AIn’t Necessarily So

It’s no secret AI can operate as a powerful research tool, especially when requiring ‘fuzzy’ searches. ‘Fuzzy logic’ is a computer term referring to imprecise inputs or output. Digital computers like exactitude. In practice, ‘approximately’, ‘about’, ‘almost’, and ‘nearly’ are anathema to traditional programming.

Until now.

“Oh please, ChatGPT / Copilot / Gemini / Grok / LLaMA / Claude / Deep Seek, please help me identify a summer television series with a mystery theme broadcast on ABC, CBS, or NBC in the late 1970s or maybe 1980s…”

Google and Bing won’t help much but a well-phrased AI query can give your research a fighting chance. It can process your conservational request, understand what you’re looking for, and relieve you of the burden of searching by year and perhaps by network.

In recent decades, programmers cracked the hard nut of pattern matching, essential for AI in many ways. The front end of many AIs use an LLM, large language model, which not only parses spoken (and written) word, but can now understand it.

Our friend ABA (Hi Cate!), once under contract to the South African government, hired a small bevy of assistants to sort through historical photographs, identifying and labeling their content, e.g, ‘Desmond Tutu and Nelson Mandela. Background: Tabletop Mountain, 10 June 1994’.

At present, an automatic document loader and AI processor can accomplish the same job in moments. AI can understand the contents of a picture. Unfortunately, that sort of thing could put a coterie of girls out of a job.

And yet…

AI can make mistakes, sometimes huge ones. We’ve learned particular AIs can be politically manipulated. An old computing rule states that results can be no more accurate than incoming data– Garbage in, Garbage out. And it’s early days… We’re barely in the Model T stage.

An early bugbear that should be fixed by now came from a simple question: How many Rs are in the word strawberry? A programming quirk would return an answer of 2. Does your AI get it right?

I’ve listened to a number of AI generated stories. Some are ‘okay’ but most fall prey to one problem or another, especially word repetition, i.e, ’smirked’. The phrase a ‘smile didn’t quite reach her eyes’ is a dead giveaway. And plot holes. Lordy, lordy, the plot holes, not to mention failed opportunities to wring drama out of confrontations.

That said, I wish posters would explicitly tag AI generated works. AI dreck shouldn’t drag down the arts.

On the other hand, AI can make a halfway decent editor if you’re having difficulty with a scene that might be overwritten or too flowery with overflowing modifiers. It might stimulate your thinking in a different direction. Be aware, major public-facing AIs have bowdlerizing limitations regarding adult topics, limits ranging in the GP to PG category.

Note: Generally speaking, works created largely or wholly by AIs cannot be copyrighted.

What about…

We’ve heard more than once AIs can write better computer code than professional programmers. For the moment setting aside massive matrix programs, I ordered applications in various procedural and object-oriented languages. The first two attempts suffered bugs even in the simplest code. Once fixed, program efficiency was merely so-so.

Experiments suggests AI might write scripts and program code at an average programmer level, but can’t presently compete with top-tier ‘super-programmers’ (a term coined in the 1970s).

Where AIs can excel are in massive table driven or matrix based programming, where, thanks to incredible processor speed and memory, they can populate many millions of array cells when a human cannot hope to compete.

Armed and Dangerous

Requesting pictures gave me fits, beginning with over-saturated color, and botched eyes and mouths. A photorealistic mother had two and a half arms, a dancer had three legs. Once I thought I’d finally received a perfect rendering with no extra limbs or major body parts. My friend said, “Oh yeah? Count the fingers.”

Examples have been too creepy to keep, but I slipped one example into an article. Turns out my audience was too polite to mention the armed conflict.

The toughest challenge I never did resolve. My query went, “Create a pencil sketch  of a father carrying his young teen daughter upstairs.” Once or twice, I suggested a point of view: “From floor level, angle the camera from the side of the stairway.”

Results were a mess. Often, the AI positioned the camera from above rather than below. Sometimes it had a little girl carrying the father. The most bizarre attached the father’s left arm to his right shoulder socket and right arm to his left side, and carrying the girl like a monstrous backpack.

Holy Heavens, Hannah

Recently, I asked an AI a research question: “Kindly give me a list of words where the first letter is a silent H.” Here you see the results.

A couple of years into public release, AIs remain subject to errors and restrictions. Yet with informed practice, they can offer considerable research assistance.

Note: Be impressed how au fait my colleagues are with AI, both good and bad aspects.

Game On … or faster versus smarter?

Leigh’s game of senet

Where'd THAT Ending Come From?

One of the things that sometimes bug me, as both a booklover and a movie addict, is watching an adaptation of a novel that I've read and then finding that it has a different ending. Actually, that's not true: It bugs me if the ending is worse. It doesn't bother me at all if the movie ending turns out to be better. 

The difference I seem to remember the most--spoiler alert!--happened when I watched the movie The Mist years ago, after reading the Stephen King novella. In the written version, after the survivors of the monster attack at the supermarket escape and manage to also avoid the other creatures in the area, they drive away toward a possible safe zone, still together and alive and hopeful. But in the movie, their getaway car runs out of gas with creatures lurking everywhere, the leader of the survivors kills the four others in the group, including his son, in order to spare them a gruesome death, and--now out of ammunition– he exits the car to be killed himself … when a military team appears out of nowhere and tells him rescuers are on the way. A real downer of an ending, and I've found that many others agree. But in retrospect, it was probably the perfect ending because it created such emotion on the part of the viewer. It was certainly memorable.

Anyhow– you see my line of thinking, here– I have dutifully come up with twenty well-known novels and movie adaptations, all of which I have read and watched, where the endings were changed. There are of course many, many more, but these came to mind.

Here's my list (I'm hoping I've remembered the details correctly)--and, for what it's worth, I've placed an asterisk beside the versions I preferred. Be aware, more spoilers are here, in abundance:

1. The Natural — Book version: Baseball star Roy Hobbs strikes out in a crucial game and is disgraced. Movie version*: Hobbs hits a home run that wins the pennant, and is hailed as a hero.
2. Cujo — Book: The little boy in the car, Tad Trenton, dies. Movie*: He survives.
3. Jaws — Book: Hooper (the young oceanographer) dies. Movie*: Both Chief Brody and Hooper are alive, and swim together to shore.
4. The Firm — Book*: Mitch McDeere scams the firm out of millions and escapes to the Caribbean with his family and the money. Movie: Mitch makes a deal with the mafia and with the FBI, destroys the firm, and remains a lawyer, in a different city.
5. The Shining — Book*: Jack Torrance blows up the hotel and dies in the explosion, and Dick Hallorann survives. Movie: Jack kills Hallorann and then freezes to death in the maze.
6. Double Indemnity — Book: Neff and Phyllis escape together and commit suicide on their way to Mexico. Movie*: Neff and Phyllis shoot each other, and Neff confesses to his boss before dying.
7. Breakfast at Tiffany's — Book: The two lovers don't wind up together. Movie*: They do. 
8. Hannibal — Book: Lecter and Clarice run off together. Movie*: Lecter escapes and leaves Clarice behind. 
9. The Shawshank Redemption — Book: Red is searching for Andy following their prison break. Movie*: Red finds and joins Andy in Mexico. 
10. Strangers on a Train — Book: Guy kills Bruno's father and goes to prison. Movie*: Bruno dies at the amusement park and Guy is cleared of his wife's murder.
11. Forrest Gump — Book: Jenny marries someone else, and Forrest moves to New Orleans with Lt. Dan. Movie*: Forrest and Jenny get married, she dies, and Forrest raises their son.
12. Rebecca — Book*: Manderley burns down and Mrs. Danvers's fate is uncertain. Movie: She dies in the fire.
13. Black Sunday — Book*: The blimp carrying the bomb is diverted from the stadium, but the hero dies. Movie: The hero survives.
14. The Grapes of Wrath — Book: Sad ending, with the Joad family still suffering. Movie*: Hopeful ending, with the Joads safe for the moment, and pressing on.
15. Jurassic Park — Book: The island is destroyed by bombing, and Hammond dies. Movie*: The T-Rex saves everyone from raptors at the welcome center, and Hammond survives.
16. The Notebook — Book: The couple reunites and lives. Movie*: The couple reunites and dies peacefully.
17. LA Confidential — Book: The villain (Capt. Smith) survives and gets away with his crimes. Movie*: Exley kills Smith in a shootout at the Victory Motel.
18. And Then There Were None — Book*: All the guests, and the judge, die. Movie: Vera and Lombard solve the mystery and survive.
19. First Blood — Book: John Rambo dies. Movie*: Rambo lives (thus enabling four sequels).
20. Planet of the Apes — Book: Hero and his companion escape the planet and go back to Earth. Movie*: Hero discovers that he's been on Earth all along.

I discovered, when I checked the placement of my asterisks, that I seem to prefer either twist endings or happy, neatly-wrapped endings (but not always). My question for you is, do you agree with any of my preferences? What are some novel vs. movie endings that you remember, and which versions did you like, or hate? As I said, I've left out a lot of them.

Okay, back to my books and videos. See you in two weeks.

Road Tripping: Go Bag for Writers

I can’t believe it’s only a few weeks until Christmas. I’ve been traveling a lot. Between writing retreats, conferences, and vacations with family, my life has been less ho, ho, ho and more go, go, go. On the road, I still try to write whenever I can. So, I created a go bag with the tools I need. 

Here is a look at what’s inside:

Laptop

I love a keyboard. I need it to write. I have tried smaller devices to reduce weight and optimize space. I’ve even tried traveling without my MacBook and always regret it.

Lap Desk

At the Austin Film Festival, I heard a writer and busy mother say that she writes between the seams in her schedule. I feel like my life is the same way. I found a budget-friendly lap desk and write during long drives from the passenger seat, in the carpool line waiting to pick up kids, in coffee shops, and in dinky hotel rooms. 

Refillable Journal

I found this Voyager Refillable Journal in Books to Be Red, an independent bookstore, on Ocracoke Island. It holds three notebooks: lined, dot grid, and blank pages. It is great for research notes, sketching diagrams, and jotting down ideas. The notebooks are small and refillable. Until I found this gem, my note-taking system on the road was random scraps of paper and sending emails to myself which was problematic at best.

Travel Power Strip

I hate playing Twister behind furniture searching for outlets. This USB desktop power strip has been a game changer for me.  I love the outlets are easy to access, and I can charge multiple devices at one time. 

Portable Charger

I’m notorious for forgetting to charge my phone. I often use it as a hotspot when I write. This portable charger has saved me countless times. It is also small and easy to carry.

Snack Pouch

There have been days (I wish more) when the writing has been going well and suddenly, I’m hungry. If I stop to find food, the magic disappears. I keep bags of almonds, dark chocolate, and protein bars with me in a pinch. 

[NOTE: All links provided above are solely for your convenience; I have no financial relationship with the brands or retailers.]

Do you have a go bag for writing? Do you have advice on the best way to write on the road? What tools work for you? 

Please share your ideas in the comments.

***

I am delighted to be a recent guest on Elaine's Literary Salon Podcast. I had the best time chatting with Jeffrey James Higgins, about craft, community, and anthologies. You can listen to the podcast here. I hope you stop by.

Alexander the Great: Bastard as Exemplar for an Age (356–323 B.C.)

Continuing to excerpt my book The Book of Ancient Bastards. This week, that most terrifying of ancient conquerors, Alexander the Great!

*    *    *

Alexander ordered all but those who had fled to the temples to be put to death and the buildings to be set on fire… 6,000 fighting-men were slaughtered within the city’s fortifications. It was a sad spectacle that the furious king then provided for the victors: 2,000 Tyrians, who had survived the rage of the tiring Macedonians, now hung nailed to crosses all along the huge expanse of the beach.

— Quintus Curtius Rufus, Historiae Alexandri Magni 

Alexander the Great

Held up throughout the ages as a shining example of both the great conqueror and the philosopher-king, Alexander III of Macedonia was considered by many to be the greatest monarch of the ancient world. 

He was also a homicidal megalomaniac who developed a god complex to go along with a drinking problem, likely had a hand in killing his own father, murdered one of his own generals in a drunken rage, conquered the Persian Empire, and unleashed the Macedonian war machine on an unprepared world, resulting in the deaths of untold numbers of people.

Born to parents who could barely stand the sight of each other by the time he came along, Alexander was in his teens and already trained as a cavalry officer and a leader of men when his father, Macedonian king and bastard Philip II, took a new, young wife, whom he immediately got pregnant. When the girl delivered a boy whom Philip promptly designated his heir, Alexander and his crazy snake-cult-priestess mother Olympias fled Macedonia for her native country of Epirus (modern Albania), where they cooled their heels until Philip was assassinated later that same year. Alexander and his mother probably had a little something to do with that. Within weeks, Philip’s new wife, her opportunistic nobleman father, and her infant son had all been quietly put to death. 

The destruction of Thebes

On news of Philip's death the tribes to the north rebelled, and Alexander was forced to take time out to resubjugate them. A rumor that he had perished while doing so sparked a revolt by the Greek city-states Philip had conquered two years previously. Alexander marched south at the head of the army his father had built, and attacked Thebes, one of the cities leading the rebellion, and also where Philip had learned phalanx battle strategy in his youth.

Destroying Thebes' army, Alexander went about making an example of the city so as not to need to worry about further Greek rebellions once he was off in Asia. Six thousand Thebans died in the fighting, and Alexander had a further thirty-thousand sold into slavery.The Greeks never rose against him again.

After this Alexander was finally on to Asia, leading an army that Philip had built, conquering territories left and right. He lived another thirteen years and never again set foot back in Greece.

When Alexander and his army entered Egypt, the priests of Amun there hailed him as a god himself and the son of one of their gods (a syncretic figure that combined aspects of the Greek god Zeus with the of the Egyptian god Amun), a connection that played to both his vanity and his political need to lend legitimacy to his conquests (after all, who can argue with the reasons of a god-on-earth for anything he does?). 

Alexander kills Cleitus

The further he got from Macedonia, the more binge drinking he and his senior officers did, and the worse Alexander’s god complex became. One evening, he got into a drunken brawl with one of his generals, a veteran named Cleitus, who had saved Alexander’s life in battle at the Granicus River years before. What's more, Cleitus's sister Laodice had been Alexander's wetnurse when he was a baby. 

The argument began when Cleitus confronted Alexander over comments he was making about his dead father. Cleitus, who had served as a junior officer in Philip's army, objected to Alexander disparaging the dead king, both men were very drunk, and it was all downhill from there. After a heated back and forth, Cleitus opened his tunic, offering his chest as a target, should his king wish to take his life. In the heat of the moment, Alexander snatched a spear from one of his bodyguards and threw it at Cleitus, killing him on the spot. 

Overcome with remorse once he sobered up, Alexander contemplated suicide but was talked out of it by his entourage, who convinced him that Cleitus was disloyal and since Alexander was a god, he was therefore infallible. 

When he finally died in Babylon of a combination of malaria and exhaustion at the age of thirty-three, Alexander left a changed world behind him. Whether or not it was for the better is up for debate.

Dear Abi, or the Ultimate Unreliable Narrator

 "As for myself, I belong to that delicious subgenre, the self-confessed unreliable narrator." - Matt Coward

Back in 2021 I wrote here about Stuart Turton's remarkable first novel, The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle.  (Leigh also wrote about it later.)  Turton is a master of mash-ups or genre-blendings, so let's call that book a fantasy novel braided together with a golden-age-style mystery.

I also enjoyed, but never wrote about his second book, The Devil and the Dark Water, which is sort of a seafaring historical mystery with horror overtones.

I just finished his third novel, and it's an amazing tale.  The Last Murder at the End of the World is a science fiction mystery.  It is set hundreds of years in the future (I had to keep reminding myself of that when futuristic technology is used) when all animal life on earth has been wiped out except on an island in the Mediterranean where a village of a few hundred people remain. 

 

When one of the residents  is murdered solving it could literally mean life or death for  the whole planet.  And since their memories of the past night have been wiped - futuristic technology - even the killer doesn't know whodunit.  Fortunately one of the villagers is uniquely qualified to do the detective work.  There is a breathtaking scene in which Emory, the sleuth, looks at a scene of utter chaos and immediately deduces what happened.  Nice piece of writing.

But what fascinated me most about the book is the narration style.  Most of the book is in third person, the classic omniscient narrator who can tell us all the actions and thoughts of the characters.  But every once in a while, well, take a look:

She remembers being out there when she was a girl, hearing this same lesson from the same teacher. She cried the entire way and nearly jumped out to swim for home when they dropped anchor.

"The children are safe with Niema," I say reassuringly.

Say what? Who is this first person narrator suddenly intruding, one who can tell us what the characters are thinking?

Her name, it turns out, is Abi (and I think I was halfway through the book before her gender was mentioned). She can see through the eyes of the villagers, talk with them through their thoughts and, to some extent, control them.

So, who or what is Abi? Obviously that is one of the puzzle boxes that the reader hopes will  be opened before the end of the book.  

But now we're getting to my main point.  Abi sometimes tells us that she is lying to the villagers.  But does she tell us every time she does? Can we  trust anything she is telling us?  

This is a terrific book but not without flaws.  The last quarter is so convoluted you practically need a flowchart and map to track Who is Where When.  And there is something which is described as a major clue which feels to me like an error an editor should have caught.

But it is a stunning read. 

Mining the Files

Some of the many publications containing my stories, including those that were mined from the files.

If you’ve been writing for any length of time, as I have, you likely have a file drawer (or a file folder on your computer) filled with unsold stories.

Likely, some of them are unpublishable under any circumstances. Some, however, are publishable as is or with minor tweaking. Because you were unable to find suitable markets at the time, you disappeared the stories into your files. If enough time has passed, you may have even forgotten writing them.

This is a mistake. Every so often, you should reread your unsold stories and spend time seeking information about markets that have changed or that did not exist when you wrote the stories. You might be sitting on a gold mine (figuratively; you do know how well short stories pay, don’t you?).

This has been one of those years. Though there’re still thirty-one days left (as I write this) and I could receive additional acceptances that will impact the numbers I’m about to share, this has been a good year for mining my unsold stories file.

So, far, I’ve placed eight of those stories. I wrote the oldest—a bit of crime fiction—in 2013; the other seven are short romances I wrote in 2016. I placed them with three different publications, none of which existed at the time I wrote the stories.

Other than correcting typos, misspellings, and grammatical errors I hadn’t caught at the time, I only found it necessary to revise one story. I found a submission call for a winter-themed romance anthology, so I added a few sentences to one story to make it clear the story took place during winter.

UNFINISHED STORIES

I have another, larger, file of unfinished stories, and I frequently mine it as well. I’ve written about this before, but whenever I am not writing to deadline and have no specific project top of mind, I read my unfinished stories until one captures my attention.

Sometimes, I have a burst of inspiration and finish the story. Other times, I add a sentence, a paragraph, or an entire scene. Sometimes I create a rough outline for the balance of the story. If nothing compels me to finish, I move on to other unfinished stories.

Both “Blind Pig” (Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, September/October 2025) and “The Girl in the Shop” (Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, September/October 2025) were stories I had started and which lay dormant for four years (“Blind Pig”) or three years (“The Girl in the Shop”) between the time I started them and the time I finished them.

So, whether you’re mining your files for finished stories and seeking new markets for them or you’re mining for unfinished stories in hopes of inspirational sparks that will propel you through to the end of finished manuscripts, mining your files can prove quite beneficial.

I know it does for me.

* * *

“Forever Family” was published in Micromance Magazine, November 22, 2025.

“Writing is thinking.”

             My wife made this observation many years ago, and it has not only lingered in my mind, but grown in significance as I’ve experienced the effects. 

Here’s the premise:  When you’re just thinking something, it’s an undifferentiated ball of feelings, memories, randomly firing synapses, unstructured language, side tangents and fleeting images.  A swirl of disorganized, unmediated mush.  When you have to express all that via the written word, you have to “think it through”.  In other words, your mind imposes order and continuity to the original jumble, recording feelings and vague impressions in a way they can be conveyed to another person, essentially “completing the thought.”  Writing it down makes it real and tangible, and adds a fair amount of useful cognition along the way.

Fiction writers often mention those strange, and unfortunately fleeting, moments when something seems to be writing itself.  It’s suddenly effortless, the words flowing on the page as if directed by divine inspiration.  What could be happening, miraculous though not quite as romantic, is your brain, as your write, quickly sorts out all the inchoate reasoning that’s been going on in the background, and letting you reveal what you’d been thinking all along. 

It's also possible that the language you’re putting on the page is triggering other thoughts, which then express themselves as words, sentences and paragraphs, which then fuels further thinking, and concomitant writing, and so forth in a virtuous circle.

Brain scientists describe a process whereby raw emotions express themselves, spontaneously and involuntarily, as words in the heat of a stress-filled moment.  This is when your amygdala (once referred to as your “lizard brain”) gets so riled up that it sends a message right to your mouth, or in extreme cases your fists, bypassing all that other refining and moderating circuitry.   We usually apologize after one of these episodes by saying, “Sorry, I lost my temper.”  Or “Really sorry.  I guess I lost my mind.”   The latter is technically more accurate.  You have, in fact, lost portions of your mind when they’ve been sidelined, or hijacked (an actual clinical description) by the primitive bits from our evolutionary past.

I bring all this up to illustrate that it’s not unreasonable to assert that thoughts originating in one part of the brain can find themselves transformed for the better as they pass through the other parts.  Why the purely emotional sensations you might feel witnessing the dawn of a beautiful spring day can splash across a piece of paper in the form of a sonnet, and you have no idea how it got there.

 It would be fair to say that speaking serves the same purpose.  It also organizes the cacophony of impulses and feelings that constitute thought into discernible meaning you can communicate to other people.  That’s true, though written language operates at a different level.  It is more structured, intricate and reliant on basic logic.  You are more likely to be working your way to a conclusion, a summation that faces greater rigor than merely thinking out loud. 

            My wife would maintain that the act of writing itself not only harnesses thought, it is a type of thought itself that arrives at a destination unreachable by any other means.  It’s possible that some fiction writers compose their work fully in their heads before delivering it to the page.  But most are like me.  I have some idea of what’s going to happen in the next chapter, but I really won’t know for certain until I get there.  Often, my assumptions are misplaced, and the narrative goes merrily off in another direction entirely. 

You could argue that writing is merely a tool that facilitates thought, and by extension, creativity.  Feel free, but in my experience, no good ever comes from arguing with my wife.  

The Eyes Will Hopefully Have It

I'm writing this post early this month because I can't be sure what kind of shape I'll be in for the few days before it actually goes live. I'm scheduled to have cataract surgery on both eyes Thanksgiving week.

I've been told by multiple people that this will be quick and painless and that my vision will be almost miraculously improved afterwards.  I certainly hope so, though I can't help but be nervous.  I've worn glasses since I was seven years old, but in the last several years my vision has deteriorated significantly.  I've had to bump up the font sizes on all my devices, and reading an actual book requires careful coordination of multiple factors--lighting, special glasses, etc.  Reading has always been a cornerstone of my life, so this has been an especially difficult thing for me to accept.  What I'm looking forward to the most, assuming the surgery goes as expected, is being able o simply pick up a book and read at my whim.  A simple thing that shouldn't be taken for granted.

I will take this opportunity to grouse about a pet peeve--movies and TV shows which require us to read text messages the characters are receiving or sending.  Yes, very nice, very modern, but also very much a pain for those of us who either have to ask somebody to tell us what the hell is going on or get out of our chairs to walk across the room, hitting rewind and pause buttons on the way.  There are some shows and films which do this well, for example by "popping out" the message to a larger size, but they're rare.

But I digress.  The point is, hopefully by the time my December column goes up I'll be living in a brighter and more sharply focused world, and I look forward to seeing you there.

SPEAKING OF READING: As we're going into the holiday season, what better gift for your family and loved ones than the gift of reading, specifically reading short mystery fiction?  

I'm consistently astonished at the number of writers who aspire to see their work in the hallowed pages of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine or Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine but who don't subscribe to those publications.  We're living in a time when so-called "legacy media" and the basic concept of literacy are in deep peril, and I think we should be doing everything we can to preserve them.  A subscription to either of these fine magazines (or to any other periodical, such as Black Cat Weekly) is an investment in the future of the genre we all love.  I challenge everyone reading this to give at least one gift subscription to at least one of these publications this year!

The Long Road to River Road

I probably shouldn't admit this, but I've never been good at setting goals, in either my life or my work. I've always just tried to do my best at whatever task, and never worried much about long-range planning. So far, that seems to have worked.

I look at my so-called literary career the same way. I discovered at an advanced age--mid-forties--that writing short fiction was something I truly loved to do, and ever since then, I've written a lot of stories and tried to write each one as well as I can. As for goals, I never set out to make much money or win awards or have stories selected for best-of anthologies or achieve any degree of fame or fortune. Thankfully, some of those good things happened anyway--except for the money/fame/fortune part--but when they did, they usually came unexpectedly, out of nowhere.

I do recall a few things I secretly hoped I might one day accomplish. Early on, I dreamed of someday getting published in either Alfred Hitchcock's or Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. I clearly remember that, because I grew up reading and enjoying those two publications. Later, I hoped to eventually be lucky enough to get something into one of the Akashic Books "noir" anthologies; I had great respect for those also, and thought it'd be supercool to be a part of one of them. Yet another pie-in-the-sky item, especially in more recent years, was to have a collection of my short stories published by Crippen & Landru. I've admired every book of theirs that I've seen and read, and I've long admired those who've been published there, a few of whom I've known for a long time. As luck would have it, about two years ago one of those friends, Josh Pachter, was kind enough to recommend me to publisher Jeffrey Marks at C&L.

I of course found Jeff to be as friendly and professional as I'd suspected he would be, and--to my great pleasure and relief--he seemed as eager as I was to put something together. So, after a trial submission and the resulting discussions about the lengths and styles and kinds of stories he was looking for, I eventually sent him a 90,000-word group of stories that I called River Road and Other Mysteries, later changed to River Road and Other Mystery Stories. As things turned out, both Jeff and the publication gods were in a good mood, and the book was accepted for publication. We kept the plans quiet for many months, but at last the contracts were signed, the stories were edited, the cover was designed, and the collection--my ninth book and eighth collection of short stories--was announced and released by Crippen & Landru this past week.

It probably won't surprise you that the book was great fun to piece together. For those who are interested, it's divided into three parts and contains mystery stories that first appeared in AHMM, Strand Magazine, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Weekly, and others, including a number of crime anthologies, plus three stories that are new and previously unpublished. And it contains--I hope--something for almost everyone: gang wars, car chases, snowstorms, barren deserts, jewelry heists, bomb threats, dollhouses, mulewagons, casinos, rattlesnakes, bus trips, movie trivia, ballet performances, science fairs, ski resorts, roadside diners, private eyes, crime bosses, land swindlers, shoplifters, drug smugglers, missing wives, bank robbers, cat burglars, crooked cops, cardsharks, waitresses, fishermen, immigrants, dwarves, giants, acrobats, realtors, novelists, lawyers, housesitters, muggers, poets, bodyguards, sharpshooters, bank tellers, ex-cons, murderous spouses, gator hunters, Old West outlaws, peach farmers, bug thieves, treasury agents, snipers, dognappers, bootleggers, and moonshiners. And that's just the first story. (Not really.)

I must mention here that the title story--the last one in the book--was first published in one of my fellow SleuthSayer Michael Bracken's anthologies, called Prohibition Peepers: Private Eyes During the Noble Experiment. I chose that story to "represent" the collection for several reasons: (1) Its setting is my home state of Mississippi, which is where many of the stories in the collection take place; (2) it's a historical mystery, like several others in the book (this one's set in the 1930s, an era that's always interesting to write about); (3) it's a private-eye tale, like eight of the other stories; and (4) I thought its title, "River Road," had an appropriate ring to it. 

The actual book is available in two formats: (1) a softcover edition with seventeen stories and (2) a signed, numbered, and clothbound edition that includes a "bonus" story. Here's the Crippen & Landru site where you can order either one, and I'm told the book'll be available via Amazon and elsewhere within the next week. As I mentioned in the Author Notes, I hope folks will have as much fun reading these stories as I had writing them.

I also hope you and yours had a great Thanksgiving. Happy reading and writing to you all!

 

Practicing With Swordfishtrombones

When I did my run of Bouchercons (on and off from 2005 to 2008), it seemed like Tom Waits was it. In 2006, a bunch of us sat at a riverside cafe in Chicago, a group that included the late Ken Bruen, and spent maybe twenty minutes rolling through Waits lyrics. 

And is it any surprise? Jon Stewart once said, "I'd like to get drunk and pass out in a gutter with that guy." If Steely Dan's ramblers, gamblers, and assorted survivors tended toward the affluent or wannabe affluent, Waits's characters were just as likely to be found in a dive bar or sitting on a freeway ramp with a cardboard sign. And oh, could he spin a tale about how they got there.

The focus was on three albums: Swordfishtrombones, Rain Dogs, and Mule Variations. The first was probably the most noir, which is like saying the Pacific Ocean is the wettest of oceans. You're still going for a swim in the Arctic.

One only need look at the spoken word "Frank's Wild Years," (which ironically does not appear on the album of the same name.) Waits sounds like a guy rattling off the tale of a down-on-his-luck salesman with a spent wife and a yappy dog. As he prattles on through one gravelly aside after another, he comes to how Frank, tired of it all, torches his house (presumably not his wife. The dog did not fare so well.) "all Halloween orange and chimney red. Never did like that dog."

The album's other spoken-word (and, let's be honest, full-on Beatnik) song is "Trouble's Braids." More of a poem recited over bongos, one can almost see Jack Kerouac reciting this story about a man on the run, hiding in the mud, staying away from the main roads, and building a fire in the backseat of an old Tucker. Neat trick, since Tucker only built 51 cars. He either torched a collector's item, or the car had been left rotting in a field, Either way, survival, set to a hypnotic bongo beat, was the first order of business. But you don't even need an explanation to understand why "16 Shells from a Thirty-Ought Six" is noir. It actually inspired a short story I wrote called "Whittle You Into Kindlin'."

I wouldn't call Waits a rock musician. Certainly some of his music is rock, but I'd say he's more Americana, even if the label didn't exist for the bulk of his career. But his propensity for singing about America's losers in a rough voice made him attractive to crime writers, especially when he underwent renewed interest in the 2000s. He doesn't have a lot of range, but a friend of mine, a musician, said he had thirty-two distinct voices he used in his music. That's better than Bowie, who often sounds like he's singing with two other singers. (Mind you, Bowie did a lot of this with an expansive range even guys like Steve Perry could only dream of.) What made Waits's characters and narrators (many unreliable) real came from those voices. He opened his mouth and became these people.

The Ghosts of Turkeys are Among Us

"As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly." —  WKRP In Cincinnati "boss" Arthur Carlson.

But, of course, they can fly.  I saw two of them the other day hanging out around the penitentiary (I do not even inquire as to the motivations of turkeys, or who they were visiting), and when our car came one of them flew right up, landed in a tree, and started rearly expectorating.  

I have a lot of turkey stories, including the memorable time which I shared before in 2021 - but a good story is a good story.  I was walking on a trail in Lake Herman State Park here in South Dakota. Now that park has (had - things have changed) wild turkeys, deer, fox, coyotes owls, hawks, seagulls, pelicans, and once in a while some eagles, roaming free. And this day, the flock of wild turkeys was right there, in the middle of the trail, eating and gobbling. Well, I did a big loop around them, because I didn't want to disturb them, then got back on the trail further up, and walked on.  But after a while, I heard there was this tremendous rushing sound behind me, almost like water. So I looked over my shoulder, and by God, there was the whole flock coming towards me. RUNNING towards me. So I stopped. And they all skidded to a stop around me.

So there they were: gobble-gobble-gobble. Hooking their necks and looking up sideways at me. Gobble-gobble-gobble. I mean, it was interesting, but I didn't have any corn with me or anything, and I don't speak Gobble, so after a while I said, "Well, you caught me, now what are you going to do with me?" Gobble-gobble-gobble. And after a while, they finally got tired and went on. And so did I, chuckling away. But later, I thought, "I wonder if that's how a wooly mammoth felt, surrounded by humans in the Ice age?" and then, "If turkeys ever learn how to make tools, we're screwed."  

"Vengeance is mine! Gobble-gobble-gobble!"

Flock of Wild Turkeys, 

waiting for someone like me to come along

by Sarov702 - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0,
 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=132330541

The Great Wild Turkey in Flight

by Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren - Wild Turkey, CC BY 2.0,
 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=47672945

Speaking of turkeys, Allan and I were talking the other day and I said, "Have you ever noticed that Inspector Jacques Clouseau, Deputy Barney Fife, and Retired Corporal Foggy Dewhurst all have the same personality?  It's just different accents and countries."

Peter Sellers, The Inspector Clouseau Movies

Don Knotts, The Andy Griffith Show

Brian Wilde, Last of the Summer Wine

The most concise description of them all is a self-important, arrogant, interfering, and generally inept know-it-all who is nearly always wrong.  Hilarious without knowing why everyone's laughing.  And yet, somehow, loveable...  You know.  Turkeys.  Love them all.

And now for something completely different:

A Native American Prayer of Thanks:

Great and Eternal Mystery of Life, 

Master of the Universe, 

Creator of All Things, 

I give thanks for the beauty 

You put in every single one of Your creations. 

I give thanks that You did not fail 

in making every stone, plant, creature, and human being 

a perfect and whole part of Your Sacred world. 

I give thanks that You have allowed me 

to see the strength and beauty of Your creation. 

My humble request is that all of the children of earth 

will learn to see the same perfection in themselves. 

May none of Your human children doubt or question 

Your wisdom, Your grace, Your perfect, unending love. 

Amen.

Grace

Here’s another Brit procedural, which they’re so very good at. Having watched a bunch, British and other European cop shows – as I’m sure you have, too - I’ve noticed a very distinct national character in their approach. In the French series I’ve followed, Candice Renoir, The Art of Crime, Balthazar, they play fast and loose with actual police procedure, and focus on personal dynamics. This can be a positive, but not always. Balthazar is the worst offender, in this regard, to the point of being actively annoying, and I’ve stopped watching it. German shows, like the anthology series Tatort [“Crime Scene”], do personal, but it tends to be more toxic - alcohol, drugs, destructive family dynamics - so instead of enlarging, or reinforcing, the storyline, it works at cross-purposes, and sabotages the characters. Germans, as you’d expect, are rigid about protocol, but that doesn’t make the office politics any more authentic, when the paperwork is used as a dramatic convenience.

One of my new faves is the Irish series, Blue Lights, which manages the balance about right. If you’re unfamiliar with this show, the closest analogue is the Nathan Fillion police procedural The Rookie, on ABC. In other words, they generally avoid the cute, and the inner drama reflects and informs the outward plot elements. Brit shows, by and large, lean in hard on the crime, and the personal stuff is window-dressing. Inspector Lewis is in a relationship with the M.E., but it doesn’t get in the way of their work. Or, conversely, Jimmy Perez on Shetland can be distracted from essentials. It depends on the context.

Grace. Named after the lead character, Det. Super Roy Grace, based on the novels by Peter James. It’s an ensemble show, like most every detective series, but it rises and falls entirely on the appeal or integrity of the main actor. In this case, John Simm. He’s got a long list of credits, going back Rumpole, but I don’t think he got a featured lead until State of Play, a political thriller with David Morrissey. He wasn’t on my radar until Life on Mars, a strange curiosity that lasted two seasons, and a sequel, but was essentially dominated by Philip Glenister. And in spite of an early Caligula, and a turn as a mad genius villain on Dr. Who, he hasn’t really had a chance at a part that lets him breathe, not until Roy Grace.

As noted, any show depends on the support team, and this has a good one, individualized, and in their own right interesting, the strongest being Det. Sgt. Norman Potting, and the weakest ACC Vosper, Grace’s supervisor, who has the thankless role of scold, never a good look.

And, yes, there is a little too much backstory, Roy’s feet of clay (in this case, a wife who vanished), the weakness that could be incapacitating, but John Simm manages even to overcome this hoary device. There’s a scene where his new girlfriend, the pathologist Cleo Morey, asks him straight out, What if she walked in the door tomorrow? And he says, Not going to happen. She looks at him sadly, and says, That’s the wrong answer – and she gives him the right one. Grace is a very reserved guy, but in this scene, you see his emotions play across his face, and you can read every regret. Every thing he’s unable to express flickers behind his eyes. However he manages this, I’d call it acting.

One genuine caveat, which may discourage some people. The crimes themselves are often genuinely disturbing, and I mean creepy. The murderers, schemers, and manipulators are reptilian, and if you’re used to charming sociopaths with colorful justifications, these people are a lot more malign and pedestrian, as they are so unhappily in life.

Grace falls into a subset of the genre well beyond cozy – more sinister than Morse, not as icy as Happy Valley. Shot in and around Brighton, in the off-season, you get your fair share of grey, windswept shale, and moody water shots, which contribute to the general air of unease and gloom. It's not as relentlessly dour as I’m making it seem, but it could do with a few more streaks of sunshine. It reminds me a little of the newer version of Van de Valk, with Marc Warren - not cheerless, but stern. Like the weather on the English Channel, cloudy, with a light chop.

Thanksgiving Humor

Seven years ago, I ran this column Thanksgiving week. Since many people might need a laugh this year, I'm running it again, with minor edits. Happy early Thanksgiving to those of you in the US. 

It's two days until Thanksgiving, and I bet some of you are stressed. Maybe it's because you're cooking and ... it's the first time you're hosting, and you want it to be perfect. Or your mother-in-law is coming, and your turkey never lives up to hers. Or the weatherman is predicting snow on Thanksgiving and you're afraid that your relatives won't show up ... or maybe that they will.

Or maybe your stress stems from being a guest. Are you an introvert, dreading a day of small talk with the extended family? A picky eater, going to the home of a gourmet who makes food way too fancy for your tastes? Or are you a dieter, going to the home of someone who likes to push food and you're likely to spend the day going, "no thanks, no rolls for me," "no thanks, no candied yams for me," "no thanks, no cookies for me," ... "dear lord, lady, what part of no thanks don't you get?"

No matter who you are, or what your situation, Thanksgiving can cause stress. The best way to deal with stress is laughter. And that's where I come in. So set down that baster and get ready to smile, because I've got some fictional characters who've had a worse Thanksgiving than you.

Paul and Jamie Buchman from Mad About You
 

They tried so hard to make the perfect dinner ... only to have their dog, Murray, eat the turkey.


Rachel Green from Friends

All she wanted was to cook a nice dessert for her friends ... only to learn too late that she wasn't supposed to put beef in the trifle. It did not taste good.


The Gang from Cheers 

Those poor Thanksgiving orphans. They waited hours for a turkey that just wouldn't cook ... only to then suffer the indignity of being involved in a food fight. (For anyone who's ever read my story "Biscuits, Carats, and Gravy," this Cheers episode was the inspiration.)


Debra Barone from Everybody Loves Raymond

She was determined to have a happy Thanksgiving despite her overly critical mother-in-law ... only to drop her uncooked turkey on the floor three times before flinging it into the oven. Yum.


Arthur Carlson from WKRP in Cincinnati

He wanted to create the greatest promotion ever, inviting the public to a shopping mall and providing free turkeys ... live ones ... only to learn too late that tossing live turkeys out of a helicopter from 2,000 feet in the air isn't a good idea. As God was his witness, he thought turkeys could fly.


Garner Duffy from "Bug Appétit"

I've written a bunch of funny Thanksgiving stories over the years. One had a food fight. One was set at a nudist colony. One involved ... well, the title gives you a hint. In 2018, "Bug Appétit" was published. Its main character, Garner Duffy, is a con man. And all he wants for Thanksgiving is to eat some good food at his mark's home before stealing her jewelry. He learns too late that her mother is ... an inventive cook. This story was a finalist for the Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity awards, and the fine folks at Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine asked me to record it for them. You can listen to it here: https://www.podomatic.com/podcasts/eqmm/episodes/2019-04-01T06_10_35-07_00

I hope you're smiling and feeling less stressed by now, dear readers. Until next time, happy Thanksgiving!