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| Josh Wardle |
Long ago in the depth of the pandemic, our friend ABA mentioned a game she thought might interest SleuthSayers. Rob mentioned it in passing, but said nothing further. At the time, I was working on other articles and gradually it slipped into my mental æther until I stumbled upon it Friday. You remember ABA– She won the Criminal Brief Christmas Puzzle way back when, an impressive feat.
As a puzzleist, she couldn’t resist telling us about Wordle… and believe me, auto-correct is right now having fun at my expense as it substitutes worldly, workable, and girdle. But ‘worldly’ is applicable: Wordle is literally being played around the world– Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania. So I have to apologize, letting our SleuthSayers wallow mentally while the rest of the planet has been playing… unless you read the New York Times. It bought the game a year ago.
It’s been compared to the game Jotto and the television show Lingo. It’s a fame of guess-the-letters of an unknown word, simple like Hangman, but a stretch to the imagination. You must submit real words. You can’t probe by using, for example, ABCDE.
Each word (in standard play) has five letters with six attempts to guess it. Results are color-coded:
Beginner’s Luck
On my first play joining this game world at large, From a single letter E, I nailed it in my third attempt (proof attached):
I simply couldn’t think of any other word with a letter E in the middle that didn’t use letters already ruled out (i.e, steak). And then boom! Got it!
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| First Wordle game ever. | Not bad for a beginner! |
Oh, before I forget, did I mention Wordle was invented by a Welshman named Wardle?
After the New York Times purchased the rights, concerns arose the newspaper would charge for the game. They haven’t done so, but clones have arisen. I include a couple here because Firefox gave me problems loading the original. Here are various places to play it:
To me, the most interesting thing about this topic is--and always has been--the way different authors handle the task of titling their work. I've talked to quite a few writers about this, and some say they come up with a title first, before the writing starts; others wait until after the story/novel/etc. is finished; and still others choose a title during the writing process. I do it in all three of these ways, depending on the story, but I most often select a title during or after the writing is done. I just find that to be easier. Which way is best? Who knows. Different strokes.
If I had my druthers, I think I'd come up with the title first. I believe that kind of blank-slate approach might allow you to create a title that's truly special and catchy--and you could then write your story to fit the title. My old writing buddy Josh Pachter almost always does it that way, and even keeps a long list of titles that he likes and intends to use at some point. How's that for planning?
But no matter when a writer chooses a title, the next thing is (obviously) what will the title be?
NOTE: The following examples are all stories of my own (an even dozen of each type).
1. A title can be a play on words.
Murphy's Lawyer, The President's Residence, Driving Miss Lacey, Amos's Last Words, Mill Street Blues, A Shot in the Park, Byrd and Ernie, North by Northeast, Henry's Ford, Bad Times at Big Rock, Wronging Mr. Wright, Gone Goes the Weasel
2. A title can be a person's name or nickname.
Annabelle, Sneaky Pete, Billy the Kid, Lucifer, Frankie, Diamond Jim, Sweet Caroline, The Sandman, The Delta Princess, Robert, Tomboy, Mustang Sally
3. A title can be a place name.
Lookout Mountain, Ship Island, Mythic Heights, Turtle Bay, Blackjack Road, Dentonville, Sand Hill, Silverlake, Land's End, The Rocking R, The Barrens, Rooster Creek
4. A title can have a hidden or double meaning, later revealed.
Smoke Test, A Thousand Words, Calculus 1, War Day, Knights of the Court, The Powder Room, Wheels of Fortune, Run Time, A Gathering of Angels, Melon CollieBaby, True Colors, Weekend Getaway
5. A title can be a possessive.
Molly's Plan, Lindy's Luck, The Deacon's Game, Newton's Law, Lucy's Gold, Nobody's Business, Walker's Hollow, Lily's Story, Hildy's Fortune, The Judge's Wife, Rosie's Choice, The Devil's Right Hand
6. A title can be an "ing" phrase.
Stealing Roscoe, Remembering Tally, Getting Out Alive, Mugging Mrs. Jones, Traveling Light, Burying Oliver, Heading West, Fishing for Clues, Shrinking Violet, Cracking the Code, Dancing in the Moonlight, Saving Mrs. Hapwell
7. A title can be a familiar term or phrase.
Two in the Bush, Just Passing Through, Not One Word, Elevator Music, Eyes in the Sky, Life Is Good, One Less Thing, Flu Season, Deliver Me, Some Assembly Required, Tourist Trap, In the Wee Hours
8. A title can be intentionally unique or different, or have a pleasing "rhythm."
What Luke Pennymore Saw, A Nice Little Place in the Country, The Daisy Nelson Case, The Miller and the Dragon, The Pony Creek Gang, The Starlite Drive-In, Everybody Comes to Lucille's, The Moon and Marcie Wade, The Early Death of Pinto Bishop, Debbie and Bernie and Belle, A Surprise for Digger Wade, On the Road with Mary Jo
9. A title can be the name of an object or some other thing in the story.
The Winslow Tunnel, The Ironwood File, The Willisburg Stage, The Artesian Light, Grandpa's Watch, The Blue Wolf, The Medicine Show, The Wading Pool, Pocket Change, The Tenth Floor, Crow's Nest, The Jericho Train
10. A title can be the name of a group.
The Barlow Boys, The Donovan Gang, The Garden Club, Travelers, Night Watchers, The A Team, Partners, The TV People, Rhonda and Clyde, Matchmakers, Friends and Neighbors, The Bomb Squad
11. A title can be a time, date, or time period.
An Hour at Finley's, The First of October, 200 Days, Break Time, From Ten to Two, Game Day, A Night at the Park, Summer in the City, Last Day at the Jackrabbit, While You Were Out, A Cold Day in Helena, Twenty Minutes in Riverdale
12. A title can be simple, as long as it's appropriate to the story.
Ignition, Teamwork, Sentry, Sightings, Watched, Lightning, Trapped, Mailbox, Layover, Redemption, Proof, Cargo
Switching gears a bit . . . one thing I've always found fascinating is the way some authors use titles as a marketing trademark, to such a degree that readers/fans can sometimes identify the author simply from his/her titles. Here are some of those that come to mind:
Sue Grafton (the alphabet) -- A Is for Alibi, B Is for Burglar, C Is for Corpse, D is for Deadbeat
Janet Evanovich (numbers) -- One for the Money, Two for the Dough, Three to Get Deadly, Four to Score
James Patterson (nursery rhymes) -- Three Blind Mice, Roses are Red, Jack and Jill, Cradle and All
John D. MacDonald (colors) -- The Dreadful Lemon Sky, The Lonely Silver Rain, The Green Ripper, The Empty Copper Sea
Martha Grimes (English pub names) -- The Old Silent, The Dirty Duck, The Anodyne Necklace, Jerusalem Inn
Robert Ludlum (three-word titles) -- The Matarese Circle, The Holcroft Covenant, The Rhinemann Exchange, The Bourne Identity
Erle Stanley Gardner (the case of . . .) -- The Case of the Crooked Candle, The Case of the Hesitant Hostess, The Case of the Perjured Parrot, The Case of the Daring Decoy
John Sandford (the word "prey") -- Rules of Prey, Silent Prey, Winter Prey, Mind Prey, Night Prey
James Michener (single-word titles) -- Hawaii, Chesapeake, Iberia, Space, Poland, Alaska
I realize I'm rambling a bit, but to me titles and title choices are an interesting topic.
Please let me know, in the comments section below: How do you go about choosing a title for your novel or story? Do you have a system that seems to work? Do you feel you're good at picking titles? Is it a task that's hard for you? Easy? When, in the writing process, do you usually select your title? What do you feel are your best titles? And finally: Have you ever considered or written a series of stories or novels having titles that serve to "tie them together," like Liz Zelvin's "Death Will . . ." series? Nosy blog writers want to know . . .
And that's that. Good luck to all, in your writing endeavors.
I'll be back with another post in two weeks. (Hopefully with a cool title.)
Last time in this space, I talked about one of my least favorite types of story: the roman à clef. I used Valley of the Dolls as my example. Roman à clefs are usually bad because they try to force fit real people, dialog, and events into a fictional narrative. Either the disguise doesn't really work, or you get flat characters and wooden prose.
Some people in the comments, however, objected, saying they either read or wrote characters based on real people. I countered that Frederick Forsyth often inserted real historical figures - Well, they were more like present-day notables at the time of the writing - into his work. That's not the same thing. Nor is using a real person as inspiration for a character. That's pulling ideas out of the ether.
In the first novel I wrote, Northcoast Shakedown, I based a few people on neighbors and friends. A couple people read it and picked out who immediately. But George, the apartment complex manager, was not Lee, the neighbor across the way. For starters, I think Lee would have fainted dead away with some of the stuff George had to do. The landlord who died might have looked like my landlord, but his demise was inspired by a neighbor he hired to redo the balconies in our complex. And the building itself just lent itself to the storyline. My coworkers at the time tied themselves in knots trying to guess who, at Terminal Tower Insurance, was really someone among us. I told them I didn't do that because, again, using real people as characters often backfires for one reason or another: bad writing, hurt feelings, or those damn characters doing whatever they wanted.
My stepson had trouble understanding this when I wrote the TS Hottle novella Flight Blade. I had my two pilots try to cover the one's oversleeping by saying they had miscommunicated and did not realize they were leaving early. The flight commander aboard their starship was named for my stepson and a lieutenant commander. "Why am I not an admiral?"
"I named the character after you. He's not you."
"But why am I not an admiral?"
It took a few go 'rounds to explain it. Then I read him the passage.
"Oh. I like that."
To quote said stepson, "Uh-huh."
What a lot of non-writers don't understand is characters are easy enough to pull from the ether. Someone else said every person is actually a hundred people, only one or two coming out in certain situations. The writer is a person who can pull all one hundred onto the page at the same time. One could actually look at a real person and spin four of five characters from them if they know that person well enough.
More often, the real-life inspiration is either an actor or a notable figure. Actors' performances sometimes crystalize an idea. I once wrote a character I pictured as Bill Pullman after seeing Independence Day. However, the way I wrote the character, someone else suggest Denzel Washington. Today, it would probably be Ryan Gosling and Idris Elba. (Actually, Idris would be the better fit if I still wrote that person. He has the same sense of humor, but can turn on the Luther/Stringer Bell intensity when needed. Plus the English accent would totally work.)
Notables are either ones with larger-than-life personas, or compelling life events that may inspire the story itself.
If you must know, I pilfered a couple of names from real life for Holland Bay, though the characters are not their real-life counterparts. I based one character on Ken Bruen after he gave me some input. But then Ken blurbed that book, so now the character is named Kearny. There's no Jack Taylor in Kearny. The others might have taken cues from real people, but they evolved on their own. Branson, Murdoch, and Armand Cole are all cut from whole cloth. Rufus had some television inspiration, as did Baker, who is what another character from another story would be like if the original wasn't a manipulative idiot. In reality, I liked the actor. The original character I couldn't stand. One has to be careful when using fictional inspiration. The gap between custom archetype, homage, and plagiarism is painfully small.
Using real people as a basis for a character is not roman à clef. It might surprise you to learn there was a real-life Beavis whom Mike Judge used as a model for his monumentally stupid creation, Beavis. However, the real Beavis had the name, the voice, and apparently in sarcastic moments, the laugh. But the hideous appearance, lack of intelligence, and disturbing fascination with fire all came after Beavis and Butthead had a few episodes under its belt. Let's hope the real Beavis had a sense of humor. Since he used to hang out with Mike Judge (whose normal voice is that of Butthead without he lisp and a larger vocabulary), I'm going to assume he got a big laugh out of it. A real one, not "Huh huh. Huh huh huh huh huh."
Of course, again, the difference here is the real person - notable or familiar - is the starting point. Once the character is in the story, they're going to do what they want, including flesh out an entirely new backstory. Which is what they're supposed to do.
Last time around I referenced the long, long history of the film industry's attempts to profitably bring Raymond Chandler's iconic gumshoe Philip Marlowe to the big (and the small) screen. I promised to watch the new film Marlowe, (not to be confused with the 1969 James Garner film of the same title), starring Liam Neeson and share my thoughts about it, and also comparing and contrasting it with all of the film Marlowes who came before.
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| A Fistful of Marlowes: clockwise from upper left–Dick Powell (with the always fabulous Claire Trevor in 1944's Murder, My Sweet), Humphrey Bogart (The Big Sleep, 1946), Robert Mitchum (Farewell, My Lovely, 1975)& one shot of the otherwise camera-shy Robert Montgomery (The Lady in the Lake, 1947) |
So let's get started!
First: my thoughts on Neeson's turn as Marlowe:
I loved it.
Neeson is seventy, but he keeps himself in pretty good shape (as demonstrated by his participation in some really well-done fight scenes in the this film), and although clearly an aging Marlowe, and not the age the Marlowe of Raymond Chandler's seven novels and countless short stories would have been in the year of the film's setting (1939), he and the film do not attempt to mask the fact that he's not mid-thirties, as the literary Marlowe would have been in 1939.
Also, director and co-writer Neil Jordan (The Crying Game) further changes things up by making Marlowe Irish-born and raised, at one point referencing the horrors of war he himself had experienced at the horrifying Battle of the Somme in 1916, as a member of the King's Irish Rifles. So this Marlowe is not, specifically Chandler's Marlowe.
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| Banville & the Black-Eyed Blonde |
And that stands to reason, as the source material is not a Chandler novel, but one commissioned by the Chandler estate as a "sequel to Chandler's The Big Sleep," and written by Irish novelist John Banville using his crime fiction pen name Benjamin Black: The Black-Eyed Blonde (2014).
The film is gorgeously shot, with Spain taking the place of 1939 Southern California. The action is set specifically in and around mythical "Bay City," Chandler's fictional avatar for Santa Monica. Cinematographer Xavi Giménez may well be in line for an Oscar nomination. The costumes are period perfect, the acting, by an A-list of mostly Irish actors and headed by Diane Kruger, Jessica Lange, Danny Huston, and the always entertaining (and Scottish) Alan Cumming, is first-rate. The pacing is spot-on, the film never dragged or got bogged down in explanations of plot points, nor did it blast through pages of the script at the rate of a Transformers movie.
But most of all, with Jordan's sure hand on the tiller and Neeson all-in and game to try to pull the whole thing off, it just… works.
At least it did for me. I highly recommend this film based on a non-Chandler book. Very entertaining!
So was Neeson's Marlowe the "definitive Marlowe"? Of course not. It's a Marlowe for our times, even if it is set in the early 20th century. Any "definitive" Marlowe would need to carry the feel of Chandler's character in the way that Humphrey Bogart's Sam Spade was definitive (even if the short, dark Bogart looked nothing like the hulking, slope-shouldered "Blond Satan" of Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon).
With that out of the way, let's take a look at the Marlowes come before…
Other Film Marlowes:
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| Sanders (Center) looking bored. |
1. George Sanders (The Falcon Takes Over-1942)" Nope. Not Marlowe, not even an attempt at Marlowe: British actor George Sanders (who was great in many other things, but mostly seems bored here) plays Gay Lawrence, "the Falcon" in the B-movie series of the same name. Not noir, not hardboiled, broad comic subplot played for laughs and with the central character a "gentleman amateur not-quite-detective." Although John Wayne caddy and future Wagon Train star Ward Bond does a pretty fair job of playing "Moose Malloy" in this B-movie take on Farewell, My Lovely (the first, and weakest of three such film adaptations to be featured in this post). With Bond just a year removed from his solid turn as Detective Tom Polhaus in John Huston's seminal The Maltese Falcon, he's clearly better than the material he's given to work with here.
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| Not Marlowe-says so right on the door. |
2. Lloyd Nolan (Time to Kill-1943) Nope. He's Lloyd Nolan playing Mike Shayne. This one, the first, and better of two film adaptations of Chandler's The Brasher Doubloon (published in the U.K. and in later American versions as The High Window) to be featured in this post, is also a B-movie filmed quick and cheap. Nolan, a talented character actor whose Hollywood career spanned most of the 20th century, is delightful as Mike Shayne, and the film sports a solid supporting cast, plenty of humor too, and it is superior in pretty much every way to 1947's The Brasher Doubloon- more on that, below! More on Nolan below as well. And you can watch the whole thing on YouTube here.
3. Dick Powell (Marlowe in Murder My Sweet-1944) in the film that helped him rebrand himself as a noir film hero and ditch his previous career as a(n aging) song-and-dance man. Powell is great, but too perky to be Marlowe. The film itself, directed by Edward Dmytryk, is a solid adaptation of the Chandler novel Farewell, My Lovely. This adaptation is more faithful to the subject matter than the Sanders version above (slapped on Hollywood ending notwithstanding). It's also better directed, with a stronger supporting cast (the difference between a "B" picture budget and an "A" picture budget) which included the ever-formidable Claire Trevor, and journeyman Mike Mazurky as probably the best ever film incarnation of the hulking, slow-witted brute, Moose Malloy.
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| Powell, as Marlowe, with Mazurky (right), about to be taken for a ride, Chauffeur and all. |
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| Bogart is Marlowe in The Big Sleep (1946) |
4. Humphrey Bogart (Marlowe in The Big Sleep -1946) he's great. One of his best performances. The movie is an interesting mess, plotwise (complete with another Hollywood ending-and not even the likes of of A-list script doctors such as Leigh Brackett and William Faulkner can do much with it). The problem for me is that, as hard as he tries, Bogart still comes across like Sam Spade-his other iconic detective role, and from a much better movie. Great supporting cast: Lauren Bacall (with a teenaged Andy Williams supposedly dubbing her singing voice), Regis Twomey as long-time Marlowe associate Bernie Ohls, the Los Angeles District Attorney's chief investigator, and Marlowe's former boss, the great Elisha Cook, Jr. (riveting as Wilmer Cook, the psychopathic "gunsel" in The Maltese Falcon), and a not-yet-discovered Dorothy Malone sizzling in a single scene with Bogart as the clerk in a bookstore where Marlowe waits out a rainstorm.
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| Robert Montgomery and Audrey Totter, in the mirror. |
5. Robert Montgomery (Two on-screen scenes in the camera-as-eyes-of-the-narrating-detective in The Lady of the Lake-1947). Dubbed a "startling and daring new method of storytelling–a milestone in moviemaking." In truth, an ambitious flop that condensed the source material in what is arguably one of Chandler's better novels (with, wait for it… yet another tacked on Hollywood ending). Mongomery directed, and starred as Marlowe in voice-over, using the camera as the eyes of the main character. He only appears in two scenes where he sees himself in a mirror. Definitive Marlowe? Nope. Although the aforementioned Lloyd Nolan steals the show here as corrupt cop De Garmo.
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| George Montgomery: Swashbuckling Marlowe! |
6. George Montgomery–No Relation– (The Brasher Doubloon / The High Window-1947) B-movie effort and Montgomery, who is game and gives it his all (In spite of the fact that Montgomery's "all" seems to include playing Marlowe as if he were a method actor trying to play the hard-boiled icon as Errol Flynn.), is at the mercy of his own limitations and a script that makes his Marlowe far more interested in "love" than in "saving" the victim as was the case in the source material (Complete with, you guessed it: still another tacked on Hollywood ending!). Right age, and aside from the pencil thin mustache, right "look," but no dice. And you can also watch this one on YouTube here.
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| The wonderful Rita Moreno & Rockf-ermm Marlowe. |
7. James Garner (the title character in Marlowe-1969) plays a P.I. who comes across as more proto-Rockford than as Philip Marlowe in this relatively faithful (no Hollywood ending!) adaptation of the excellent and often overlooked Chandler novel The Little Sister. Updated "modern" setting. Great supporting cast, especially Rita Moreno, Gayle Hunnicutt, Sharon Farrell, and H.M. Wynant as mobster Sonny Steelgrave. Bruce Lee is in it, and he's reliably terrible. Then again, the chops they cast him for weren't his acting chops. (*rimshot*).
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| "That's okay with me." When "okay" is frequently NOT "okay"... |
8. Elliott Gould (Marlowe in Robert Altman's The Long Goodbye 1973) as a shambling, tatterdemalion, sort-of hippy Marlowe? NOPE. Hardly "definitive."
The first time I watched this film I loathed it. A few decades and a number of re-watchings later, and this film has much to recommend it. It is surprisingly faithful to the Chandler novel of the same name. Okay, maybe not so surprising, in light of the fact that Leigh Brackett penned the screenplay. Altman's The Long Goodbye bears the dubious distinction of containing a torture scene that still manages to shock the viewer, a half-century after its release.
The cast (including Gould, who is following Altman's direction to a t) is superb. Sterling Hayden was never better (and that's saying something) than in his role of millionaire author and part-time nutjob Roger Wade. Mark Rydell, known primarily for his work as a director (he would go on to garner an Oscar nomination for On Golden Pond.) is unforgettable in his brief turn as vicious thug Marty Augustine (who does not appear in the novel). Henry Gibson (of Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In fame) is inspired casting as the drug-peddling quack Dr. Verringer. Baseball player (and author of the unforgettable sports memoir Ball Four) Jim Bouton was not an actor and it showed in his mostly wooden performance as Marlowe's doomed pal Terry Lennox, but they can't all be winners. And lastly, this film actually improves on the ending Chandler penned for the book. it's easily my favorite ending of any Marlowe film ever, and one of my favorite film endings, period, regardless of genre.
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| Not in any way a spoiler, honest. |
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| Mitchum–absolutely GREAT as Marlowe. |
9. Robert Mitchum Marlowe in Farewell My Lovely 1975) The third, and best of the three film adaptations of the Chandler novel of the same name. Mitchum was 58 when he took this on, and does nothing to try to play the part as "younger" (Marlowe in the 1942 novel would have been in his mid-thirties), and his performance is the better for it. this one ranks right up there with the best: Bogart, especially. And yet, I can't help but wonder what might have been, had Mitchum taken on this role in 1948, instead of the overrated (in my opinion) Out of the Past? Such a portrayal may well have been the definitive Marlowe. There was an air of sardonic nihilism that younger Mitchum pretty near perfectly embodied: too cool to care what others thought of him and knowing that his target audience were "guys with dirty fingernails and dirty shirts who have lost at least one job for talking back to someone..." And while late-fifties Mitchum is a terrific actor who gives a dynamite performance, he can't help but be more measured, more caring about the effects of his actions. His very age and him acting it, inhibits that performance, albeit slightly. It's a small quibble, but that's the difference between "great" and "definitive." As for the film itself, John Ireland is terrific as police detective Nulty, Harry Dean Stanton chews the scenery (which is appropriate in this instance) as Nulty's corrupt cop partner (and Marlowe foil) Billy Rolfe. Sylvia Miles scored an Oscar nomination for her turn as Jessie Florian, Charlotte Rampling is deathly dull as Helen Grayle (especially when compared to Claire Trevor), Jack O'Halloran is appropriately massive as Moose Malloy. And a year before Rocky, a young Sylvester Stallone has a "blink and you might miss it" role as whorehouse enforcer "Jonnie."
10. Robert Mitchum (Marlowe in The Big Sleep-1978) The less said about this blatant cash grab, the better. So I'll leave it at this: only three years separate this film from the vastly superior Farewell, My Lovely, and yet in this one Mitchum comes across as past-his-prime. Plus it's a modern update of the source material from 1939 to 1978. And the action is inexplicably moved from Los Angeles to London. ENGLAND. None of this is Mitchum's fault, but there you go.
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| NOPE. Don't bother. |
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| Nah. |
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| Well-done, Liam! |
However, Chandler wrote Marlowe envisioning a scruffy Cary Grant playing the role. 40s Mitchum is pitch-perfect. So, short story long: I think there is no definitive Marlowe on film. Nor is there ever likely to be.
And what's wrong with that?
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| The definitive Marlowe? |
And on that note, time for me to wrap it up and pack it all in for now. Tune in next time when I conclude this Marlowe media deep dive by touching on Marlowe portayals in TV and radio.
See you in two weeks!
And that's an unusually kind remark from Moore about the Met. He is from the North, remember, and he manages to insult the capital's coppers in almost every show. "The Met is so overworked now that they are asking you to tamper with your own evidence."
We learn a lot about the rules of British police work, some of which seem pretty odd to me. For example, if a beat constable thinks a parked car looks suspicious he can observe it while approaching it very, very, slowly, but he can't stop. That would be surveillance, which requires authorization.
As I said, Moore is a comedian so the show is funny. A few examples:
"The last time [that security guard] chased an old woman around the store, she lapped him."
And in the inevitable grim humor of the police: "He said: 'God told me to kill my wife.' I said: 'Too bad he didn't tell you to dig a deeper hole.'"
Oh, you will also learn why Moore says "punching an innocent young man in the face" is the best thing he ever did as a cop. Highly recommended.
Slightly off-topic: In my earlier piece about
BBC Sounds I mentioned the serial Party's Over, about (fictional) Henry
Tobin, the worst Prime Minister in British history, kicked out after
eight months in office. I wonder if they will consider him redundant now
that Liz Truss has beaten him by six months?
I’m uncertain when I first met Sandra Murphy, but I am certain that we’d crossed paths online for many years before we met in person at the Dallas Bouchercon in 2019. Before we met in person, though, our writing careers intersected in an unexpected way: I posted a smart-alecky remark on Facebook that I wanted to become the James Patterson of short story writers by collaborating with other writers to increase my productivity. Sandra called my bluff and offered to give it a shot. Since then, we’ve finished and sold five short stories, have one in progress that shows great potential, and have a few more that, while not actually dead, are clearly on life-support. Here she explains how her non-writing failures have led to her writing successes.
— Michael Bracken
Failing Up
By Sandra Murphy
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| Sandra’s love of learning new things—in this case learning to create things with mixed media—has inspired many of her stories. |
I speak Spanish and Chinese. I love to dance. As a kid, I signed up for all kinds of after school lessons—swimming, piano, ballet, tap, and baton twirling. In adult education classes, I learned to make a meringue Christmas tree, spinach quiche, and the paper frills that go on a crown rib roast. Such a variety of skills and yet, they all have one thing in common.
I am astonishingly bad at all of them.
Four years of high school Spanish and I can ask what’s your name, how much does this cost, and what is the location of the bathroom. In Chinese, I can let you know, I am tall. There is no doubt that these are not my native languages. To my credit, I never harmed anyone with a misguided baton toss. There was an incident with that quiche and too much Tabasco sauce which apparently reaches fiery levels after baking.
As for as dancing, I have no rhythm and cannot hear the beat except when the Bee Gees are singing. So far, I’ve not harmed anyone on the dance floor either. There’s still time.
I was reminded, double-digit years ago, how much I enjoy the written word. It was also pointed out, I wasn’t limited to reading. I could write as well. Rather than writing well, I scribbled an untold number of articles and stories that will never see the light of publication. As soon as an editor could stop laughing at my pompous attempt to sound like my idea of a writer, an instant rejection would have followed.
I kept writing. There was a short romance story where my main character was deemed to be a stalker rather than a nice guy, chatting up a nice gal. My mystery had no hook, dragged along at a pace compared to that of a snail with a limp. I wrote descriptions of weather, scenery, and characters, just to see if I could.
Surrounded by other writers, I got better. And I began to notice how often my fictitious alter ego used my real-life experiences to tell her stories.
Despite not being able to roll my r’s or sing a tune, I do speak fluent Dog. After years of pet sitting for dogs as small as a three-pound Pom and as large as a 250-pound mastiff, I’ve learned to not just listen to the canine voice but to respond in kind. I shouldn’t have been surprised when a cocky, some might say conceited, Jack Russell Terrier turned up as a drug sniffer in an early story, titled “Arthur.” A mama cat and her litter of four kittens made their debut during Hurricane Harvey, in “Lucy’s Tree.” Denali, a large, rowdy pup of indeterminant parentage, introduced a lonely woman to a shy man. When her ex assumed he was welcome to return, Denali showed him the door, literally. “Denali” is in the Dogs and Dragons anthology. Dogs just run full tilt into my stories, skid to a stop, and refuse to leave. Good dogs!
Cooking bloopers were brought to light in “The Chicken Pot Pie Fiasco,” “The Tater Tot Caper,” and “Bananas Foster.” I swear, I’ve never set anyone on fire with a flaming dessert in real life. I’ve been more into nuking than cooking from scratch since that Tabasco incident.
My unintentionally non-profit business of creating jewelry for drag queens meant time in their dressing room before a performance. Details of those eye-opening visits turned into scenes in “The Exterminator.”
When the words become rowdy and uncooperative or worse, go on break, I resort to playing online gin rummy with avatar Bill, who I suspect cheats. If a couple of games doesn’t set my creativity free, I move on to YouTube videos. My favorites of late are mixed media demos. The artists use paint, junk mail, and expired credit cards to make art. I can’t say I understand it but watching them layer odd bits into a finished piece makes me think of how words on the page, in the right order, layered with emotion, bring a story to life.
In “The Mixed Media Mess,” published in Black Cat Mystery Magazine, issue #13, one of the main characters is a mixed media artist, the other a writer who has a Corgi in her book. Once again, my life oozed into my writing.
I may never hear the beat in music, but reading a story aloud at writers group, I hear the cadence of my words.
In one instance at least, I got rhythm.
In St. Louis, Sandra’s enthusiasm and love for bright colors, textures, and shapes, far outweighs her talent for mixed media. Raised by a mother who could turn canned biscuits into hockey pucks, Sandra managed to win the Betty Crocker Homemaker of the Year award in her senior year of high school. Luckily, it was a written exam.
She’s editor of Peace, Love, and Crime: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of the ’60s (Untreed Reads), and her story “The Mixed Media Mess” appears in the just-published Black Cat Mystery Magazine #13.
If
you’re a writer – even the shuttered, introverted stereotype – it’s nearly
impossible to not have any friends. You can add up all the MFAs in
Creative Writing and they don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world,
unless you factor in your friends. Maybe some of your friends are
also relatives – a brother, sister, dog or lunatic uncle. But
there’s no better source of creative nutrition than the nutty real-life
characters who orbit your private sun.
I had two brilliant instructors in grad school, who became my friends. Did they bestow the same generous help and encouragement on my haughty, self-absorbed classmates? I’ll never know.
I have some vague recollection of the academic instruction I received in college, though the real learning came from hanging out at the snack bar with the motley crew of screwball personalities and social deviants with whom I kept company. We might have ridiculed the pompous professoriate, but we all eagerly debated what they were trying to teach us, and it was through this lively filter that I absorbed most of what my father was reluctantly paying for.
The late 60s, early 70s were an ideal time to be in college, with permissive administrators, hip young professors trying (unsuccessfully) to be cool, a full buffet of intoxicants and the opportunity to get tear-gassed at an anti-war demonstration.
A common complaint about the liberal arts heard today is this type of education has little relevance to ones ultimate career ambitions. The usual rejoinder is that it teaches you how to think and process complex information. Maybe, but I’m sure it taught me how to keep my student deferment with as little effort as possible, as least until the draft lottery scared the crap out of all of us and sent a few of my classmates directly to Southeast Asia (not me). I also learned how to write convincing term papers with scant supporting research under ugly self-inflicted deadlines, some just a few hours away, meaning the wee hours of the night.
My roommate and now longtime friend famously wrote a paper on Boris Pasternak based entirely on the liner notes of the Dr. Zhivago movie soundtrack. I think he got the A. My finest effort was writing a paper overnight in heroic couplets, with a little help (okay, a lot of help) from my friends. I got a B+, but no complaints.
This type of improvisation was a bedrock capability that allowed for my career in advertising, and greatly abetted writing lots of novels, essays and short stories. Though if the tactics provided the skills, the culture was the wellspring. None of my friends have ever recognized themselves in my fiction, though they’re all there, in spirit if not direct description. The rhythms of their language, their senses of humor, their insights and inexplicable behavior.
Every novelist mines his or her friends and families to develop characters. Amply enhanced by imagination and judicious resorting of traits and qualities. I feel particularly blessed to have an Empire Mine of associations from which to extract limitless fodder and inspiration.
I’m pleased to report that I appreciated it then, and throughout my life, and treasure it now as we compose those remaining chapters.
Photo credit: Pierce Bounds
Okay, so you're writing the next great American novel or short story. It will be published and you will become famous. At least that's your plan. Well, hold on there a minute, Shorty. What's your track record on prior publications, plus who knows you?
To begin, you need to finish what you're writing. That program may consist of writing courses, how-to books and/or critique groups. Whatever keeps you writing and learning your tradecraft. Next, you have to submit that manuscript to the appropriate agent, publisher, editor or magazine. AND, you had better get yourself out into the rest of the writing community and get involved.
Attend a few writers conferences. Go to the conference bar and strike up a conversation with someone else at the bar. Writers are a pretty friendly group, and you may be surprised who you can meet that way. What's that, you say you're an introvert? Then talk a friend into going to the conference with you. That way, you can work as a team. There is courage in numbers. Face your fears and force them.
Also keep in mind that conferences are very happy to get volunteers to man the registration tables, be timekeepers for panels, work the book room, take care of the Green Room, etc. Once again, you will be surprised who you can meet that way. At the Austin, Texas Bouchercon, I worked the Mystery Writers of America table for a couple of hours and ended up talking with several published authors and a couple of agents. They had questions and I had been briefed on answers to help them, which meant they remembered me the next time we met.
Often times at these conferences, various writers organizations will sponsor a breakfast or a cocktail reception. Free food and sometimes free drinks. Get out of your hotel room and socialize at these events. It's called networking and you never know when one of these new contacts will be impressed enough with you to provide an opportunity. I once received a proposal over drinks in a NYC bar to write a non-fiction book. Prior to that, I didn't know the lady across the table from me was an editor. It turned out to be a nice contract for a book I wrote under an alias.
Go to author panels that interest you. See how they are run. After you do get published, try to get on one of the writers panels for the next conference. If attendees like the way you talk on the panel, they will look for your book or short story and probably buy it. It's a way to get known.
Do you have a special talent or expertise that mystery writers might be interested in? Write up a proposal for a workshop or class on that talent or expertise and discuss it with the officers for the next conference. For instance, I ran hands-on Surveillance Workshops for three different writers conferences. Not only did the participants learn something, have a lot of fun and acquire stories to tell, but I still have attendees from prior conferences come up to me to say how much fun they had in those workshops. Other presenters have put on workshops or classes about firearms, drug dogs, raids, novel writing, etc. Inventory your skills to see if you have any topic to interest mystery writers.
Join your local writers organizations, AND actively participate in the running of that organization. Years ago, I ran for vice-president of our local MWA chapter on the platform that I would line up speakers for our monthly supper meetings. From VP to Prez was a natural step, and the Chapter President is automatically on the national MWA Board of Directors. Talk about networking with influential people in the mystery writing and publishing business. Now, you are on a level to impact guidelines on the operation of the organization.
Know that our very own Michael Bracken is currently on the national MWA board as a first term Director at Large. He will be a great advocate for short stories and their authors when it comes to establishing rules and requirements.
These are some of my suggestions for getting involved and helping to make a difference in the mystery writing world. Life is short, so have fun with them.
And, for you old hands out there, if you have any other suggestions, feel free to chime in.
"I wanted to start a gang, but it turned into a book club..."
I don't know the kindred spirit who first said the above quote, and I've probably butchered it somewhat, but...Guilty as charged! Which is saying a lot, because usually I write about the mob...
BOOK CLUBS ROCK...
I love my current book club. We don't do the 'buy one book and everybody read it' thing. Instead, we have a list of categories (30 in all) and are expected to read one book that satisfies each criteria in a calendar year. We can each read a different book that fits the category. We also give each other two free outs, meaning you can skip two categories if you absolutely hate them. Bless those outs.
Love this club,
because I am pushed into reading things I wouldn't normally pick up.
Other genres, past classics, even cookbooks. Plus they come with
recommendations from people I trust. We all read more than 30 books a year (I'm close to 100.) So there's still lots of time to read new releases from favourite authors beyond those 30 on the book club list.
That said, I'm a crime writer and crime reader. Whodunits are my trade, and I shy away from anything that sniffs of Chicklit. So you can imagine my surprise when I am pressured to read a book that reaches me in a way I didn't expect. "What Alice Forgot" by Liane Moriarty, is a perfect example, and I'm exceedingly grateful. That book made me think about my own past and future, at a time when I had just lost my first husband to cancer (decades earlier than it should have been.)
And let me also say, that I am thrilled that people are reading. If
they want to read things I don't find pleasure reading, that's
terrific! Please, please keep reading, young people. It doesn't matter
what books you cherish, as far as I'm concerned.
Still, there's the guilt. Yes, I feel guilt. I should like reading everything. I should at least recognize that reading diverse books is 'good for me,' and thus be an enthusiastic participant.
Confessions, confessions. What things have I learned about myself, through that seemingly innocent little social activity?
Three things come to mind. Let me take a moral inventory, and feel free
to cast aspersions on my virtue. It wouldn't be the first time (wink).
1. Non-fiction sucks.
University type here. Prof at college for 30 years. Read a lot of non-fiction in my time, in order to be able to teach the stuff. Guilty secret? For me, reading non-fiction is work. I don't want to work in my off-time.
I know. I can hear the collective gasps from here. Non-fiction is good for you! It makes you smarter!
I
doubt very much if anything at this stage could make me smarter (much
as that might be desirable for all concerned...) It might make me more
knowledgeable, that I accept. Do I care? Not much. My brain is
precariously close to full now, and putting more into it threatens to
dump other things already lodged there out my ears. (Medical fact. I
read it online.)
2. And on that note, I rarely enjoy reading memoirs and biographies.
Our
book club requires us to read one of the above, once a year. It's not fun for me. I really don't like spending my time reading about
other people's lives, especially the white-washed
versions. Ditto, the poor me versions.
Why? I read to escape reality. Which brings me to the final point (some of you will gasp.)
3. I don't care much for fiction written from (many) multiple points of view.
There are some extremely popular books out now that are written from several points of view (I'm thinking The Thursday Murder Club and like.) I like humour and crime together, so I gave it a try. And I can see why people would like it. I thought some parts of it were great fun. Thing is, I kept putting it down. I could read a chapter and put it down. Pick it up a few days later and read another two scenes. Then put down the book and forget about it.
What this tells me: For me, it wasn't a compelling read. I didn't care enough about the protagonist to keep reading to find out what would happen. Wait a minute - to tell the truth, I couldn't even tell who the protagonist was!
And that's the key. The protagonist. God Bless Book Club. I've learned a lot about myself and what I treasure reading. To wit:
I want to become the protagonist when I read a book.
(Please let me know in the comments below if you relate to this.)
I want to slip into the skin of the main character and have a rollicking adventure. I want things to happen. I want there to be a satisfactory conclusion to the adventure, so I close the book with a smile on my face.
On the memoir front: For the record and just to be fair, I have no desire to write a memoir myself. Have the general public read all about my misspent youth and totally embarrassing past mistakes? Gulp. Would rather go public on my bra size (weight is off the table.) In fact, I am puzzled that others do want to share their dirty linen in public.
Mine is stuffed into drawers that hopefully my kids will never open.
Melodie Campbell writes fiction (swear to God it's fiction!) from the shores of Lake Ontario. Book 17 is now available for preorder. On AMAZON
Decades ago I remember reading that Buckminster Fuller said that from the moment you have an idea you have 17 minutes to do something physical with it—write it down, tie a string around your finger, sing it out loud until it's stuck in your head—or it will disappear.
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