The Ninth Anniversary of 9/11

We are approaching the ninth anniversary of September 11th, when close to 3000 people in New York City, Pennsylvania, and the District of Columbia died. After nine years, not much has changed at “Ground Zero”—we still have a gaping hole in the ground and people arguing about what should and should not be there and in the surrounding area. Not much has changed in the world, either. We still have men and women going overseas to fight, defend, and protect, many of them losing life and limb to do so. Regardless of our personal political leanings, I think we can all agree on those statements.

I went to visit my sister in Savannah a few weeks ago. She lives in a suburb which is populated mostly by military personnel and their families. She has told me that many of their friends serve in the Armed Forces, but I didn’t give it much thought until my mom, child #1, and I headed to the Savannah airport for our trip home, not a care in the world as we wended our way through the airport. (A post for another time: why is it that my gate is always the farthest from the entrance of the airport?) We passed many men and women in military garb and when we got to our gate, sat beside a family—a dad in camo, a young mother, a little girl, and a teeny-tiny baby who we came to learn was a week old. Very soon, it dawned on us that they weren’t waiting for someone to arrive, they were waiting for him to leave. As he held the baby in his hands, staring at her face, seemingly imprinting her image on his brain, we turned to face the other way, not wanting to intrude on what was a very private moment between a man, his wife, and their two children. I don’t know how long he’ll be away, but I do know that he left a very sad family behind. I also know that he will, most likely, miss the second child’s infancy. How old will she be when he returns? Will she be walking? Talking? I don’t know, but I pray that his time overseas will be short as well as safe.

He was just one of many who were departing that day. Another young girl—and I swear, these young mothers look to be barely out of their teens, but I think that’s a function of seeing them through my middle-aged lens—held a nine-month old who was rambunctious and active as they stood by the window waiting until her husband’s plane was completely out of sight before leaving the airport. Another man left behind five children and a sobbing wife. I consider myself to be pretty sensitive but realized I hadn’t given too much thought to the sacrifices that are made every day in the name of freedom. Seeing these families drove the point home.

We are close to a family who have a very personal connection to 9/11. Recently, their youngest son—just a toddler when our families became friends—enlisted in the Marine Corps on his eighteenth birthday. We were all stunned, to say the least. In our groovy village, populated by the last-remaining hippies and a new generation of artistic types, this type of action is virtually unheard of. He leaves next year for basic training and after that, deployment. To me, he still looks like the little tow-headed toddler I met when my oldest was just weeks old but he’s a man by the military’s standards and old enough to make his own decisions as to what to do with his life.

It’s naïve to think that we will ever live in a world where an armed force won’t be necessary so until that time, I think the best we can do is support our troops and pray that they come home sooner rather than later to see the children they left behind and kiss the husbands, wives, and partners who kept down the home front in their absence.

And please take a moment this weekend to remember our fellow citizens who perished on that awful, awful day.

Maggie Barbieri

Perils of a Big Family

Everyone knows I have a really big family. Not only is mine big, so is my sister's. She had one less child than I did with 4, but those four have managed to produce 15 with three step kids thrown in there, and then there's the great grands which I won't even attempt to count. She hasn't caught up with me yet.

This June I received so many graduation announcements--middle school, high school, and two Masters degrees. And then there are all the birthdays--I only send birthday greetings to my own children and grandchildren now. (For those that are on Facebook, at least I can say Happy Birthday.) I'll not even mention Christmas. My sis and I quit giving each other birthday and Christmas gifts long ago when this whole family thing got out of hand.

We are called upon to help out a lot too--we've raised a grandson and granddaughter, have another adult grandson living with us. Last week, a grandson called and asked his grandpa if he could come up to the school and help with back-to-school night, cooking hamburgers. He put on his apron and took off.

Sadness and worries abound too. Then there are the illnesses and accidents. Fortunately, we're a praying family, so people can be assured of many prayers.

We have our share of drama: marriages in trouble, babies arriving without a marriage, teens in trouble, and so on. (My husband says that's why I watch the soap General Hospital, because they have more problems than our family does.)

Right now, one of my sister's granddaughters has put herself in peril. She's 19 with some disabilities, physical and mental. The girl met some older man on Facebook who lived in the big city she lives in and he came and took her to his house. Her brother figured out where and went and brought her back. The guy got her again. A girlfriend went there and took her home. She left again.

Her parents are distraught. It is taking a toll on the mother's already bad health though she manages to work every day. They've gone to the police, but because she's over 18 and they are not her legal guardians--merely her parents--she can do what she wants.

From what we've heard the man has told her that she's being cheated out of her social security money by her parents. Impossible, since she's not getting any and never has. Of course she's unhappy about other things, she thinks her parents are preventing her from going to college and getting a job. Maybe they are, I don't know. Maybe they've been overprotective. She finished high school, but got a special ed. diploma. I'm not around her all that much, but almost every time I have been, she's had a recent seizure or has had one at whatever event we're attending including last year's family reunion.

Of course this young woman is in peril--she has no idea.

Not sure where I'm going with this, I think I just needed to get it out in the open.

On the plus side, I love my family--all of them. Most of the time, things move along well and I get to hear about their accomplishments, the sports the grandkids are excelling in, the dancing competitions, how much they love school, and on and on.

We'll get through this crisis, we've done so with all the others.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

I write because I can be sure there'll be a happy ending.

I Love Old Movies

I’m a sucker for old movies. I don’t need Technicolor or over-the-top special effects to produce a four-hanky sob-fest. Thank goodness for Turner Classic Movies. Their movie vault is filled with black-and-white, sudsy films that make me turn to goo.

Recently I watched Journey for Margaret, a heart-warming World War II flick with Robert Young and Margaret O’Brien in her motion picture debut. Released in 1942, it was the early days of America’s involvement in the War, and the story centers on a hardened newspaper reporter’s efforts to bring two orphans to the States. When he is forced to choose only one, your heart breaks for the little boy he must leave behind.

I also watched an absolutely silly, inane , but ultimately very sweet movie, A Date with Judy, released in 1948 with Jane Powell and a very young, waist-no-bigger-than-a-wasp, Elizabeth Taylor. This was the post-war equivalent of Beverly Hills 90210, but with actors with actual talent. Amazing to think that Liz Taylor and Robert Stack get secondary billing because they’re not the “stars” of the film. But as ridiculous as the plot in this film is – and trust me, any film with Xavier Cugat, a Chihuahua, and Carmen Miranda as the B-storyline is dumb – nonetheless, I actually cared whether Judy and Oogie (Jane Powell and Scotty Beckett) reunite and whether Carol and Stephen (Taylor and Stack) can overcome his prejudice against family wealth.

It’s funny that I can wax rhapsodic about these two movies, which is in stark contrast to the movie reviews I’ve been hearing from Rhonda, the Southern half of Evelyn David. She recently spent hard-earned bucks on two new blockbusters, and walked away disappointed in both. It wasn’t the acting. Rhonda assures me that George Clooney is still wonderful eye candy and Angelina Jolie has all the right stuff to be a convincing double (triple?) agent.

But at the end of both movies, she didn’t care what happened to George or Angelina’s characters. Without offering too much of a spoiler for either film, let’s just say that there was no Disney happy ending for anybody – and Rhonda wasn’t invested enough to be concerned.

Whether it’s a 1940s teen movie, a 2010 blockbuster, or the dog-eared copies of old favorite mysteries and books we’ve read and re-read, it always comes down to character. Does the audience identify with the fictitious people of screen or page? If not, then whether or not the protagonist lives to see another day or dies a noble death is quickly discarded into the “who cares” pile. All the fantastic car crashes and outrageous stunts can’t save a movie where you barely remember the main character’s name after the first fifteen minutes.

Watching these films, re-reading old favorite mysteries where I remember whodunnit on the first page and it doesn’t minimize the pleasure one iota, makes me take my own writing apart, sentence-by-sentence. I want my readers to care about Mac Sullivan, Rachel Brenner, most especially about Whiskey the Dog. I want readers to wonder if Mac can overcome 50+ years of commitment-phobia; I want to make sure that readers empathize with newly-divorced Rachel as she awkwardly re-enters the social scene; while at the same time, I want to baffle and surprise the reader with a mystery that is sophisticated and smart. Tall order, indeed.

But isn’t that what I signed up for when I listed mystery writer on my resume?

Stiletto Faithful, please share with me your favorite movie and why it has such lasting appeal.

Marian aka the Northern half of Evelyn David

Walking Naked Through the Mall

by Susan McBride

My good buddy Maggie Barbieri emailed the other day to say she'd had a dream about walking naked through the mall, and her husband had very astutely remarked, "You must be feeling vulnerable." Which got me to thinking that as a writer in today's instantly-connected society, I feel like I'm walking naked through the mall just about everyday!

I often say to my husband, "Someday, I just want to write and not worry about the other stuff." Because I do worry, way too much. But that's how it goes these days when you're still building a career and haven't quite reached the New York Times bestsellers list (and, perhaps, even after you have). When I daydream, I imagine doing nothing but composing more novels and enjoying my real-life without so many other frantic items on my to-do list. And the only instance when I'd feel especially vulnerable would be the release date for my latest opus, when I wonder how my readers will react.

In days of yore (okay, like ten years ago), everyone seemed to be reading their daily newspapers and most people depended on those for book reviews. Not today. The new daily paper is the Internet, for me and for a lot of other people around the planet. So turning on the computer, booting up, and getting online is what slapping open newsprint with our cereal used to be.

There are tons of web sites and blogs offering information and opinions. It's almost scary how quickly "news" appears. Folks can pick up a book and review it within minutes after they've turned the last page. Interviews and articles can pop up within 24-hours and can remain cached for years and years and years.

So what makes me even more nervous than having to speak in front of 300 people at a fundraiser or appear on a local TV segment is my presence everyday on the Web. And it's not just about seeing negative reviews (although that's never pretty, and I'd love to tell the mean reviewers who ruin things for everyone by spilling plot points to go to--well, you get my drift).

I'm one of those "foot in mouth" people who speaks from the hip (and the heart). I don't work from a script. What you see is what you get, and I know that--in the past--my bluntness has upset a few people. I tend toward sarcasm, and not everyone likes or gets that kind of humor. So every time I post on Facebook or write a blog entry (like this!), I hold my breath and hope that no one sends me hate mail.

I even debate whether or not to comment on posts at the various blogs I like to visit throughout the day. I've seen name-calling and flame wars in some comment sections that scorched my eyebrows. It's gotten nasty out there, and often I decide to keep my opinion to myself, if only for my own peace of mind. I don't think they make flak vests yet to wear when you're online, ones that deflect angry rhetoric rather than bullets. Until they do, I'm going to try to stay out of conflict. I do love words, but I want to use them to tell stories, not to argue with someone I've never met face to face.

Even emails can make me nervous, especially the ones that come through my web site and seem to be waiting in my in-box every morning. Opening these are like tearing through wrapping paper on Christmas gifts. What will I get? Pearls? Or coal? A lovely note from a mystery fan who wonders if I'll be writing any more Debutante Dropout books? (Sadly, no, I won't be, not in the near future anyway.) Or a newly-divorced woman over-forty who discovered The Cougar Club and wants to say "thank you" because it hit the right spot? (Man, I love those!) Or an invitation to speak, a message from a childhood friend, an inquiry about foreign rights? (Thank heavens for web sites! Lots of wonderful gigs, friendships, and even business connections come to pass because of it.)

Or will it be a list of typos from my backlist mysteries (how I wish I could correct those after my books are in print, but I can't)? Or might the message be like a finger shaken at me, describing something that made someone mad (say, a reader didn't appreciate the opinion of a character so I emailed back to explain, "I'm sorry this struck you wrong, but I can't control everything the characters in my books say or do. Sometimes, despite my best intentions, they act in a way I don't expect. But the way they feel doesn't necessarily reflect how everyone feels in the book, or how I feel for that matter. Please remember that"). Sigh.

Whatever I do online, I always get a little pang in my heart as I hit "comment" or "send." I hope I said the right thing, what I meant to say, and I worry that maybe someone will take something the wrong way. Oy. Much as I appreciate the Internet for the ease with which I can grab information and/or communicate, it still makes me a wee bit uneasy. I often feel like I'm walking naked through the mall when I'm on the Web, just as I do when a new book I've written is out in bookstores (and on e-readers!), completely out of my hands.

So I'm wondering, what makes you feel most vulnerable? I'd love to hear some of your "walking naked through the mall" moments, if you're willing to share!

It's Not Me, It's You

Like most writers, I’ve had my share of bad reviews. I’ve also had more than my share of glowing raves. Early in my career, there was so little attention to my work that the good reviews could make my day. And the bad ones could send me to bed. Over the years, after having experienced the full range of dizzying highs and crushing lows the writing life can offer, I have found more balance. Like a kayaker in big water, I stay centered and keep on paddling – rain or shine.

A few years ago, I read a book called The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. It changed my life. One of the agreements, maybe the most important for me was: Don’t take anything personally. No matter what anybody does or says to you, even if they should go so far as to walk up to you and put a bullet in your head, has anything whatsoever to do with you or who you are. It’s all about them, about their thoughts, ideas, prejudice, and view of the world. If people say they love you, it’s about them. If people say they hate you, well, that’s about them, too. If you learn and internalize this (which – PS – is not easy), it can be very illuminating – and freeing.

Most people only deal with this on a small scale. You have your friends, family, neighbors, business associates, and random encounters with strangers. Most of us know that some people are going to like us, and some people are not. Likewise, we won’t like everyone we encounter. Maybe your coworker reminds you of someone who bullied you in high school; you dislike her without even knowing why. That’s about you. Maybe you think your friend is cheap and it makes you angry. Another person might admire her for her frugality. It’s all about the opinions we bring to the table.

As a writer, I am fortunate that my novels have found a large number of readers. And, guess what? Some people love my books. And some people don’t. Some of those people keep their opinions to themselves, some of them post on the bookseller sites, write their opinions on Facebook, send me personal emails, or write reviews in major national magazines and newspapers. Luckily, most of the people who do this, have at least something nice to say about my books. But not always.

If you’re true to yourself, as a person, as a writer – if you don’t chase trends or seek to please, you are likely to attract at least some negativity. I have found this to be true in my personal and professional life. Of course, it’s never a good day when someone says something negative about your work, but you tuck in and keep paddling.

When I sit down at my keyboard to work on my novel, I am my truest and most centered self. I don’t seek to please; just to tell the best story I can, to the best of my ability. I know some people are going to love it, and some are not. The world is impossibly complicated, and opinions vary wildly. So no matter what reviewers write about my books, I try to remember that it’s about them as much as it is about me.

Lisa Unger

http://www.lisaunger.com/

www.twitter.com/LisaUnger

________________

Lisa Unger is an award winning New York Times, USA Today and international bestselling author. Her novels have been published in over 26 countries around the world.

She was born in New Haven, Connecticut (1970) but grew up in the Netherlands, England and New Jersey. A graduate of the New School for Social Research, Lisa spent many years living and working in New York City. She then left a career in publicity to pursue her dream of becoming a full-time author. She now lives in Florida with her husband and daughter.

Her writing has been hailed as "masterful" (St. Petersburg Times), "sensational" (Publishers Weekly) and "sophisticated" (New York Daily News) with "gripping narrative and evocative, muscular prose" (Associated Press).

Buy Fragile at:
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Borders
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The Other Guys

I had been anxiously awaiting the opening of the movie “The Other Guys” and when it did open on August 6, Jim and I were the first on line for the first show. The movie had everything I enjoy in a film experience: things that blow up, a storyline that is being held together by CrazyGlue and duct tape, bathroom jokes, cops, and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (who I would love to have play Fred Wyatt in the film version of any one of the Murder 101 books). Oh, and Will Ferrell. And did I mention bathroom humor?

So basically, the story surrounds a precinct in Manhattan where there are the cool cops and the “other guys”—or those guys who do the paperwork, or take on cases that none of the other cops really want to get involved with. Hilarity ensues.

That got me thinking about all of the other guys and girls that exist in the world and to whom no one pays attention. In every family, there is always someone who will cry “Mom always liked you better!” and some for whom that statement is true. Then there are the kids who Mom didn’t know even existed (especially in those huge Irish-Catholic families where everyone is named Mikey, Jimmy, Patty, Matty, Luke, and Meg, or some combination of shortened saint names). In the world today, and especially the world of entertainment, there exists a whole culture of “other guys” and this post is designed to pay homage to those forgotten people.

Who are these people? Let’s find out:

1) The two who aren’t Bono or the Edge: We all know that my favorite band, U2, has four members. I dare you to name the other two. (Answer: Larry Mullen and Adam Clayton) Good. Now what instruments do they play? (Here’s a hint: Bono doesn’t play anything and the Edge plays guitar. Figure it out.) I wonder how Larry and Adam feel, playing the shadows—literally! look at their videos—behind charismatic Bono and enigmatic The Edge. Must be hard. At least when they’re not cashing their paychecks.

2) The one who isn’t Harpo, Chico, or Groucho: My husband is a huge Marx Brothers’ fan and can probably answer this question. Like all families, there’s always a forgotten child, the one that Mom didn’t like best. So you’ve got the guy who won’t shut up and the guy who never opens his mouth, and the other one. There’s one beyond that. Who the heck is he and what role did he play? I can never remember.

3) The one who isn’t Zsa Zsa or Ava: I love the Gabor sisters. With wild abandon, they wear diamonds, marry princes, speak with indecipherable accents, and act badly in television shows and movies. They are famous for hardly anything, kind of like retro-Kardashians. There were three of them, but only two are remembered. Oh, poor Magda Gabor, the lost Gabor sister. Did she not wear enough diamonds? Did she bypass roles alongside Eddie Albert? Will we never know the talent and beauty that was Magda Gabor?

4) Jan Brady: And of course, no list of “other guys” would be complete without middle Brady sister, Jan. She’s the one who cried “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!” at the thought of all of the attention her flat-ironed haired sister received. Jan was the original other guy. Everyone remembered popular Marcia and adorable Cindy, but Jan was often forgotten. Even George Glass—her imaginary boyfriend, had a tendency to forget Jan and the things that were important to her.

Who did I miss, Stiletto faithful? Are there “other guys” who you remember that I’ve forgotten? Weigh in, please.

Oh, and is it really September? How the heck did that happen?

Maggie Barbieri

August Highs and Lows

August is my birthday month. I'm at an age where I'd just as soon forget birthdays, but since I'm getting so old, my kids seem to think it's remarkable and we should all celebrate. So that's what we did and we all had fun. We had dinner with two of our daughters and their husbands and my youngest granddaughter, who is 17. I was thrilled that she decided to stick around to celebrate with her grandma.

I got a new computer at the beginning of the month and of course had a guru transfer everything from one to the other. Of course not everything transferred--I have 3 old versions of Word Perfect filled with files as well as my Word files. We managed to find them finally.

What didn't come through were all my addresses in my address book. I now have Outlook where I had Outlook Express before. It may be a better mail program, but it certainly is confusing. Not only did I lose addresses, but I lost all my groups which I'm still working on.

The guru spent 4 hours at our house the first day and after I played with the computer and found out what all else was wrong or I couldn't find, he came back for another 3. Thanks to Mozy, an offline back-up service, I restored some missing stuff.

And this all ties back to my age--I'm getting far too old to keep learning all this complicated stuff. Had a big promo weekend that was great fun. Headed to the coast where I participated in a library's book and and craft fair, saw old friends, made new ones, stayed in the Santa Maria hotel where movie stars and politicians stayed in the hotel's first years--still a fabulous place. We headed down the coast to our kids' house and before the birthday celebration, went to the movies, out to eat, and I was the "cultural" speaker for a women's group. No one fell asleep and they laughed a lot, so I think I was happy. Of course that was part of the highs.

Another low was losing my Internet connection on the little Acer computer I take with me on trips. I did something wrong--think I can fix it, but the whole weekend away I was unable to get on the Net and do things I needed to do.

Another high, headed up to the mountains and spoke to a writers group connected to the Willow Bridge Bookstore about working with small presses, and the changes going on in the publishing industry right now. I love that bookstore and I always see old friends there and make new ones.

Received the cover for my new Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery, Invisible Path, and also the galleys which I've corrected and sent back.

So, though August has been a bit bumpy, I lived through it. Now, it's on to September and new adventures which will include promoting Invisible Path.

Marilyn

Haven't We Done This Before?

Jennifer Aniston, 41, with no serious partner in sight, said that “Women are realizing more and more that you don't have to settle, they don't have to fiddle with a man to have that child. They are realizing if it's that time in their life and they want this part they can do it with or without that [a male partner]."

Bill O’Reilly, Fox News favorite rabble-rouser, of course, scenting big ratings by taking on a popular actress, worked himself into a lather and boldly declared, "She's throwing a message out to 12-year-olds and 13-year-olds that, 'Hey you don't need a guy. You don't need a dad.' That is destructive to our society."

We’ve got the worst economy in decades, we’re in two wars, and global warming may melt the ice cap and flood downtown Cincinnati – but the glib comment of an actress hawking her newest film, a romantic comedy where she ends up with the father of her baby – yeah, that’s what is destroying our society.

Of course, we’ve been to this rodeo before. Back in 1992, Vice President Dan Quayle picked a fight with fictional news reporter Murphy Brown, who was pregnant and unmarried. "[I]t doesn't help matters when primetime TV has Murphy Brown — a character who supposedly epitomizes today's intelligent, highly paid, professional woman — mocking the importance of fathers, by bearing a child alone, and calling it just another 'lifestyle choice.'”

I thankfully am married to the best father on earth. We take our parenting seriously, and have never been worried about gender roles in how we parent. Similarly, I was blessed to have been raised by the best father on earth who thought I was the bees knees (his words, not mine), and from whom I learned what was important in picking a mate. So I’m not minimizing for a millisecond that Dads play a vital role in raising healthy, strong, independent children.

But when I think of all those children languishing in foster care, in limbo in orphanages around the world, and I think of all those adults who long to be parents – then no, Mr. Reilly, I’m not worried if a single adult male or female, or a gay couple, choose to open their hearts and homes to children who need at the minimum one caring parent, if not two. And I'm not even going to insist that those outside of traditional marriages must adopt rather than birth their family. That's not my concern and it's not their sole responsibility to offer homes to children in need.

Let’s not be trapped in a time warp created by 1950s television. Perhaps the Anderson family from “Father Knows Best,” was composed of working Dad, stay-at-home Mom, and three adorable children….but that was a fantasy even then. Heck, I knew from the get-go that my family was different from what I saw on the small screen – my mother worked full-time; my dad never wore cardigans; and my sister’s father was not mine. My parents argued, loudly at times, unlike the fictional Andersons – and yet, I know now that I couldn’t have had a better set of parents.

What children need are caring parents who are committed to loving and raising strong, healthy kids. How that family is created is less my concern than that the adults are fully engaged in the hardest job on earth – parenting.

What none of us need are actors and pundits using false arguments about real issues to drive up ratings.

What say you Stilletto Faithful?

Marian aka the Northern Half of Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/


Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Drops the Ball by Evelyn David, coming Spring 2011