Doing It Old School

by Maria Geraci

A few months ago while watching as I manually jotted down an important date into my calendar, a friend convinced me that I wasn't taking full advantage of my iPhone.

"What's the use of having a smart phone if you're not going to be smart about using it?" she said to me.

"Gee, I guess you're right," I said back. She then showed me the Calendar function on my phone (which I was aware of, but I confess had not really explored much).

"You just place all your appointments in the calendar and you'll never miss anything again," she said.

Maybe I should have had those words bronzed, because the fact is, my friends, as you have probably guessed by now, I've missed just about everything. And this is despite using the "alarm" function on the calendar. I'm a visual person, and by visual I mean I need to write something out and then look at it constantly for me to "get it." I need a real calendar that tucks nicely into my purse that I can pop out to look at and I need to flip pages. I like my iPhone. But I don't love it. I've had it for almost 4 years now and I think it's awesome, but it's not the be all and end all that a lot of people think it is. At least not for me.

Recently, I was hacked. All my email accounts, my Facebook account, even my website. It was my own fault really. I hadn't changed my email password in years. I stored almost all my other passwords and important information in the Saved Mail portion of my email account. Pretty dumb, huh? All this happened while I was visiting my parents and had no Internet access. By the time I was able to get into my account and change my password 4 days had passed. Four days of someone else playing with my life (in not a pretty way). I now have all my important information printed out and saved in a real time file in a real time desk.

Yes, I think the Internet is pretty awesome, but you have to respect the awesomeness and protect yourself. It's not enough to have a "smart" phone or a "smart" computer. You have to be smart too.

In Defense of Trees

or, Ah crap, just move already; I'm tired of emailing you and want to have coffee in person.

 

by Bethany Maines

So I’m trying to persuade my one-time college roommate, and old fiend The Hobo (not her real name), to pack up her stick and kerchief and move back to Washington State after graduate school.  The Hobo happily attends the illustriously ivy-league institute of Columbia.  That’s right, Columbia, the one in New York.  And I want her to move.  Leave.  Vamoose.  Exit that city stage right.  Yeah… I know what you’re thinking: my odds are not good. 

Manhattan has all night food delivery.  Museums on every block.  Night clubs that stay open till four in the morning.  Better zombie culture.  I’m not sure why that one’s important, but she seems to enjoy it, so who am I to argue?  Manhattan has street vendors, Broadway, fashion, and every movie that does’t blow up LA, blows up New York.  New York has EVERYTHING.

Washington has… trees.  Don’t get me wrong, we have a lot of trees.  And in a grudge match, I would bet on our trees against the trees of any other state in the Union.  (Does your state have Madrona trees?  Coniferous AND deciduous trees?  Rainforest and desert trees?  Yeah… didn’t think so.)  But let’s face it, trees and a fairly decent cultural scene are never going to stack up against New York, New York.

To put it another way, if New York were a man, he’d be Brad Pitt (occasionally the alcoholic, filthy Brad Pitt from Snatch, but still, Brad Pitt).  And if Washington were a man he’d be Jim Caviezel, the dude most well known for playing Jesus.  Just for the record, Jim Caviezel is adorable and was born in Mt. Vernon, Washington (Ok, yes, so was Glenn Beck, but there’s nothing we can do about that).  The problem is that nobody wants to date Jesus except for nuns.  Girls want date dangerous bad boys who make grand gestures.  They don’t want to have a fling with a steady guy who shows up on time and remembers your birthday.

But girls do marry those kind of guys. 

And here’s where I think I’ve got a shot.  As an established Washingtonian I’m in a position to introduce my old friend to Washington’s fun side, it’s sunny side, it’s side that already has connections in the field you want to work in and wouldn’t it be nice to get a job and settle down, not that I’m pressuring you, but you’re not getting any younger and your cat needs someplace larger to run around in than an itty-bitty studio on the Upper West Side. Not that I will be phrasing it that way.  I just want to point out, as subtly and subversively as possible, that the steady guy is worth a look.  Is that so wrong?

And also… we don’t have cockroaches.

This is What I was Doing and Where I was Doing It



This was the pond by our campsite

 


One of the many gorgeous scenic views in Sedona

Sedona is one of the most gorgeous places I've ever visited. Around every turn is a surprising and mouth-dropping vista.

Besides the book events I did, we traipsed all over and even took a Pink Jeep tour into the back country.

 One of the highlights of our trip was attending a cowboy dinner and show. The food was delicious and ample--and most surprising was the talent of the performers. I couldn't help but wonder what they were doing in a small town like Cottonwood. 

Next week, I promise I'll be back to normal--whatever that is.

Marilyn

  

 

A Mystery Writer Watches the Casey Anthony Murder Trial

A heart shaped sticker on a piece of duct tape is a vital clue in a murder mystery. Truth is stranger than fiction.

I've been watching and/or listening to the Casey Anthony murder trial on CNN via the computer

The good thing about the computer live feed is no commercials. No talking heads. Just what is actually happening in the courtroom. Without sounding unfeeling, I couldn't help but think that the Casey Anthony trial has all the elements of a good mystery. At the same time, I can't forget that an innocent child really is dead and her killer, may or may not pay for the crime.

When Court TV first premiered back in 1991, I was fascinated. I video-taped hearings so I could watch at night when I came home from work. Memorable hearings for me included: the Rebecca Schafer murder trial, a Denver bank robbery case, and of course the O.J. Simpson murder trial. I used to get so frustrated with the commercial interruptions and the hosts talking over the proceedings. Maybe I'm the exception, but I like hearing the "boring" parts. I'm interested in the process, in the objections, in the judge's instructions. I always learn something new about evidence collection or the law in a certain jurisdiction.

For me a trial is structured much like a mystery novel. A crime occurs. It's investigated. Evidence is gathered. Witnesses interviewed. Experts consulted. Suspects eliminated. Someone is arrested. And in most cases, unless there is a plea bargain, the matter goes to a hearing. The prosecutor sets out a plot and lays out a timeline, weaving in the evidence and testimony. The defense attorney does much the same while attacking the prosecutor's theory of the crime. As a mystery writer I find the whole process as intriguing as a fiction - maybe more so.

Setting aside for a moment the real tragedy of this case, I viewed the main players in the courtroom as a cast of characters. The following are my opinions based on my viewing of the trial so far. As I write this the final witnesses for the prosecution are being called.

Casey Anthony is a young, narcissistic, unwed mother who has been proven to be a compulsive liar. She led a double life for more than two years since the birth of her daughter, Caylee.

Casey and Caylee lived with Casey's parents, Cindy and George. Cindy was a nurse. George was a retired police officer, who worked part-time as a security guard. Casey has an older brother, Lee, who was not living in the home at the time of Caylee's death. The family seems to have been enablers for Casey's irresponsible lifestyle.

Casey pretended she worked at Universal Studios as an event planner. She pretended she had a babysitter, Zanny, for Caylee. At one point in June 2008, she and Caylee left the Anthony family home. After 31 days and many lies from her daughter about where her granddaughter was, Cindy Anthony reported Caylee missing.

Casey's car had been abandoned and found with a terrible odor inside. Casey wove a tale of a kidnapping by the babysitter. The world searched for the missing child. In December Caylee's body was found a few blocks from her home, wrapped in a Winnie the Pooh blanket, and duct tape with a heart-shaped sticker on her skull.

The prosecutor's evidence:

1. Casey lied to the police about her daughter's disappearance.
2. Casey lied to the police about her job.
3. Casey lied to the police about the babysitter.
4. Casey abandoned her car. When it was towed and later retrieved by George Anthony, the car reeked of decomposition.
5. Coffin flies were detected in the car and on paper towels that when tested had adipose materials on them.
6. A hair was found that matched Caylee's and this hair showed root banding - a known phenomenon of hair from a decomposing body.
7. Chloroform was found in the car's trunk liner.
8. An examination of the family computer revealed searches for "how to make chloroform."
9. Heart-shaped stickers were found in Casey's room. A heart-shaped sticker was found with remains.
10. Casey worked nights as a "shot girl" in a nightclub. No one knows for sure where Caylee was when she was supposed to be with the imaginary babysitter. Speculation is that she was locked in Casey's car or car trunk - sleeping.
11. The duct tape, baby blanket, and other items found with the body came from the Anthony house.
12. After Casey was missing but before police were involved, Casey partied, got a tattoo, and generally did exactly what she wanted.

The defense's evidence:

We don't know yet. In the defense's opening statement, Attorney Jose Baez claimed that Caylee drowned in the family swimming pool and the body was hidden by George Anthony, Casey's father. Casey, he claimed was a victim of childhood sexual abuse and was too afraid to report the accidental death, fearing she would be blamed by the police and even more importantly, her mother. So in response, she lied about everything.

By the time you are reading this blog, the defense will be well on their way to presenting their case. As a mystery writer I can't wait to find out what tale they'll spin. As a human being, I can't wait for justice for little Caylee.

Rhonda
aka The Southern Half of Evelyn David

Brianna Sullivan Mysteries - e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
Undying Love in Lottawatah- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords
A Haunting in Lottawatah - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake- Paperback - Kindle
Murder Off the Books- Paperback - Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story)- Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Romances

Love Lessons - Kindle - Nook - Smashwords

Are You Ready to Rock? I Mean, Write!

by Susan McBride

I am fiercely right-brained and numbers-challenged enough not to have balanced my checkbook in twenty years, if ever.  There’s something about math that makes my mind go blank.  How I was ever a card-carrying member of Mu Alpha Theta—the honors math club—is a freakin’ mystery, right up there with Black Holes and Donald Trump’s hair.

Not surprisingly, I’ve always gravitated toward the arts, though my attempts at expressing myself with anything other than words were less than spectacular.  As an artist-wannabe, I drew hands well but never faces, dabbled in acrylics, and produced a metal sculpture that my sister incredibly assumed was made by our very talented architect uncle.  She dug it out of a box in Mom’s basement and admired it so much that she put it on display in her apartment only to have me exclaim, “Oh, God, that’s ‘diving boy’!  I did that in seventh grade!”  I was far more excited than she.

Despite my artistic failures, I’m still a huge fan of visual arts and often attend art fairs and festivals in St. Louis. When I’m not crazed on deadlines, I love to visit the Art Museum to see the latest exhibits and pine over their permanent collection (I heart Impressionists!). 

My right brain also adores the Symphony, as there’s nothing as glorious to the ears as a Mozart piano concerto or Yo-Yo Ma on the cello.  But my biggest love is ‘80s rock.  Despite my preference for clothes that actually cover my boobs and my butt, I am a closet rock ‘n’ roll chick. 

Before I met Ed, I would have dropped everything to be Def Leppard’s roadie.  Their music feeds something inside me like nothing else does.  A few notes of “Photograph” or “Promises” pushes all the right buttons and conjures up so many moments from my past, good and bad, falling in love, breaking-up, sad times, glory days.  I will never again hear “Pour Some Sugar On Me” without thinking of a trip to Nashville with the Deadly Divas where I cracked up Letha Albright by singing aloud in an elevator filled with musicians clutching guitar cases (and staring at me, agape, presumably horrified).

My iPod is full of my favorite ‘80s tunes, and I wear it religiously on the treadmill so I can hear Van Halen belt out “Dance the Night Away” or Night Ranger harmoniously “Sing Me Away.” Whenever Kansas’s “Point of No Return” or Rush’s “Fly By Night” comes up in the shuffle, I’m in heaven, if only for three and a half minutes at a time.

The first concert I ever attended was Billy Joel and a succession of my favorites followed (no, you’re not allowed to laugh):  The Cars, Journey, Styx, Rick Springfield, Tom Petty, Night Ranger, Kansas, Prince, Clapton, Bon Jovi, Jefferson Starship, and, of course, the Leps.  I have newer stuff on my iPod, too, (I love The Script, The Fray, Gavin DeGraw, and even some Katie Perry and Lady Gaga); but I always go back to my true love.  

It might surprise you to know that I don’t listen to music as I write.  It’s too distracting, and I’m too easily distracted already.  I have a rhythm in my head when I’m putting words on the page, so I keep the music off; though if you read my books you’ll always find music in them. When I’m not writing, there’s nothing I like more than turning on iTunes and singing at the top of my lungs. Okay, yes, and I dance, too, which freaks out the cats.

So what music do you listen to?  Do you play tunes while you write?  Has any piece of music ever influenced a storyline?  Inquiring minds want to know!

P.S.  Just for fun, my Little Black Dress video, which has very cool music (reminds me of the theme from Harry Potter!).  Take a peek!

 

And the Beat Goes On (aka, Our Favorite Music!)

Do you have a favorite tune that you can't get out of your head?  Or a song that reminds you of something from the past?  A beat that, the moment you hear it, makes you get up and dance?  We do!  So we figured we'd share our best "pick-me-up" music with y'all, and see what you recommend.

Maggie:  Every one of my books has a soundtrack but they all have a common thread:  they are danceable.  So, if I'm stuck, I crank up a great dance song (usually Beyonce's "Green Light"—it starts out "give it to mama," which makes the kids laugh hysterically) and let my freak flag fly until I get inspiration.

Rhonda (Southern half of Evelyn David):  One of my favorite songs is, “The Water is Wide” by James Taylor. I just think it's a beautiful song and can listen to it over and over.

Marian (Northern half of Evelyn David):  We're great writing partners, but unlike Rhonda, I can't listen to music when I'm working. I find it distracting—and goodness knows, I'm easily distracted and quite prone to procrastination. When I'm not writing, it's show tunes and classical music that I enjoy and often inspire some great plotting for future mysteries.

Bethany:  Picking out THE ONE most inspiring song is too difficult for my brain – it tries to sort through the entire library of beloved songs all at once and then comes up with the default answer, which is “Maybe I should have some toast.” But one song that I distinctly remember inspiring me is "Love Song" by Sara Bareilles:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qi7Yh16dA0w.  It’s a clever little video and when it was brand new it got a lot of airplay on VH1. Along with the video, they frequently showed interview clips and in one Sara said that the song was actually about her record company who had demanded that she add a love song to album after it was complete. Since I was I was going through a rather difficult list of demands from my editor at the time, I really appreciated her way of giving the record company what they asked for without compromising her own vision. Interestingly, I only saw that interview clip once. Did someone at the record company have it pulled because it was unflattering to them? I’m going with yes.

Additional Bethany Playlist, should anyone be interested:

1.  Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps by Doris Day
2.  Mack the Knife by Bobby Darin
3.  Paint It Black by the Rolling Stones
4.  Paperback Writer by The Beatles
5.  The Rainbow Connection by The Muppets
6.  Mexico by Cake
7.  Rock DJ by Robbie Williams
8.  Paradise by Ana Serrano van der Laan
9.  Volcano by Damian Rice
10. Sour Times by Portishead

Susan:  I always, always turn to Def Leppard when I need a pick-me-up!  One of my favorite tunes of all-time (and I can picture the video with Joe Elliott in his fuzzy bear claw slippers at the end!) is “Armageddon It.” If you have never listened to the song before, you might say, “Whoa, sounds depressing!”  Not.  Think “Are you getting it,” which is really what the song’s about.  Yeah, and “it” can be whatever you want it to be (so far as I’m concerned!).  Just a really fun, fun song that gets me going.

Laura:  "Colour My World" has always brought tears to my eyes and made me… Okay, I just wanted to see if I could make anybody squirm.  Gosh, music. There’s a ton of it, but it’s all definitely mood oriented.  Every book ends up with its own playlist, songs I pick up along the way, some old, some new.  The Avett Brothers' "Head Full of Doubt" was my anthem going into BEAUTIFUL DISASTER’s publication. Foreigner’s classic, "Jukebox Hero/One Guitar," is the opening act for my latest effort.  That’s a no-brainer; the main character is a rock star. If a love scene needs more sizzle, I might take a walk, listening to Nickelback’s "Figured You Out."  It just depends.

Maria:  I don't write listening to music because I find it too much of a distraction, but I do pretty much everything else to the beat of a tune: brainstorming, showering, walking, housework, driving, you name it. My favorite artists are Rob Thomas, Colbie Caillat, Sara Bareilles, and Adele, to name a few. Right now I can't get enough of Adele's latest CD, 12. I think my favorite song from that track is "Turning Tables." It's so hauntingly beautiful!

Rachel:  I like "Unwritten" by Natasha Bedingfield. The lyrics appeal to me both as a writer and as a human work in progress. They suggest that a blank page or a new day can become whatever we choose. Everything we try may not work, but either way we can enjoy the freedom and creativity of sculpting what comes next for us.

So we want to know what music gets you up and moving??? 

Redefining Infidelity (and oh yeah, stupidity, too)

I live in the greater New York metropolitan area but I don’t think I’m getting any more coverage of the Anthony Weiner fiasco than those you elsewhere.   I have been treated to a variety of salacious and ridiculous front-page headlines in my local paper, thought, poking fun at Weiner’s antics as well as his name.  I won’t go into detail, but suffice it to say, sometimes I wonder if my twelve-year-old son is the headline writer for the Daily News.

The other thing I’ve been wondering about since the scandal broke is: What are we currently calling infidelity?  And why, overwhelmingly, are men at the heart of these salacious sex scandals?  Weiner has vociferously protested that his marriage to the gorgeous Huma Abedin—now pregnant with their child—will not end, and maybe that is so.  But did he really think that texting provocative pictures of himself was a minor thing?  The number of women with whom he has now been “involved,” albeit virtually, is almost reaching double digits but I think there are still some people out there who don’t think “sexting” is a breach of the marriage vows because there was no physical contact.

I heartily disagree.

A couple of rules of thumb:

-If you don’t want your spouse catching you do it, it’s wrong. 

-If you wouldn’t do it in front of your spouse, it’s wrong. 

-If you’re doing it in secret, it’s wrong. 

-If you deny that you did it, it’s wrong. 

Obviously, putting all those things together would indicate that you are either shamed by what you did or afraid of being caught.  By very definition:  wrong.

Basically, if you can’t figure out how to use Twitter, you really aren’t qualified to do many jobs, not the least of which is New York City mayor, Weiner’s aspiration.  Most kids I know are fluent in Twitter.  Most of them also know that posting pictures of yourself online, either on Twitter or your Facebook account, can lead to undesirable things happening.  Why?  Because we’ve told them.  We’ve told them to be careful and to not post anything that they wouldn’t, potentially, want the whole world to see.  So why does a politician do something so bone-headed?

I’ve been wrestling with this for the past week.  Why is it that seemingly not a month goes by that we don’t see a male politician taking to the stage to give his version of events, and his excuses for his actions?  Why is it that we rarely—or actually never—see a devoted husband standing beside his incredibly stupid and oversexed wife as she recounts what she did and how she got caught?  Sheryl Gay Stolberg tackled questions like these in her recent New York Times article, “When It Comes to Scandal, Girls Won’t Be Boys.”  A quote from Debbie Walsh, director of the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University, said it best:   “The shorthand of it is that women run for office to do something, and men run for office to be somebody.”  The article went on to say that once elected, women feel more pressure to work harder, to prove themselves in a man’s world because even though we’ve made tremendous strides, let’s face it:  politics is still a boy’s club.  We’re just allowed to play sometimes.

Of course, there are women who cheat, female politicians who have been accused of adultery and other sordid actions, but they are in the minority.  And when that does happen, instead of not being surprised, we’re disappointed.  As the article points out so eloquently, we expect more from our female politicians.

Ok, so I know that this post has about three thesis statements and multiple main ideas, but that just goes to show you how hard it is for me to wrap my brain around this stupidity.  (Or just that I was having an “off” writing day.)  Men with beautiful, accomplished wives texting/sexting women they’ve never met…it boggles the mind.  Does it really just come down to the fact that these men crave sex of any kind so badly that they’ll risk everything for even a virtual encounter?  Are they still the uncool kid at the uncool table in high school, wishing a girl—any girl—would talk to them?  Or does it speak to a narcissism so great that they believe that they are invincible?  I’d love to know what you think, Stiletto friends.

Maggie Barbieri

Better Late Than Never

I thought I could do this while still in Sedona but Internet access was hard to find in our campground, Sedona is a beautiful place. I heard a quote that describes it,"God made the Grand Canyon for everyone to enjoy but He made Sedona as his dwelling place."

Besides sightseeing, I gave two talks which were well-publicized and attended. The first was about promoting on the Internet, which I gave at the library.

The second was at Kris Neri's Well Red Coyote bookstore. I've known Kris for a long time and was so glad to see her. "Working with Small Publishers" was my topic. I'm always surprised by how many have published with places like Publish America when there are other independent publishers to choose from. I always give handouts and answer questions.

What does surprise me is how few bought books, not just from me but from the bookstore. Indpendent bookstores are in danger, and the only way to save them is to support them by buying books, Oh, I did sell books, but it was a small percentage of the people who attended.

Whenever I attend something like this I always buy the author's book to support them and the bookstore. Years ago, before I was published I did it to learn about the author's writing and the publisher.

Next week, photos of Sedona, I promise.

Marilyn