.
* Face-to-face meetings with readers.
* Learning things that kick-start (or re-energize) the writing process.
* Getting out of my pajamas.

The cons?
* Getting out of my pajamas.
* The exhaustion and hassles of travel.
* Expense.
* Eating too much.

I still remember my binge on decadently rich cheese straws and other Southern delicacies at my last Murder on the Menu, in 2009. There's a reason conference organizers put the word Menu in that title.

How about you? Do you go to conferences? What do you love about them? What don't you like? What are some of your favorite conferences, and why?

Author, Author!

By Deborah Sharp

When I sat down the other night to check my email, I found three gems buried under Viagra pitches and pleas for emergency money from ''friends'' supposedly stranded overseas. (Really? Does anyone actually rush to the bank to wire money after reading one of those emails?)

Anyway, the happy surprises were invites from organizers asking me to speak at writing conferences or other events. I haven't been writing fiction all that long. My first Mace Bauer Mystery came out in 2008. I remember all too well when no one invited me to go anywhere; when I had to kick down the door for a chance to talk about my books. 

Now, three invitations float across the e-transom in one day. Granted, that was a very good day, not to mention an unusual one. But, wow! What a difference a few years -- and four published books -- make. 

Don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm fielding speaking requests like Mike Trout snagging balls in the outfield. 

On the other hand, it's been a good while since I've had to beg somebody: ''Please, PLEASE, won't you ask me to come appear at your conference?'' 


Funny thing is, at least one of the recent requests came from a conference I'd contacted three or four years ago. I pleaded. I plotted. I groveled for an invite. Back then, I got a rather snippy letter in return, telling me I could pay to put up a card table in the vendor area and peddle my own books. I imagined being sandwiched between the hot dog cart and a vendor with a display of kitty-cat bookends. I didn't take the organizers up on their offer.  

Now, it's two free nights in a hotel and a cocktail reception for featured authors. Clearly, they don't remember blowing me off back in 2009. By 2012, I'd earned a polite invite with this nicely worded promise: I am at your service, so please do not hesitate to contact me for anything you may need.  

I wonder how they'd take it if I told hotel room service that I needed Champagne?  

Not that I'd do that. And, really, I'm not gloating. Well, maybe a little. Most authors work incredibly hard for not a lot of money. Getting invited into the spotlight to talk about your work feels like one way to measure success. 

How about you? What makes you feel like a success? What makes your self-worth soar? 

Dignity Trashed

By Deborah Sharp

Before I became an author, I dreamed of all the high-minded things I might do if I ever got published. I pictured myself in a patron's parlor, reading from my book. Maybe I'd teach a class, quoting fiction written by luminaries. I imagined hobnobbing with other authors at those mysterious conferences I'd heard so much about.

I did not foresee me donning a Hefty bag and bridal veil to talk about how the "Mama'' character has hijacked my  Mace Bauer Mysteries. But there I was, prancing around in black plastic last month at the Florida Heritage Book fest. (The photo shows me with readers, playing along in Mama scarves and sunglasses). I'd say a garbage-bag garment makes it hard to maintain dignity, but I think that baby got tossed with the bathwater back when I was promoting Book 2.

Set on a trail ride, MAMA RIDES SHOTGUN lent itself to events such as rodeos. I dutifully attended a few, until I wound up sitting on a scratchy hay bale on the hottest day of the year, right next to the cow chute.  You haven't lived until you've tried to peddle books while sweating puddles into your cowgirl boots, enveloped in an odoriferous cloud of cattle crap and urine. Did I mention the cute little candy giveaways I brought that day? Hershey's kisses, which look astonishingly like miniature cow patties when they melt in 100-degree temperatures at an outdoor rodeo arena.

Hey, whatever it takes, right?

Which brings me to my Hefty bag. Organizers at the Heritage Fest  asked each featured author to come up with a topic for an hour-long presentation. Two things about this freaked me out: My talks, generally linked to the release of a new book, usually top out at 20 minutes, with 10 minutes or so for questions. Longer than that, and I begin to bore myself.  Secondly, MAMA SEES STARS (No. 4) came out waaaaay back in the summer of 2011. It felt weird in today's fast-paced information whirl to be yakking solely about a book that seemed soooo yesterday.

So, I had the grand idea of talking about how the mother of the main character in the series has taken over  -- and not just the books, but also the promotion for each book. That way, I could fill an hour with a snippet or two about each title, and have some fun with the construct that the Mama character makes me do outrageous things to spread the word about her ... uh, I mean, MY, books.

Bringing sherbet-colored scarves to signings? Mama's idea, since she believes everyone looks better in sherbet hues. Riding a horse across my state on the week-long Florida Cracker Trail Ride? Mama made me do it, carping in my head about how a real author wouldn't shy away from first-hand research of a setting.  Dressing in tacky bridal veil and serving punch at signings for Book 3? Why not stage make-believe weddings for MAMA GETS HITCHED?  In Book 4,  Mama becomes a diva when a movie crew shoots a film in little Himmarshee, Fla. Said the little voice inside my head:  Diva sunglasses. Feather boa. Wouldn't a red carpet party be a hoot? 

It seemed natural to wind up my book-fest talk with a look ahead to Summer 2013, when Book 5 will come out. The title? MAMA GETS TRASHED. And when I see that picture of me in the garbage bag, I know exactly who to blame.

How about you? Authors, do your characters make you do things you wish they wouldn't? Readers, what wacky thing have you done to promote something or make a point?

Newsletters: Wondrous or Waste of Time?

By Deborah Sharp

I'm wrestling with one of my extremely infrequent urges to send out an author newsletter. I think I have something to say: After coming out with a Mace Bauer Mystery for the last four years in a row, right around this time of year, 2012 will come and go without a new ''Mama'' title.

Two questions are nagging at me:  Does the lack of something new fall under the category of news? And, are author newsletters over anyway?

Friends and readers accustomed to these regular fall releases have been asking, What's up with the Mama? One pal even took to Facebook to speculate whether Mama's author (me) had been eaten by one of the infamous iguanas slinking around southern Florida.  When I was a reporter, I occasionally wrote a  ''Where Are They Now?'' feature -- basically revisiting someone who used to be in the news to see what happened after they fell off the media map. I figured I'd do the same for my fictional family from Himmarshee, Fla. Whatever happened to Mace, her sisters, and their wacky mama . . . ?

But newsletters are a lot of work, and I'm basically lazy (see paragraph above, about how I didn't get around to having a book to release this year). So I've been wondering whether sending out my e-news is worth the trouble. On one hand, I do want folks to know what's cooking with my crew. (Book 5, MAMA GETS TRASHED, will be out in September 2013.) On the other hand, see references to laziness, above.

I'm hardly the first writer to ponder author newsletters. My fellow Midnight Ink'er, Jess Lourey, addressed the issue briefly here at Inkspot way back in 2010. (Her post was a funny one, about worst promotional ideas ever. )

''Unless I only get them once a year and they are for an author whom I love, I don't read them,'' she wrote then.


So, Jess, you have read all my previous Mama missives from Himmarshee, right?


Karin Bilich at Smart Author Sites offers some do's and don'ts in this article about author newsletters . Turns out I already violated the top rule, since I never thought about building a mailing list during the first year or two of book signings and appearances. Dang! I could have had tens of possible recipients, too. I've also never included an excerpt or run a contest, which are another couple of newsletter ''do's.''

Maybe I'll get around to that in this year's newsletter (BTW, sending only one letter a year is a don't.)


If you want to see whether I do or don't, go to my website  to sign up for my newsletter. Scroll down to find the sign-up box on left of page, under my amazingly youthful author picture. Hey, you can always unsubscribe, right? (Including an unsubscribe option is another newsletter do.)

How about you? For or against author newsletters? What do you like about them? What do you hate?