Guilty pleasures – the lure of the advice column by Leslie Budewitz

LUCY BURDETTE: Today we welcome back good friend Leslie Budewitz to talk about her new spice shop mystery, To Err is Cumin. She’s also musing about advice columns, one of my favorite things to read in the paper, and the foundation for my advice column mystery series. (And I don’t feel the least bit guilty about reading them!) Welcome Leslie!

LESLIE BUDEWITZ: I adore advice columns. Reading them is like eavesdropping on neighbors you haven't met yet. The woman who tolerated her husband's pandemic beard, even though she hates it, but now can't convince him to shave. The cousin of the bride who wonders how many showers she should be expected to attend, gift in hand. The man whose girlfriend has the temerity to ask to be paid for working in his business. 

Seriously??? What do you do, write in, then wave the newspaper column in your sweet hunny’s face and say “See? I was right!”?

What I most enjoy is the glimpses of tensions, major and minor, in real people's lives. The window on interactions we haven’t witnessed. The chance to think about situations we haven’t faced, asking us to put ourselves in other people’s boat shoes or ballet flats and imagine how the world looks from that vantage. They help us better understand each other—and ourselves. 

Like good fiction, they build empathy.

Sometimes they make us laugh. A classic is the advice to a woman whose neighbor regularly popped in at dinner time: After dinner, put the dishes on the floor for the dog to lick, then put them in the cupboard while the neighbor watches. 

Some wisdom is simple, but profound. We can all identify with the letter writer (LW, in advice column parlance) who wanted to go back to college but worried that she’d be 55 in four years when she graduated. “How old will you be in four years if you don’t go back to school?”

As a writer, I’m drawn to exchanges that expose deep emotion and conflict. A recent letter from a mother whose teenage son had come out as gay sought advice on telling a homophobic grandparent. The responses from the columnist and readers who’d been there—as child, parent, or grandparent—gave me insight into the wide range of experiences, and helped me craft a minor character in my Spice Shop mysteries who is trans. As an author, I need to know what shaped each of my characters, whether that backstory appears on the page or not. The glimpses these LWs give us, through their willingness to be vulnerable, helps me see beneath the surface. 

Turns out that’s useful in real life, too.

Of course, some LWs have an agenda, just like some characters. They want confirmation that their behavior is appropriate, even when it isn't. So interesting—the ways we try to justify and explain our behavior. And yet, the desire for a pat on the head from someone else reveals that maybe we don't completely believe the story we're trying to tell ourselves. And it’s so much fun when the columnist turns the tables on a sanctimonious LW and points out the flaws in their thinking or behavior. 

When I was planning To Err is Cumin, I read a letter from a man who committed a crime years ago. He’d planned it; he’d even told his wife, who’d been against it. He went ahead. No one was hurt, he insisted. Now, when they disagree, she threatens to tell their grown children. He’s appalled. She’s lived comfortably for years as a result of his actions, without complaint. What should he do? 

What a fascinating dynamic! A self-deceiving crook and a spouse engaging in emotional blackmail. Alas, I had no idea what he’d done. I read every comment—still no clue. But how could I not use that scenario, bursting with tensions? 

Of course, the situation changed as I wrote, and the plot on the page bears little resemblance to the story LW told. 

But you’ll know. It will be our little secret. 

Later, as Pepper, my main character, and I were tracking a young woman named Talia around Seattle, I read a letter from a woman whose daughter had cut off all contact after an argument. Worse, the teenage granddaughter was refusing to communicate with the LW, her grandmother. I was struck by the columnist’s compassion. Keep reaching out, she wrote. Your granddaughter is a child, dependent on her mother’s love and physical support. It’s perfectly natural—even appropriate—for her to follow her mother’s lead. Be the adult. Work to end the estrangement, if you can, but don’t make the granddaughter pay for it.

So what do you know? When Talia tells Pepper how ashamed she is of her teenage self for refusing her grandmother’s gifts and letters, Pepper knows just what to say. And maybe Pepper’s advice will help the two stubborn women Talia loves resolve their differences. 

Reading advice columns gave me the idea for the struggle that sparked the story, and reading advice columns helped me wrap it up. Good things come from guilty pleasures.

Do you read advice columns? Got a favorite? What’s your preferred guilty pleasure? Leslie will be giving away a copy of TO ERR IS CUMIN on the Reds and Readers Facebook page. Stop over and say hello!

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Leslie Budewitz writes the Spice Shop mysteries set in Seattle’s Pike Place Market and the Food Lovers’ Village mysteries, set in NW Montana. She also writes historical fiction—watch for All God’s Sparrows and Other Stories: A Stagecoach Mary Fields Collection coming in September 2024. As Alicia Beckman, she writes moody suspense. She cooks, reads, paints, hikes, and gardens in NW Montana. And yes, there are bears in her yard. 

To Err is Cumin 

Coming in audio July 16 and in trade paperback and ebook August 6.

One person’s treasure is another’s trash. . .

When Seattle Spice Shop owner Pepper Reece finds a large amount of cash stuffed in an old chair, she investigates—never suspecting a wingback will set her off on a trail of deception, embezzlement, and murder, and put her own life in danger.