This Writing Life: Springing a Leak, Author-Style

Happy one year in the house!

By Lisa Alber

A year ago, exactly, to this day, May 19th, 2015, I closed on my very first house, my own little sanctuary away from the world. Cheers! To one year!

Alas, this little house of mine, it had a dry rot problem, which is common in the Pacific Northwest, so I shelled out major moulah to get it fixed. Fine. Fixed. Yay!

A year later, my house sprang a leak. I hoped and prayed that the contractor's guy had fixed the problem last month, but, no, he had not <insert your expletive here>.

The funny thing is that I think my house channeled my inner writing demons, because I've been having the worst problem with the ending of my work-in-progress. I know the ending--I've always known whodunit and whydunit, so why can't I get to "The End"? I keep writing scenes that aren't getting me there.

Over the weekend, as the rain poured down, and as raindrops tap-tap-tap-ed into a bucket, I had an epiphany: My plot had sprung a leak somewhere. That's why I couldn't finish--

and, to continue this awkward leakage metaphor, I couldn't help but think of a garden hose, and how you don't get no water pressure out the end of the thing if it's leaking somewhere along the way to the end.

Despite my anxiety about finishing by deadline (at one point I started to whimper, which I sometimes do under extreme stress), I decided to slow down for a day or two. It was no use trying to force a bad end to the story. It just wasn't feeling right. Instead, I called the contractor, waited around for him (isn't that always the way?), and realized that I felt relief along with the anxiety.

When it comes to the writing, I've learned to trust my gut, and my gut said, Oh yeah, baby, now you're thinking about it the right way--which is to say, thinking outside my own box, the box I'd written myself into by the end that wouldn't end itself.

I was still freaking out--deadlines will do that--but as I watched my cute contractor walk up the stairs ahead of me and do his thing with plastic and hammer and nails and a long piece of wood (now, now, no double entendre meant by that!), I decided it was no use freaking out. My contractor wasn't. He was doing the next logical task. He didn't appear phased by the leak, and as he said, Yes, leaks happen, but they're fixable. Sometimes you just gotta dig a little deeper than the first obvious, easy fix.

So it goes with my novel. I talked myself off the ledge of total hysteria that my story required a complete tear down. No, no, no-ditty no no. Was the contractor going to have to tear down the house? Of course not.

And wouldn't you know it, as soon as I let it be okay to think about revisions before officially finishing the first draft, some new and interesting plot ideas came to me -- changes that I can already tell will allow me to get to the end.

How well do you trust your gut in life? Has it ever failed you?

Lisa Alber is the author of the County Clare mysteries. Her debut novel, Kilmoon, has been called "utterly poetic" and "a stirring debut." Her second in the County Clare mysteries, WHISPERS IN THE MIST will be available in August 2016 from Midnight Ink Books. Ever distractible, you may find her staring out windows, fooling around online, or drinking red wine with her friends. Ireland, books, animals, photography, and blogging round out her distractions. You can find Lisa on Facebook, Twitter, and her website.

Trusting the Process

by Shannon Baker

There are as many ways to write as there are writers. More, in fact, because what works for one writer for one book might not work for the next book. For now, I’ve discovered a method that seems to work for me.

I charge through the first draft without pausing to look back. I set a challenging daily word count and begin at page one and write through until the last chapter. I start off with a fairly clear idea of the plot. I try to use the four part method and have reversals and twists at the appropriate spots. But even with all the planning, the whole boat inevitably sails off the edge of the world. It takes longer to set up scenes than I anticipated or I get a better idea along the way. Sometimes, my initial plot only has a place marker that says something like, she must be betrayed by him and end up at the ranch.

I used to get bent when I didn’t know all the details at the outset. Or if I had a better idea, I’d feel as if I needed to fix the previous pages before I moved on. But I’m teaching myself to trust the process and to forge ahead without any more editing than making notes about what needs to be included or changed. I know that those changes might change again and again before the end of the book so working on them now only slows the process.

What this means is that I can gallop very quickly through a first draft. But when it’s done, I’ve got a terrible mess. It’s the kind of disaster that pops me wide awake at 2 A.M. wondering how it will ever come together. But I soothe myself with the knowledge that it usually does gel at some point and nothing is done that can’t be undone.

Yesterday I finished my draft and today I’m staring at a pile of pages that I know are mostly crap. To be honest, I can’t remember some of the scenes or the clues I placed. I’m terrified to read the drivel I slapped down. Many of those words were grudgingly written with one eye to the word count, bargaining with myself that as soon as I finished the daily goal I could ride my bike or have a cookie. I am not above bribery. Also, I’m not entirely adult.

Hopefully I’ll find something salvageable in the dross. I know the pacing is off because I didn’t hit my stride until about half way through. So I will need to move chunks of exposition from the beginning, punching up the pace, adding clues.

But this first draft is the frame. What I’ll begin with on this second go is adding the rooms and giving it the structure. From there, I’ll put up the drywall by making sure it flows in a cohesive whole. Finally, there will be painting and bringing in the furniture and artwork that will finish it off.

I’ve got a long way to go before this puppy is housebroken. (How many metaphors can I come up with for one manuscript?) But I’ve got one stage down and am feeling hopeful.

What is your process and have you learned to trust it?

Teaching an Old Dog

by Shannon Baker

I've got a new toy. I've been playing around with it quite a bit and haven’t decided if it’s going to make my life easier or complicate it. For now, it’s kind of fun.

I downloaded a 30-day free trial of Scrivener.http://www.literatureandlatte.com/scrivener.php It’s software specifically designed for writers. I am starting a new series set in a small town and the cast of characters has the potential to become huge and confusing. Hopefully not for the reader, since characters will be emphasized in certain books and fade back in others. But for me, the writer, I’ll need to remember if the youngest sibling hates red beets in book one so I don’t have her scarfing them down in book five. (Please, Universe, I’d like there to be a book five.)

I have various methods of chaos for plotting books and a spotty system for research and character biblification. (I made that word up as a derivation of character bible, which, embarrassingly, I’ve never created.) It usually involves note cards and/or stickies, a cork board, an Excel spreadsheet with multiple worksheets attached, notebooks full of obscure scribbles.

Scrivener offers me the chance, at the outset of the process, to organize everything into one complete online file. I can paste links to research articles, I can cut and paste information and even pictures into the research file. It has this really cool cork board feature that lets me put bits of information on note cards and file them away. I can write all manner of notes and expand and contract as necessary.

I can write chapter synopsis on cards, with more detail hidden, color code the cards, and move them around the cork board to manage the plot. For instance, I can code orange for plot points and see if they’re distributed correctly. Or I can code pink and blue for point of view chapters and make sure everyone has their say.

Every character has a card and I can keep track of all the important information. Since the protagonist has nine brothers and sisters and some of them have progeny, this will be very helpful as I progress from book to book.

I’m having some bumps dealing with the mechanics. For instance, I can’t seem to import and export with ease. I’d really like to be able to email the files directly from Scrivener but I think I have to compile and save in a word document and send them out that way. These are small issues.

I’m not sure Scrivener offers me anything I’m incapable of accomplishing with my MS Office programs, but it’s new and fun and seems to be jolting my brain a bit, which is usually a good thing. One would hate to get complacent and keep relying on old methods.

So, off I go to create new cards to post on my virtual cork board. Have any of you used Scrivener or any other writer-specific software? What do you think? If you have a tried and true old-school method, tell us about that.

Engineering a Mystery

By Beth Groundwater

I've taught a number of workshops at many different writing conference, library programs, and to writing groups, and one of my favorites is "Engineering a Mystery." I apply my engineering background from my first career to help fledgling mystery writers build some scaffolding for their projects, or formulate recipes for their mystery novels.

The first essential ingredient in a mystery is the sleuth, who investigates the murder(s) and tries to deduce who the killer is. In my case, with two mystery series in the works, my sleuths are well-defined: whitewater river ranger and rafting guide Mandy Tanner for the RM Outdoor Adventures series or gift basket designer Claire Hanover. Both of these characters are old friends, but when I switch from one to the other, I usually need to go back and read at least the last few chapters of the last book starring that character, so I remember what emotional and physical state I left her in and move on from there.

The next essential ingredient in the recipe for a murder mystery is the victim. The dead body that falls on the floor in Act One. There may even be more than one victim to keep things interesting if the plot starts to drag in the middle. Without a victim, we wouldn’t have a mystery to solve and we could all go home! Along with defining a victim, I try to give him or her a family and/or friends who will sorely miss them, because we should never forget how truly horrible murder is.

Usually the victim is not well-liked, so there are many people who’d like to see him or her dead. And, I, like most mystery writers, try to use my creativity to find an interesting way for the victim to die—a mysterious poison, a unique weapon, something that might be construed as an accident or suicide and so on.

The third essential ingredient is suspects, those people who may have killed the victim(s). There are usually between 3 and 7 suspects in a murder mystery. Detectives or amateur sleuths look for means, motive, and opportunity for suspects. All three are needed to identify the killer. Means is the ability to commit the murder, such as access to the murder weapon. Motive is the reason why the suspect wanted the victim dead. Opportunity is the potential for the suspect to be at the right place at the right time to kill the victim. And an alibi is a story for why a suspect didn’t have the opportunity. That story can be true or false.

I try to make sure that all of my suspects have at least two if not all three of means, motive, and opportunity. And bringing in suspects often drives the addition of subplots (activities the victim was engaged in that may have led to his murder) and the addition of research topics I need to study.

The fourth essential ingredient in a murder mystery is clues, pieces of evidence that help the sleuth solve the crime. A good principle that detectives use is that the killer usually leaves something at the crime scene and takes something away. What the killer leaves may be fingerprints, shoe prints, a lipstick stain on a glass, or the murder weapon, say if the knife is stuck in the body. What the killer takes away may be hairs, carpet fibers or bloodstains, money or jewelry, or a special memento of the crime. I try to sprinkle the discovery of clues throughout the manuscript, as well as conversations with the suspects, to keep the reader stimulated with more information that she or he can use to try to solve the puzzle.

The last ingredient that spices up the recipe is red herrings. These are false clues that point to the wrong suspect, such as the gun in my first mystery, A Real Basket Case, that incriminated Claire’s husband. The term comes from a fish that’s been cured in brine and smoked, which turns it red and makes it very smelly. The smelly herring then is dragged across a trail to try to distract hunting dogs from their prey. A good hunting dog—or sleuth—is trained to not be distracted by the strong false scent but to stay on the trail of its prey. What makes things interesting in a murder mystery is when a piece of evidence points to more than one suspect, so it’s both a red herring for the innocent suspect and a clue for the killer.

I like to have at least half a dozen clues and red herrings, if not more. Once all the essential elements are defined, I work on putting scenes in order in an outline, figuring out what happens when and what gets discovered when. During this process, I shuffle scenes around until I come up with a flow of events that I think will most interest the reader. And, of course, there have got to be some surprises!

It's a complex process, and one that I always find daunting in the beginning, wondering how I'll ever come up with the final product--a scene by scene outline, a set of detailed character profiles, and thorough research notes from which I can start writing. But, I have to trust in the process and my abilities. I keep telling myself that I've done it many times before, so I should be able to do it again.

This Old House

By Maegan Beaumont

Your novel is a house.

Yes, I said a house—just trust me, it’ll make sense in a minute…

Writing a novel is like building a house. Your plot provides the foundation. Without a solid foundation, your house with never be structurally sound. It’s the same for your novel. Having an idea for a book and developing a plot are two different things. A plot must be able to withstand every possible "what if" scenario you can think of. You must poke at every spot, find its weaknesses and shore them up. If the hole is too big for a patch-job, then you scrap it and start over. It's a process—a long, time consuming process but it's necessary. If your foundation is cracked, your house will fall. Without a solid plot, so will your novel.

Your narrative—the story you build within the confines of your plot—provide the bones of your novel. Timber, nails, trusses—these are the materials you need to make your house a solid structure. They need to be the right lengths and sizes—cut and weighed to fit the exact dimensions laid out by your foundation, or, when finished, your house will look like you hired a troop of hyperactive toddlers to do your heavy lifting.

The same goes with your narrative. It should flow effortlessly. It should never sound forced or unnatural. When you write a paragraph or even a sentence you’re not comfortable with, you should re-read it and ask yourself, “does this sound like me?” If it doesn’t—if it’s not something you would say, or worded how you would say it, then either change it or toss it. If your narrative sounds forced, your reader will know. They won’t trust you. They’ll know that you don’t believe the words you’ve written and if you don’t believe them, neither will they. They’ll tuck a grocery receipt or parking slip between the pages of your book and set it down… and never pick it back up again. That distrustful feeling will stick with them and the next time they’re offered an opportunity to read your work, they’ll say, thanks, but I’d rather watch paint dry.

So, if your plot is the foundation and the narrative is the house that we build on said foundation… that’s it, right?

Wrong.

You’ve build this beautiful house that is solid and strong, but what’s the use if you don’t fill it full of people? We do that with our characters—we built this house for them to live in. Without them, what’s the use? For me, they’re the most important aspect of writing—the most important piece in building your novel. Your characters make your house a HOME.

Your characters are individuals—they have personalities unto themselves and the words you have them say portray that. Or at least they should. Your dialogue should flow as naturally from them as your narrative flows from you.

Dialogue is important.

It reveals who they are. What they think. How they feel. A single sentence can speak volumes to who they are as a person. Would you have your protagonist’s nine-year-old daughter spout lines that sound like they belong to a stuffy old butler from some BBC drama? Would you have your hard-boiled detective whine like a sorority girl who just chipped a nail? If the answer is yes, you need to re-evaluate who your characters really are... and possibly seek professional help.

Oh, The Pain, The Pain

Thinking is hard work. Much too difficult for this dried legume I call my brain. And yet, I find myself painfully hashing out a new plot. I have a general story. I know how it’s going to end. I know the premise, the characters, and some of the twists. In fact, I thought I had enough basic information that plotting this one would be like drift diving along a scenic reef.

Not so much.

Instead of coming up with concrete, workable ideas, I get distracted. Which is not like me in regular life. I’m usually disciplined—work before pleasure and all that. Like the character on Friends. What was her name? The Courteney Cox character, not Rachel, who was Jennifer Aniston. You know, the one who got all bent because her friends wouldn’t click the caps on the marking pens and they’d dry out? I never liked her and really hate that I can be like her…. Um. What was I saying about distractions?

Then there’s the fact that I’m a lazy thinker. I can get out of working for new ideas by telling myself that it would do my shriveled up gray matter good to rest and take in a movie to absorb story telling by osmosis. Or, really, wouldn’t it be better to read that new book on craft to gain some inspiration? Or maybe that old book on craft.

It’s said the great ones like Hemmingway and Fitzgerald knocked back a few cocktails to loosen the creative juices. Many of my writing pals have play lists or use pictures tacked to their walls to inspire them and keep them focused.

Even as I write this The Man With Infinite Tolerance is scurrying around and he said, “You keep looking at me with a blank expression and I assume you’re thinking.” Just because he’s the only thing moving and my eyes can’t help but follow him might make it look like I’m thinking but really, I’m panicking. My brain is refusing to give me what I want.

There are two tricks I use to force myself to concentrate. They both involve physical things to make my mind forget it’s working. The first thing I do is get out my big, thick, yellow legal pad. It has to be a new one so I don’t fret (Courteney Cox character-esque. What the hell was her name?—Squirrel!) about running out of paper or wasting it. I write down questions: Why would Nora have to solve this murder? Why wouldn’t she call the cops? What happened to her cell phone? What is the first plot point? The midpoint? What is her character arc? You know how that list grows and grows.

Somehow, the act of moving my hand across the page can trigger thoughts and many times the answers flow. Often, the characters themselves answer in their own voice. (Oh, don’t pretend I’m the only one sick enough to do this. You KNOW you hear your characters, too.)

The other ploy is to strap on my running shoes or hiking boots and hit the trail or pavement. Walk, run, plod, trek, traipse. Whatever it takes. I pound myself into some kind of trance and my eyes turn around and start to look into my brain. Please, dog, someone tell me you do something like this, too. My brain becomes like a movie screen and the scenes play themselves out before my turned-around eyes.  They aren’t always brilliant scenes, mind you, but sometimes magic strikes and it works. I’ve also done this on cross-country drives but I don’t recommend it. It’s really hard to concentrate on driving if your eyes are turned around in your head.

If you are one of those geniuses who don’t writhe in pain when you plot, I don’t want to hear from you. But if you struggle and fight your brain to give you the shining nuggets, I’d love to hear how you make it cough up the goods.

Getting Lost

By Shannon Baker

I went for a bike ride this morning and nearly died. Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but only slight. We just moved from Arizona to Colorado, in the Boulder area. I’ve lived around here before but in a different part of the community. I know of a few trusty bike trails and have scoped out a sweet course to work that involves all bike lanes. Boulder is a super biking city.

I haven’t found nice recreational routes from my new home yet. There’s a wonderful trail along a creek but it’s not paved and I have road tires on my bike, a little too narrow for a dirt road. So I’ve been exploring early in the morning, before traffic heats up.

One morning I followed a bike lane that took me into an old-town area and petered out. It was 6 AM so no traffic. But in the middle of the day it would be hairy riding. I crossed that off my list of possibilities.

This morning I took a turn, expecting it would take me under the Interstate and around to a quiet road to complete a loop. Logic told me it would work that way and I looked forward to climbing a hill, scooting through a quaint downtown, angling back across a busy highway and sliding into my garage.

That’s not exactly how it turned out.

I ended up on what, in effect, was an off ramp of the Interstate with cars barreling down and the shoulder strewn with rocks. Whoosh! Aghghgh! Talk about getting my heart rate up! I escaped with my life and my bike intact, but it seemed touch and go for a while.

Sadly, this search and find process is how my writing often progresses. I start going down one way and by the time I’m in the middle of the road, I find it strewn with potholes, traffic and danger. I have to get out quickly and make a new plan. I read books on craft and attend workshops and seek out better ways to plot a book. I also read maps to find the best road, path, or trail. But, as with writing, I’m never really sure how it goes until I’m on the ground, pedaling it out.

Sometimes I set out on a certain mission only to find an interesting path I hadn’t intended to take. I don’t know where it goes but I’ll follow it anyway. Even if it doesn’t get me to my destination, it’s rarely a wasted trip. You know that Zen saying, “Wherever you go, there you are.” 

I often wish my writing, route-finding, and life in general was less messy. Then again, by not always having a plan, or not always following the plan I lay out, I’ve done, seen, written better things than my pea brain thought of in the first place.

This morning, I discovered a route I should never take again. It won’t stop me from exploring another unknown next time. There’s got to be a nice morning ride somewhere close and I intend to find it.

If anyone out there has a foolproof plotting method, I’d love to hear from you. Currently, I’m using Story Engineering, by Larry Brooks. I find it extremely useful. 

There Has to Be an Easier Way

by Shannon Baker


Why is writing a novel such a messy enterprise? Maybe it’s not for everyone but for me, it’s like eating an overstuffed taco. You know, the kind where you take a bite and tomatoes plop onto the plate, guacamole smears your nose, juice slides down your wrist and the tortilla shatters, scattering lettuce and cheese all over the table.

This whine is from an accountant who plots on an Excel spreadsheet. I hate messes and redundancy and wasting time. I spend quite a bit of time plotting a novel before I ever type a word onto the screen. But one thing I’ve discovered about novel writing is that no matter how detailed my plots, gaping holes appear like a Flagstaff city street in the spring thaw. Not only that, but characters that begin as figments of my imagination take off on their own and change my carefully laid plans.

That’s why I treat my first draft (not-so-affectionately called Shirty First Draft after our critique partner misspoke Natalie Goldberg’s famous title for bad drafts) as a lark. I do no editing, just write as if the hounds of hell nipped at my heels. I know I will have to make extensive rewrites as I realize what won’t work and/or I get inspired by better ideas.

I finished that Shirty First Draft as the year drew to a close. Some issues nagged at me. So on December 31st, I took MWET (Man With Endless Tolerance) to a sunny patio at a pub and plied him with beers all afternoon while I told him the whole story of my book. I could do this, because I’d written the plot, chapter by chapter, in Excel and printed it out. He listened and drank and drank and listened and drank and drank.

“Here is where I think I need to pump up the danger. And here is where I need a big twist.” I pointed out the weaknesses as I identified them and where I needed his creative mind.

He nodded and ordered another beer. I allowed the book to steep in his mind, hardly bugging him… more than a few times a day. FOR A WEEK!

And then he started. “The villain should…” I answered, “That can’t happen because…” And he said, “Change that to…” And I said, “If she did that, then she couldn’t… and that would change and then the end wouldn’t…” This went of for some time, days, actually.

It turns out, he was right. My Excel spreadsheet tilted and I had to change my method to a cork board and sticky notes, and notebook paper, and napkins and anything else handy. I even stopped at a grocery store to beg paper and pen during a walk because I had one of those idea attacks and feared I’d forget the brilliant twist.



Now, despite my careful planning and writing for a couple of months ago, I’m finally ready to start writing the real book. Messy, redundant, and 80,000 words waiting to be tossed. But this is the book I want to write. I hate that I can’t force my mind to be more organized and well, that I’m just not smarter than I am. But if this is the process that brought me to a better book, in the words of New Age gurus and those way more in tune with the Universe than I, I need to honor it.


For my accountant brain, though, I’ve taken the new plot from that nightmare of a corkboard and translated it neatly into Excel.

What is your plotting process? Does anyone have a surefire way to avoid massive rewrites? If not, have you learned to honor your creative mess or do you fight it?

Behave!

Cricket McRae

Like Kathleen, who posted yesterday, I recently finished my latest mystery for Midnight Ink. It’s the sixth in the Home Crafting Series, which I’ve been calling Digging Up Darla. However, Darla is out, and the official title has been changed to A Deadly Row to Hoe. The backdrop for the murder this time around is vegetable gardening and community supported agriculture. It will release in November of 2012.

Of the nine novels I’ve completed, this one was possibly the hardest to write. I say possibly, because I think writing a book is a little like giving birth – joyous and painful, and after it’s all over your memory of the difficulty fades. All that remains is the happiness and sense of accomplishment. So I could be wrong.

The memory is still pretty strong right now, though, and I remain surprised at how I struggled with characters who are such old friends. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with them and have a good notion of how they’ll develop over the course of the series.

But this time they refused to behave.

I’ve done a lot of thinking about why they suddenly got their backs up, dug their heels in, pick your own cliché.  My protagonist in particular was moping around one minute and then freaking out the next. Sophie Mae is not that kind of gal. In fact, she wonders to herself about her unusual reactions before realizing it might have to do with hormones. I swear, at one point I was ready for her to go into therapy.

Now, you can rightfully scoff at the idea of an author not being in control of her characters. The whole idea of a writer avoiding responsible for her writing bothers me. So blaming my characters is a cop out. It did, of course, feel like they were fighting me at the time, but it was all in my head.

Right?

One possible reason things went awry is that the story I originally intended to write had to be thrown out for various (valid) reasons. But it was still there, in the back of my mind, messing with the story I was actually supposed to be telling.

And then there’s the fact that I’m usually more of a seat-of-the-pantser writer. In some of the mysteries I’ve written the killer ended up being someone completely different than I intended. All the clues were there, as well as real, believable motivation. I love it when that happens. As Robert Frost said, “No surprise for the writer, no surprise for the reader.”

Well, I was surprised all right, but not by the story. Due to what Zorba the Greek called “the full catastrophe of life,” I had a tighter schedule for Deadly Row. So I put together more of an outline than usual and wrote to it. I don’t regret the outline, but I do regret that it was too sketchy. As I neared the end of the book I could tell the character motivations were off. Their misbehavior was likely my subconscious waving its hands in the air, trying to get my attention before I’d gone too far.

However, I had a deadline, and I’m stubborn.

Finally I gave in, ripped out the last half of the book, and totally rewrote it. That required some rewriting in the first half, too, but it was worth it. I hope I’m not the only one who thinks so.

Have you even had a character misbehave? As a reader, can you recall books that fell flat because the characters seemed to be following a plotline rather than what their personalities would dictate?

The Unexpected Guest

by Nina Wright

In the middle of the night on a mist-shrouded country road, Michael Starkwedder runs his car into a ditch. When he goes to the nearest house for help, he finds a murdered man in a wheelchair and a woman holding a smoking gun.

That's the opening scene of Agatha Christie’s classic play, The Unexpected Guest, adapted as a novel by Charles Osbourne. No spoilers here, but suffice it to say that the action goes inside-out when Michael Starkwedder arrives.

Precisely what happens when unexpected guests appear on my pages. Even though I (attempt to) outline before drafting, characters I never saw coming invade my plays and novels. In response, I do the only thing I can: sit back and watch as they take over what I erroneously believed was my story.

Case in point: An Ann Arbor-based animal rights advocacy, Four Legs Good (a.k.a. Fleggers), blindsided me while I was drafting the second Whiskey Mattimoe mystery, Whiskey Straight Up. Founded by a veterinarian with a speech impediment and no sense of humor with humans, Fleggers has been shaping my plotlines ever since. Poor Whiskey still struggles with the term “anti-speciesist.” So do I.

Another case in point: A hunky Scot named MacArthur stunned me when he showed up in Chapter One of Whiskey and Water claiming to be a “cleaner.” His biz had nothing whatsoever to do with either yard work or maid service although he did pick up dog shit. You’d have to read the series to appreciate how much that pleased Whiskey. The cleaner revealed many talents, including a knack for erasing celebrity hijinks. And selling real estate. He's versatile enough to resurface in the book I’m writing now, Whiskey with a Twist. I wonder what he’ll do in this one.

Have unexpected guests changed the course of your fiction? If not, just wait. . . .