Finding the muse in music

I've been working on a couple of projects recently, and for a while, there was some overlap. I've been editing what will be the sixth Emma Fielding mystery, Ashes and Bones (which comes out next summer), and at the same time, writing a short story (which will be part of a holiday anthology next year). The short story features a character named Margaret, and is set at Christmas-time in 1722 London.

The fun thing about this is that Margaret is someone Emma has been researching in the archaeology mysteries, which are set in the present. Piece of cake, right?

Nope.

I was completely confounded when I started working on the short story. I knew everything I needed to do, and could not do it. Couldn't type a line. It wasn't just nerves (though there were some of those; this is my first real stab at writing a short story for publication), and it wasn't that I didn't know where I was going, because I had all sorts of research and a couple of scenes in my head. I even had Margaret's backstory from the Emma books (especially Past Malice and A Fugitive Truth). With a deadline looming, the situation was untenable, to say the least.

I finally realized that I was still listening to the music that I used to inspire Ashes and Bones. It just didn't work for the short story and its period setting. As soon as I switched from The Killers (Hot Fuss) to Francois Couperin (L'Aptheose de Lulli) and Arcangelo Corelli (Concerti Grossi), I was golden. The story just happened. I swear the keyboard still has scorchmarks on it.

Some people need complete silence to work, some need a little background noise, and some need music: It's imperative to know what works for you. I need music, and it's something specific that sets a mood for me, reminds me of something, or just takes me out of my own head. Generally speaking, I have one or two albums that I listen to over and over while working on a book. And they stay a part of that book for me, they don't transfer from one project to another (my friend and fellow writer, Steve Kelner, wrote about this phenomenon in his extremely useful book, Motivate Your Writing). While there are a couple of albums that I can use repeatedly, for very emotional scenes (including Evanescence's Fallen, The Cure's Disintegration, and a couple of movie sountracks, like Prospero's Books, The Last of the Mohicans, Master and Commander, and Diva), I have to find that one album or playlist to be my soundtrack for a year.

Making the connection between classical music and Margaret was a ridiculous relief, and I probably should have figured it out sooner. Oddly enough, it turns out that only Baroque music worked: later composers like Liszt and Beethoven didn't move my story any further along than The Chemical Brothers did. As long as I stuck with Bach and Handel and Lully and things pre-1750, I was fine. Maybe it's the way the music of the period is structured, maybe it's because those pieces evoke for me the mindset of the early 18th-century, Margaret's "time." There's not always a direction correlation between setting of a story and my personal soundtrack, but there surely was in this case.

Way back before most people had personal computers...

....my husband and I went out on our first date. Twenty-four years ago last week.

Twenty-four years? Yikes, that's like a whole M.A. student, or something. It sure doesn't feel like it's been that long, so for a trip to 1982 in the Way-Back Machine, click here.

That first date was lunch (pizza and orange soda at Pizzeria Regina) and a movie ("Chariots of Fire"). On this anniversary date, we saw a movie ("Good Night, and Good Luck") and had dinner (steak salad and a bottle of Joseph Phelps "Insignia").

Time flies when you're having fun. Thanks for everything, Mr. G., semper toujours.

Found in translation: LA VERITA PERDUTA

For me, seeing my first book in a bookstore for the first time was thrilling--and unnerving.

I bet it's a lot like seeing your kid all grown-up and dressed for the prom, when you weren't even used to the fact that she can walk and talk, never mind ask for the car keys. But to abuse that metaphor just a little more, seeing your book in another language for the first time is perhaps like sending your kid off on a foreign-exchange program, only to have her return wearing black, smoking a Gauloise, and saying things that you might not understand.

Confusing, initially, but really, really cool.

I received copies of La Verita Perduta last week, which is the Italian translation of A Fugitive Truth, my fourth Emma Fielding book. At first, it seemed a little alien--hey, kid, who are you? The cover is very different from the original, with the bright yellow of the "I Classici del Giallo Mondadori" series and an illustration of a man's body and bottle (see below). I don't read Italian (apart from tourist stuff and cognates), but when I flipped through it, I caught the line --Sono Emma Fielding. "I'm Emma Fielding."

Hey! I know that! Hey, I wrote that!

It's neat to recognize specific passages, and I really love seeing Madam Chandler's 18th-century diary in Italian. And then there are the pop culture references that Brian, Emma's husband, makes. He mentions that his philosophy might be derived from un episodio di Buffy l'ammazzavampiri ("an episode of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'"), and asks Emma, in a Cajun restaurant, O forse preferiresti un Turbo Dog? ("Or maybe you'd prefer a Turbo Dog?" (beer)). Fellow writer Donna Andrews mentioned in her blog that I was dying to see what "nuttier than squirrel burps" would look like in Italian. Alas, it was rendered into idiom as matto come un cavallo, which another Femme Fatale, Julie Wray Herman, suggests might be "crazy as a horse."

Not what you ordinarily find in Berlitz. Thanks, Emma!

How reading Homer saved my life

Yes, I mean that Homer, the one responsible for The Odyssey, not the one responsible for Bart Simpson.

This memory re-emerged during an odd set of synchronicities that took place last week. Friday, I was watching Good Eats with Alton Brown and drooling over his gyro ("YEER-ro") sandwich recipes (for those of you who don't know his work, Alton combines two of my favorite personalities: being a geek and being a foodie). By Saturday, I had to go to one of my local restaurants, Ithaki Mediterranean Cuisine for lunch. They do a gyro-style grilled chicken sandwich that will knock your socks off. It's eyes-rolling-back-in-your-head good. Chair-clutching good. Hugh-Jackman-Joseph-Fiennes-Seth-Green-with-Maytag-blue-cheese-on-top good. And not that there's any real connection between gyro sandwiches and Homer (the sandwiches were probably invented in New York in the 1970s), but I also happen to be reading The Odyssey out loud right now (see above: geek). Suddenly, I was remembering the first time I read The Odyssey as poetry and how I'm pretty sure it saved my bacon.

This was about, oh, eight or nine years ago, and I was doing research in Liverpool. Although I usually travel very light (see my friend and fellow writer Eileen Dreyer's notes on travel and packing), with a roll-on bag and day pack, also I had my laptop and research notes. And still, I brought my brand-new hardcover copy of Robert Fagles translation of The Odyssey with me. It's not a small book (500+ pages), but I was in the middle of it, and just couldn't bear to leave it behind. Maybe because I was going to be alone and away from home for nearly a month, I dunno, but I was also totally digging the story and the poetry.

Anyway, on a Saturday morning in the spring, I'm on an early train to London. I'm the only one in the car, and I'm looking forward to a little quality time with my book. All of a sudden, the train is swarming with very large, very rowdy Liverpool football supporters. They were apparently traveling to a match, and although it's only 7:00am, they're seriously drunk. I don't mean that some of them were giddy with high spirits, I mean they were plastered like they'd been drinking since Thursday, cans of lager still in their hands, flasks being handed around. Playful scuffles are breaking out, but it sounds like something angry is happening one car up. I look one car back: also heaving with bodies, equally unappealing. There's nowhere to escape to, no sign of the conductor, and I suddenly feel like I'm the only woman around for miles.

I'm not the only one who realizes that "one of these things is not like the other": I notice guys elbowing each other and gesturing at me. As the train pulls out, I'm getting seriously nervous: the only way I could have been more obviously out of place was if I was served up on toast points, wearing nothing but a bikini and a Manchester United scarf. The harassed conductor finally comes into the car and announces, "behave yourselves, there's a lady," which doesn't make me feel any better, as it not only underscores the fact that I'm there and alone, but he's answered with laughter and jeers. Great. I ask if there's anywhere else I could sit, and he says no. Brilliant.

Now I don't know that anything nasty was going to happen--no one said anything directly to me--but all my instincts were screaming "trouble" and I pay attention to that. But with nothing else to do, I just kept my head down, trying to hide behind my book, figuring if anyone tried anything, I'd cosh him with the book. It was either that or a ballpoint pen, and the book was heavy, at least.

The noise continues around me, and if anything, it's getting worse as we travel. But I'm also getting sucked into the story again, and that's helping me calm down, and eventually, I forget where I am. Not smart, maybe, but I didn't have many options. Then I got to the part near the end, where Odysseus, who's been away for twenty years, proves who he is to his faithful wife Penelope by describing their wedding bed. And when she recognizes him:

"Living proof--Penelope felt her knees go slack, her heart surrender/recognizing the strong clear signs Odysseus offered."

At this point, I'm totally immersed in that amazing, epic scene, actually sobbing, nose running, a mess. And it's only when I realize that I can't breathe for golliwogs, that I need a hankie, that I come back to earth and notice the car has gone dead silent around me. Not only is there no noise but my snuffling, but seats have been vacated in front and behind me, like there's a no-go zone around me. Men are staring at me, horror-stricken, completely unsure what to do with the hysterical, emotional woman in the corner.

I snuffled again, and thought, Cool.

I'd found a secret weapon. I don't know if it would ever work again, but that gave me a lot to think about. A while later, the muted football supporters got off at their stop, and I eventually arrived, safely, in London.

Now, I don't know whether there's a moral here, or if there is, whether it's about the power of poetry, the power of snot, or the utility of playing to your strengths (or weaknesses). Maybe it was Athena, "bright-eyed Pallas," who watches over all travelers, who inspired me ("no warrior, you, little one/I'll gift you with tears and phlegm/and your enemies will be unmanned"). Or maybe it's just proof that Oscar Wilde was right: you should always have something sensational to read on the train.

Some thoughts on writers' groups

As we are starting out all fresh and clear-eyed and ambitious in 2006, I know a lot of folks make resolutions to work on their writing. I believe that a great way to learn about taking, using, and giving valid criticism is to join a writers' group. A good writers' group will challenge you and motivate you at the same time; a bad one will suck the life from you and your writing.

I ran a "roundtable" discussion on writers' groups at the 2005 New England Crime Bake and thought I'd share a few of my ideas about what goes into making a successful writers' group work here. Mine aren't the only valid parameters and suggestions, and of course, Your Mileage May Vary. But if you are brand-new to the concept, this might give you a place to start. My friend, fellow mystery writer, and fellow Femme Fatale, Donna Andrews took on this subject in her blog ("On writers' groups") and you should check it out first. She's addressing what good group chemistry looks like, and what I'm tackling here is a list of some of the practical issues you should think about when you're joining or forming a writers' group.

1. Who can you get involved?
Check out other groups you may already be involved with, including your local chapters of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America. There might be groups or individuals where you work, at a nearby college, in writing classes that you're taking, and at writers' conferences. You could advertise, but you'd lose control over selection, and I think that you'd better really trust and like the folks if you're inviting them from work. You should ask where the other members are in their writing careers and why are they writing? Don't commit until you're comfortable with a group's chemistry. Shop around.

I think it’s best to think you can at least work with the people in your group. This doesn’t mean you have to be best friends or even think alike. It does have to mean that you all have to be dedicated to the same goals and have a general consensus of that should happen. My old writing group was full of very different people, all writing a variety of things, and it worked out great because of our wide range of perspectives and experience.

Another major caveat is to beware of people who seem to know it all, because sometimes they do and sometimes they are clueless wannabes who will destroy your work if you let them. Finding the balance between trusting your group's comments and trusting your own instincts is critical. You can get incredibly bad advice from people who don't know what they're doing (and think they do) or from people who do not really have your best interests at heart. Pay attention to your instincts.

2. Where can you meet?
The easiest place to "meet" might be in an online chat room. Someone in your group sets up the chatroom, extends invitations, and you email each other your texts before you all "meet" in the chatroom to discuss the work. The advantages are that you can send comments to individuals in separate emails (I'd save picky stuff like punctuation for this kind of aside), there's no travel, and you can critique in your pajamas, if you like. Disadvantages include not being able to hear ore see people reading, and that is important. You don't get the same kind of trust you get from looking someone in the eye or hearing the tone of his voice.

If you choose to meet in the real world, your group should consider meeting somewhere centrally located, near public transportation, and/or with lots of parking. If you have one permanent host, that can lead to turf issues and problems defining what the group is: Is it "Betty's group" and subject to her rules, or is it the group that meets at Betty's house? Rotating among houses is an option, if people are flexible. Neutral ground, like a library, a bookstore, a coffeehouse, or a community center means no "my ball, my game” syndrome. And groups can founder because someone tries to take it over, or it devolves to a coffee klatch or personalities, so opt for as democratic and ego-sheltering setting as you can manage. Writing and sharing your work is hard enough as it is.

3. When can you all meet?
This depends on everyone's schedules, but I think that between once and twice a month works out best, and the number of hours TBD. You'll need to consider vacations, holidays, and work and school schedules to get the best average for a meeting time. Your schedule also depends on the space you’re using, whether it's public or private.

4. What do you do at a meeting?

I personally would limit discussions about finding an agent/a publisher/an entertainment lawyer until you've got a complete (clean and edited) manuscript in hand. Yes, critique groups can be useful sources of industry information, but that can distract from the real purpose of your gathering (the writing itself) very quickly. Good writing in a great story has to be paramount.

Make sure everyone's had a chance to read the work before the meeting. You can opt to have the writer read a selection of it, as well, but you should have some familiarity with the work in question before you all get down to critiquing.

When you're critiquing someone's work, say something nice first. (In fact, most of my advice about critique groups is: Play nicely, dang it!) Just saying "I love it" or "I hate it" isn't criticism. A good critic can say whether a piece worked for them and why. Try to respond to the writing two ways, one as a writer, one as a reader. Read it, and react to it on that first reading. Use examples to show why works or doesn’t. Keep your comments off the personal level and realize there's more than one way to do things.

It's a good idea to keep track of who’s been reading what and when. Make sure everyone is contributing equally, not just showing up when it’s their turn to be critiqued. Keep a record, if you have to.

I think it's important to take turns and limit time on individual responses. Some folks are naturally chattier or more agressive or shyer than others. To be fair, consider using a kitchen timer. Remember, you can always give the person a marked-up copy of their paper, with your other notes, after your time is up.

Reading your work aloud to the group is a great idea, as it can demonstrate the difference between what you're trying to do and what is actually happening in your text. You can also catch boring, clunky, or unsuccessful writing in your own work. But if you read aloud (in addition to previewing hardcopy, which I think is vital), limit the number of pages read or the time allowed for reading, to leave time for responses.

A couple of devices can help maintain order and maximize what you get (and give) in a critique session. By making the writer whose work is under discussion a “Dead Author” (meaning, she can't respond during the discussion of her work, because, she's, well, dead), this forces the writer to listen to the criticism without coming up with excuses or explanations. The writer can respond at the end, ask how to overcome problems, indicate what she was going for and ask how better to do it.

Then there is the “Masking Tape of Truth,” where an item is passed around to keep people speaking in turn, one at a time. While this can be cumbersome, it helps prevent the conversation from getting sidetracked, the writer can respond to one person at a time, and it can be used to gag overeager critics, if necessary. I'm kidding. No, I'm not. Yes, I am.

Some people say you should only give the feedback the author is looking for. I’m not sure about this, because I think that honesty in a response, on all levels of the writing, is important. Make sure you’re not just focusing on grammar and punctuation; I strongly think that’s something to be left on written notes, so you can focus on more important responses in your meeting.

There may be writers of all skill levels in a group or at a particular meeting, and I think you can learn a lot from reading and responding to someone who’s still got a lot to learn. Teaching him can help clarify your own thoughts. Maybe he has a skill you haven’t got and need to learn. I can't overemphasize the importantce of patience. You'll need a lot of it, as a writer.

Finally, remember, this is YOUR BOOK, not a group project. The opinions of the others might be helpful, but you’re the one who has to claim responsibility for the book at the end, so make sure you love every page of it.

I'm in 2006, but my technology isn't...

Okay, so I'm still grappling with technology. A "friend" once described me as an "18th-century structure freak," and while that's not entirely fair, there are certainly reasons that I'm a writer and an archaeologist, and not a leading light in high-tech. For example, last month, I went to send a disk with a copy of my manuscript to my editor, and had a hard time finding the "A" drive on my new computer. Actually, my first clue should have been that I couldn't find any 3.25 disks in the house, but eventually I realized that I should be using the lovely CD-RW or whatever burner I have in my computer. Proud that I figured this out on my own, I told my husband, who replied with a gentle "Wake up, Rip. It's the 21st century." Since he's the one who is doing his best to educate me in the ways of the Web, I have to be nice to him, but he was pushing it there.

That brings me to this blog, which is really an extension of my old "Notebook," the previous entries of which are still to be found on my website. So I'm holding my breath and jumping in and we'll see if I can publish this puppy. Of course, at the moment, I'm thinking of how Douglas Adams wrote about how even harmless words go into the universe to cause havoc, so I'm trying to avoid saying "Belgium" as I hit enter...click