What We're Writing--Debs on Nuts and Bolts

DEBORAH CROMBIE: When I first started writing, I devoured anything I could find about how other writers wrote. Computer or paper, morning or evening, outline or no outline. I was sure there was a magic bullet somewhere--a formula you could follow for tackling what sometimes felt like an insurmountable task.

It turns out that there isn't (or at least I haven't discovered it,) other than butt-in-chair, which just so happens to be the hardest thing for me. But I'm still fascinated by the nuts and bolts, how other people do this weird exercise in making things up and turning those things into a finished book, so earlier this week when Hank gave us a peek at her editing process, I was agog. Hank keeps track of her edits! 

I am the edit queen, I swear I can edit a page fifty times, but I do not keep track! I don't save drafts, either. Once something is over-written, it is gone forever. Yikes! Contemplating this makes me feel a wee bit insecure, as if I'm writing without a safety net, but I think doing it any other way would totally discombobulate me. 

As for what I'm writing that might disappear into the ether, I'm still plodding away at Kincaid/James #20. Is there a prize for tortoise authors, I wonder...

It's hard to find a spoiler-free snippet, but here, edited even as I copy-pasted, Gemma and her sergeant visit a restored barge on the Thames. (This is not the barge described, but a view of the same stretch of the Thames above Teddington Lock.)

They reached the sturdy-looking ramp and Gemma strode up it ahead of Butler, and onto the deck of the boat. Before she could knock on the cabin door, it opened and Mabel was jumping and sniffing at Gemma’s legs, the fan of her tail wagging madly. Gemma crouched to stroke her. “Hello, lovely girl. Nice to see you again.” She glanced up. “Davey, this is Mabel. We met yesterday.”

“Mabel, enough,” said John Quillen, now visible inside the cabin. “Inspector,” he added, then acknowledged Butler with a nod. “Sergeant.” His t-shirt and cargo shorts made Gemma feel seriously over-dressed, but he looked more haggard than he had the previous day. He was unshaven, his wavy dark hair disheveled. “Do come in. I take it you didn’t have any trouble finding us.”

“You might have warned us about the parking,” said Gemma as they followed him inside, softening the comment with a smile. “Wherever do you put your van?”

His features relaxed. “Ah. Sorry about that. Sometimes I get lucky. Otherwise, I have a mate who has a repair garage off the High Street in Teddington. He lets me leave the van in his yard when he has the space.” The three of them and the dog made quite a crowd in the barge’s tiny cabin and Gemma was relieved when Quill motioned towards the open interior doorway. “If you’ll go down, we can talk in the lounge.” Mabel turned and vanished into the opening with a bound. After another encouraging gesture from Quill, and with growing curiosity, Gemma followed the dog. She found herself on ladder-steep stairs and wondered if it might be easier to go down backwards rather than forwards, but she was already committed to the forward-facing descent.

At the bottom, she stood, gaping. Somewhere in her subconscious, she supposed she’d expected dark and dank in a living space that was at least partly underwater. But the light pouring from portholes and skylights flooded the long room before her, and her first impression was of colors, reds and blues and the golden warmth of wood. A drafting table anchored one end of the living area, and in the other, there was a small sofa, a coffee table, and an interesting-looking modernist leather chair.

With a pang, she realized it reminded her of the garage flat where she and Toby had lived before they’d moved into the Notting Hill house with Duncan and Kit. That tiny space had given her a much-needed sense of control over her chaotic life as a single, working mother, and she had loved it passionately.

I want to live on this boat! I wanted to live in Gemma's garage flat, too. Maybe my obsession with small, organized spaces is due to the fact that I live in a big, rambling, messy house.

REDs and writer friends, how do you manage drafts of your work? 

And readers, do you like references to previous books in a series?

P.S. Mabel is a liver and white springer spaniel, and I'm sure I'm projecting my spaniel desires, too.

P.S.S. If anyone has discovered that magic bullet, do let me know.

What I’m writing by Lucy Burdette plus a Cover Reveal!

LUCY BURDETTE: It’s been a busy stretch, what with making the transition from Connecticut to Key West, finishing the first round of edits on my book 16 (coming next July), working on a short story, working on a murder mystery for the Friends of the Library, and so on.

I can’t tell you too much about the new book without spoilers – for some reason this seems more challenging than with other books. But I remember talking about the inciting event in an earlier essay. This involved Hayley Snow going along on a safe custody exchange, which I know some of you worried about. I think I’ve fixed the book so that is addressed—we’ll see.

Here is a bit of the opening again, but this time with a note from my editor. There are a lot of notes like this sprinkled throughout the book, which can feel impossible when they first arrive. But I’ve learned that addressing them always, always makes a book stronger. The trick is to read all the feedback a couple of times and let it sink in over a couple of days—the answers will come! In summary, I’m very lucky to have this editor! I’m also grateful to have my long-standing writers group pals Ang and Chris to bounce things off.

Next, the manuscript will be sent off to the copyeditor. She or he will look for grammar and spelling mistakes, errors in the timeline, and general consistency. Over the course of 26 books, I’ve hardly had the same copyeditor two times in a row, so this process can be a little more fraught. Keep your fingers crossed for me please. Meanwhile, as we were driving, the cover arrived! (You can preorder here.)

What do you think? My only complaint is I wish some of that fruit was plates of cake and cookies:). But I'm thrilled to get a little mental rest from the book and work on some other things. (Although I'm rediscovering that short stories are hard!)

How do you celebrate the end of a big project? or do you just move on to the next item on your list?

**Meanwhile, here are some deals for you. The ebook edition of A DISH TO DIE FOR is on sale this month for $1.99! 

**The audio editions of THE KEY LIME CRIME and DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS are both on sale for $1.99! (Not sure how long this one will last...)

**Finally, after a several month delay, the audio edition of THE MANGO MURDERS is finally available!

Rhys on Leaving Clues.

 RHYS BOWEN: I have been extra busy recently, firstly with the edits for my next stand alone, then helping Clare plot the next Molly book, then come up with a story suggestion for next year's stand alone while at the same time writing the twentieth Royal Spyness book.

One of the things I'm passionate about is playing fair with the reader. That means dropping subtle and appropriate clues. I've noticed that not all writers do this. Agatha Christie, for all her brilliance, did not always play fair.  Poirot says "I happen to know that she was once wardress of a prison."  Okay. We didn't know that! And the books in which the first person narrator is the killer. I have to say in Roger Ackroyd she was pretty good about leaving subtle hints, but in another, which I won't name in case it's a spoiler for those who haven't read it, the narrator says near the end that he's been getting funny black turns when he doesn't quite know what he's doing.  We did not know that before!

So what kind of clues do you appreciate? Which authors do them well?

This Royal Spyness book, that I am calling TO CROWN IT ALL, takes place at the coronation of King George and Queen Elizabeth in 1937. a group of Georgie's friends and relatives are staying at her house before the coronation, plus a German man who has escorted Mummy from Germany. Oh, and there's a village fair going on outside the house. So it's quite a challenge to drop clues without being over obvious.  I'm not normally the spent match type of cluemaker. It's usually what somebody says, or doesn't say, or reacts to a statement by someone else. 

But this time I am using fingerprints. But what if they show the wrong person? What if one of Georgie's family actually seems to be the main suspect? 

It's quite a complicated plot: one thread involving Mummy, another involving security for the coronation and the crown jewels and yet another involving poor Georgie:  here are a few tell-tale lines about that plot. Georgie has been worrying about what to wear to the coronation. Since her husband has is only Mr. O'Mara she can't wear her peeress's robes if she's to sit with him. And she has no fabulous outfits. 

Then this happens:

At that very moment I heard a telephone ringing in the front foyer. I froze.  Mrs. Holbrook appeared, looking scared. “You’re wanted on the telephone, my lady,” she said in an awed voice. “It’s the palace.”

                      I couldn’t stop my heart from racing as I went down the hallway. Was it good news or bad? What if the secretary said he was sorry but could do nothing for my mother. What then? Then I would go over and bring her back myself, I decided. It didn’t matter what Darcy or anybody said. She was my mother.

                      “Hello?” I said into the receiver, hearing my voice shake a little.

                      “Lady Georgiana?”  It was a woman’s voice, a brisk efficient sort of voice.

                      “Yes,” I said. “This is she.”

                      “I’m sorry to disturb you but this is Lady Pierpoint, telephoning on behalf of Her Majesty. We’ve had a last minute set back for the coronation ceremony. Do you happen to know Lady Veronica Featherstone-Smythe? Lord Blanchley’s daughter?”

                      “I believe we’ve met,” I said, hesitantly, wondering what on earth this had to do with me.

                      “Horse mad, of course. Rode in a point to point and broke her ankle, stupid girl.”

                      I was still completely in the dark.

                      “She was to be one of the maids of honor for the queen at the ceremony,” Lady Pierpoint went on. “ Naturally carrying a train is quite out of the question and her majesty suggested that you would be a most suitable replacement.”

                      “Me?” The word came out as a squeak.  “You want me to carry the queen’s train?”

                      “My dear, you are an obvious selection. Closely related to his majesty and both their majesties report being extremely fond of you. You were mentioned at the very start but it was considered that the words maids of honor should primarily include unmarried girls. 

But given the circumstance and the late hour it was decided you would fit the bill perfectly.”

                      I was glad she couldn’t see me blushing. “Golly,” I said. “Well, I’d be honored.”

                      “Splendid. I’ll tell their majesties.  We shall need you up in London right away for a dress fitting.  I think you’re about the same size as Lady Veronica, which is most fortunate, but small alterations will need to be made.  Then you will be required to attend several rehearsals, the first at the palace, learning the correct way to walk with the train, then in the abbey knowing the procedure of where to stand. You are free to come when summoned, I presume?”

                      “Yes, yes of course,” I said.

                      “Jolly good. Well done. Then I look forward to meeting you. Good evening.”

                      I put down the telephone and stared at the marble staircase, curving upward into darkness. What had I just agreed to? Carrying a train up steps, through the vast nave of the abbey with the whole world watching. Not dropping it, tripping up, tripping someone else. Oh golly, I said.

                      A wave of panic swept over me. I tried to remember her name. Lady Point to point?  I had to stop myself from calling the palace and telling them that I had changed my mind. But the king and queen had asked for me.  And it was a huge honor. I could hardly turn them down, could I?

Poor Georgie. You know she tends to be accident prone. Nothing could go wrong, could it?

And while we're on the subject of Royal Spyness books, then next one, FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE is published in just six days from now. I'll be holding a launch event at the POISONED PEN IN SCOTTSDALE with two other Jungle Reds, Julia, whose book is out the same day, and Jenn, whose book was out a couple of weeks ago.  It's November 18th.  Who will come to support us?